Ground Zero

by Kevin J. Anderson

  “Why would they bring a drum full of cinders all this way? Is it an incinerator can?” the sailor asked.

  Scully carefully reached in and touched the ash, bringing out a pinch between her fingertips. She smeared it around, feeling the greasy and grainy texture. It seemed identical to the residue in the small vial found in Nancy Scheck’s pool.

  “No, it’s not from an incinerator,” she said. “But I think this provides direct, clear-cut evidence that Miriel Bremen is involved in the murders of Bright Anvil personnel.”

  Ives replaced the top on the barrel and turned to the sailors. “Make sure this boat is secure. Agent Scully, let’s get back on board the Dallas. I need to find out from Mr. Dooley if he knows anything about this.”

  Scully followed him out, but she knew her first priority would be to speak directly with Miriel Bremen, to try and get some answers.

  THIRTY-TWO

  USS Dallas

  Saturday, 1:02 A.M.

  As Scully looked on, the security officer used a jingling ring of keys to unlock the stateroom in which Miriel Bremen had been isolated. He didn’t bother to knock; no doubt Miriel had heard them approach. Footsteps rang out on the metal deckplates, even over the muffled echoes of the hurricane.

  Scully waited in the corridor, her eyes burning and itchy from too little sleep and too much thinking in the past few hours. The security officer swung the heavy metal door open and gestured for her to enter. Scully swallowed, raised her head, and stepped inside the small room.

  Miriel Bremen sat on a narrow bunk, elbows on her knees, long chin in her hands. She glanced up at Scully. Her red-rimmed eyes flashed with recognition, but not hope. “Did you at least bring me some bread and water here in solitary confinement?” she said.

  Startled, Scully looked at the security officer, then back at Miriel. “Would you like something to eat? I think we can get a meal fixed for you.”

  Miriel shook her head with a sigh, running shaky hands through her mousy brown hair. “No, I’m not hungry anyway. It was just a joke.”

  A thought flashed through Scully’s mind, a realization. Miriel Bremen’s entire demeanor had changed since their meeting in Berkeley—and now Scully suddenly thought she had pinpointed the subtle difference. The protester remained as determined as before, but now she appeared frightened.

  Oddly, though, Miriel’s fear did not seem to stem from being held prisoner on board a Navy destroyer. After all, she had not done anything illegal, as far as anyone knew, though her intent to impede the Bright Anvil test seemed obvious. No, Miriel Bremen now looked like someone far from home. From the haggard look on her face, Miriel seemed to be in over her head, pushed too far by her own convictions. With the spectre of the upcoming test detonation, her activism had somehow transformed into outright fanaticism, making her willing to abandon all her work in Berkeley and charge headlong into a typhoon in a small fishing boat.

  Scully stood just inside the stateroom and tried to cover an uneasiness that ran through her. Ever since meeting Miriel Bremen and setting foot inside the Stop Nuclear Madness! Headquarters, she had been reliving flashbacks from her first undergrad year, during which she had come very close to joining an activist cause herself. Even allowing for the impetuousness of youth, such activities had been very much against her parents’ wishes. Then again, joining the FBI a few years later had also been against their wishes. Scully didn’t abandon her convictions that easily…but now, looking at what had happened to Miriel Bremen, she saw the fine line that she too could have walked. If things had turned out differently, she might have fallen off a precipice just as sharp.

  Scully turned to the guard. “Would you give us a few minutes of privacy, please?”

  The security officer seemed uneasy. “Should I wait just outside in the corridor, ma’am?” he asked.

  Scully crossed her arms over her chest. “This woman hasn’t been charged with any crime,” she said. “I don’t think she’s a threat to my safety.” Then Scully glanced back at Miriel. “Besides, I’ve had combat and self-defense training at the FBI Academy at Quantico. I think I can handle her, if I need to.”

  The guard looked at Scully with a small measure of dubious respect, then nodded briskly as if barely restraining himself from saluting. He closed the door behind him and marched off down the hall.

  “You said it yourself, Agent Scully,” Miriel began. “I haven’t been charged with any crime. I haven’t done anything to you, or to this ship, or to the Bright Anvil test preparations. The only thing I’ve done is call for assistance out in a storm.”

  As if hearing her words, the winds outside gusted so loudly that they resonated through the destroyer. Scully could feel the enormous craft rocking in the rough water as they churned back toward Enika Atoll.

  “Why am I being held here?” Miriel said, continuing her offensive. “Why was I locked in this stateroom?”

  “Because people are nervous,” Scully said. “You know about the impending test—don’t try to tell me your showing up at this precise location and time was a simple accident. We just haven’t figured yet what sort of mischief you might have planned.”

  “Mischief?” Miriel sat back on her bunk with an astonished expression on her long face. “A fallout-free nuclear weapons test is about to be detonated, in violation of all international laws and treaties—and you’re sitting by, a federal representative, condoning it—yet you call whatever I might be up to ‘mischief’? What did you think Ryan Kamida and I might do? We have one fishing boat, no weapons on board, no explosives. This isn’t a Greenpeace sabotage raid.”

  Scully said, “You brought a barrel of black ash.”

  Miriel looked surprised. “So? And what’s that supposed to do?”

  “Similar black ash was found at the site of Nancy Scheck’s murder in Gaithersburg, Maryland.”

  Miriel stood up from her bunk, brushing down her still-damp blouse. “Commandant Scheck? I didn’t even know the witch was dead.”

  “You expect me to believe that?” Scully said.

  “It doesn’t really matter to me what you believe,” Miriel said, “because you probably couldn’t believe what’s really going to happen, what’s really going on around here right under your nose.”

  “Just prove it to me,” Scully said. “Give me some objective evidence, and I’ll be happy to believe. But don’t expect me to take preposterous explanations at face value. You’re a scientist yourself, Miriel. You know what I’m talking about. What do you think is going to happen during the Bright Anvil test? It’s less than five hours away.”

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Miriel said, pulling up a chair from the small half desk, as if she preferred the uncomfortable hard chair to the narrow bunk. “Let me tell you about something that’s already happened, and you can draw your own conclusions. Did you ever hear of the Indianapolis, a U.S. destroyer from World War II?”

  Scully pursed her lips. “The name sounds familiar.” She hedged for a moment. “That was the battleship that delivered one of the first atomic bomb cores out to the island of Tinian, wasn’t it? In preparation for the raid on Hiroshima.”

  Miriel seemed surprised but pleased that Scully knew the answer. “Yes, the Indianapolis delivered the uranium core of the Little Boy atomic bomb out to Tinian. The Little Boy bomb was dropped on Hiroshima, the first strike in our world’s first nuclear war.”

  “Spare me the propaganda speeches,” Scully said, still annoyed.

  A fire grew behind Miriel’s eyes as she pulled the chair closer and looked intently at Scully. “Did you know that during the outbound voyage of the Indianapolis, the bomb core was actually welded to the floor of the captain’s stateroom? No one knew what the thing was, just that it was some ultrasecret, extremely powerful weapon.

  “But word got around. Rumors fly on ships, especially during wartime. The whole crew on board the Indianapolis believed they were carrying a vital component for victory against Japan. After an uneventful voyage, the Indianapolis safely delivered
its cargo to Tinian, where it was assembled into the bomb—”

  Scully cut her off impatiently. “Yes, and the Enola Gay took off and dropped it on Hiroshima, where seventy thousand people were killed. I know all this. Why is it relevant now?”

  Miriel held up a long finger. “What’s relevant is what happened after the Indianapolis completed its mission. Nobody thinks about the aftermath. They just sweep it under the rug. But with such destruction there must be some sort of atonement—don’t you understand?”

  Scully could only shake her head. Miriel sighed. “I believe that there is a balance of justice in the world. Such mass murder could not be ignored.

  “Three days after the Indianapolis unloaded its bomb core, the battleship was torpedoed by a Japanese submarine. A casualty of war, you might call it. But 850 of the 1,196 men aboard survived the sinking of the ship. They got life rafts into the water in time…but they weren’t rescued by the Japanese sub. The Japanese did not take prisoners out of the water. The survivors were stranded.

  “The men floated in shark-infested waters all alone for five days before a Navy plane spotted the survivors. Five days isolated in the ocean, watching their comrades being eaten alive one by one as the sharks came from all around, smelling the blood in the water, growing hungrier….” Miriel seemed dazed by her own story. “Do you know why it took so long for the search plane?” she asked rhetorically.

  Scully didn’t even attempt to answer.

  “Through a bureaucratic error, the Indianapolis had not even been marked as missing. No one had bothered to search for it. They were found by accident! In the end, despite frantic rescue efforts, only three hundred and eighteen people were pulled from the water. Three-quarters of the original crew—two-thirds of those who had survived the actual sinking of the ship—were lost. It was devastating.”

  “That’s horrifying,” Scully said, sickened by the thought. “But it still doesn’t imply anything unnatural.”

  “If you think that’s horrible,” Miriel said evenly, “you should talk to Ryan Kamida and hear his story.”

  “Wait,” Scully said, counting the days in her head. “According to what you said, the Indianapolis was torpedoed nine days before the Hiroshima bomb was dropped. How could any sort of supernatural revenge be involved for an event that hadn’t even taken place yet? Lots of ships were sunk in the Pacific during the war. My father used to tell me the stories. You’re picking one that serves to illustrate your own ends—but you’re not making your point.”

  “I’m not sure you’re ready to hear my point,” Miriel said.

  “What?” Scully asked, recalling Mulder’s suggestion. “That some sort of atomic bomb ghosts are wreaking havoc among nuclear weapons researchers? That they’re using paranormal means to stop this Bright Anvil test? How can you expect me to believe that?”

  “I’m not telling you what to believe,” Miriel said. She seemed calmer now after having told her story. Her long face wore a hardened, resigned look. “Just go talk to Ryan.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Enika Atoll

  Saturday, 2:19 A.M.

  Scully had just returned to her own cabin for a brief rest when Captain Ives appeared at the door.

  “Wonders never cease,” he said, bracing himself against the doorframe as the ship rocked. “I’ve finally gotten through to Bear Dooley on the atoll. I couldn’t tell whether he was outraged or hopping excited to learn that Miriel Bremen and her friends had come out here.”

  “So what did he suggest we do?”

  Ives shook his head in disbelief. “He wants us to escort the whole group to the blockhouse so they can be present during the test.”

  “Why would he do that?” Scully asked, then answered her own question. “Ah—I suppose he wants to watch the expression on Miriel’s face when the Bright Anvil device goes off.”

  Captain Ives frowned and gave a slight shrug. “I don’t believe it’s as simple as that,” he said. “I’m sure gloating might be part of it, but I get the impression that Mr. Dooley honestly respects Ms. Bremen and the work she did in the past. Maybe he thinks the excitement of the countdown will bring her around again, show her what she’s been missing. He’d love to snatch her back from what he considers to be antinuke brainwashing.”

  “Okay, I can understand that,” Scully said, unzipping her duffel to yank out her extra rain slicker. She had changed into comfortable, dry clothes upon reaching her room on the Dallas. “But what about the blind man, Ryan Kamida. Why should Dooley want him there?”

  Captain Ives gave a slight smile. “Because that’s the only way Ms. Bremen would agree to come along.”

  Scully shook her head. “They do enjoy playing their games, don’t they? All right, how are we going to get over there?”

  “I’m staying here on the Dallas,” the captain answered. “The wind wall of the storm is approaching, and the gale is due to hit maximum force within the next three or four hours. I can’t leave my ship. I’m not comfortable having my captain’s gig there at the atoll, but my exec, Commander Klantze, is going to ferry it back here.”

  “So we’ll have to wait for the return trip?” Scully asked. By now Mulder would be wondering what had happened to her, probably having uncovered many details on his own that he needed to share…most likely preposterous explanations of supernatural manipulation or alien interference in nuclear weapons development. She could never tell what he might come up with.

  “Actually it’s more unorthodox than that,” Captain Ives said. He stood tall and straight, his feet oddly close together as if he were a statue. “Ms. Bremen suggested we take the Lucky Dragon. Two of my seamen will pilot her, although the fishermen want to go along as well. It seems everybody is determined to go joyriding through this typhoon.” He shook his head.

  “I have to concede that the Lucky Dragon is seaworthy, and I’m not entirely comfortable having her lashed up against my ship if we get to rocking and rolling even worse, as I expect we will. Banging hulls together could cause significant damage, either to the fishing boat or to us.”

  Captain Ives brooded, an uncertain expression on his face. He had been strangely reticent ever since taking the Lucky Dragon passengers aboard. Scully finally asked him about it. She slung her duffel over her shoulder and followed him out into the narrow corridor. “Something is really bothering you about this test, isn’t it?”

  He paused in midstride, but did not turn to look at her. “Just a lot of shadows from my past,” he said. “Things I’m being forced to remember that I’d prefer to forget. I had thought them all safely tucked away, but unfortunately such memories have a habit of coming back to haunt you.”

  “Would you care to elaborate on that?” Scully asked.

  Ives finally turned to look at her and shook his head. His slate-gray eyes seemed expressionless, as he brushed his mustache with one finger. “No—no, I don’t think I would.”

  Scully recognized the look, but it seemed quite alien on the face of a hardbitten old captain who had spent many years on the sea.

  She saw the fluttering dark wings of genuine fear.

  The Lucky Dragon easily rode the swells, pulling away from the Dallas and heading directly toward Enika Atoll. The boat handled well, according to the seamen Captain Ives had assigned to shuttle it over.

  During the brief ride to the island, Miriel Bremen remained with Ryan Kamida, avoiding Scully. The blind man appeared disoriented and agitated, as if afraid of something or overwhelmed by circumstances. Scully wondered what had caused his blindness, the terrible burn scars. She didn’t think he could possibly be a Nagasaki survivor. He looked too young, too exotic…too strange.

  As the fishing boat rode up to shore and anchored in the sheltered lagoon, Scully spotted Mulder waiting for her under the bright light hung over the door of the control blockhouse. He waved his arms, and his wet suit jacket flapped about in the wild wind. She noticed that he had removed his tie and unfastened the first few buttons of his shirt.

  Muld
er came to meet her, helping Scully climb off the boat onto the damp sand. She handed him her duffel. “It seems as if I’m spending more time here on the island than aboard the ship, so I thought I might need a few things.”

  Mulder looked up into the looming storm that looked like a giant fist ready to pound down. “Doesn’t appear we’ll need the suntan lotion at the moment.”

  Bear Dooley shuffled out of the blockhouse, haggard and preoccupied with his nonstop preparations. The test was due to go off in less than three hours. He stood with his hands on his waist, staring at Miriel Bremen as she stepped off the boat onto Enika Atoll.

  Miriel helped Ryan Kamida step onto the beach—but the scarred man dropped to his hands and knees, not in collapse, but more like an embrace of the crushed coral and sand. He looked up, and Scully saw tears leaking out of his blind eyes.

  Miriel stood next to Kamida, a hand supportively squeezing his shoulder. Finally, she directed her gaze toward Bear Dooley.

  “Ah Miriel, glad you could join us,” Dooley boomed. “You didn’t have to go through so much trouble, though. You could have just asked, and we would have included you among the crew.”

  “I wasn’t sure I want to be part of the crew, Bear—not under the circumstances,” Miriel said. Her voice remained quiet, but somehow the words cut sharply through the wind. “I trust you didn’t have any trouble setting up the test?” Miriel’s voice was uninflected, without barbs; Scully thought she sounded defeated, resigned. The Bright Anvil test would indeed go off, despite the protester’s efforts to stop it. Scully wondered just how far she had intended to go.

  From belowdecks on the Lucky Dragon, the three fishermen scrambled up, hauling the half-full barrel of black ash uneasily between them. They nervously carried the sealed drum onto the deck of the boat.

  “What are you doing with that?” Dooley shouted. Two seamen prevented the fishermen from taking the barrel over the side of the Lucky Dragon and onto the beach.