by Chuck Logan
This was the touchy part. He assumed that plant security did their background checks early this morning when he gave his Social Security number to Irv. But what if the Cavalier County Sheriff’s office posted a missing-persons bulletin on him? Would this security system monitor such reports after the initial check? Dale and George were betting they would not.
They bet right. After talking for a minute, the guard checked his clipboard, then asked Dale for ID. Dale handed over his driver’s license and his Social Security card. The guard consulted his clipboard again, removed a numbered clip-on badge, and gave it, along with the ID, back to Dale. Dale breathed a little easier. He’d been preapproved. Then the guard waved Dale beside the guard shack, into the shade, and said, “Put on the badge and wait here, sir. Mr. Fuller will be out in a minute.”
Dale waited, gazing up into the late-afternoon sun, which was starting to flame out across the Mississippi, setting up a gorgeous golden haze over Wisconsin.
Five minutes later a blue Jeep Cherokee pulled up. It had a logo on the side: Holtz-Sydney Construction. A tall man in jeans, boots, and a blue denim designer work shirt got out. Irv Fuller in his styled salt-and-pepper hair looked sports-fan tanned and fleshy. Though not exactly porky, he did have a creeping double chin and the good-time rosettes of incipient gout pooling in his ample cheeks.
“If it’s about the rest of the money…” Irv said, feigning an apology as he shook Dale’s hand.
Dale laughed and waved the question aside with an aw-pshaw grimace. “Hey, no rush. I’m passing through the area anyway. Might as well take a look at that Deere.”
Irv cocked his head to the side, grinned. “Just feels stiff, but, you know, it still moves dirt from here to there.”
Dale jerked his thumb at the reactors. “Probably nothing. And I wanted to see all this in person, to tell Dad when I get down to Florida, about you and the machines you bought. He always said he’d never sell any big iron to a Fuller. But here we are.”
Irv shrugged. “Hey, I needed to have those loaders listed on my inventory to get bonded for this job. Getting them so quick helped save my ass. What the hell. Let’s look at that machine. Then I can take a few minutes to show you around. How’s that?”
“Great,” Dale said, following Irv toward the Jeep.
“And I really appreciate the price you gave me,” Irv said as they got in and he started the truck. “I won’t forget it. You’ll be getting the balance I owe soon’s the next quarter starts.”
“Hey, I trust you, Irv. Always have,” Dale said.
“Well, okay. Here we go. So you never been in one of these things before?”
Dale shook his head.
“Twenty-five percent of the juice in the state comes from nuclear. These two here, and the other one up in Monticello,” Irv said as they drove down a narrow road toward a parking lot. Dale had to squint against the bright afternoon sunlight to make out the reactors. A wall of vapor drifted up to the right.
“Pretty much like we learned in high school,” Irv said. “Uranium heats primary water in the core. The hot primary water is pumped through steam generators and the heat is transferred to secondary water that flashes into steam. Then the primary water goes back to the core for reheating. Big building on the left is the steam turbines. The smaller building between the reactors is the pool for the spent fuel rods.”
“Uh-huh,” Dale said. George had made sure he knew the diagram of this puppy by heart.
“Steam turns the turbines to make the electricity. Less than a third of the energy in the core gets used as electricity. The rest vents out in the air or goes in the river. Over on the right, where all the steam is kicking out-those are the cooling towers, four of them. Our job is to build a berm around the reactors, the turbines, and the cooling pool.”
“What are they worried about? Some A-rab gonna crash a plane into it?” Dale said it as a joke.
“Not funny,” Irv said, rolling his eyes, “Hell, the cooling-pool building is just a glorified pole barn on top. Got a corrugated tin roof. I been in there. Fuckin’ sparrows fly in and out. Nah, we’re putting up a barrier more to stop a truck-bomb threat. Like the barrier they got over behind those trees, around the storage casks.”
“Uh-huh,” Dale said, nodding.
They passed through the parking lot. Closer in now, in the shadow of the reactors. To Dale they rose against the sky like giant fat stunted silos. The domesticated cousins of the ICBM silo that had been in his dad’s field.
Driving past the lot, they came to the actual construction site. Dale smiled. It was even better than he’d expected. The area to the right of the reactors was in the process of being cleared; several large Morton-style buildings were being dismantled, the top soil stripped off, and the whole site surrounded by a silt fence and another security fence. The big machines sat mostly idle, grazing in the dirt like a herd of huge yellow oxen. But Dale was focused on the tall, square, blue-and-gray structure between the reactors. That was the cooling-pool building. The target.
Irv drove into the fenced site and they passed a broad ditch that had been started-maybe thirty feet wide, ten, twelve feet deep, thirty or so yards long. The dirt had been piled in a rough breast-work about eight feet high, parallel to the ditch, and about a hundred yards from the reactors. Dale could see water still standing in the bottom of the trench.
“What’s this?” Dale asked.
“That’s the job. The beginning of the barrier.”
“Looks kinda muddy,” Dale said.
“Yeah. We had to pull out the heavy stuff.” He parked next to a construction trailer and they got out.
“We started that excavation before the rain hit. Probably won’t get back in full swing till next week. Plan calls for a moat. Use the dirt to throw up the berm. That way we don’t have to haul it in by truck. Security is such a drag-drivers coming in and out. The more we can do strictly on site, the better.”
“What goes on top of the berm?” Dale asked, to keep the conversation going.
“Big rocks, spaced so a truck can’t fit through.”
They were walking in among the machines now: excavators, compactors, dozers, fuel and water trucks, belly loaders, graders, shovels, off-road dump trucks. Half the big iron was still on trailers. He felt a rush of relief when he saw his loaders sitting on dry ground, parked next to a big D-8 Cat dozer. He spotted the one he wanted, with the black X painted on the corner of the cab door.
Not very original. But functional.
“There’s the machines I sold you,” Dale said.
“Yep. The stiff one’s got the X on the door.”
“Yeah, okay. The fuckin’ Canadians, they probably overinflated the tires. Let me drive her around a little. See how she runs…house call, no charge.” Nothing but cool.
“Okay, check it out.” Irv smiled when he said it, but he also checked his wristwatch. “Just don’t go near that plowed-up strip by the trench and get stuck.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll stay right over there”-he pointed to the shadowed area between the pool structure and a utility building-“where it’s shady.” Dale walked toward the loader, detouring to go right up to one of the reactor containment walls. He extended his hand, placed his palm on the smooth gray concrete, shut his eyes, and felt the brooding fire waiting within.
Waiting for him, like it had been all his life.
The moment passed. He went over to the front-loader, pulled himself up to the cab, opened the door, sat down, and turned the key. The engine belched black smoke, caught, and ran just fine. He raised the bucket, lowered it, and then drove in a semicircle. Then he backed up to the cooling-pool building wall and stopped so there was about four feet between the wall and the rear counterweights.
Okay.
The wheels felt a little hard but the machine operated normally, just as he’d predicted.
He killed the engine, leaned down, and reached under the seat. The Klein standard NE-type side cutting pliers were still there, exactly where he�
��d left them. He’d taped another pair under the radiator, just in case. He tucked the cutters in his waistband, under his shirt, swung down from the cab. Then he did a casual walk-around, rubbed the counterweights for good luck-genie in a bottle. When he had the machine between himself and Irv, and was deep in the shadow of the tall pool building, he took out the cutters, leaned into the motor assembly, and quickly cut the battery wires and the fuel line. Then he jammed the cutters up behind the engine, out of sight.
He came around, completing his circuit, and kicked one of the fat tires. He ran his eyes over the site. Not many men in today. The shift was closing down. Guys parking the machines, picking up their lunch coolers, and heading for the parking lot.
Dale moved out around the motor, trailing his hand one last time over the sun-warmed chassis. He walked out and said to Irv, “Looks like she’s running just fine. Maybe she rides a little jerky. If it gets worse, let me know.”
“It’s a deal.” They shook hands. “So now what?” Irv asked.
Dale shrugged. “Going to take it easy, see some sights, drive down to Florida and see Mom and Dad. Then I don’t know. Maybe I’ll try something totally different.”
“It’ll be a change,” Irv said. “I still feel hemmed in, not seeing the sky.”
“Yeah, well, down in Florida I figure I can always get on a boat and go out into the ocean.”
“That’d do it.”
“Well, hey, I gotta hit the road. Thanks for letting me drop by. See what’s going on.”
“No problem,” Irv said and walked him back to the Jeep. As they drove back to the security gate Irv accelerated to beat the trickle of cars that was starting to pull out of the parking lot. Irv pulled over and parked by the security shack. They got out and walked to the side of the shack.
“You going to be here for a while?” Dale asked.
“Yeah, I gotta talk to a couple of the managers. Gotta mark some underground cables and tunnels they’re concerned about. And they can’t find the right blueprints. You know how it goes.”
Dale nodded. “Okay, ah, say hello to your new wife-ah…”
“Sydney.”
“That’s some name,” Dale said. He watched Irv carefully. He wanted to remember this moment. All during their visit, Irv had never once mentioned Ginny. The fact that she was reported missing.
“Yeah, well…” Irv’s voice trailed off as he raked the toe of his Timberland boot through the dust. His attention was already moving off Dale. Irv was cordial but smug. Dale was going out the gate without the balance owed on two front-loaders. The Fullers were sticking it to the Shusters again. “Say hello to your folks for me.”
“I will.” Dale waved over his shoulder, then he handed his visitor’s badge over to a very tired-looking Wackenhut guard. The guard took the badge, checked something on his clipboard, and waved him through the gate. True, he reflected, Irv was sticking him for about twenty grand. Let him enjoy it, for about the next fifty, sixty minutes-which was all he had left.
I, on the other hand, am about to earn a million bucks. More, actually, now that Joe’s gone.
When Dale was out of earshot, Irv Fuller grinned and shook his head. “Good old Needle-Dick,” he said.
Groggy but awake, Nina heard them celebrate when Dale returned. Jesus. It’s gonna happen.
Dale hummed as he climbed back behind the wheel after a round of back-slapping and congratulations from George. They proceeded to argue amiably through the open driver’s-side door-how far to drive, where to stop. Then George ran back to his car. Dale started up the camper, wheeled onto the highway.
The curtain was still open. Nina arched her neck, saw the dull, gray, rounded shapes loom above the trees, then disappear.
“Dumb,” Dale said happily, “They did it to themselves. They could build a belt of windmills from the Canadian border down to west Texas. They could generate enough power to serve half the Midwest. But nooo…”
He laughed and pounded the wheel. “You shoulda seen the look on Irv’s face. He thinks he beat me out of a few thousand bucks. Boy is he happy. Well, old Irv is in for a big surprise.” As he spoke he plucked a page from the high school yearbook off the dashboard, took a Sharpie from among the pill bottles piled on the dash, and blacked out the eyes on Irv’s high school picture. Then he came to a red light. He spun in the seat, jumped toward her, and yanked the tape from her mouth. Immediately, he jumped back in the seat, whipped around, and accelerated on the green.
Showing off.
Words were insignificant in the cascading horror, but words were all she had. She couldn’t stop from shouting: “You put that thing in there!”
“Yep. And in about an hour…poof!” He tossed his hands in the air. “Now we’ll take a little drive, back roads west to Le Sueur, then drop down on 169 past Mankato and pick up I-90 west. Somewhere in there, depending on how the wind holds, we’ll make the call. Turn on the radio and listen to the news on the way to Sioux Falls. It’s all really very simple. Stay upwind and put a couple hundred miles between us and the plume. Looks like they’ll be eating cesium 137 for supper in Milwaukee and Chicago.”
Dale wagged his finger. “They’re gonna learn the hard way: a spent fuel pool is forever.” He laughed at his own joke, watching for Nina’s reaction. “You’re no fun,” he said. He flung an arm back and pulled the curtain shut.
Nina pictured the satellite phone in George Khari’s pocket. They weren’t kidding. They were going to set it off with a simple phone call. Jesus…
Nina felt the van move, the rhythm of the road-then cocked her head, picking up a distinctive motor slap, mixed in with the road sound. Then the sound passed over them, faded behind, and was gone.
Weird. Sounded like a Sikorsky Black Hawk.
She refocused on the tension in the cords that held her wrists and ankles. With all her strength, she arched up her whole body.
Chapter Forty-four
Everybody was yelling at once, piling in, falling all over each other as the Black Hawk lifted off Sydney Fuller’s lovely lawn and blew her pink wisteria all to hell. The Hawk gained altitude and nosed over, heading south.
Broker lost his footing in the scramble as Yeager punched numbers on his cell. Holly was already talking to whoever he worked for on the fancy radio console. “Northern Route is active. I say again: Northern Route is active. We have an event, suspicion is high that there is a device inside the Prairie Island Nuclear Plant on the Mississippi River. That’s about forty miles southeast of the Twin Cities.
“I need the physical layout of the reactors and the pool. Get somebody on the horn at Prairie Island and patch them through to me…”
“I got him,” Yeager yelled, “Irv, hey, it’s Jim Yeager from Langdon. Have you…Holy shit!” Yeager thrust out the phone like it was hot and pounded Broker on the arm with it. “Dale was just there in the plant. Left five minutes ago.”
Broker and Holly stopped in place as Yeager’s words upped the adrenaline ante. They locked eyes. Holly erupted with a demented laugh, threw his hands in the air, and crowed, “Hey-here’s to Kit and her blue poop.”
They all joined in a spasm of crazed exuberance. Then the chopper tilted and they all collided as Holly resumed yelling into the radio headset. “I need to talk to somebody on the ground, goddamn it, ’cause we’re coming in hot in a Black Hawk and we intend to land inside the plant. I need a ground contact-security, the plant manager, I don’t care.” He untangled from Broker and Yeager, lurched toward the cockpit. The door was open now. “What’s our ETA?” he yelled.
“About ten minutes,” the pilot said.
“ETA ten minutes. Get ’em ready for me. Of course we need a reaction team, NBC, EOD, the full schmear…No. I don’t know what it is, except we think it’s already inside…”
Holly put his hand to the earphones, banged on Broker’s arm, and pointed to the pilot. Broker went forward. The pilot had a map out and said, “Tell him I’m flying line-of-sight on the river. We’ll come right over it, no me
ssing with the ground clutter trying to read the road net.”
Yeager was shouting into his phone. “Irv, Irv…Okay, you calm down, too. Look, Dale sold you some machines, right?…Yeah, two front-loaders. We think-”
Holly shook his head violently.
“No,” Broker put his hand over Yeager’s cell, “not till we’re on the ground and evaluate those machines. They’ll start messing around without knowing what they’re dealing with.”
Holly said, “Tell him Dale’s wanted for questioning in the death of his brother.”
Yeager got back on the phone. “Irv. Ace Shuster was shot to death back home this morning. We think Dale was there. So I need to talk to you fast. And could you locate the two machines he sold you? We want to take a look at them.” Yeager ended the call, grimaced. “He agreed, but he sounded confused.”
“You ain’t seen confused. Just wait till we get on the ground,” Holly said.
They grabbed handholds on the seats as the chopper pitched forward, picking up speed. Broker felt like the rotors were spinning in his chest. The whole wild day. Dale was out there in front of them somewhere, on the ground. And Broker was sure now he had Nina with him. Gotta believe that. She’s down there on one of those roads in a vehicle.
Alive.
Without realizing it, he had pulled the crumpled pack of smokes from his pocket. Holly and Yeager reached over and dug out mangled cigarettes, straightened them, and lit up. Broker joined them. Inhaled, exhaled, looked in the pack.
Two left.
Fields and tree lines and housing developments rushed beneath them as they flew southeast with the St. Croix River on their left. They passed over the confluence, where the St. Croix flowed into the Mississippi.
“Any minute now,” Broker yelled.
The crazed rush subsided and Holly’s face twisted into a disgusted snarl. “Those goddamn motherfuckers. We told them. And we told them. I helped run the black-hat teams out of Special Ops at Bragg. We’d play aggressor to test nuclear plant security for NRC. Fuckin’ private security guards. Bunch of guys who couldn’t make it as cops. Timothy McVeigh became a private security guard when he flunked the psychological test for Special Forces…”