P Deutermann - The Moonpool

I explained the contract money Ari said he had for security intrusion exercises. Creeps nodded again, as if he knew all about that program.

“You understand, Mr. Richter,” he said, “that those are federal dollars? And that any such intrusion exercises, whether force-on-force, tabletop war games, or otherwise, are supervised by the NRC? Which is itself a federal organization?”

“Makes sense,” I said. “But for us contractor weenies, a dollar is a dollar. We agree on a statement of work, a price, and the client’s boundary conditions. Then we do our thing, write a report, and send in the bill. As long as he can write the check, we don’t much care which budget line item governs the money.”

“Perhaps you should,” he said. “Because federal money brings federal oversight, and your Bureau is reasonably competent in the oversight department.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I said, tiring of the games. “We know the rules, Special Agent. I told Quartermain that if we stumble onto anything that faintly resembles evidence of a real security problem, we’re obligated to take it to you guys. Why don’t you ask him?”

“We certainly shall do just that,” he declared. “Allow me to be frank: What happened to Ms. Gardner might be a one-off, or it might be the first indication of a much more serious problem, one we’ve actually been anticipating, and with no little trepidation, I might add.”

I recalled what Ari had said. “You think someone’s finally managed to get something nasty through that big-ass container port upriver?”

That surprised him, and people didn’t surprise Brother Creeps that often. He wagged a long, bony finger at me. “You be very careful talking about that little theory,” he said. “You people intrude into anything along those lines, and you might find yourself languishing on a certain Caribbean island.”

I put up my hands in mock surrender. “Got it, okay? As I’ve said, we’re not quite sure what Mr. Quartermain has in mind for us.”

“For what it’s worth, Mr. Richter, we think he wants to use you, as a genuine outsider, to demonstrate that his technical security system is intact, and that, ipso facto, no radiological release ever occurred at Helios.”

“I thought the NRC was going to do some kind of isotope analysis. What happened to that?”

He thought about that for a moment, obviously trying to decide if it was prudent to tell us anything at all. Then he nodded. “Yes. Well. The initial analysis was inconclusive. The residual radiation in Ms. Gardner’s tissue has decayed along with the tissue.”

“Was that the only way they could prove the stuff came out of Helios?”

“The only technically conclusive proof, yes.”

It was my turn to think. It seemed to me that Quartermain was basically going on the offensive by bringing us in; the NRC wouldn’t be able to tag Helios with a radiological release. If we couldn’t find a hole in their security, then he’d done what the company wanted him to do-cover their corporate asses.

“What would be the consequences if someone were to discover, inadvertently, of course, that it did come out of there?” I asked.

“The NRC would shut them down, and then the real fun would begin, Mr. Richter. So take some care, and remember whose side you’re on when it comes to national security versus corporate liability. If there’s a dangerous hole in the plant’s security, and you spot it, I’d better know about it before Mr. Quartermain does, understood?”

I told him it was, and he levered himself out of the creaking wicker chair. He stared down at the floor for a moment, as if making sure it was going to hold him. Then he looked back at me. “We’re operating under different rules these days, Mr. Richter. The war against terror has seen federal law enforcement crossing some lines which we used to hold fairly sacred.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, these days, if you interfere, you can disappear.”

Then he left us.

I breathed a sigh of relief after letting him out the front door.

“Now that’s a weird m-f,” Tony said. “Does he always speak in code like that?”

I went back into the kitchen and sat down. “That wasn’t code, guys. There’s something seriously amiss down here, and this time, I think we’re going to have to play by their rules. If it weren’t for Allie’s involvement, I’d back us out of this right now.”

“Allie’s beyond caring, boss,” Pardee pointed out, “and we don’t know squat about a nuclear power plant. What exactly is it this guy wants us to do?”

I still wasn’t quite sure myself, so I went sideways. “Why don’t you bring up the site and see if we’ve got mail?”

He did and we did. One message from Ari. He told us to report to the Helios administration building to begin processing for vehicle passes and ID cards.

We took two vehicles. The shepherds and I went in my Suburban; Tony and Pardee went in Pardee’s black Crown Vic. My Suburban was a plain vanilla 2500 series with the rear seats flattened to accommodate the mutts. Pardee’s ride was every inch the cop car-tinted windows, souped-up mill, several antennas, and those all-rubber semi-slick tires engineered for extreme road-handling. I think he missed being in Major Crimes. Also he liked to speed, and that getup plus a few other secret signs and totems pretty much guaranteed a pass from the state police.

We took Highway 133 up to the plant’s main entrance and turned in. It was a beautifully landscaped entrance that gave onto a four-lane, undivided parkway. As we turned in we heard a low siren wail in the distance. It sounded like the shift-change whistle at a manufacturing plant. The road made a broad S-turn once we got past the main entrance, and then a second one lined us up with the main gates. Somewhat to our surprise, we found a squad of armed and flak-jacketed men arrayed across the gate area as we approached. I slowed the Suburban and lowered my driver’s side window. Tony pulled in right behind me. One of the guards stepped forward, while the others spread out their line, keeping what looked like Colt M4s at a loose port arms.

“Yes, sir, can we help you?” the guard asked, eyeing the two big dogs behind me. He was courteous, but warily so. I realized then that the siren had gone off when some invisible sensor detected unauthorized vehicles approaching the main gates. I explained that we were guests of Dr. Quartermain and that we were supposed to meet him at the pass office. The guard nodded and told us that this was the plant entrance and that the admin office was another half mile down the road. We’d apparently driven right by it. He showed us where we could U-turn and wished us a nice day. The line of armed guards had relaxed fractionally, but they were still in position to shoot the two vehicles to pieces if that need were to arise.

The admin building looked like every other admin building I’d been in. I told the guys to leave their weapons in their vehicle. I unstrapped my own. 45 and jammed it down between the seat and the center console. I set Frick up in a harness and leash rig and took her into the building with me. I lowered the windows and instructed Frack to guard the Suburban with his life. He promptly lay down for a nap.

Once inside, we were taken to Quartermain’s office, where we were met by a thirty-something brunette hottie who’d obviously been told to expect us. If she was impressed by the sight of two large and one medium-sized, very fit men, one of them being attached to an equally fit German shepherd, she gave no sign of it. She eyed Frick and said that the dog might present a problem. I told her that the dog was a service dog and that federal law required admission of such dogs if they were harnessed, leashed, and suitably trained.