P Deutermann - The Moonpool

“I meant to ask Ari this: Why in the world is there even a way in for a hacker? Why would the reactor control system ever be exposed to the Web?”

“Ah, that. Yes. I asked the same question. Bobby told me that PrimEnergy decided about two years ago to network their plants here in North Carolina. They maintain a sort of super control room at their headquarters. They want to be able to see a problem developing in case the local control room misses it.”

“And they used the Web?”

“No, no, they have an encrypted network. That’s what Trask gave the hacker.”

“They catch up with her?”

“Not yet, but there are lots of agencies looking. Listen, I have to ask: What happened to Billy Summers?”

“He shot my dogs.”

McMichaels paged backward through his notebook for a second. “They had to do some very unpleasant surgery on young Billy,” he said. “A double amputation, I’m told. Something to do with orchids. And he is temporarily unable to move his arms or legs.”

“He shot my dogs,” I said again.

“Right,” McMichaels said, closing the notebook. “I’m very sorry about that. The whole town will be sorry to hear it.” He paused. “Do you know that he did that? That they’re dead? Should people be on the lookout, perhaps?”

“I never found them,” I said, “and they failed to find me. They may still be trapped in that tailrace from the condenser jets. But, yes, I’d appreciate people being on the lookout.”

“The tailrace,” he said. “We took a teenager out of that rotor once; he’d been missing a year. An unlovely memory. I am very sorry.”

“Thanks,” I said. I looked at my watch. “Now I have to go see Creeps Caswell and do this all formally. Will you let me know what you find out on the Thomason matter? That was why I came down here in the first place.”

“You might ask your friends at the RA; they supposedly interviewed Thomason before he went into isolation.”

I thanked him for all his help, and he left. As I went back into the house, I noticed he’d left behind his bottle of glowworm juice. I made a note to remind him to come back and get it later. I’d had well enough of radioactive water. Then I decided to bring it into the kitchen-no point in someone snitching it and then getting the ultimate bellyache from hell.

Since Billy had destroyed our cells, I used the house phone to call the Hilton and leave a message for Tony. He met me an hour later at County, where we found Alicia in much better spirits. Pardee was significantly improved, and they were planning to surface him tomorrow morning. We made some casual inquiries at the desk about Dr. Thomason, but nobody seemed to know his status, or else they just wouldn’t talk to us. Tony reluctantly agreed to accompany me for my debrief at the resident agency building.

On the way over, he told me about the exciting finish to the moonpool flap, and how Ari had saved his ass by telling the irate technicians that he, Tony, was one of the good guys. After that, he said, they went to work getting their dragon-shit covered back up with lots and lots of water. That had even helped the county water problem, because they sucked a lot of the contaminated stuff back into the moonpool when they restarted the pumps.

The rest of my day was spent talking to the FBI. Sometimes they really like to talk. I was more than ready to get out of there that evening and get back to Southport and my dwindling supply of Scotch. Tony said he’d met someone interesting at the Hilton and asked if I’d mind if he stayed in town. Fine by me. I thought I might just go “home” and sulk, maybe even get wasted, something I hadn’t done in a long time. I also thought briefly about going over to County on the way back to visit young Billy Summers. Maybe squeeze an IV tube or three. But if McMichaels was right, and they’d amputated what I thought they’d amputated, that was good enough. For the moment, anyway. I could probably find him again if I wanted to.

I grabbed a greaseburger on the way into Southport and then went to the beach house. I was disappointed to find Buroids waiting. They warned me that subject Moira Maxwell was thought to be still in the Wilmington area, and said they would like to stake out my pad on the possibility that she might try to contact me.

“Why on earth would she do that?” I asked.

The young agent looked at me patiently. Then I understood. “My Bureau didn’t tell you why to stake out my house,” I said. “Just to effing do it, right?”

They both nodded, happy to not have to explain something they probably didn’t understand anyway. I asked them if they wanted to come in the house or just hang around within visual range. They chose the latter, and one of them gave me his pager in case something happened.

I went back inside, and they disappeared up the street. I wasn’t too worried about Mad Moira. I might have foiled her big show, but she had plenty of spleen left for her native land, and I assumed she’d know not to get within a mile of me or my people.

Another assumption shot to hell. When I turned on the lights in the kitchen, there she was, my favorite redheaded harpy complete with a nasty-looking, nickel-plated handgun and her computer bags. She’d cut her lovely red hair down to a skullcap that only a lesbian could love, and she appeared to be dressed for travel. Through the back window I could see Tony’s vehicle.

“Hey, cellmate,” she said. “Why don’t you just relax and sit down for a minute.”

“You know there’s Bureau in the neighborhood, don’t you?” I said, sitting down, and regretting that the kitchen could not be seen from the street. How in the hell did she get Tony’s car?

“Oh, them,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “I have some friends taking care of that problem.”

“You have friends?” I asked.

She slid into a chair opposite me and gave me that fire-eyed grin. “Believe it or not, Lieutenant. Not only friends but like-minded citizens who are more than willing to help me on my little crusade. We’re not done, not by a long shot.”

“What are you doing here, Moira? You’re not mad at me, are you?”

She barked a laugh. “Do you think?” she said. “But actually, this”-she waved the purse gun-“this is for my protection. I just wanted to tell you face-to-face that we’ll never stop until America regains its freedom and the rest of the world is safe from our grievously aggressive government and our runaway military-industrial complex. We intend to show them that the people are the real weapons of mass destruction when it comes to tyranny.”

I almost said blah-blah-blah. I hadn’t heard this bullshit since watching some of those sixties movies, but it was coming from the same quarter it usually did: arrogantly overeducated people who’d never been out there on life’s front lines. I said nothing, and just waited. I wondered if there was any way I could activate that pager in my pocket without her noticing.

“You don’t believe me?” she asked, frustrated at my silence.

“Don’t you think, Moira,” I said, “that creating incidents of terror will only strengthen the government’s resolve? Make it grab even more authority? If Trask was right, and the country’s become dangerously complacent, what you guys tried was exactly the wrong thing to do, wasn’t it?”

She shook her head. “What we’ll create is doubt-doubt about the government’s ability to protect the masses of citizens in this country who already feel powerless. Doubt about the moral underpinning of this so-called war on terror. Doubt about who the bad guys really are: them or maybe us. And from doubt springs true revolution.”

I’d finally had it, even if she did have a gun. “Oh, c’mon, Moira,” I said. “Masses and classes? That bullshit went out with Karl Marx caps and granny glasses. Communism is dead, or hadn’t you heard?”