Damage Control

by Gordon Savage

  Virginia Clausen: “[Subdued chuckle] Thank you … I think. Actually, I‘m both pleased and honored to have been appointed to this job. And as you implied, I do face significant challenges with the potential advent of teleportal transportation. I believe I’m up to those challenges. Certainly, there is an enormous amount of work to do to overcome the obstacles and make a smooth transition.”

  Kimberley Naughton: “When you were first nominated for this position, teleportals were unknown. Were you tempted to withdraw from the nomination when you found out about them?”

  Virginia Clausen: “I have to admit that when I discovered the impact these devices were going to have on the energy industry I was dismayed at the prospect of having to deal with the whole issue, but I’m intrigued by the challenge. For the sake of the country this new technology must be handled, and I believe it can be. It will be difficult, but it’s also important, and I want to contribute to overcoming the challenges we now face.”

  People in the News – Channel 6

  Day 4, 10:00AM

  When the train got to Reston, I needed to work off my frustration. Even though I was supposed to take it easy, I walked the almost mile to my condo, and it cleared my head some. I went back to trying to think of other ways to get more information about the explosion. The police and the fire department had certainly been on the scene. Maybe I could get something out of them. Come to think of it, since it had been an outright explosion, I’d need to talk to the arson investigator. And I still wanted to check with all the TV stations that had cameras at the scene. There might be some footage that Jake’s flunkies hadn’t gotten to.

  I took out my phone and started making calls. My first contact was the police station that had responded to the explosion. The voice on the other end sounded bored. “PSA 400. This is Officer McCarthy. How may I help you?” I think I heard a poorly stifled yawn. I almost asked if he was having a slow day, but then I realized he probably had a reason to be tired. This Police Service Area had been on the hot seat for the past couple of days, so he’d undoubtedly been answering a lot of calls.

  “Hi. This is Federal Agent Samantha Pederson. This is the PSA that responded to the explosion the night before last, correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am. If you’ll hold, I’ll transfer you to Lt. Best. He’s handling inquiries about the explosion. ”

  “Wait. I’m conducting an independent investigation of the explosion. I need to talk to one of the officers who actually responded to the blast.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Who do you represent?”

  Sensing he was about to be summarily dismiss me, I plowed on. “TRA Investigations.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t recognize that office. I’ll have to see some identification before I can give out any information about an on-going investigation.”

  “I’d be pleased to show you my ID. I can come in tomorrow.” Sometimes tact is an absolute necessity. “Would it be possible for you to tell me when to be there to talk to an officer who was on scene?”

  “The patrol officers have their morning briefing at 6:30 a.m. It usually lasts about ten minutes. They leave on patrol right after that. If you catch one of them right before or right after the briefing, they should be able to give you a few minutes. Or you could catch them at the end of the shift. They normally clock out around 4:30 p.m.”

  I wondered about trying to make the 4:30 clock-out this afternoon. There was plenty of time since it was only 10:45. But to make it, I’d have to check the train schedule and be careful to catch the right one and … Who was I kidding? I wasn’t feeling all that great yet. I’d have to see how the rest of the day played out, and Nazary’s instructions continued to nag at me. Plus there were other things I needed to check into that would more than keep me busy and weren’t so demanding physically. My best bet was undoubtedly to take it easy for the rest of the day and get to the police station the next morning well before roll call. That should give me time to get my ID verified. I thanked Officer McCarthy and signed off.

  Next, I brought up a DC map with fire stations on it and made a guess as to which fire station had responded to the explosion. A woman answered. “Battalion 4, Lt. Avery speaking. How may I help you?”

  When I asked if I could speak to someone who had responded to the blast, she told me directly but very respectfully, “The crews that responded to the blast just started their days off. They won’t be back on day shift until Sunday.”

  That’s right, there was a controversy over the working hours for the fire department that hadn’t yet been resolved. The union case about the shift schedule was still pending appeal, but management had gone ahead with implementing it, and sometimes the wheels of justice seem to take forever to settle a dispute.

  This complicated my problem. I had made a good guess and found the right station, but I needed answers, and I didn’t want to wait until Sunday. Who knew what Wells would do next? I tried again. “My investigation is time critical. Is there any way I can get contact information so I can meet with someone who was on the ground at the scene?”

  “Normally that would be Captain Blanchard,” she answered. “He’s out on a call right now. If you’ll give me your phone number, I’ll pass your request along to him when he comes in.”

  Something about the use of the word “normally” made me leery, but I was sure it was the best offer I was going to get. I gave her my number.

  Having reached the front entrance to my condo, I thanked Lt. Avery and pocketed my phone. By then I had walked all the way home and still hadn’t figured out for sure who I would be talking to in either the police department or the fire department.

  ◆◆◆

  Day 4, 10:45AM

  Inside the condo I realized I hadn’t checked my mail the day before and stopped at my mail box. Kitt had been picking up my mail while I was gone, so there were some ads and a few bills, nothing urgent. I headed for the stairs, busy thinking about what I could accomplish with the rest of my day. I suddenly realized that I was exhausted even though I really hadn’t done that much. Maybe it was stress. I took the elevator instead of climbing the stairs.

  Cardinal Richelieu was waiting near the door. It was as if he hadn’t yet accepted that I was really home. Taking off my coat and dropping the mail on the hall table, I picked him up and headed for the couch. I was only going to sit long enough to get my wind back, but with the cardinal purring on my lap, I was soon napping, dreaming of Dwayne again. Not the explosion, but the night I first ran into him in Afghanistan. I hadn’t seen him since high school, where we had been close friends. This time it was different. I was drawn to him, and in my dream I felt that magic again.

  I woke an hour later. My phone was ringing. “This is Battalion Chief Blanchard. I understand you need to talk to someone from the crew that responded to the explosion the other night.”

  I was still wrapped in the warmth of that night with Dwayne and didn’t want to give it up. “I’m sorry, who?”

  The voice said, “Battalion Chief Blanchard. Lt. Avery said you called.”

  His words snapped me into sharp focus. I apologized, “Sorry, I was distracted. Yes, Chief Blanchard, I’m Federal Agent Samantha Pederson. I’m conducting an independent investigation of the explosion three nights ago. Can you put me in touch with the crew that responded to it?”

  I could hear the suspicion in his voice. “Aren’t you the woman we pulled out of the wrecked cab? If you’re looking to sue us …”

  Oh boy, a politician. “No sir, I’m not going to be suing anyone. Your people saved my life, and I received the best of care. I’ve been asked to pin down the real cause of the explosion, and I need to talk to trained observers who were there to find out what they saw.”

  He sounded skeptical. “The real cause? I thought the government had decided it was a matter/antimatter explosion.”

  If I was going to get contact information, I’d have to convince him that I was genuinely looking for evidence. “The government jumped to the wrong conclusion
or at least indulged in wishful thinking. I’ve talked with experts who flatly denied that this kind of explosion could have been a matter/antimatter interaction. They suggested looking for a more conventional source. I could explain their thinking, but I don’t want to waste your time. Since it couldn’t have matter/antimatter, I’ve been tasked with looking for the real cause.”

  There was an extended silence from the chief.

  I urged him as gently as I could. “I really need to talk to someone who was there after the explosion, and I’d greatly appreciate your help.”

  I must have gotten through, or maybe I had just worn him down. He gave me the watch commander, Capt. Weigner’s, home phone number.

  Feeling a little less tired, I checked the time. It wasn’t yet 1:00 o’clock. Not having any idea what Weigner would be doing on his day off—what with how weird the watch rotation was: three twelve hour days on, a day off, three twelve hour nights, and three days off—I decided I might as well call.

  His wife answered and was surprisingly pleasant when I asked for him.

  A moment later he was on the phone. “This is Weigner. How can I help you?”

  “Capt. Weigner, thank you for speaking with me. I’m Federal Agent Samantha Pederson, and I’m conducting an independent investigation of the explosion the other night.”

  “Ms. Pederson, I’m glad to hear you’re up and around.”

  That response puzzled me. He sounded as if we’d met. I asked, “I’m sorry, do I know you?” I had absolutely no recollection of him.

  He laughed. “No, no, you were out cold at the time. I helped pull you out of the cab. I’m gratified to hear you’ve recovered so rapidly.”

  Shocked, I stammered, “You saved my life? … Th-thank you.”

  “Not really, we were just the first ones on scene. My team got both you and the cabbie out just as the EMTs arrived. They could have done it.”

  “Thank you anyway. I’d give you a big hug if this were in person.”

  He gave a quick, quiet chuckle. “What can I do for you?”

  I went into my spiel. “I’m trying to find the real cause of that explosion and hope you can talk to me about it.”

  “I’d be happy to.” Pay dirt! Someone who could and would still talk to me.

  “Great,” I said. “Can you tell me what you saw and what you thought happened?”

  He began with “Where do I start?”

  I took that to be a rhetorical question and held back any response.

  “First of all, it was a really powerful blast. That’s why, when the government declared it a matter/antimatter explosion, it sounded so plausible. But to be honest there were indications that it was a chemical explosion. For one thing there was the odor. It made me think of C4. Then there were the pieces of some kind of electronics smashed into the stub of a steel support beam on the ground floor, of course, since that was all that was left. My guess would be a cell phone. The blast blew outward so fast it sucked out the fire with it, so you could still see the circuits in some of the pieces.”

  That sounded promising. “Did you collect any of the pieces?”

  “I was tempted, but I left them for the arson investigator. Homeland arrived and threw us out before he got there.”

  I bit back my disappointment. Anything Homeland had collected went into a black hole. Still, I had to ask, “You don’t happen to remember the Homeland guy’s name, do you?”

  He answered immediately, “Yeah, Lovato, Hector Lovato.”

  The name wasn’t familiar. He wasn’t one of Jake’s agents so he must have been a real Homeland agent. I wrote his name down. “Did you notice anything else?”

  There was a brief pause, as if he was recalling the experience. “Well, the blast pattern looked like the explosion occurred on the ground floor. I’ll try to describe it for you. The warehouse was built on a solid concrete base. There was an indentation at the center of the blast pattern that was too deep to have been part of the original structure. The depression was so deep some of the rebar in the floor was exposed.”

  I interrupted. “The rebar used to reinforce the floor?”

  “Yep. The indentation was about four inches deep. The explosion had obviously shattered the concrete on top of it, and the vacuum sucked most of the fragments out of the hole.”

  I was getting a fairly solid mental image. “Anything else?”

  He continued. “Farther out there were pieces of steel girders and aluminum framing still attached to the concrete. The pieces were all bent in a pattern that spread away from the hole. According to the building plans the hole was in what was originally a store room. It wasn’t part of Reid’s project. He only leased the second floor. The ground floor was unused but open to anyone who came in the building.”

  I was stunned. That room would have been the perfect place to plant explosives. Put them in cardboard boxes and no one would think twice about them. In fact, it was unlikely anyone would bother to look in the room. While my recollection of what I had learned about C4 in the marines was hazy, Weigner’s description suggested a lot of explosive. I could picture some hefty guy carrying box after box of C4 into the warehouse.

  I asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have photographs, would you?”

  “Unfortunately, no. The Homeland guy confiscated my SD card. At least he didn’t take my camera…. Wait a minute. I did bring my notebook home. I made some detailed drawings. Let me get it and scan it.”

  He was offline for a minute or so. When he returned he asked, “The files were pretty big so I’m uploading them to Dropbox. I’ll send you the access address as soon as they finish loading. Where do you want me to send it?”

  I wondered, So big they won’t go in regular email? They must really be detailed. After I gave him my email address, he asked, “Is there anything else I can tell you?”

  “I can’t think of anything. I really appreciate your help. And thanks again for pulling me out of that wreck.”

  ◆◆◆

  Day 4, 12:25PM

  While I waited for the drawings, I looked up phone numbers for the other TV stations. I had been lucky this morning. My status as an agent had gotten me into Channel twelve because Mayhew wasn’t busy. I couldn’t count on luck for the other stations. This time I would start by calling.

  I ate a quick lunch, and as soon as the DropBox address of the drawings arrived, I started them downloading. Then I sat down with my phone. Each TV station seemed to tell the same story. The person I needed to talk to was either busy or not available. For most of them the receptionist or whoever the gatekeeper was eagerly set up an appointment. A few asked me to confirm I was really a federal agent. I had to refer them to Jake, which did two things, remind me I was mad at him and make me realize I needed a badge.

  When I finished with the TV stations I called Jake to express my frustration and find out what it would take to get a badge. But when I dialed his number, my better judgement kicked in. I decided to not say anything about the videos being confiscated.

  “You’re really pressing it, Pederson. You’re not in my department and you don’t have a charge number for this nonsense.” He sounded angry, and I had to wonder if he’d already gotten too many phone calls asking about my legitimacy. But he was wrong; it wasn’t nonsense.

  I let my frustration slip out. “Dammit, Jake, you know that if Wells is wrong about this—and he is, someone will get away with mass murder.”

  “Alright, what’s the charge number you’re using? I’ll have a badge for you.” He didn’t sound appeased.

  That was a relief. I gave him the number. “When can I pick it up?”

  He laughed. “Boy, you don’t give up, do you? I’ll be here until six.”

  I didn’t expect that. “You mean now?”

  “What part of ‘until six’ don’t you understand?” Now he was toying with me.

  “I can be there in half an hour. Will that work?” I didn’t say I’d be on foot.

  “See you then.” He hung up.


  Chapter 12

  Langston May, WSKY-FM: “Crude oil futures made a surprise comeback today with news of a government moratorium on teleportal operations. The price jumped from seventeen dollars a barrel to forty five. The question remains, is government intervention likely to continue or will it be removed as more information becomes available about the explosion that brought on the moratorium.

  “Buoyed by the rise in oil prices the stock market showed cautious gains in almost every sector.”

  Evening Report, 6:45 PM – WSKY-FM

  Day 4, 2:45PM

  Jake was getting up from his desk when I knocked on his door frame. I announced myself by nearly snarling as I said, “Jake, your people seem to have made an impression at Channel Twelve.”

  “Hi, Sam.” Coffee knitted his brow at me, probably because of my own frown. “You made good time. What’s this about Channel Twelve?”

  My frustration got the better of me. I raised my voice several decibels. “Two things: why the hell didn’t you tell me your people were out collecting the videos of the explosion? And how do I get to see them?”

  He looked disturbed and a little angry, and I was afraid my big mouth had overdone it. Then he said, “The answer to your first question I that I didn’t think of it.” Continuing to look annoyed, he shook his head. “If I didn’t understand your frustration, I’d be escorting you out the door right now. The answer to the second question, you can’t. Wells had them all destroyed as soon as we brought them in.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I shouted, “He WHAT? Those videos were the best evidence we had of what really happened!”

  He actually cringed. “Hey, don’t tell me. Wells had it done before I even knew what was going on.”

  I immediately regretted yelling. “Sorry to blow up like that. I guess I’m letting this thing become personal.”

  He scanned my bandages. “I can see why.”

  “No, not because of my injuries. It’s because I know what this teleportal business means to us – hell, to the whole world. It’s too important to be suppressed. All Wells is doing is putting us behind everybody else. There’ll be other Reids.”