Damage Control

by Gordon Savage

  When I got back to the living room, Kitt was putting her phone away. “I called security and told them to get your clearance information from TRA and make sure our guards know to let you in. You’re coming with me.” She caught my arm and headed for the door.

  ◆◆◆

  Day 7, 9:15AM

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Kitt said, glancing at me as we drove down Dulles Access Road.

  “Just thinking,” I answered. I gazed at the traffic ahead of us while I thought. The road was busy at this hour of Sunday morning. Cars seemed to be flying by, but I knew Kitt meticulously stuck to the speed limit. “I had quite an adventure while I was out for my walk.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Oh, I stumbled on a mugging in progress.” I rattled off the story as succinctly as possible. I watched her face as her expression changed from neutral to “you’ve got to be kidding me.” I wasn’t surprised when she squawked, “You what?”

  “I took his gun away. Apparently I confused him enough that he couldn’t make up his mind what to do, so I grabbed the gun when he pointed it away from me.”

  I stopped as my own thoughts changed course. “In a way I can almost sympathize with him. He was confused, and right now so am I. I’ve got a job to do, but I don’t know how I’m going to get it done. While I was talking to Dr. Frost on Tuesday, I stuck my neck out and volunteered to investigate the explosion to find the real cause. This detective business isn’t as easy as they make it look on TV. Especially since Director Wells has locked up teleportal research by making a bogus claim that the explosion Monday night was caused by matter/antimatter interaction. He’s gone so far as to have most of the evidence confiscated and destroyed some of it.”

  She turned her head to look at me again. “Isn’t that against the law?”

  “Not if there was no crime, and Wells is doing his best to make sure it goes down as a teleportal accident. I disagree, of course, but I really don’t know how to prove it yet. Let’s face it, Frost pushed the right buttons when he praised my ability to work with limited information. I don’t think he was deliberately setting me up, but I’m finding out I’m no detective. What if I can’t do the job? This no research on teleportals crap will just put us behind the rest of the world.”

  Kitt turned into the Pentagon parking lot. “So how did you get involved with this teleportal business anyway? Did it have something to do with your trip to Arizona a while back?”

  I suddenly realized we hadn’t really talked about my adventures in Arizona, and the story of what happened was quietly swept under the rug outside of Arizona. I banged the heel of my hand against my forehead. “Wow. We both do so much classified work that we never talk about our jobs. My trip to Arizona wasn’t classified. When we talked about it – and the safe house – earlier, I didn’t elaborate out of habit. I’ll have to tell you the whole story later, but right now we seem to have arrived. I’ll just say that was the trip where I learned all about teleportals and actually went through a pair of them.”

  She pulled into a reserved parking spot and stopped. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  ◆◆◆

  Day 7, 9:45AM

  The Pentagon is a complex building. At times I wondered if it was made that way to confuse anyone who was trying to infiltrate it. After I got a visitor’s badge, Kitt led me to a conference room via a circuitous route.

  We stepped into a room full of brass. I had not seen so many high ranking officers in one place since I briefed the Joint Command in Afghanistan. As a major Kitt was the lowest ranking officer in the room, although there was an Air Force chief master sergeant distributing folders around the table.

  Kitt walked me around the room introducing me to the dozen or so colonels and generals assembled there. The last one she introduced me to was Gen. Magnuson, a four-star. He shook my hand and said, “I understand you were in the Marine Corps.”

  “Yes sir. I was an active Marine for five years.”

  “Why did you get out?” He asked.

  He was getting into uncomfortable territory, but I decided to answer him. “I had a breakdown of sorts. My fiancé was killed by an IED right front of my eyes. It took me a few years to recover from that.”

  He had the grace to look flustered but regained his composure right away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get that personal.” He looked at his watch and said, “Excuse me. I have to get this show on the road.”

  He walked to the head of the table and announced, “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, let’s get on with this.” He looked directly at me. “We have a special consultant today, Ms. Samantha Pederson. I believe you’ve all been introduced her. She’s here because of her personal experience with teleportals.”

  Magnuson asked me to brief the group on my experience with teleportals. I followed that with a Q&A to clear up any misconceptions about how teleportals work. It must been helpful because the discussion around the table actually made sense as scenarios were brought up. Some of the ideas that were generated were actually practical and promised to make effective exercises. The one I found most intriguing was a suggestion that there might be some kind of anti-teleportal interference that could be put up around the Pentagon. I didn’t know whether it was possible, but it sounded like something worth looking into, sort of like the metro cell phone blocker. I planned to pass the question on to the Alternates to see if they had done any work on interference.

  ◆◆◆

  Day 7, 7:00PM

  The meeting wrapped up around 7:00 pm. After I turned in my temporary badge, Kitt drove us home, and we walked to a pizza place close to the condo.

  As we waited for our dinner, Kitt asked, “So what did you think?”

  “I hate to say it but I saw the same thing I see in meetings at work, a few people jealously guarding their own territory to the detriment of finding real solutions to the problem. I thought Gen. Magnuson did a good job of keeping everyone on track though. And I really am going to look into Col. Gifford’s suggestion.”

  She nodded. “You mean blocking teleportal connections with some kind of interference? Do you think Dr. Kim has given the idea of using interference as a shield any thought?”

  I shrugged as I realized that Kitt and I hadn’t really talked about where I had been for most of the past month. “She’s really sharp, but if she hasn’t, I’ll bet the Alternates have.”

  Her eyes widened. “The Alternates? Oh, those are the people in the other universe. What can you tell me about them?”

  I spent the rest of the meal explaining our contact with the other universe.

  Chapter 18

  Robert Cannon, Channel 6 News: “There has been quite an uproar since the release Saturday of Ben Williams’s video of last Monday’s explosion during the late Duncan Reid’s teleportal demonstration. It seems the government has deliberately misled us once again. I approached Roger McClosky of Homeland Security to find out what he could tell me about the video.”

  [Video clip of McClosky looking frazzled] McClosky: Well naturally, since this is a national security issue, we take this leak very seriously. My office is investigating it as a possible violation of security regulations.” [Clip ends]

  Cannon: “When pressed he wouldn’t say more.”

  – Channel 6 News

  Day 8, 7:00AM

  I called PSA 400 Monday morning and found that Officer LaMotte had already been discharged from the hospital. Because of her injury she was temporarily assigned to desk duty, so I made arrangements with her to meet as soon as I could get to the station. I caught the Metro into DC and walked to the PSA station. When I arrived, she took me to an interrogation room and made sure the cameras and microphones were turned off. Closing the door and indicating a chair to me, she took a seat across the table from me. She asked, “How can I help you?”

  I took the chair. “I’ve found some pretty conclusive evidence that as you suspected the explosion took place on the ground floor. Because of that I firmly believe it couldn’t have been caused by th
e teleportal. Despite Director Wells’ stance that we don’t know enough about wormholes to be certain they wouldn’t displace, my experience is that teleportals stabilize the interface and no way could it occur outside the confines of the portal itself. On top of that the video shows clearly that Reid had not activated the portal. The computer keyboard and mouse were out of his reach.” She nodded and I continued. “So something else had to have caused the explosion. Right now I’m trying to find out what that might be. For instance, could it have been a natural gas explosion? Or did someone plant an explosive? By now Homeland should have cleared you to talk to me. I was wondering if you remembered anything else that might help.”

  “I can tell you right off the bat that it wasn’t natural gas. The building was disconnected from the gas main. It had been for years.” She studied me before continuing. “I gather you think the explosion was intentional. That would make it murder.”

  “Exactly. In the light of there being no gas supply and the teleportal wasn’t involved, I’m hoping to come up with enough evidence to convince you guys to reopen the case.”

  She frowned slightly. “You already know the DC police force is joined at the hip with Homeland. We’ll have to go through them to reopen the case, and they gave us direct orders to close it.”

  “How does that sit with you personally?”

  She grinned. “Not worth a damn,” she said with emphasis.

  “I didn’t think so.” I smiled back at her. “But you’re right of course. I should have said come up with enough evidence to get Homeland to let you reopen the case.”

  “And how do I fit in?” she asked.

  “If I understand correctly, explosions tend to leave behind distinctive odors. Did you notice any at the scene?”

  “Yeah. There was a definite odor of almonds, a trademark of C4.”

  “C4? Are you sure?” This could be what I was looking for.

  She hedged a little. “That’s what I remember. But C4 isn’t the only thing that smells of almonds.”

  “No gas odor?”

  “As I said, the building didn’t have a natural gas supply. I checked.”

  I carefully asked the crucial question, “Did you see, hear, or smell anything that suggested an accidental explosion?”

  She shook her head and fell silent. I let her think about it. Finally she spoke – slowly, as if she had just arrived at an understanding, “If this wasn’t an accident, it had to be deliberate. It was murder.” She got to her feet. “I need to talk to the captain about this. Come with me. You have that information you talked about with you, don’t you?”

  I showed her the USB drive.

  We crossed the bullpen to the captain’s door. She rapped on it.

  “Come.”

  The sign on the desk said “Stephen Romero.” He looked surprised when he saw me and glanced quizzically at LaMotte. We both walked in. She said, “Captain, this is Agent Samantha Pederson. She’s conducting an independent investigation of the explosion last week.”

  Romero shook my hand, still looking at me with a strange expression. Realizing it was the bandages, I had to acknowledge it. “I was across the street when the building blew.”

  His expression relaxed. He waved an arm at the chairs in front of his desk. “What can I do for you?”

  As we sat, LaMotte answered, “She has new evidence that the explosion was intentional, not the line Homeland is handing us. It was murder, not an accident.”

  “So? Explain.” It didn’t sound sarcastic, more like interested.

  I took a few minutes to go through what I knew, including running Williams’ video. He looked duly impressed but a little dismayed.

  LaMotte pushed the issue. “Sir, if it was murder, shouldn’t we be investigating it?”

  He interlocked his hands in front of him, almost in a prayerful pose. I could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “Perhaps, but we have specific orders from Homeland to keep out of it.”

  “Aren’t we part of Homeland when it comes to investigating possible murders, like terrorist attacks? We should be investigating this.” LaMotte insisted.

  “Unfortunately Officer LaMotte, I agree with you. It isn’t right, but we have our orders.”

  He turned to study me. “I’m sorry, Agent Pederson, the best I can do is pass on your evidence to our superiors in Homeland, but if they don’t change our orders, my hands are tied.”

  Spoken like a true bureaucrat, I thought. Still, I refused to give up. “Sir, you’ll need this.” I handed him the USB drive. “If you want me to help explain anything, please don’t hesitate to call. This is really important.”

  With a pained expression he said, “I’ll pass this along. Thank you.”

  Just like that we were dismissed. Back at LaMotte’s desk, she dropped into her chair, looking decidedly unhappy. She said, “Capt. Romero is a good man. He’ll pass on your video, but he obviously doesn’t expect Homeland to do anything with it… Damn!”

  I frowned. “So it’s still up to me.”

  She nodded ruefully.

  “But you can still provide me with whatever information you have, can’t you?”

  “What Homeland hasn’t confiscated, sure. The folder is pretty thin.” She picked up the one on her desk and handed it to me.

  I flipped through it quickly. “Not much here…” Then I thought of something. “There was a confrontation between Reid and another man on the front of the video.” I pulled up his image on my phone and showed it to her. “Any idea who he was?”

  She shook her head. “‘Fraid not.”

  “I think he could have been another student at the university. I didn’t notice anything in the folder about anyone checking out Reid’s dorm. Do you have his information? I want to start there.”

  She keyed in Reid’s name on her computer, and came up with his dorm and room number, his courses, and his instructors for the current semester.

  “This is great. One more thing: Do you know if there were any security cameras nearby that would show anyone going in or out of the building?”

  “The building’s cameras all were destroyed by the explosion, but the cameras were connected to a private security company. They had recordings right up to the blast.”

  “Do you have the recordings?”

  “Homeland picked our copies up from the security company, so we never saw them.” She picked up her phone. “Let me check with the security company.”

  The call was brief. When she hung up the phone, she handed me the note she had written while talking. “They still have the originals going back thirty days. Talk to Sal when you get there.”

  The address was on the note.

  ◆◆◆

  Day 8, 9:30AM

  I wanted to see this guy Sal right away, but there was no way I would miss my appointment with Dr. Nazary. I had to be able to drive. I caught a cab to the hospital. On the way the driver kept looking at me in the mirror. With my bandages and my grim expression I probably looked like somebody he didn’t want to take any chances with. I would have let it pass, but he eventually asked, “Fight with your boyfriend?”

  “You should see Jake,” I answered, trying to be glib. Now why did I say that? I wondered. But I knew: I was more than a little pissed over Jake not telling me he had people out appropriating the videos. I guessed Wells had probably ordered Jake to keep a lid on the investigation, but it still ticked me off.

  I waited in the exam room for what felt like an hour, but the minutes on my watch crawled by. Finally Nazary knocked on the door. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” What else could he say? The examination took all of fifteen minutes. He stepped back and peered at me. “That dizzy spell of yours still bothers me, but you passed all the tests with no difficulty. I’d say you’re safe to drive. Just don’t do something to prove me wrong.” He looked over his notes and continued. “I’d like to see you again in four weeks. In the meantime, if you have any problems – headaches, dizziness, disorientation, you have my number. Call and ha
ve someone else drive you to the hospital.”

  I made the appointment on my way out.

  ◆◆◆

  Day 8, 10:30AM

  Sal turned out to be a tall, thin, middle-aged man with black hair and a wispy mustache. He was effusively helpful, and I got the feeling he didn’t have many visitors. He showed me to a monitor and brought up the videos covering the parking lot and the surrounding open space. He leaned over me and showed me how to advance and freeze the recordings. When I looked up at him, he backed away with a slight frown as if wondering what he had done. Then he smiled brightly. “If you need any help, just call. I’ll be happy to run you off a copy of anything you want.” His face flushed as he walked away. Clearly he didn’t have many visitors.

  Using the time stamp of Williams’ video, I made a guess as to when the TV vans had begun arriving and started watching the surveillance video there. I had to fast forward only a few minutes to see the first van appear. Shortly after that Reid showed up and unlocked the building. I checked out each individual going in, looking for anyone carrying a suspicious load. It didn’t take long to work my way up to when Williams and his team pulled up. By then five people, including Reid, had already entered the building. Not long afterwards the man who had argued with Reid showed up. He wasn’t carrying anything bulky, not even a back pack. When he came out of the building, I slowed the video down to one frame per second and followed him down the street to a parked car. It appeared to be an older model, perhaps a Plymouth, but the license plate was too far from the camera to make out any of its numbers. The man took out his cell phone and made a call before getting into the car, and then he drove off. The car had disappeared from the video several minutes before the building exploded. Had he used the phone to set off the blast?

  Continuing my search, I was stunned when there it was, the cab that I had been in. I stifled a gasp. As the video ran, I wanted to yell for the cabbie to drive on, but of course I couldn’t.