Ted leaned closer. “Dr. Trân has analyzed the workforce at LB5 for the past few years, from documents Pauline Strand got in discovery. They’re all long-term employees at LB5—most from Hanford, though some are transfers from other defense facilities. They even have their own security personnel at the site. Men who never go anywhere else. We think that most or all of the permanent LB5 workers are aware of the experimentation in the lower levels—though probably not the details. They likely think it’s government sanctioned. But our theory is that the small accident caused some injuries on site, leaving Covington unexpectedly short. Since they had to show DOE a full roster of maintenance and security personnel, for a short time in October they were forced to bring some people on site who weren’t on their team.”
“Including Kieran, and Poppy and the rest?”
“You mean Patrick Martin? We didn’t know his name until you learned it at trial, but yes. It’s the only explanation we can come up with for the risk of bringing Kieran and the others on-site. Then the October explosion made the place we’re headed to a regular visiting site for several weeks.”
They came over a small hill, and Ryan saw Heather slow her horse and point low past the horse’s withers.
As he came closer, the starlight was enough for Ryan to make out faint car tracks on the ground ten feet below them, directed west. With a kick, Heather got her horse moving again, following the tracks.
A hundred yards ahead they rounded a ridge. Heather brought her horse to a halt again before sliding off its flank to the ground. She untied her rope from her waist and cast it around the horse’s neck, handing this lead to her father before ascending the sloping ground a few yards away.
Heather stopped halfway up the slope, scuffing her foot in the dirt and then dropping to her knees on the gentle slope and rustling with her fingers in the loose earth. After a moment, her fingers seemed to get purchase. She looked up at her grandfather.
“C’mon and help,” Ted grunted in Ryan’s direction as he slid from his horse.
Emily took all four horses’ ropes as Ryan walked to where Heather and her grandfather were crouched. Kneeling, he dug his fingers into the ground where Ted motioned.
Immediately he could feel it. There was a lip of heavy, weighted cloth here, under the loose soil. At another signal from Ted, they each rose with a handful of the cloth in hand, scattering dirt as it pulled up and away from the slope.
As they set the cover to the ground, Ryan stepped back from the space revealed.
Beneath the overturned earth was a darker surface, smooth and blacker than the surrounding soil. A light suddenly cut the darkness and Ryan turned to see Ted cupping a flashlight in his hand, pointing toward the dark space.
“It’s a door,” Ted said. “Cut into the underlying rock face here.” Then he pointed to a rectangular impression on one side. “That’s a magnetic lock.”
“What’s underneath the door?” Ryan asked.
“The trash of Project Wolffia,” Heather said quietly.
Ryan shook his head. “What’s Project Wolffia?”
“Some of our . . . friends in Sherman overheard that phrase used by persons we believe were scientists on the project. We think it’s their name for the project. Wolffia is the name of the smallest blossoming flower in the world.”
Scientists with a sense of humor, Ryan thought. Or irony.
“So how do you know the trash from the project’s under here?” Emily called up the slope.
“Other than the observations I already told you about,” Ted said, “we’ve brought Geiger counters. The radiation levels are safe here on the surface, but they’ve gone up the past year. A lot. Then, around the October explosion, we found that shard I showed you, plus a couple more smaller ones. We must have just missed crossing paths with a hurried disposal trip, because it was the first and only time we found debris here on the surface. We believe it’s from the casing for the chemical trigger—the one that exploded in October when Kieran was in the building. That material sealed it for Dr. Trân’s conclusion about what they’re doing at LB5.”
It was cold out tonight, but Ryan scarcely noticed in his growing excitement. If Pollock and his granddaughter were right—and it was all starting to make sense now—then underneath this door was the proof he needed to win Kieran’s case. He was standing over the evidence that would turn this jury on a dime.
“So how do we get inside?”
Heather shook her head. “We have no way to open this.”
He couldn’t have heard that right. “There’s got to be a way,” he protested.
It was Ted’s turn to shake his head now. “We tried to see if we could get a duplicate magnetic key to open it, but this is a sophisticated, programmed mechanism. There’s no way for us to get a duplicate key or break in.”
“Then we get the authorities out here and force them to open it up,” Emily said.
Ted shook his head again. “If we go to the authorities, we have to admit we’ve been on the grounds. We’re more likely to get arrested than convince DOE to search this place. And even if we’re successful, by the time we can convince anyone to take us seriously, Covington will have arranged to close this up for good.”
Ryan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What was the point of coming out here, taking all this risk, if there was no way to use the evidence under their feet? “Well, we can use that shard,” Ryan pressed. “Have Dr. Trân identify it at trial. It might be enough for Judge Johnston to let us inspect LB5—and eventually gather enough evidence to get into this debris pile. It could make Kieran’s case.”
“Not so fast,” Ted answered firmly, turning fully toward Ryan in the dark. “We wish Kieran the best, but winning his case isn’t what this is about. The reason we offered to help Kieran was to create an opportunity to prove the existence of Wolffia. We hoped your case would get us a tour of the LB5 rooms where the experiments have gone on, and give Dr. Trân a chance to develop more proof of the project. The important thing here is to gather enough evidence to get DOE’s attention and get Project Wolffia shut down for good, along with any future plans Covington might have for secret research at Hanford.”
He pointed to the ground. “But like I said before, if we move too soon, make it clear we know about this place while Covington can still manipulate security on the reservation, they’ll just remove the debris and bury this site so there’s no sign of it. Not only do we fail to shut down Wolffia, we reveal our presence out here and lose years of work. That doesn’t do either of us any good.”
Which was why they’d stepped so gingerly into the litigation in the first place, Ryan thought.
They stood silently in the dark for several minutes until Ted said they should be leaving. Together, they replaced the cover over the door and spread dirt back across its surface. Ted took care to kick away the signs of their footsteps as Heather walked to the horses, taking the ropes from Emily’s hand and examining each animal in turn. “I think we should give them a little more rest,” she called up the slope.
Ted nodded and eased himself down onto the ground.
Ryan settled onto the dirt beside him. “I still need to understand something else, Ted. You still haven’t explained why you’re all wrapped up in this.”
Ted picked up a rock and began tracing in the dirt. “It’s a hobby,” he said.
Ryan shook his head. “I’m serious. You’ve got me and my daughter up to our eyeballs in this thing, including breaking federal law to be out here.”
Ted nodded without looking at Ryan. “I suppose I owe you that.” He gestured toward Heather. “My granddaughter here, she’s got a degree in environmental health. My wife—you didn’t meet Doreen, she’s in Toppenish just now. She’s a traditionalist with the tribe, but she’s got some paper to hang on her wall, too. I’ve done a little studying of my own.”
“That tells me where you got the skill for this,” Ryan pressed. “It doesn’t tell me why.”
Ted smiled as Emily stepped near to
join them. “Pushy, aren’t you. You sound like a lawyer.” He paused. “Have you heard of the rapids they called Celilo Falls on the Columbia?” he asked.
Emily said that she had.
“Well, growing up,” Ted began, “most of my people spent their summers at camps on the river, camps like Celilo Falls. Celilo means ‘water on the rocks’ in the Yakama language. It was a fast rapids below the joining of the Snake and Yakima rivers with the Columbia. We’d net and spear salmon and sturgeon all summer long. Eels if we could get them. We ate them all summer, and air dried some for winter—and for our feasts. Went there every summer, until the government built a dam that drowned the reaches in the 1950s.”
He looked up at Emily. “Commercial fishermen were already becoming common all along the Columbia by then, diminishing our take. But it was that dam that ended it all for me. Took away a piece of our life. Except that wasn’t all. This land, all of it, used to be Yakama land, before the 1855 Treaty. Even after the Treaty, the Yakama retained hunting, fishing, and gathering rights out here. Then when Hanford was built in 1944, they put a fence around it. That closed dozens of other Yakama fishing sites on the Columbia. Yakama gathering and hunting sites out here were made off limits. Then they started making their plutonium right here, up wind from the reservation, using the Columbia for cooling water and dumping tons of radioactive effluents into the river. All this land around us and the river became one big unofficial dumping ground.”
Ted tossed away the stone. “I remember once at our Celilo camp, before the dam, my dad walking with me back to our tent after a night of listening to elders tell stories. We both smelled of campfire smoke, and I was still wrapped up with their tales of chasing horses and riding these hills. My dad bent down and pointed toward the camp, then leaned close, so close I could feel his lips brush my ear, and whispered, ‘Remember this, son. Remember this, because it’s passing.’”
He paused. “Well, he was right. It was passing. With the coming of Hanford, building the dams, they were changing everything out here.”
The night grew silent. Heather was looking away, across the desert. Ryan wondered what she thought of her grandfather’s words. Did she feel the loss of a place she’d never experienced herself? That her children would never experience?
Ted grunted. “Production at Hanford finally stopped for good in the late eighties and they tell us, someday, we may retrieve our fishing and hunting rights out here—if they ever get it cleaned up. Get back a little bit of what they took away. Well, that’ll never happen if they start treating this like a nuclear dumping site again, or start using Hanford for nuclear research again, like Covington’s been secretly doing these past seven years. You ask me why we’re all wrapped up in this? To make sure it really does stop and there’s something left for them to return to the Yakama.”
“So are you working for the Yakama Nation?” Emily asked.
In the faint starlight, Ryan saw Ted shake his head. “That’s a political question now, isn’t it,” he said. “I don’t get into politics. I’m just a rancher.”
Ryan’s stomach twisted at the futility of it all. “Look, Ted. If we bring out the truth through Kieran’s lawsuit, everybody wins. Wolffia gets shut down; there’s more scrutiny on the cleanup and no more research at Hanford. But we can’t do that unless you give me the shard and let me use it to persuade the judge to allow an immediate inspection of LB5. If you’re worried about them emptying this site, I could ask her to send magistrates to protect this place pending the inspection.”
“What are the chances of her granting that request?” Ted asked.
Ryan thought for a moment. “Fifty percent.”
“You sound like a weatherman,” Ted said. “I won’t put all our work at risk on that kind of confidence.”
The fact was, Ryan had no clue whether the judge would order magistrates out on reservation grounds based on a radioactive hunk of metal. With Judge Renway, the chances had been zero. With Johnston?
“Did you have anything to do with Renway dropping off the case?” Emily suddenly blurted out as though the thought had just occurred to her.
Good question, Ryan thought approvingly. Ted shrugged. “I have a cousin who works at Park National Bank,” he said. “He told me about orchard land owned by the judge.” Ted went on to explain the reasons for the judge’s withdrawal.
Ryan scrutinized Ted as he finished his explanation. “That was risky. Renway could have gone to the FBI and tried to run you and your cousin down for collecting his private documents.”
“Judge Renway is old,” Ted responded. “Like me. I can remember when he was appointed. If he came after us, his ‘conflict’ would have come out anyway. Maybe other things he’s done for Hanford. Why risk a lifetime legacy as a judge? I thought he’d choose the easy path and just step down from Kieran’s case.”
Ryan thought longer about how they could use the information about this debris site in their case. “I need time to think if there are other options,” Ryan insisted wearily. “I can’t give this evidence up. And I still want to convince you to give me that shard you have in the stable.”
Ted sighed. “It’s getting late,” he said, the age in his voice more evident now. “I’m old and I’m tired. You think while we finish the ride home.”
Chapter 44
Ryan sipped his orange juice, struggling to wake up. He’d gotten only a few hours of sleep last night. Most of the remainder of the short night after returning from the Pollock ranch had been spent studying the ceiling, the case wearily circling in his mind.
He’d come up with no new ideas to move the court to allow the inspection, or to satisfy Ted enough to release the shard. Until he did, they’d have to keep things going like the last week: keep taking testimony from more workers and avoid resting Kieran’s case until they had a plan to convince Judge Johnston to allow the LB5 inspection.
They could probably buy two days, maybe three. If he hadn’t learned how to delay after twenty years in courtrooms, Ryan thought, he’d be a sorry excuse for a trial attorney.
He headed upstairs to wake Emily and hit the shower. He also needed time to stop at a coffee shop on the way to the courthouse. This was at least a two-cup morning. He’d need that much caffeine to dance in front of the judge, jury, and Covington’s counsel for the long day ahead.
His office phone rang as Adam was finishing packing a briefcase before heading for the morning’s final debriefing of the Project team. Adam looked at the caller ID screen. It was Vice-President Foote’s office.
“Adam Worth here,” he answered.
“Hello, Mr. Worth? This is Mr. Foote’s secretary. Mr. Foote requests that you come to his office.”
Adam looked at his watch. “Uh, I have a meeting. Is it possible—”
“Mr. Foote requests that you come immediately,” she interrupted.
Adam said he would, then hung up.
What could be so urgent? His reports to Foote on the Project had been uniformly positive the past couple of weeks. The information about the trial was more of a problem, but Adam had shared little of his unease about what was happening at the courthouse with Foote, and none of the detail.
Five minutes later, Foote’s secretary waved him into the inner sanctum with a gesture of her hand. Adam straightened himself and passed through the door.
“Come in, Adam,” the VP said, adding unnecessarily, “and close the door.”
“Adam,” Foote began before he could even reach his seat. “I just got a disturbing call. It relates to your lawsuit.”
Your lawsuit. When had this become Adam’s lawsuit?
“The call came from the inspector’s office at the regional DOE office, Seth Varney. I don’t hear from the man very often. As long as our reports meet muster, they typically let us go about our business. But apparently they’ve had a rep at the trial every day the past week and a half. Varney said that your opponents’ expert and Mr. Martin are creating some concerns about the thoroughness of Covington’s inspecti
on reports regarding the October explosion.”
Adam restrained the “I told you so” response that came to his lips.
“Adam, Mr. Varney wants his man to conduct an inspection of LB5. In particular, they want to inspect the lower levels of LB5, which have apparently been the subject of much discussion in your trial.”
“We can’t do that, sir,” Adam shot back. “You know we’ve finished the last successful test, but we haven’t removed the equipment. And we made improvements down there since the October explosion: stronger containment walls, a longer glove box and chamber. We couldn’t explain those improvements in a closed facility. And since we claim that place hasn’t been used since the eighties, and wasn’t touched by the explosion, we couldn’t begin to explain why the place was emptied and cleaned up.”
This was a disaster, Adam thought. The plan was to complete the testing and then slate LB5 for demolition, taking it down before anyone visited the closed lower level of LB5. But they’d assumed there were still weeks to get that done.
“I am aware of the significance of this request,” Foote said, his face unmoving. “Is there time to reconfigure the lower levels of LB5 to a condition approximating how they should have looked before Project Wolffia began?”
Adam knew that was impossible, despite how much Foote despised that word. “No,” he said simply. “It would take months.”
Foote raised his eyebrows. “Then what do you suggest?”
Adam’s mind flew through options: razing, discarding. It was not possible to prepare LB5 for a DOE inspection. If they could do that, they could have caved to Hart’s requests for an inspection at trial. Short of another explosion down there, he could think of no way to cover up the changes they’d made to the space.
Another explosion.
“Sir,” Adam said. “There is one possibility. It has risks.”
He expected Foote to ask for a definition of risks. He didn’t. Instead, the vice-president took Adam’s measure across the desk.
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