It was Nolan’s own procedure which he had modified and which he had initially borrowed from Sidney Benson’s carbon dioxide infrared laser that irradiated dichlorethane where about one in two-thousand molecules of the substance contained an atom of deuterium.
But Nolan had every right to be proud. His procedure was faster and cheaper, and solidly demonstrated the ease at which deuterium, as a virtually inexhaustible source of energy, could be obtained.
The great pump was silent now; the lab equipment positioned neatly, the way Nolan had left it; his clipboard hanging on a bent nail.
When Mike glanced at Trisha, he saw tears well in her eyes. She would feel Nolan’s loss the most. He watched her reach over and take Buck’s hand. He had seen their friendship deepen these past months but he couldn’t help wishing it was his hand she had reached for.
“I’ve never seen you cry before,” he said awkwardly. “What does a person say at a time like this?”
“Nothing,” Trisha answered. “There is nothing to say except perhaps, why?”
• • •
While Buck went to the crash site and Mike went to ID Nolan’s body, Trisha remained in her room listening to the news of last night’s riots. Parts of lower Everman were still smoldering. She and Mike and Buck never did get to see their Laurel and Hardy movie. Instead they watched live coverage of the Everman carnage.
When she couldn’t listen any longer she flipped off the TV and tried sleeping. That ended by her thrashing around until the covers were in knots. Finally, she dressed and left.
She walked the mile to the hangar, then walked the length of the old, cracked runway. Leaning over the edge, she stared down at the rocks and waves. Moonlight made the water glisten as it pounded the shore. She watched the violent action and thought of Nolan and the twisted helicopter. Wave after wave rolled over the sand and rocks, first like sprays of madness, hissing and tearing, then calming to resemble the foam of soda in a glass.
“Where are you, God?”
She walked the long strip back to the hangar and picked a flat grassy patch where she could rest. She didn’t know how long she sat. Minutes, hours—they all blended together as she gazed at the stars.
No point in returning to her room. She wouldn’t be able to sleep. She’d stay and watch the sunrise. It was tranquil here; a tranquility that oozed into her shattered emotions and made her feel closer to God, feel His enormity and power. And gradually she entered His peace.
He was a big God. An all-encompassing God.
Perhaps she’d never know why Nolan died, why some evil hand had reached out and robbed him of his life. Or what evil was now causing the citizens of lower Everman to tear their community apart. But she was sure of this. No matter what evil existed in the world, God was still in charge.
• • •
News of Nolan’s death traveled through PA like brush fire. And when Peter Meyers and his boys showed up again, the plant sizzled with speculation. Was this just a tragic accident or another terrorist attack?
Ever since Homeland Security confirmed that the autoclave had been sabotaged, a heightened uneasiness hovered over the plant. And in spite of all the additional security, it wouldn’t go away.
Like other PA employees, Audra had trouble coping and developed her own cure: two glasses of wine at bedtime. It was the only way she could sleep. Even when she spent the nights at PA, she needed the wine.
She plunged herself deeper into her work.
The complexity of her research, the intense interest it held for her, enabled her to escape from her fears for a time, but always they returned.
It was worse when she went to her empty apartment. There, thoughts of what could happen . . . all those real or imagined dangers that lurked behind every minute . . . crowded her mind.
Audra took three large gulps of her Dewers as she pressed against the bar.
Tonight was not a “two-glasses-of-wine” night. Nor was it a night she could stay alone. Like others from PA, she had left work earlier than usual, taking the news of Nolan’s death with her.
At home, she had bolted the door and just when she thought she was safe, she had noticed the drawers of the dining room hutch were open. And a living room chair was slightly ajar as though someone in a hurry had knocked into it.
She had pulled her gun from her purse before entering the bedroom. There, she saw that the locks on the desk drawers were forced, the drawers wide open and empty; all her duplicate research notes gone.
How was she ever going to tell them at PA?
She had sat on the edge of the bed fighting dry-heaves and thinking of Bubba Hanagan. This was his handiwork.
The pig!
He must have used a duplicate key because the apartment had not been broken into. And he knew just what he wanted and where to look because the apartment had not been ransacked, either.
He had emptied her hutch. Taken all her silver. Expensive pieces. Heirlooms from her grandmother: two candle holders, part of a silver service, a candy dish. They would fetch a good penny from a pawnbroker.
By why her notes? To sell them to a competitor? It was the only explanation. What else would a muscle-bound ignoramus want with such technical material?
She’d have to look into changing her lock. But not tonight. Without even shedding her work clothes for the customary designer jeans and fresh silk blouse, she had slipped her pistol back into her purse and left.
Now, with a shaky hand she swallowed another mouthful of Dewers.
“Whoa cutie!” chuckled Ace Corbet as he fixed her another drink. “Too much too soon ain’t good. It’s like other things, if you know what I mean.”
He winked, and for a moment she felt sick again.
“Now let Ace here take care of you. I’ll set your pace. That way you’ll be able to get up tomorrow for work.” He winked again and leaned his elbow on the bar.
Audra glanced around the tavern. It was Thursday night. A few silhouettes moved in the semidarkness to the twang of a country western song.
Meager pickings. Where was that respectable, modern man she was looking for?
She visualized the empty drawers and took another gulp of scotch. What was she going to do? She couldn’t go back to an empty apartment. Not unless someone went with her, even if that someone was Ace Corbet.
“Well, what do you say?” Ace said, grinning like a hyena.
One more sip then Audra smiled. “That’s very generous of you. I think I’ll just put myself in your hands. And if there’s the teeniest possibility of my not getting up tomorrow, why, you could be there and see to it that I do.”
• • •
“Sabotage!” Mike boomed. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Buck answered, as he eased himself onto one of the chairs in Trisha’s room. The three had met here at Buck’s request. He had told them he wanted to share this information in private. “Someone tampered with the helicopter.”
“What about autorotation?”
Autorotation insured that if the power failed and the rotor was disengaged from the engine, it would still continue to turn freely.
“Useless if a jamming device was used.”
“Do you have proof?”
There was a clinking sound as Buck handed Mike several small pieces of twisted metal.
Mike studied them in silence. It was like a jigsaw puzzle where nothing seemed to fit. Who? How? Why? He jiggled the metal together then tossed them onto the coffee table. “Who would have had time or opportunity to do this?”
“It wouldn’t take long for someone who knew choppers. There were traces of acid on the engine wires. By the time the engine failed, the rotor was jammed. Pretty clever. From what I can see it’s a miracle Nolan was able to get as far as he did. The helicopter was exposed at PA’s landing field for almost twelve hours. Even with the increased security it would have
been possible for someone with phony ID in a mechanic’s uniform to get to it without being stopped.”
“That means a professional job,” Mike returned.
“No doubt.”
“Then we have to assume it’s ISA.”
“That’d be my first guess. But if so, we may have an even more dangerous situation on our hands.”
“Meaning?”
Buck frowned. “We have to consider that you were the target.”
Trisha, who had been listening nearby, moved to the edge of her seat. “He may be right, Mike. After all, it was your private helicopter. The saboteur could have staked out the runway, knowing that every few days you flew to PA, spotted your helicopter and not knowing it was Nolan who flew in, sabotaged it, expecting you to fly it back here.”
Buck nodded. “It’s possible, Mike. We’d be foolish not to consider it.”
“Okay. It’s possible. I’ll give you that.” Mike noticed the concerned look on Trisha’s face. “But don’t worry, I’m not easy to get rid of. You should know that by now.”
She met his gaze. “I guess it’s time to start praying for your protection.”
• • •
CHAPTER 9
“There’s nothing out here but desert,” Joshua said, speeding down the vacant highway, grateful for his car’s air conditioner. It was fall but the glaring sun beating down on the car and asphalt road still made heat stroke possible. “I think we’ve seen enough. I’m turning back.”
Cassy pulled off her sunglasses and squinted into the distance. “You can’t quit so soon!”
“So soon? We’ve been at it for three days. We need to get back.” Joshua couldn’t tell her that the photos of the riots he had taken and emailed to headquarters proved invaluable. In addition to having Mossad’s face-recognition program confirm that the man Joshua saw was indeed Kamal, the Mossad had identified one of Kamal’s top lieutenants and some of his flunkies. And though Kamal had disappeared by the time Iliab Nahshon arrived, Iliab was able to locate the lieutenant and take him out.
Headquarters had given Joshua only seventy-two hours to find the alleged internment camp or return to Everman. Along with his job at campaign headquarters he was to photograph all future local riots.
But two questions nagged him: what part had Kamal played in the recent riot? And where was he now?
“It’s time we turn around,” Joshua repeated.
“Just another ten miles. Please.”
“You said that twenty miles ago.”
“Yes, but this time I mean it.”
Joshua turned to Cassy and frowned. “You’re as stubborn as . . . . If I do go on, promise me you won’t complain when it’s time to head back.”
When Cassy didn’t answer, Joshua slowed the car to make a U-turn.
“Okay! Okay, you have my word. No more complaining and no more arguing.”
Joshua straightened the car, punched the accelerator, and continued heading west. “The election is less than two months away. I’d think you’d want to get back to the office and see how things are going.”
“No need. All polls indicate that Uncle Phillip is going to be our next president. Truthfully, I’d be happy to see anyone in that office as long as it isn’t Senator Garby. He’d only extend President Baker’s agenda. And we see how that’s worked for us.”
Joshua nodded and thought of Arie’s intel about President Thaddeus Baker being behind the riots. The new information, that Kamal was somehow involved, confirmed Baker had ties to ISA as well. But just how deep had to be determined.
“I’d vote for your uncle. Though I see strengths in Garby, too.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
Joshua grinned. “Yes.”
“Whew! You had me worried. I thought you were a bright boy. I hate being wrong. So . . . when you said I was stubborn, did you mean as stubborn as . . . Rachel?”
“Why do you assume I was referring to a woman?”
“Elementary my dear Watson. Men don’t talk about other men in those terms. If a man is stubborn, his friend would call him tenacious or determined or having grit.”
“I guess you’re right. And yes . . . Rachel was stubborn, but never annoying like you.”
Cassy sighed. “I know I can be annoying. And I’m sorry. Sorry for saying that you were worse off than me because you wanted to kill someone. That was unkind. I guess a lot of people want to kill Kamal. He’s caused a ton of grief.”
The muscles in Joshua’s face tightened. “If you weren’t with me, I would have killed him during the riot.” He felt Cassy’s eyes study him.
“Yes, I believe you would. And he’d deserve it. It’s hard to understand a butcher like Kamal. I was surprised to learn he had gone to Lumumba University in Moscow. I guess there’s your Russian connection again.”
“Yes. And did you know that at one time Lumumba was the collection area for Third World students where they received, in addition to their university curriculum, heavy doses of Communist indoctrination? The brightest and most loyal continued training as members of the KGB. The cream of the crop was then trained by Department V, the KGB’s Assassination and Sabotage Squad.”
“That was cold war days. You’re not suggesting it’s still going on?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m saying things are rarely what they seem.”
“Even so, Kamal’s educated. How could an educated man be such a beast?”
“Because a lot of his education was based on hate—surahs or chapters in the Quran encouraging violence toward all nonbelievers, especially Jews. Kamal himself admits surah sixteen was his inspiration. It told him how Jews corrupted themselves when they turned from Islam and how Muslims are justified in punishing them, i.e. killing them.”
“But God made his covenants with Abraham and the Jewish people over twenty-five hundred years before Muhammad was even born and founded Islam.”
“I didn’t know you were interested in Torah . . . the Bible.”
“It’s an interest acquired since the cocktail party.”
Joshua glanced at her and smiled. “Starting to fall for me, are you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Joshua’s smile deepened. “Did you know that both Kamal’s father and grandfather were with Hamas? And that by the time Kamal was ten he had slit the throat of his first ‘corrupt’ Jew? Most of their arms, as well as directives, came from Moscow. Most of their funding came from PLO Headquarters in Tunis.
“When the Soviet Union ceased to exist and PLO funds dried up after Arafat and Rabin reached their historic agreement, Kamal’s family wasted no time in making alliances with elements in Iran, Syria, and Libya.
“It didn’t take long for Kamal to rise in the ranks. The entire world became his target, all nonbelievers the enemy. He really bought into what Islam teaches its children, even now, ‘today Friday, tomorrow Saturday, then Sunday.’”
“What does that mean?”
“It means Friday is the day of worship for Muslims, Saturday for Jews and Sunday for Christians. Kamal is sunni so that means first the shia Muslims and those Muslims not following the Quran faithfully enough must be subjugated or killed, then the Jews, and finally the Christians, until all the world is Muslim—at least the right kind of Muslim.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t kill Kamal,” Cassy said, closing her eyes and resting her head on the seatback. “And I know it’s my fault.”
• • •
Mike looked down at the pile of folders scattered across his desk. The sun streamed through the closed window and cast a long beam of light across the oak floor. Even so, it couldn’t penetrate the gloom shadowing the office.
Peter and Buck sat frowning nearby.
“I’ve gone through all the personnel files of employees hired by PA within the past four months and nothing jumps out.” M
ike’s deep voice obscured the drone of the air conditioner. When he saw the look of disappointment on Pete’s face, he added, “I know you hoped the person responsible for both the autoclave explosion and the helicopter crash would be among them. And yes, it’s possible the terrorists have planted an inside man. But I can’t tell from these files.”
Pete straightened in his chair. Boyishly handsome and somewhat out of character in his dark blue suit, he had that youthful, all-American look, but closer observation revealed him to be a man in his mid forties. Over the past two years, he had come often to scrutinize the progress of the P2 on behalf of Homeland Security.
PA wasn’t the only company researching nuclear fusion. There were several, and all more well-known than PA. But what happened at these companies could have far reaching effects in defense, and DHS was protective of them. And something like the death of Nolan Ramsdale caused concern. As a precaution, DHS ordered the deployment of armed DHS guards around the company grounds.
Pete twisted a paperclip back and forth. “My people are already investigating these employees, but I had hoped you could add to it.”
Mike pushed the files away. “You know I’m rarely here anymore, Pete. Most of the time I’m at Gibs Town. I can’t even match a face with these names.”
“There is one I’ve noticed,” Buck said. “Nothing concrete, just a gut feeling. That, and he seems out of place. I’m told he isn’t very motivated by his assembly line work; that he’s careless and often distracted. His supervisor is thinking of firing him.”
“Who?” asked both Pete and Mike in unison.
“Najjar Haddad.”
Peter shrugged. “He was vetted. No red flags. But I’ll have my boys give him an extra once-over.”
Mike glanced at Buck. He had come to trust his friend’s instincts and was usually sorry when he didn’t follow them. He tapped the pile of folders “You have a lot here. Mind if Buck does a little snooping? Let him take Haddad.”
The Babel Conspiracy Page 13
