'Who do we call in case of emergency?'
Not the answer I was looking for.
An agent reached in and clutched my arm, tugging me. 'This is him?'
The seat belt jerked me at the waist, and I fought the buckle free and stepped out. Kicked-up dust coated my lungs. I coughed, and then a wet sea breeze blew the air clear, chilling me through my thin clothes.
The agent hustled me forward, Wydell and Sever behind us. Dozens of men stopped talking into phones and radios and to one another; scores of heads pivoted to watch me. I drew even with the line of Hummers and soldiers and agents at the perimeter, maybe thirty yards back from the spent-fuel building. The crashed Jeep was lit up as if onstage.
I heard Sever's gruff voice behind me. 'Go on.'
I turned and looked at him. Wydell, at his side, nodded urgently. 'Good luck, Nick.'
All around us sharpshooters crouched behind Hummers and cop cars. A young Latin soldier had the end of his crucifix between his lips, sucking it. I stared back at the empty, unprotected ground between the perimeter and the building. A stretch of concrete that even the soldiers and agents didn't dare set foot on.
I stepped out from cover, my Pumas padding across the concrete, the broken plastic of my left sneaker giving off its maddening click. A spotlight tracked my movement. Twenty yards. The wet wind came off the Pacific, biting at my arms, my neck, my bare ankles. I was shivering. In my thin T-shirt and pajama bottoms, I felt naked, oddly self-conscious yet dissolved into my surroundings at the same time. I sensed every part of my body and everything around me-the cool air filling my chest, the grind of stray sand particles underfoot, the tuning-fork vibration of my arms. Ten yards. I braced for flame to burst out of the building and engulf me. The scrapes in the concrete from the tire rims grew deeper as I approached. And then I was there.
The violence of the Jeep's collision with the doorframe was striking. The double doors had been flung back into the building, one tilting from a hardy hinge, and the wall around had crumbled to accommodate the broad snout of the vehicle, which perfectly plugged the hole it had created.
I stopped and looked behind me. The perimeter seemed miles away. All those trained men and women, tucked behind cop cars and cargo trucks. I felt suddenly isolated out in no-man's-land.
I climbed the three wide steps, reaching the bullet-riddled back of the Jeep-a few of the plant guards with machine guns must have figured out, late, where it was heading and opened fire. The rims had been worn down, one bent on the axle.
My voice sounded thin. 'It's Nick Horrigan!' I shouted. 'Don't shoot me. I'm just here because you asked for me.'
To get in I had to slide through the Jeep's broken rear window and claw my way through the crumpled interior, not-so-shatter-free glass pinching my hands. The front half of the vehicle was buried in the embrace of the caved-in wall. The deflated air bag had been shoved aside, and the windshield had been kicked out so the guy could slide protected from vehicle to building. There was blood on the steering wheel, the dashboard.
I rolled down the gnarled hood and tumbled to the floor amid a scattering of windshield pebbles. Checking that the cell phone remained in my pocket, I stood. The spa-blue water, lit from within, set the walls and high ceiling aglow. Monitors recessed in consoles flashed readings. The reek of chemicals and something more sinister burned my nose, my throat. Tanks and generators lurked at the dark edges, adorned with neat mazes of pipes and endless coils. Set with respectful clearance to the center of the enormous building was the pool.
At its end, like a swimmer contemplating a dive, stood a man in ripped clothing, dimly illuminated from the rising glow. The man from the photo, though older and in far worse shape. His shoulders were slumped unevenly, as if from injury, his head lowered on his neck. His face was badly lacerated, a section of cheek lifted to crowd his left eye. Unruly blond hair, dulled with age, swirled up and out. His eyes jerked back and forth, almost uncontrollably, but his posture remained perfectly still.
Slung over one shoulder was an army-green rucksack, his hand buried in it up to the wrist.
My throat was so dry the words seemed to stick. 'I'm Nick Horrigan.'
With two fingers he beckoned me forward. His elbow was torn open, probably from the crash, and blood pattered at the lip of the pool. A crimson drop hit the crystal-blue water and blossomed.
I couldn't move at first, so he beckoned again.
I headed forward on legs that decided they didn't belong to me. The air, dense with humidity, felt almost liquid. I drew even with the pool and stared into the perfectly still aqua water. Down at the bottom, packed maybe ten inches apart, were the spent-fuel rods, benign-looking bundles. Not a speck of debris in the pool-it was maintained with a care suitable to the awesome lethality it contained. My Pac-Man shirt, damp with sweat, clung to me.
The blue light played over the man's bloodied features. That wide, wild mouth. He hardly moved as I approached, but his dark pupils shifted, tracking my movement.
'Do you know me?' I asked.
He raised a hand, pressed a shh finger to his lips. I stopped. I was maybe ten yards away. His toes were over the edge of the pool. He swayed a little, then took a step back. I let out a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding.
His weary features barely moved. 'Did they give you something?'
His voice was a low rasp; it took me a moment to realize I'd understood him. 'What? Oh. A phone.'
I pulled it from my pocket.
His hand slid out of his rucksack, matching the movement of my own. He held a black, cigarette-size box with three bars of red light and a recessed button.
I stopped breathing.
He eyed the phone in my hand, grimaced as if disappointed that I'd broken my end of some bargain, and lowered his thumb to the ominous little box.
My entire body went rigid. 'Wait a second!'
He pressed the button.
When I dropped my hands, which still existed, I saw the man staring at me with a puzzled expression.
He looked from my face to the small black box in his hand, seeming to put the two halves of the equation together. 'Pink-noise generator.'
I took a gulp of humid, bitter air. Sweat burned my eyes. I used the collar of my T-shirt to wipe my forehead. 'Pink noise?'
'Subaudible. Pretty much plugs up any frequency they're listening in on.'
'I'm not wired.'
'Yeah, but you can bet your ass that cell phone they gave you is.' He crouched and set the little generator on the floor at his feet, right at the edge of the pool. He flicked his bloody head. 'Come here.'
I remembered Wydell's warning to get him away from the water. I wanted his rucksack moved away, too. 'I'm not going near that pool,' I said.
'The radiation won't hurt you. Not unless the water boils off.'
'Is that what the bomb's for?'
'There is no bomb,' he said impatiently.
'I… What? What are you doing, then?'
'I needed the bomb threat to get you here.' He took a crooked step toward me, away from the pool. I responded with a half step back, drawing him farther. He raised a hand to the laceration on his cheek, the loose section of flesh shifting under his gentle touch. His grimace held more resignation than pain. 'They'll kill me the minute they get me in a scope. I'm not getting out of here alive, and if I do, they'll make sure I disappear.' He drew nearer, walking on a tilt, until we were at arm's length.
I was breathing hard, trying not to bounce on my shoes, but my body wouldn't obey. When he swayed closer, I snatched the rucksack from his shoulder and shoved him away. He stumbled back a few steps and made no move to retaliate. I was shocked at myself, the panicked burst of courage, how easy it had been. With shaking hands I rooted furiously through the rucksack, but it contained only a handgun, two stacks of hundred-dollar bills bound with purple bands, a notepad and pen, and a change of clothes.
I dropped the rucksack. 'There's no bomb?'
He shook his head and started to say something, but a coughing fit doubled him over, blood spraying from his mouth. The coin-size drops looked like oil in the dim blue light. Finally he straightened up.
