The Zero Game

56

With my eyes on the rearview mirror, I veer to the right, pull off the highway, and follow the signs for the Rapid City airport. There’s a maroon Toyota in front of us that’s moving unusually slow, but I’m still watching our rear. It’s barely been two hours since we blew out of the mine parking lot, but until we’re on that plane and the wheels are off the ground, Janos still has a shot — a shot he’s aiming straight at our heads. Slamming my fist against the steering wheel, I honk at the maroon car. “C’mon, drive!” I shout.

When it doesn’t budge, I weave onto the shoulder of the road, punch the gas, and leave the Toyota behind us. Next to me, Viv doesn’t even look up. Since the moment we left, she’s been reading every single word in the Midas Project notebook.

“And…?”

“Nothing,” she says, flipping the notebook shut and checking her side mirror for herself. “Two hundred pages of nothing but dates and ten-digit numbers. Every once in a while, they threw in someone’s initials — JM… VS... there’s a few SCs — but otherwise, I’m guessing it’s just a delivery schedule.”

Viv holds the book up to show me; I look away from the road to check the schedule for myself.

“What’s the earliest date in there?” I ask.

Resting it back on her lap, Viv flips to the first page. “Almost six months ago. April fourth, 7:36 A.M. — item number 1015321410,” she reads from the schedule. “You’re right about one thing — they’ve definitely been working on this for a bit. I guess they figured getting the authorization in the bill was just a formality.”

“Yeah, well… thanks to me and Matthew, it almost was.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“But it almost was.”

“Harris…”

I’m in no mood for a debate. Pointing back to the notebook, I add, “So there’s no master list to help decipher the codes?”

“That’s why they call ’em codes. 1015321410… 1116225727… 1525161210…”

“Those are the photomultiplier tubes,” I interrupt.

She looks up from the book. “Wha?”

“The bar codes. In the lab. That last one was the bar code on all the photomultiplier boxes.”

“And you remember that?”

From my pocket, I pull out the sticker I ripped off earlier and slap it against the center of the dashboard. It sticks in place. “Am I right?” I ask as Viv rechecks the numbers.

She nods, then looks down, falling silent. Her hand snakes into her slacks, where I spot the rectangular outline of her Senate ID badge. She pulls it out for a split second and steals a glance at her mom. I look away, pretending not to see.

Avoiding the main entrance for the airport, I head for the private air terminal and turn into the parking lot outside an enormous blue hangar. We’re the only car there. I take it as a good sign.

“So what do you think the tubes and the mercury and the dry-cleaning smell is for?” Viv asks as we get out of the car.

I stay silent as we head under a bright red canopy and follow the sign marked Lobby. Inside, there’s an executive lounge with oak furniture, a big flat-screen TV, and a Native American rug. Just like the one Matthew used to have in his office.

“Senator Stevens’s party?” a short-haired blond asks from behind the reception desk.

“That’s us,” I reply. Pointing over my shoulder, I add, “I didn’t know where to return the car…”

“There is fine. We’ll have it picked up for you, sir.”

It’s one less thing to worry about, but it doesn’t even come close to lightening my load. “So the plane is all set to go?”

“I’ll let the pilot know you’re here,” she says, picking up the phone. “Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

I look over at Viv, then down at the notebook in her hands. We need to figure out what’s going on — and the way I left things in D.C., there’s still one place I need to follow up on. “Do you have a phone I can use?” I ask the woman at the reception desk. “Preferably somewhere private?”

“Of course, sir — upstairs and to the right is our conference room. Please help yourself.”

I give Viv a look.

“Right behind you,” Viv says as we head up the stairs.

The conference room has an octagonal table and a matching credenza that holds a saltwater aquarium. Viv goes for the aquarium; I go for the window, which overlooks the front of the hangar. All’s clear. For now.

“So you never answered the question,” Viv says. “Whattya think that sphere in the lab is for?”

“No idea. But it’s clearly got something to do with neutrinos.”

She nods, remembering the words from the corner of each page. “And a neutrino…”

“I think it’s some type of subatomic particle.”

“Like a proton or electron?”

“I guess,” I say, staring back out the window. “Beyond that, you’re already out of my league.”

“So that’s it? That’s all we’ve got?”

“We can do more research when we get back.”

“But for all we know it could be good, though, right? It might be good.”

I finally look away from the window. “I don’t think it’s gonna be good.”

She doesn’t like that answer. “How can you be so sure?”

“You really think it’s something good?”

“I don’t know… maybe it’s just research — like a government lab or something. Or maybe they’re just trying to turn stuff into gold. That can’t hurt anyone, can it?”

“Turn stuff into gold?”

“The project is called Midas.”

“You really think it’s possible to turn things to gold?”

“You’re asking me? How should I know? Anything’s possible, right?”

I don’t respond. In the past two days, she’s relearned the answer to that one. But the way she bounces on her heels, she still hasn’t completely given up on it. “Maybe it’s something else with the Midas story,” she adds. “I mean, he turned his daughter into a statue, right? He do anything else beside giving her the ultimate set of gold teeth?”

“Forget mythology — we should talk to someone who knows their science,” I point out. “Or who can at least tell us why people would bury a neutrino lab in a giant hole below the earth.”

“There we go — now we’re moving…”

“We can call the National Science Foundation. They helped us with some of the high-tech issues when we did hearings on the cloning bill last year.”

“Yeah — good. Perfect. Call ’em now.”

“I will,” I say as I pick up the phone on the octagonal table. “But not until I make one other call first.”

As the phone rings in my ear, I look back out the window for Janos’s car. We’re still alone.

“Legislative Resource Center,” a woman answers.

“Hi, I’m looking for Gary.”

“Which one? We’ve got two Garys.”

Only in Congress.

“I’m not sure.” I try to remember his last name, but even I’m not that good. “The one who keeps track of all the lobbying disclosure forms.”

Viv nods. She’s been waiting for this. If we plan on figuring out what’s going on with Wendell, we should at least find out who was lobbying for them. When I spoke to Gary last week, he said to check back in a few days. I’m not sure if we even have a few hours.

“Gary Naftalis,” a man’s voice answers.

“Hey, Gary, this is Harris from Senator Stevens’s office. You said to give you a call about the lobbying forms for-”

“Wendell Mining,” he interrupts. “I remember. You were the one in the big rush. Let me take a look.”

He puts me on hold, and my eyes float over to the saltwater aquarium. There are a few tiny black fish and one big purple and orange one.

“I’ll give you one guess which ones we are,” Viv says.

Before I can reply, the door to the conference room flies open. Viv and I spin toward the sound. I almost swallow my tongue.

“Sorry… didn’t mean to scare you,” a man wearing a white shirt and a pilot’s hat says. “Just wanted to let you know we’re ready whenever you are.”

I once again start to breathe. Just our pilot.

“We’ll only be a sec,” Viv says.

“Take your time,” the pilot replies.

It’s a nice gesture, but time’s the one thing we’re running out of. I again glance out the window. We’ve already been here too long. But just as I’m about to hang up, I hear a familiar monotone voice. “Today’s your birthday,” Gary says through the receiver.

“You found it?”

Viv stops and turns my way.

“Right here,” Gary says. “Must’ve just got scanned in.”

“What’s it say?”

“Wendell Mining Corporation…”

“What’s the name of the lobbyist?” I interrupt.

“I’m checking,” he offers. “Okay… according to the records we have here, starting in February of this past year, Wendell Mining has been working with a firm called Pasternak and Associates.”

“Excuse me?”

“And based on what it says here, the lobbyist on record — man, his name’s everywhere these days…” My stomach burns as the words burn through the telephone. “Ever hear of a guy named Barry Holcomb?”