Fallout

CHAPTER 21

The mountain of paperwork in front of him had become a blur in his eyes. Craig shook his head. He had spent the last hour just trying to figure out what the forms signified before he could unravel any discrepancies. But the thought of skimming it all — not to mention understanding it — by Friday seemed an insurmountable task.

“Boy, that stuff must be fascinating,” Paige said, startling him. She stood behind him in the Pit Assembly Area.

“You sure are a welcome sight.” Craig sat up straight, rubbing his sore back. He gave her a warm smile, then glanced at his watch. “Are the Russians still here?”

“Uncle Mike took them back to the Rio and out to dinner. He’s got a meeting in Las Vegas tomorrow morning, so I volunteered to stay and help you for an hour or so, if you’d like.” Paige bent over to glance at the top layer of papers.

Craig sighed in relief. “I’d like that a lot. The pieces are in here somewhere, but I have to let them fall into place.”

Now, without General Ursov and the other Russians eavesdropping, he told her what Jackson had said on the cellular phone about the dead militia man at the Hoover Dam being a former NTS employee.

Paige remained quiet for a moment. “Why don’t we double-check Warren Shelby’s records? We can get them from the administration building in Mercury. His clearance would have been denied if anything showed up during the background check, but security reinvestigation is done only every five to ten years — a lot of things change.”

Craig groaned. “More papers…” He pushed stacks of Nevsky’s notes aside, rubbing his temples. So many numbers, signatures, dates, cross-references to other forms, specific listings of nuclear weapons components. “But that’s a really good idea. I also want to get the file on Jorgenson, the forklift driver. And while you’re at it, let’s check out PK Dirks. I know Sally Montry gave him an alibi, but he could have coerced her somehow.”

Paige gave an impish smile. “I’m not sure anybody could coerce Sally.”

“I can’t give out employee addresses,” said Sally Montry. Her short blond hair was perfectly cut, laying straight against her tanned forehead. A stack of memos lay on her desk awaiting Mike Waterloo’s signature. “That’s confidential information.” She seemed rigid and uncooperative, and Craig wondered if she was trying to protect her boss out of some sense of loyalty.

He drummed his fingers on Sally’s government-issue, gray metal desk, pacing the floor. A matted photograph of a night-time atomic blast hung behind the desk, autographed by numerous people. He saw no family pictures, none of her estranged husband, none of PK Dirks, only a button stenciled with I © NUCLEAR WEAPONS.

“Look, Mrs. Montry,” Craig said. “I need to speak with Mr. Jorgenson as part of this investigation. I’m sorry if I humiliated you in front of your boss this morning, but the alibi you provided for Mr. Dirks was crucial for determining exactly what occurred Monday night. This is just as important.”

She started to retort, but seemed to think better of it. Sullenly, she opened a drawer that held a row of hanging files. She flipped through a file marked PERSONAL and withdrew a sheet of paper. “He lives at 26 Antelope Trail, in Pahrump. You’ll have to drive a ways. Carl won’t be home, though — he likes to hang out in the local bars. Best bet would be to wait until morning, stop by on your way in to the Site.”

Craig jotted down the address. “Thanks. And tomorrow I may also need your help deciphering the paperwork Nevsky left behind. Mr. Waterloo tells me you’re good at that.”

“The best,” Sally said, without seeming to brag at all.

Kill her with kindness, Craig thought, if that’s what it takes.