Fallout

CHAPTER 22

During their long drive back from the Test Site, the desert sky opened up like a black vault filled with diamond stars. The night wind curled through Paige’s half-open window, nudging scents from her pine air freshener.

Sitting beside her, Craig felt reluctant to talk about anything other than safe topics. He avoided talking about his ex-girlfriend Trish, knowing how boring it was for another woman to hear of a man’s previous loves. Instead, he told her about his early work for the Bureau, his training at Quantico and certification as a field agent… and before that, his year and a half working for a small private eye firm, where he had spent days in a stakeout van to watch people suspected of committing insurance fraud.

Paige, in turn, talked about her father’s career at the old Livermore Radiation Laboratory. Like so many others involved with nuclear testing, he had died of cancer, but she refused to be bitter or vindictive, merely chalked up the tragedies to a grim learning curve for working with dangerous technology.

Traffic picked up when they entered the north end of Las Vegas, off the freeway and down the Strip. Craig watched the swarms of pedestrians moving down the sidewalks from casino to casino as flickering light bulbs cascaded like shooting stars. The city’s exuberance at all hours of the day and night amazed him.

Paige interrupted his thoughts, getting down to business. “Since we know the ambassador’s death was no accident, I see two primary possibilities. Either somebody caught Nevsky doing something he shouldn’t have been doing — or he caught someone else, and they murdered him for it.”

Craig nodded. “If Nevsky was really spying, he picked a very suspicious time to do it. At that late hour, he would have stuck out like a sore thumb. In fact, the hardest part to swallow is that PK Dirks just wandered off and left him alone in the DAF.”

The streetlight turned red in front of Paige, but several cars roared through the intersection anyway. “What if PK himself was engaged in illegal activities, expecting no one would see him at that hour, and Nevsky caught him? Remember, the security cameras were conveniently on the blink — PK could have arranged that.”

Craig shook his head. “No, I think Nevsky found something well before he was murdered. That’s why he wanted to come back to the DAF after everyone else had left.” He shuddered to think of all the documents. “Whatever it is, he probably buried it in that mound of paperwork.”

“No more tours for you tomorrow,” she said drily.

Craig glanced at his watch. “I know. Time’s running out, and the coroner’s report is due to be released soon — if I don’t have something by then, the crap is really going to hit the fan.” He paused, exhausted just from the thought of all the work he still had to do. “I think I’ll go out to find Jorgenson tonight anyway, so I can spend Thursday hitting the books.”

Paige accelerated as the light turned green. They passed the Mirage, whose facsimile volcano erupted with lights and color. Extravagant fountains gurgled around atolls of rock. A block away, crowds gathered in front of Treasure Island to see a battle between mock pirate ships.

“How about dinner?” Craig said impulsively. “I’m starved.”

“You always seem to be starved.” She laughed. “How about some good prime rib this time? At least I’ve got a per diem.”

In the medieval spirit of Excalibur, the prime rib house was called Sir Galahad’s. Coats of arms, lances, and colorful pennants hung on the walls above suits of armor. The waitresses wore medieval costumes, their hair done up in conical hats.

Craig and Paige each had a thick cut of prime rib served on a pewter plate with creamed spinach and Yorkshire pudding. Craig dug into the meal, ravenous, as Paige watched him, amused.

“Well, well,” came a woman’s rough voice behind them, “I didn’t think you’d be alone for long, Sweetie.” Craig turned to see Maggie the Mind Reader dressed in her court jester’s getup and holding a small parakeet on her finger. She looked appraisingly at Paige.

“I’m surprised you remember me,” Craig said.

Maggie snorted. “I’m psychic, if you’ll recall.” Then she leaned over the back of the booth, speaking conspiratorially to Paige. “And I see that while you two should be having fun, enjoying Vegas, all you think of is work.” Her breath carried the perfumy smell of scotch.

“When people aren’t here to have fun, they look different, feel different.” She raised her eyebrows, scrutinizing Craig. “Hey, are you with the DEA? I sense…” She let her eyes fall half closed. “Wait! The FBI.”

Paige laughed, and Maggie’s eyes sparkled, knowing she had guessed right. “Now do you believe I’m psychic?” she said, petting her parakeet.

“I, uh, never doubted you,” Craig said, the tone of his voice stating exactly the opposite. He tried to remember how much he had explained to her last night.

She focused her attention on Paige, drawing a deep breath, concentrating. “And you, young lady… you’re worried about someone. Someone close to you. Yes, I can sense the concern in your thoughts, but you’re trying to cover it up.”

Embarrassed, Paige turned away, her cheeks flushing. “Yes, I am concerned about someone.” She looked at Craig. “It’s Uncle Mike. He’s really withdrawn since he lost his wife… and when my dad died a year later, he lost his best friend, too. Maybe he just doesn’t know what to do, now that he’s all alone.” Paige shook her head, then glanced up at Maggie, blinking her blue eyes. “You sure scored a point with me,” she said.

Craig smiled. “Maggie does seem to be an astute judge of character.”

“Damn straight,” Maggie said with an amused expression on her face. “I think you’re just skeptical about everything, Sweetie. Is that the reason your old girlfriend…” she held her hand out, concentrating again, “Trish, was that her name? Is that why she left you?”

Craig blinked in astonishment, and Paige laughed. “Even I haven’t been able to get him to talk about that.”

“Well, Maggie, to tell you the truth, I am with the FBI,” Craig said, wanting to divert the subject away from Trish. “And we’re here on a case.”

Maggie seemed intensely interested. She lowered her voice. “Is it a gambling investigation, a sting operation for money laundering? Can I help? We hear about those things all the time in the casinos.”

Craig decided to take a chance; maybe he could at least help Goldfarb and Jackson. “In truth, Maggie, maybe we could use your help. Do you know about the bomb planted at Hoover Dam Tuesday?” Craig asked. Paige looked over at him, perplexed.

The wrinkles deepened around Maggie’s lips. “If those militia morons think they’re going to gain public support like that, they don’t understand human psychology at all.”

“But you understand human psychology, Maggie — probably as well as a professional psychiatrist does. I’ve watched how you read people.” She beamed at the compliment. “You also keep your eyes open.”

“It’s my job,” she said firmly. “I spend my whole day listening, reading faces, checking how they dress, how they act. You can draw a lot of inferences.”

Craig nodded. “And you pick up on things nobody else knows you’ve even noticed.”

“Damn straight,” she said.

Craig looked over at Paige with a shrug. “At this point, I don’t suppose we’ve got anything to lose.”

He gave her a bit of background, just what had been on the news — then Maggie told him what she knew.