Fallout

CHAPTER 2

Swiping groggily with her left hand, Paige Mitchell missed turning off the alarm on her first two attempts. The room was dark, and she knocked over the glass she kept on the nightstand, spilling lukewarm water on the bedspread, the floor. That, if nothing else, woke her up.

Pushing aside the tropical bedspread, she leaned over and fumbled with the clock radio, finally clicking off the music. Red numbers blinked 6:45 as she turned on the light in the unfamiliar bedroom. Another hotel, another bed far from her home in Livermore, California. This was Las Vegas, at the Rio. Her bed sat on an oval pedestal; jungle-patterned curtains hung in front of a window that covered one entire wall.

Paige ran a hand through her mussed blond hair and made her way to the bathroom. Frequent travel was the price of her job working for the Department of Energy’s protocol office, a job that often didn’t seem like work at all, even if she had to walk on eggshells every day to keep the team of sometimes-volatile Russian disarmament inspectors on track, to soothe their indignant threats of pulling out.

Only a few more days, though. By the end of this week, the team would have gone through their paces, filled out the forms, and completed the treaty-mandated disarmament inspections, just in time for the international nuclear downscaling summit. The eight inspectors were scheduled to meet with the U.S. President late on Friday, when he made a quick stopover in Las Vegas, then depart on Saturday morning, when everybody could go home. Mission accomplished, the world saved once again.…

Last night, DAF manager Mike Waterloo, whom she’d known as “Uncle Mike” since she was a little girl, offered to help Ambassador Nevsky at the facility after hours, leaving her to babysit the remaining Russians. Once they got away from the bleak Test Site, the seven stuffy men had consumed their comrade’s share of alcohol, feeling no guilt about leaving their team leader behind to keep working. Paige had left the men to their own celebrations, returning to her room for a long hot bath and a good night’s sleep.

Still trying to wake up, she rummaged through the drawer and pulled out a sleek black one-piece swimming suit. Even with her frenzied schedule, Paige insisted on maintaining her own routines. She’d have time for a brief swim down in the pool, then she could pick up coffee and a bagel to take back to her room while she changed for another day at NTS.

She eased to the floor and started her stretching exercises, taking long, deep breaths. Paige held a hand over her head and slowly extended it until she could grasp her foot. She’d put up with the hectic schedule for four more days, then she would be glad to see the Russians off.

The phone rang just as she switched to stretching her left leg. The clock blinked 6:53 A.M. Had she ordered a wake-up call? But when she answered the phone, the voice on the line sounded worried. “Paige?”

“Yes,” she said, initially startled. “Uncle Mike? What’s wrong?”

“Can you please come out to the DAF as soon as possible.” He sounded grim. “There’s been an… accident. Last night.”

“An accident? What is it? Is everyone OK?”

“Ambassador Nevsky — he’s dead. As the DOE representative, please get over here as soon as you can. I need… I need your help, Paige.”

Shocked, she gripped the phone tightly. “I’ll be there within the hour.”

Before she hung up, he spoke in a voice that seemed stronger, as if he took heart just from knowing she was on her way. “We’ve got an international incident on our hands, and we need to move quickly — otherwise the whole disarmament process might blow up in our face.”