Fallout

CHAPTER 6

With a drawn-out sigh, Paige hung up the phone in Uncle Mike’s DAF administrative office. She stood in front of his gray government-issue desk. “That’ll make the bureaucratic packrats back at DOE Headquarters scurry during their afternoon coffee breaks.”

“I take it DOE didn’t handle the call too well.” Mike swiveled forlornly in his chair.

“At least I got through to the Assistant Secretary’s office. The case officer said they’d handle the fallout and disperse the news to the On-Site Inspection Agency, the Defense Nuclear Agency, and the State Department, who will pass it on to the Russian embassy to confirm Ursov’s own report.” She pulled in a long, slow breath. “They’re mostly concerned with how this is going to look on Friday. You know the president had planed a short stopover in Las Vegas on his way to the summit in L.A. — now, they’re wondering if the president should even show.”

In the front room, Mike’s hard-as-nails “moat dragon” Sally Montry rattled the keys on her word processor like machine-gun fire, filling out all the official forms for everyday business as required by regulations and established NTS procedures.

On the wall behind his desk hung a diploma from Cornell, an NTS Excellence in Service award, a photo of the OSIA inspection team in which he had participated two years earlier in Russia; no family photos. He and Aunt Genny had had no children, but Paige was his god-daughter.

Paige cleared her throat and turned from the memories. “We’re supposed to continue the inspection process as if nothing had happened, get the Russians on today’s scheduled tour of the explosive bunkers and Frenchman Flat — just as Ursov requested. They’re not going to let this stop the president from showing up at the airport to thank the disarmament team, and they certainly won’t cancel the summit plans.”

Uncle Mike shook his head in disbelief. “I was supposed to take the Russians to see David Copperfield at Caesar’s Palace tonight.”

“My guess is they’ll want to go. Might keep them in a cooperative mood for the last few days.” She took a deep breath. “We’ve got to hold on by our fingernails until Friday’s over.”

Uncle Mike nodded soberly. “We’d open ourselves to accusations of noncompliance if we didn’t show them everything on the schedule.” He snapped his glance up, as if he had just realized something. “Uh, PK Dirks was supposed to lead the tour today — should we change that, in light of his misconduct last night?”

Paige shook her head, tossing her blond hair. She fixed the barrette, clipping her hair back. “No, any change might look like we’re admitting to some wrongdoing. Send Dirks along with me, same as on the printed schedule. We can’t do anything here until we get a preliminary report from the Medical Examiner and the safety team looking at the accident site.”

Uncle Mike stood up, all business. “I’ve already placed the forklift driver, Carl Jorgenson, on administrative leave. In an accident such as this, we’re required to keep him out of the workplace pending a full OSHA investigation. He feels terrible about the whole mess — but Nevsky shouldn’t have been wandering around in a restricted area. He’s as much at fault.”

A knock came at the door, and Sally Montry poked her ash-blond head into the room. “PK’s here, Mr. Waterloo.” Sally wasn’t beautiful, but the statuesque attractiveness made people think of her as a ‘handsome’ fortyish woman. Uncle Mike had often commented on her impeccable competence.

“Thanks. Send him in.”

PK Dirks stood uneasily outside the door. He looked at Sally with a strange expression, but the secretary walked coolly past him. Dirks flicked his eyes, then stepped into the administrative office. “The rest of the inspection team is here,” he said with forced good humor, scratching his reddish beard, “whenever Ms. Mitchell is ready to head out.”

Uncle Mike looked at Paige wearily. “Want me to go along?”

“I can handle it,” said Paige. “I’ve given my cell phone number to the ME, but I need you here to field general calls. Half the State Department will want to fly into town within the next few days, so anything you can do to satisfy them will help me.”

“Sally can let them know it’s all under control — she’s good at that.”

Paige nodded to PK Dirks, following the chubby, bearded technician out of the offices. “Let’s round up the Russians and go sightseeing.”

The white government van hummed along on the two-lane road, heading south and then west. While Paige drove, PK Dirks sat in the front passenger seat, turning his head to speak to the seven Russians in back.

“NTS is a big place, roughly the size of our state of Rhode Island,” Dirks said. “I don’t know how that compares to the size of old Soviet installations.”

The area was dry and desolate, some parts as flat as glass. In the midday sun occasional streaks of paler tan splashed the broad plain like a watercolor wash. Scarecrowish Joshua Trees mottled the landscape along with mesquite, brush sage, and gray-green thistles. Jagged mountains lay in angled strips on every horizon. Nothing looked remotely soft, as far as Paige could see. The sky was as clear as a blue magnifying glass, but she knew that sudden and violent thunderstorms could roll in at any time.

The Russians spoke little, still in shock at the death of their team leader. Paige knew the thoughts going through their minds: Had it been lax security at the DAF, or was it a sophisticated coverup for something more sinister? What had Nevsky been doing alone in a restricted area, far from the glove boxes?

Paige had seen other accident investigations and the inevitable result. Fingers had to be pointed, and for a tragedy of this magnitude the DAF would have to cough up at least one scapegoat — probably someone like Jorgenson or PK Dirks. She dreaded the repercussions might ripple as high as the DAF Manager, Uncle Mike.…

Paige caught a glimpse of figures moving overland across the desert up ahead. People… walking along like a group of hikers crossing the road. She squinted. “Who’s that?”

Dirks leaned forward. “Shouldn’t be anyone out here, ma’am. Slow down,” he said. “This is a security zone, not a Boyscout jamboree.”

The three hikers cut across the road as they headed north toward the distant range of mesas. They turned to face the oncoming van as if hoping to hitch a ride. How had they managed to get past NTS security? Several sequential gates phased people into various sections of the site; mobile ground and airborne guard forces monitored the area for intruders.

But apparently not well enough.

“Ma’am,” said Dirks, speaking more urgently now, “maybe we should use the CB to call security?” The Russians spoke excitedly among themselves, catching a glimpse of what was going on.

Paige handed Dirks the CB microphone as she pulled up next to the two men and a woman. One of the men was extremely thin and tall, with stringy hair hanging from his floppy brown cowboy hat; he blinked behind round John Lennon glasses. The woman was short and pudgy, wearing her black hair in two braids; the other man looked like a weightlifter dressed in a loose, tie-dyed T-shirt.

The tall man waved and gave a goofy grin. “Hey, what’s happening?” he called as Paige opened the van door. He shrugged off his backpack and peered up at the van through his dusty round glasses.

Paige gestured for PK Dirks to remain seated. Her shoes crunched in the sand as the desert heat hit her full force. “May I ask what you’re doing out here? This is a restricted area.”

“Told you we should have stayed away from the roads,” the pudgy woman said.

“I’m Doog, and this is Tina and Geoff,” the tall man said with a grin. “We didn’t expect to see anybody this far out past the gates.”

“Neither did we,” said Paige dryly. “Are you aware that unauthorized access here is a Federal offense.”

Tina and Geoff exchanged nervous glances; Doog just shrugged and gave his goofy grin. “We weren’t going to steal anything. The Cold War is over, and you guys aren’t setting off any nukes anymore — so what do you have to hide?” He waited with childlike anticipation for her answer.

Paige shook her head, trying not to get irritated. “That’s not the point, Mr., uh, Doog. No Trespassing means No Trespassing.”

Doog looked at his two companions, who both shrugged in surrender. “We’re just taking a shortcut up to Groom Lake. We figured it might be easier to get through the fence this way. No chance of getting through on the Route 375 side. Extraterrestrial Highway.”

“Yeah,” said Tina, her eyes dark and intense. “You know, Dreamland.”

Doog said, “Groom Lake, Area 51 — that super-secret Air Force base inside Nellis where the government is hiding a bunch of aliens in one of their hangars. They won’t let the public know about it because they’re holding negotiations so Earth can be accepted into the galactic union.”

Paige lifted an eyebrow. “Aliens?”

Geoff nodded, finally speaking, His voice was surprisingly high pitched for his burly body. “We’re sneaking in to get a look for ourselves, find enlightenment, and channel our energy to the stars.”

Dirks leaned out the window. “Site Security is on the way, ma’am.”

“Who are these people?” General Ursov glared out the open window of the van. “Why the delay? Is this another breach in security?”

Paige sighed. This was going to be one long day.