Kill Zone

6

Despite all the fences, gates, and guards on the outside, the bland conference room could have been in any government or military facility: outdated motivational posters and a picture of the President adorned the walls; workhorse plastic chairs with metal legs surrounded a faux-wood table with a laminate finish. A metal cylinder coffee dispenser sat on a blocky credenza in the corner.

Two men and an older woman chatted as they clustered around picked-over pastries next to the coffee urn. The larger of the two men wore a light gray suit; he held himself erect and kept his chin raised, as though to elevate himself. The other man had wild gray hair and wore a black corduroy jacket, tan button-down shirt, and blue jeans. The woman was short and petite, and her brown pants suit with matching flats were in contrast to Adonia’s red power suit and heels. Again, she felt overdressed.

The woman finished her cherry Danish and wiped her fingers on a napkin, and Adonia recognized her as the Undersecretary of Energy. Victoria Doyle was a powerful, no-nonsense woman in a very influential position in the DOE… but Doyle was responsible for nuclear weapons, not nuclear energy, which made her a square peg here. In the Department of Energy bureaucracy, Weapons and Energy were not only physically and administratively separated, but each area had its own culture, not to mention significant rivalry.

Adonia whispered to Stanley, “What’s Undersecretary Doyle doing here? She isn’t even in your chain of command.” As soon as she asked, she remembered the rumors that Stanley had once had an affair with Victoria Doyle. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned anything.…

His voice held a touch of annoyance. “Good question. You’ll have to ask Rob Harris — he’s the one who assigned her to the committee, though this was supposed to be my show.”

“Then how did her name get on the list? Why was she invited?”

He tightened his jaw. “I asked Harris to pull together the best senior experts for this team, but I should have vetted it first. I thought I could trust my own site manager to make the call.”

Your site manager? “I don’t understand what Rob is doing here. I know he retired—”

Ignoring her, van Dyckman raised his voice to get the others’ attention. “Everyone! Ms. Rojas has arrived, and Mr. Harris is on his way in from the operations center, so let me introduce you all.” He rubbed his hands briskly together, more comfortable now that he had taken charge. “This is Adonia Rojas, site manager of the Granite Bay nuclear power plant in New York. I like to think of her as my protégée, especially after the unfortunate events of a year and a half ago. Her position at Granite Bay gives her a real hands-on, boots-on-the-ground perspective for our review. That’s why I wanted her here.”

Though she bristled, Adonia forced herself to smile and nod at the other committee members as Stanley continued his introductions. “I’m sure you recognize my old boss, Senator Pulaski. He’s here in his official capacity as Chairman of the Senate Energy and Natural Resources Committee. Senator Pulaski is the reason we called all of you together so quickly. On Wednesday back in Washington he has a vital meeting about the future of Hydra Mountain, and he needs us to conduct an objective and broad-based review.”

The big man in the light gray suit vigorously shook Adonia’s hand. “Glad to meet you, young lady.” He held her hand for an uncomfortably long moment until she pulled away.

Van Dyckman said in a stage whisper, “Be nice to him, Adonia — he still controls the purse strings to the entire nuclear complex.” He brightened and made his tone artificially upbeat as he turned to the man with the unruly hair. “If you watch the news or any of the talk shows, you’ve seen Dr. Simon Garibaldi, the ‘loyal opposition’ from Sanergy.”

No one laughed, and Adonia felt her stomach sour. What the hell is he doing here? She knew the nutcase who had crashed the small plane into her site had been a fringe member — vehemently disavowed — of the Sanergy protest group.

“More like devil’s advocate,” Senator Pulaski muttered, not afraid to show his dislike for the man.

The tall, casually dressed Garibaldi responded with a distant smile. “Objective and open-minded. And willing to consider alternatives.” He sounded professorial.

Because of his technical background and his quick wit, Simon Garibaldi was a favorite of talk-show hosts, an outspoken, erudite critic of nuclear power despite having previously worked for DOE. As a gadfly in the media, Garibaldi felt it was his mission to make nuclear power obsolete by transitioning to cleaner, sustainable options… none of which were sufficient in the near future, though. Nevertheless, Garibaldi wanted to stall plant operations, claiming that his actions were a catalyst to force a change.

Coolly, she reached out to shake Garibaldi’s hand, in part to cover her uncomfortable reaction. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Doctor. You’re still President of Sanergy?”

“Sane energy for the masses,” he said with a brief nod. “It’s not a radical group, as some try to paint us, especially after that obviously misguided man crashed his plane into your facility. He was clearly disturbed.” He glanced at the Senator. “Sanergy is a watchdog organization, that’s all. My chief role is to serve as spokesman for alternatives.”

He looked from Victoria Doyle to Stanley van Dyckman, who stiffly exchanged glances. Garibaldi’s tone was biting as he added, “Who would have thought I’d finally meet DOE’s head of nuclear energy and the head of nuclear weapons together in the same room, along with the moneybags who funds them? And here we are, alone without any referees.” He chuckled with an icy humor. “This was worth all the cloak-and-dagger routine getting me here.”

Pulaski growled, “We’re well aware of your antinuclear bias, Dr. Garibaldi. But I hope we can convince you differently. Your blessing on this project will go a long way with the Congressional Oversight Committee. We’re doing the right thing here for the nation, you’ll see.”

Garibaldi seemed intrigued. “There’s a difference between wanting to do the right thing, and having a self-serving agenda, Senator.”

Annoyed, Pulaski stiffened. Garibaldi was tall, over six feet, and his unruly hair stuck out in all directions. The Senator was even taller, and outweighed him by fifty or sixty pounds, but he seemed outmatched nevertheless.

Van Dyckman glided between them. “Now, Senator, Mr. Harris specifically asked for Dr. Garibaldi because of his broad knowledge and unique perspective. I suppose he’ll keep us on our toes, and one can’t question his credentials.” He looked around the group. “I ask you all to keep an open mind. We’re doing great things here in Hydra Mountain, solving a national crisis. We’ve needed something like this for a very long time, and it’s finally operational.”

“I can be objective, but not a patsy,” Garibaldi said. “If you can’t convince me about whatever it is you’re doing here, you’ll never convince the public at large.”

Pulaski looked as if he had found a sour pickle inside his cheese Danish. “We aren’t ready to reveal this project to the public. That’s why you signed all those security forms.”

Interrupting the conversation, the conference room door opened, and two men entered, one in a dark blue sport jacket and a white shirt open at the collar, the other dressed in Air Force battle fatigues with silver eagles on either lapel. Red access cards hung around their necks.

Adonia caught her breath as she recognized them both. Rob Harris was a thin, mid-sixtyish African American with smoky gray hair and a bland expression. Early in her career she had worked with him for two years at Oakridge National Laboratory in Tennessee.

But her attention was immediately drawn to the handsome, smiling colonel, with his close-cropped sandy-brown hair and green-blue eyes. Ever since their bittersweet parting, she had spoken to Shawn Whalen only on the phone, and she certainly hadn’t expected to see him here. Their high-powered jobs had separated them, which made a long-distance relationship unsatisfying and impractical. Shawn had gone to Washington to work as the President’s military aide and special adviser. If he was here for this meeting, then Hydra Mountain was indeed an important project.

Spotting her, Shawn broke into a broad smile, but he turned his formal attention to the group, all business. Clasping his hands behind his back, he said, “Senator, Madam Undersecretary, Mr. Assistant Secretary, Ms. Rojas, and Dr. Garibaldi — on behalf of the President of the United States, let me welcome you to Hydra Mountain. Thank you for coming on such short notice. I’m Colonel Shawn Whalen, the President’s military aide. This is Rob Harris, site manager for the Mountain.”

Garibaldi looked intrigued and suspicious. “I read up on Hydra Mountain before coming here. Why does a decommissioned Cold War military facility need a site manager?”

Van Dyckman interjected, “Because we’ve found a viable new use for this complex.”

When Rob Harris spoke, his voice was monotone, even plodding. “That’s why you’re all here for this vital review. Sorry for the inconvenience, but Senator Pulaski is on a time crunch to conduct his classified oversight hearing later this week.”

“The Senator should look at his calendar ahead of time and plan better,” Garibaldi muttered. “A government meeting on a Sunday is a little unusual.”

Harris seemed to know Garibaldi. “There’s a purpose to it, Simon. I arranged for us to meet on a Sunday morning so as not to interfere with normal weekday operations. Except for one delivery this morning, we have the facility to ourselves. I’ve canceled today’s shift, and we only have a skeleton crew in the operations center.”

Harris obviously knew Victoria Doyle as well. He had worked in the nuclear industry for so long, Adonia realized, he’d probably interacted with all the currently influential people at some point in his career. “Madam Undersecretary, it’s been a few years since you’ve been here in person, and things have changed… quite radically. I specifically requested your presence because I think you have a unique perspective on our operations.”

“I was wondering why I was asked to participate,” Doyle said. “Stanley certainly didn’t request my presence.”

“We’re at the one-year point for operations,” Senator Pulaski explained with a hint of a drawl. “These types of programs are required to be periodically reviewed to continue operations, but we can take care of this quickly, get your sign-off, and you can fly back home.” He seemed to think the inspection was a perfunctory activity.

“Hydra Mountain really is an impressive operation. You’ll see soon enough,” van Dyckman interjected. “What we’ve accomplished here in a relatively short time—”

“You’ve been operating for twelve months without any public knowledge?” Garibaldi asked. “Sanergy keeps close tabs on nuclear ops. Don’t expect me just to give you a rubber stamp. What exactly is going on inside this mountain?”

Shawn broke in, his voice calm and reassuring. “And we are eager to show you, as soon as we go into the next SCIF. Before we enter the Mountain, does anyone have electronics on them — cell phones, iPads, smart watches, pagers? Anything at all that transmits radiofrequency energy?” He held up a small blue zippered bag to accept any wayward devices. “Anyone? Anything? We’re about to enter a very sensitive area.”

Van Dyckman said, “We took care of all that before entering the admin building, Colonel.”

Senator Pulaski let out an impatient sigh. “I have to stay in touch with Washington, coordinate with my staff. Senate business doesn’t stop on weekends, and this isn’t the only classified program I’m responsible for, you know.” He looked from Shawn to Harris. “Once we’re inside, you’ll make phones available at regular intervals? So we can conduct our business?”

Though the Senator was too sententious for her tastes, Adonia sympathized with his concerns. “I’ll need to call my Granite Bay staff before the day is out, as well. We’re in the middle of major construction.”

“We know you’re all very busy,” van Dyckman said. “We wouldn’t have asked you to join us for this review if you weren’t at the top of your respective fields. We’ll try to make arrangements.”

When no one offered up any phones or electronics, Shawn stuffed the bag in the thigh pocket of his fatigues. “Very well. Everyone follow me, please.” He led the way out of the conference room to the narrow hall and the large vault door against the rock wall.

The outside wind shook the admin building’s flimsy corrugated wall as the group gathered at the door. “Once we’re inside the Mountain, we’ll be able to get into the specifics of our operations,” Shawn said.

Van Dyckman was barely able to contain his excitement. “A final reminder about those forms you signed, restricting your rights about revealing what’s going on inside.” He almost sounded smug. “It’s a special-access area and is the most classified thing you are ever likely to see.”

Garibaldi stepped toward the vault door. “This had better be good if I signed away my freedom.”

Harris swiped the card hanging from his neck, keyed in a code, and pressed his palm against a screen. Once his access was approved, Adonia heard an audible click as the thick metal door swung open to reveal well-lit tunnels carved into the living rock. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Hydra Mountain.”