Virtual Destruction

CHAPTER 19

It was a snobbish thing to do, really. Diana Unteling still had friends in Livermore — dozens of them, and long-time ties that went back for years, long before her husband had formed the Coalition for Family Values. She could have stayed in a nice home close to the Lab, she could have received a home-cooked breakfast after the hard night of traveling, had someone to speak to over morning coffee.

But this wasn’t a social trip. They would also ask too many questions — and she needed time alone to deal with Hal Michaelson.

The Sheraton Inn in Pleasanton, ten miles west of the huge Livermore nuclear lab, allowed Diana to blend in with other travelers. No one really gave a flip at the Sheraton if she was a deputy assistant Secretary of Energy or the Queen of France. She and Hal had met here a dozen times during their years-long affair, but now just the thought of him sent a wave of uneasiness and tension through her.

No one would notice her comings and goings this time either.

Diana came down to breakfast with the freebie hotel copy of the San Francisco Chronicle tucked under her arm. She decided to skip the complimentary breakfast buffet and ordered a pot of coffee and a danish. Sleeping in — and simmering anger toward Hal — had soured her appetite, and the three-hour time difference screwed up her metabolism.

Spreading the newspaper in front of her, she ignored the local “puff” news and turned to the National section. She was thankful the Sheraton had stopped handing out USA Today—once she had moved from Livermore to Washington, she had grown too used to the Washington Post, or “Pravda on the Potomac,” as Hal called it.

She scowled at the thought of him again: tall, imposing, with his pencil-thin moustache and domineering personality that made him seem like a grizzly bear on the outside, but a teddy bear on the inside. Why hadn't he returned her calls?

Arriving in Livermore late after taking the last flight to San Francisco from Washington D.C., she had spent the previous day hanging out at Hal Michaelson’s dim and empty farmhouse. She knew where Hal hid the spare key and had slipped in, waiting for him, and waiting, and waiting. But he never showed up. She got more furious with him as the hours went by.

The success of his International Verification Initiative must have really gone to his head, not that Hal’s ego had ever been small.

In the Sheraton restaurant Diana took a sip of her coffee and tried to concentrate on the paper, but her thoughts kept coming back to Hal. He wasn’t at his home, and all the previous afternoon no one at the Virtual Reality lab would admit he was there. She had refused to leave her name or leave the number of the Sheraton, but no one could be that busy. Not even Hal.

Yesterday, she had grown livid with him for making her waste an entire day. She couldn’t afford to wait any longer, not if she had to prepare for her Senate confirmation hearing. She had fudged one too many imaginary business trips to Livermore already, and she had to get back to DOE Headquarters. If Hal didn’t want anything else to do with her, that only left one thing to do.

She reassembled the paper and folded it, automatically tucking it under her arm. Diana smoothed her skirt, bumping the chair backward. Her deep blue suit with white hose would stand out as too formal at the Livermore Lab, but here at breakfast among the high-tech entrepreneurs on the outskirts of Silicon Valley, she was just another hard-charging visitor to the Bay Area. She gulped her coffee, ignored most of her danish, and left a tip that was more than twice the cost of her breakfast. She clicked out of the hotel restaurant.

Classical music played in the background of the hotel lobby, competing with the low tone of TV news from the lounge. A uniformed doorman stood in a scarlet jacket just outside the wide glass entry, waiting to open the door for guests. Diana fished in her purse for the rental car keys, but froze when she heard a reference to the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory on CNN.

She was unable to make out what the talking head on the news program was saying. She left the doorman holding the door as she turned back to approach the television set. When Lawrence Livermore got mentioned on the news it was usually some kind of scandal, which made her work at DOE even more difficult. Better to find out as soon as possible.

As she drew near, hearing more words than she wanted to, all the little details seemed to stand out in bright spotlights for her. Her steps came slower and slower. She gripped the newspaper under her arm, making the paper crackle. Her right hand clutched her purse, the rental car keys pressing a sharp red line into her palm.

“…to repeat, unconfirmed reports that controversial scientist Hal Michaelson, recently appointed director of the President’s new International Verification Initiative, was found dead early this morning from unknown causes. Officials at the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, the nuclear design facility located forty miles east of San Francisco, have refused to make a statement, prompting rumors of politics and foul play. Also in the news this half hour—”

Diana stopped in the lobby, unable to move, afraid she might lose her balance. She stared at the TV screen, unable to fully comprehend what the news anchor had said. Pure exhaustion flowed through her, starting at the top of her head and pooling at her feet.

She wavered and held out a hand to support herself against a planter filled with plastic flowers. The car keys slipped from her hand and jangled to the carpet. A moment later the newspaper fell as well, fluttering into strewn sections.

Diana didn’t know how long she stood in the lobby, her eyes and mind focused on events not in the present. Highlights from the past three years played over and over in her head, with Hal Michaelson cast in the starring role.

Diana felt pressure on her elbow, and she turned to see a young red-haired woman standing beside her, dressed in the ubiquitous uniform of the Sheraton staff. “Ma’am, can I help you? Are you all right?”

It took Diana a moment to recall where she was. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

The woman bent and picked up Diana’s newspaper and held out the car keys. “Are you sure? Is anything the matter?”

“No.” Diana shook her head and bit her lip, trying but unable to clamp down her customary ice mask. She couldn’t stop the tears. “Everything is fine. Fine.”