Craig Kreident #2 Fallout (19 page)

Nevada Test Site

The mountain of paperwork in front of him had become a blur in his eyes.
 
Craig shook his head.
 
He had spent the last hour just trying to figure out
what
the forms signified before he could unravel any discrepancies.
 
But the thought of skimming it all — not to mention understanding it — by Friday seemed an insurmountable task.

“Boy, that stuff must be fascinating,” Paige said, startling him.
 
She stood behind him in the Pit Assembly Area.

“You sure are a welcome sight.”
 
Craig sat up straight, rubbing his sore back.
 
He gave her a warm smile, then glanced at his watch.
 
“Are the Russians still here?”

“Uncle Mike took them back to the Rio and out to dinner.
 
He’s got a meeting in Las Vegas tomorrow morning, so I volunteered to stay and help you for an hour or so, if you’d like.”
 
Paige bent over to glance at the top layer of papers.

Craig sighed in relief.
 
“I’d like that a lot.
 
The pieces are in here somewhere, but I have to let them fall into place.”

Now, without General Ursov and the other Russians eavesdropping, he told her what Jackson had said on the cellular phone about the dead militia man at the Hoover Dam being a former NTS employee.

Paige remained quiet for a moment.
 
“Why don’t we double-check Warren Shelby’s records?
 
We can get them from the administration building in Mercury.
 
His clearance would have been denied if anything showed up during the background check, but security reinvestigation is done only every five to ten years — a lot of things change.”

Craig groaned.
 
“More papers. . .”
 
He pushed stacks of Nevsky’s notes aside, rubbing his temples.
 
So many numbers, signatures, dates, cross-references to other forms, specific listings of nuclear weapons components.
 
“But that’s a really good idea.
 
I also want to get the file on Jorgenson, the forklift driver.
 
And while you’re at it, let’s check out PK Dirks.
 
I know Sally Montry gave him an alibi, but he could have coerced her somehow.”

Paige gave an impish smile.
 
“I’m not sure
anybody
could coerce Sally.”

“I can’t give out employee addresses,” said Sally Montry.
 
Her short blond hair was perfectly cut, laying straight against her tanned forehead.
 
A stack of memos lay on her desk awaiting Mike Waterloo’s signature.
 
“That’s confidential information.”
 
She seemed rigid and uncooperative, and Craig wondered if she was trying to protect her boss out of some sense of loyalty.

He drummed his fingers on Sally’s government-issue, gray metal desk, pacing the floor.
 
A matted photograph of a night-time atomic blast hung behind the desk, autographed by numerous people.
 
He saw no family pictures, none of her estranged husband, none of PK Dirks, only a button stenciled with
I
©
NUCLEAR WEAPONS
.

“Look, Mrs. Montry,” Craig said.
 
“I need to speak with Mr. Jorgenson as part of this investigation.
 
I’m sorry if I humiliated you in front of your boss this morning, but the alibi you provided for Mr. Dirks was crucial for determining exactly what occurred Monday night.
 
This is just as important.”

She started to retort, but seemed to think better of it.
 
Sullenly, she opened a drawer that held a row of hanging files.
 
She flipped through a file marked PERSONAL and withdrew a sheet of paper.
 
“He lives at 26 Antelope Trail, in Pahrump.
 
You’ll have to drive a ways.
 
Carl won’t be home, though — he likes to hang out in the local bars.
 
Best bet would be to wait until morning, stop by on your way in to the Site.”

Craig jotted down the address.
 
“Thanks.
 
And tomorrow I may also need your help deciphering the paperwork Nevsky left behind.
 
Mr. Waterloo tells me you’re good at that.”

“The best,” Sally said, without seeming to brag at all.

Kill her with kindness
, Craig thought,
if that’s what it takes.

CHAPTER 22

Wednesday, October 22

6:15 P.M.

Las Vegas Strip

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.

CHAPTER 23

Wednesday, October 22