Craig Kreident #2 Fallout (28 page)

She rang the bell again and again, but the place remained silent, like a haunted house.
 
She realized that if he wasn’t home, Uncle Mike was probably working late at the DAF.
 
As usual.

Now that she had set herself in motion, Paige had to find him.
 
Craig was distracted with his NEST response — but he would soon make the connection himself, and she needed to talk to Uncle Mike before the FBI arrested him. . . .

Distances in the desert seemed hypnotic.
 
At night, with the thickening storm clouds smothering the stars, only the headlights of oncoming traffic kept her company.
 
She had nothing to do but concentrate on the highway ahead of her.

She daydreamed about all the Christmases when Uncle Mike and Aunt Genny had come over, exchanging presents.
 
Uncle Mike always gave Paige something special — a Hope bracelet, a gold Thai
baut
chain, even a St. Christopher’s medal for her sixteenth birthday.
 

Three years ago he had delivered a broken-voiced eulogy at her father’s funeral, talking about the times they had spent together, fishing trips they had taken, backpacking sojourns in the Sierra Nevadas.
 

She drove on, staring at the long ribbon of highway.
 
Far off, toward the horizon, she saw glimmers of heat lightning trapped in the clouds.

Uncle Mike had given her colorful streamers for her first bike, and he had figured out that she no longer wanted to play with dolls well before her parents did.
 
Paige had loved him so much for that. . . .

But now Mike Waterloo might be at the heart of a conspiracy to detonate a stolen nuclear weapon.
 

She swallowed hard and tried to keep her face expressionless as she passed through the Mercury guard gate into the Test Site.
 
The long road across Frenchman Flat and Yucca Flat passed by in a blur to where the Device Assembly Facility stood like a prisoner-of-war camp bathed in harsh white spotlights and surrounded by tall guard towers.

Several vehicles sat in the parking lot, third-shift security guards as well as late-night technicians and custodians.
 
NTS shut down primary operations on Fridays, but the place never emptied entirely — especially not now.
 
With the Russian disarmament team visiting, DAF personnel spent twice as much time keeping the facility scrubbed clean, everything neat and tidy.
 

The Russians would come in the next morning for their final closeout ceremonies, finish the rest of their mandated work — and receive their copies of the official autopsy report where they would learn that Nevsky had been murdered.
 
Then it would really hit the fan.

Craig had already put many of the pieces together, but there was no telling how Ursov and the rest of the team would react to the news.
 
The delicate disarmament summit might crash and burn —

But then, if a stolen atomic bomb obliterated downtown Las Vegas, any news of the Presidential summit would definitely be bumped to page two.

She parked her truck and passed rapidly through the security procedures.
 
With her Protocol Escort pass, Paige did not require an escort of her own or prior permission to enter the facility.
 
She did not want to inform Uncle Mike that she was coming.

She felt her knees trembling and her heart pounding as she strode down the linoleum-tiled hallway from the high bays and the main warehouse area into the wing containing the offices.
 
This late at night, every office remained dark and closed . . . except for one at the end of the hall, the administrative suite of the DAF Manager.
 

She’d known he would be here.

Paige swallowed hard and thought seriously of just backing away, ignoring her suspicions, what she needed to say to him.
 
Uncle Mike would never realize she had come here at all.

She thought again of riding her bike with its lavender streamers flaring from the handlebars, Dad and Uncle Mike at the end of the blacktop driveway cheering as she wobbled but did not fall off because she had sworn she was going to keep her balance
this time
without training wheels. . . .

No, she could not turn him in to Craig.
 
She could not believe this man was a monster bent on terrorist destruction.
 
Not Uncle Mike.

But given what she knew, how could she
not
believe it?

She stepped into the front office where Sally would normally sit answering the phone, making photocopies, typing on her word processor.
 
But the secretary’s station was empty, though the computer was on.
 

Uncle Mike was in his office, out of sight.
 
A file drawer rolled shut, banging heavily.
 
She could hear him moving around by his desk.
 
Paige hesitated again, wondering what to say — and then she was in the middle of it, because Mike Waterloo stepped out of his office, a folder in his hand.

He stopped, startled to see her.
 
“Paige!
 
What are you doing here?”
 
He flushed, seemingly with guilt, then pushed the folder under his arm, clumsily trying to hide it.

She kept her gaze locked on his face.
 
Her lips trembled, and she balled her fists at her sides.
 
She had to be strong, she had to make it clear . . . she could not let him see her waver.

“Paige, are you all right?”
 
He took a step toward her.

“I came to tell you . . . tell you that we
know
, Uncle Mike.
 
We know about the missing warhead, we know about the militia connections.
 
It’s all clear now —
everything’s
clear.
 
But I need to know something else before the FBI comes for you.”
 

Her voice was stretched taut with fear.
 
What would he say?
 
What would he do?
 
Would he laugh at her?
 
Or would he smile and gently explain everything, as he had so many times when she was a little girl.
 
She prayed she was wrong. . . .

But Paige could tell instantly by the wiry man’s reaction that she had guessed right.
 
Mike Waterloo didn’t even try to deny it.
 
His sad eyes flicked down.

“Where is the bomb, Uncle Mike?
 
Tell me where it’s hidden.
 
Save us the grief, and save a lot of lives.”
 
Time seemed to draw out forever.

“Oh, Paige, Paige,” he whispered, shaking his head, his face turning gray and sweaty.
 
She watched him, waiting.

His shoulder’s slumped.
 
“I shouldn’t keep thinking of you as Gordon’s little girl.
 
You always were smart as a whip and not afraid to speak your mind.”
 
He turned to go back into his office.
 
“Your father would’ve been proud of you,” he said.

That comment made her anger flare brighter than her deep sadness.
 
“And what would my father have thought of
you
?” she said, stepping after him.
 
He retreated to the back of the office and settled slowly in his chair, as if in great pain.
 
He looked down at his desk, a vacant expression on his face.

Paige placed both hands on his desk and leaned over, her voice accusing.
 
“After everything you two did together — and now you’re engaged in a maniac’s campaign of sabotage and murder?”

“Part of the campaign, not all of it,” he whispered.
 

“How could you?”
 
Paige felt her face grow flush.

He hesitated, then leaned forward and opened a drawer.
 
“It’s quite complicated, and if there were time, I’m sure you’d understand.”
 
His voice sounded tired, as if he were lost in thought, debating something . . . and he pulled a revolver from his bottom desk drawer.
 
He pointed it at her, but he didn’t seem to know what to do with it.

Paige stood like a statue, too stunned from everything else she had discovered about Uncle Mike for this final act of betrayal to matter much.
 
“I guess you can stoop even lower than I expected,” she whispered.

He held the revolver out, but he was sweating.
 
“I knew Gordon better than you ever could, Paige.
 
Friends talk about things that a father would never tell his daughter.
 
Your dad would have been sickened by what I happen to know is going on in this world.
 
There comes a time when you have to take a stand, when you can’t put up with it any longer . . . when you’ve got nothing else to lose.”

Still aiming the revolver at her, he picked up the phone on his desk, punched in several numbers, and cradled the handset against his ear.
 
The gun didn’t waver.
 
Paige felt numb and detached, not exactly fearing for her life, just unable to believe what she had stumbled into.

Uncle Mike listened to the phone ring and ring.
 
His face became grim, impatient.
 
Finally, someone answered.
 
“It’s me,” he said tiredly.
 
“Problems.
 
Paige Mitchell is here.
 
The FBI has figured it out.
 
They know about the warhead.
 
They know about my involvement.”
 

He listened intently, and Paige could see the anguish on his face.
 
He nodded absently.
 
“We’ll move out tonight then.
 
I thought you’d suggest that.”
 
Then he swallowed hard, growing angrier.
 
“No!
 
I won’t do it.
 
There has to be another alternative.”
 

He listened.
 
“No, I’ll take her with me.
 
After a while it won’t matter.”
 
He paused.
 
“Well, I’m sorry but that’s the best I can do.
 
You know where to find me.”
 
He hung up, his sunken face blotchy as emotions roiled beneath his skin.
 
He looked toward Paige, at a loss for words.

“What?” she said.
 
“You’re supposed to kill me where I stand?”

“There are some things I refuse to do, even for the Eagle’s Claw,” he said.
 
“You probably despise me already, but I do have my own sense of honor.
 
I was the one who tipped off Agent Kreident about the Amtrak explosion.
 
I didn’t mind wrecking the railroad bridge, but I didn’t want to see all those people killed.”

“How admirable,” Paige said.
 
“But if you’re so concerned about people, how can you let a warhead go off in Las Vegas?”

“Las Vegas?”
 
He blinked at her in surprise.
 
“What are you talking about?”

“Isn’t that your obvious target?
 
You’ve smuggled out a functional nuclear warhead, and you’re going to set it off to make your insane point . . . whatever it is.
 
What better target than Las Vegas?
 
Even the President will be here — what more could you want?
 
You can’t tell me you’re hiding an atomic bomb in
Pahrump
or some other little town.
 
The FBI found a map of the casinos in Bryce Connors’s house, with some of them circled.”

“That map just indicated where the Eagle’s Claw would meet.”
 
Uncle Mike looked at her, absolutely appalled.
 
“We would never harm a major American city full of civilians.
 
My God, and certainly not the President!
 
This is my country.
 
I love the United States — but I’m fighting the biggest threat to freedom our nation has ever known.”

He came back around the desk and gestured with his revolver for her to precede him out the office and down the hall.
 
“You’ll go with me until it’s all over with, tomorrow morning.”

Paige walked stiffly ahead of him.
 

“After that, I don’t care what happens to me,” he said.

CHAPTER 34

Thursday, October 23

9:17 P.M.

Home of PK Dirks

Las Vegas

The squad cars pulled up, three of them, their lights flashing.
 
Las Vegas police jumped out of the vehicles.
 
Craig emerged from his own car, drawing the 9-mm Beretta from his shoulder holster.
 
With his other hand he clutched the folded search warrant and arrest warrant.
 

Two officers pounded on the door, while Craig stepped back in full view, holding out the warrants as if they were weapons, passing them from hand to hand, shuffling his feet as he waited impatiently.
 
He glanced at his watch.

The officers pounded again, and Craig was just ready to tell them to break the door down, when the lock clicked and the door popped open.

PK Dirks stood in a T-shirt and baggy Bermuda shorts, scratching his beard and blinking.
 
His eyes looked bleary, and from the smell of his breath, Craig suspected Dirks had recently put away most of a six-pack of beer.

“Yo, Agent Kreident,” Dirks said, then finally focused on the squad cars, the flashing lights, the policemen.
 
“Something happen?
 
Where’s the Russians?”