Authors: Craig Buckhout
As Tattoo passed by Blogger, he slapped him on the head before continuing on and climbing in the driver’s seat of the SUV.
In the meantime, Shorty made another attempt to get past Steve, but Steve stood his ground and pushed him away. Shorty looked back at Tattoo, hesitated a second, walked to the passenger door of the DHS vehicle, and got inside. Before his door was even closed, they took off, flipping on the siren.
Steve leaned inside the passenger door of the Prius and retrieved what looked like a small quantity of methamphetamine contained in the cut off and knotted corner of a plastic baggie.
When he turned back, Max was on his cellphone calling Communications. With the sound of sirens starting up in the distance, he asked, “Did something just happen? We’re hearing a lot of sirens.” He listened for a few seconds, disconnected, and said, “A bomb just went off at the Santa Clara Convention Center. Lots of casualties. We better get to work.”
Before leaving, they quickly got Blogger’s real name, Ben Peoples, his date of birth, and other basic information. Max also supplied Blogger with his work email address so he could get a copy of the video and photos.
As they were getting into Max’s truck, Steve said, “Was that guy going to draw down on you?”
Max shrugged his shoulders and said, “I don’t know, but I’m sure glad he didn’t.”
After a couple of seconds, Steve started laughing. “Weird. We were just dukin’ it out with a couple of cops in broad daylight. I love it! I fuckin’ love it!”
But Max was thinking about Myra. She was working so she was probably headed to the Convention Center.
CHAPTER NINE
Max walked in the door, sat down at his desk, and turned on the scanner to listen to the radio traffic regarding the latest bombing. Over the PAB public address system he heard, “Attention all personnel and visitors. We just received a shelter in place order from the Fire Department. There apparently is some sort of toxic event associated with an explosion at the Santa Clara Convention Center that should pose no health risk to us as long as we remain inside the building. The Fire Department is evaluating the situation and will provide further information as soon as they can. We will update you with anything new when we get it. For now, the safest place to be is inside.”
Max’s first thought was Myra again, soon followed by, what the hell was a toxic event?
Max grabbed the phone on his desk and called the Communications supervisor. As he was waiting for his call to be answered, all the phone lines in the office lit up and started ringing. The civilian employee he was working with, a woman named Brenda, started answering calls.
The Communications supervisor came on Max’s line and told him the first Fire units on the scene at the Convention Center detected high levels of radiation, so pulled back. They advised other, incoming Fire units of the situation, allowing them to suit-up in protective gear so they could start rendering aid to the victims. The radiation exposure protocol was activated and triage tents were being set up in hospital parking lots and elsewhere to keep any possible contamination out of medical facilities. Decontamination stations were being put in place in several locations as well. The speculation was that the source of the radiation was from the explosive device itself and they were already calling it a “dirty bomb.” Finally, the Fire Department was at that moment trying to determine how widespread the contamination was and to plot the path of any possible plume of radiation.
“Jesus,” Max whispered. People had talked about dirty bombs for years, but Max always thought of it as just wild speculation put out there by right-wing talk show hosts and conspiracy nuts.
Max asked if any ambulance units had made it to the scene before the radiation was detected.
“Okay, hang on, I gotta go to a different screen for that information, but afterwards I need to get off the line,” came the supervisor’s reply.
“Thanks,” Max replied.
“No, it looks like they were staging about two blocks from the scene when the order to pull back was given. But most of them have already been pressed into service to transport the injured to the triage centers, so I suppose there is still some danger of contamination, if that’s why you’re asking. Okay, look, I gotta go,” and she abruptly disconnected.
When Max hung up he could hear Brenda on the phone, apparently with her family. “I don’t know any more than that, honey. …That’s what I heard, radiation. …I told you, I don’t know how bad. …I know, I know, I’m scared, too. They told us not to leave the building because it’s too dangerous. …Please, just calm down, okay? As soon as it’s safe to leave I will. I promise. …Okay, I promise. I’ll be careful. …Sure. Love you. Bye.”
After she hung up, Brenda answered one of the ringing phones, told the caller to hold on, covered the mouth piece, turned to Max, and said, “Did you hear that? The bomb had radiation in it. The whole place is contaminated. Do you think, you know, it’ll reach all the way here? I mean maybe we ought to get out before it’s too late. Remember the towers …9/11? They told some of ‘em to stay where they were, and they ended up dying.”
Max pulled out his cell phone and hit the icon for weather. As he was waiting for the screen to open up, he said, “I think if we stay right where we are, any radiation won’t touch us. The building will keep it out.” He looked at his app as he said this and noted that the wind direction was away from PAB to the northeast. “The good news is the wind’s blowing away from us.”
“It’s just that my kids are so scared. The school is holding them there until a parent comes to pick them up. I’m the only one, and I’m stuck here.”
“Let’s just give it a little bit of time for them to figure things out,” is all that Max could think of to say.
Max started answering phone lines, and as he talked he pulled up Google Earth on his computer screen and zeroed it in on the Santa Clara Convention Center. He started clicking on those little icons that identified nearby places of interest. The new 49er football stadium, Great America Theme Park, Mission College, at least two elementary schools, a couple of light rail stations, and many, many high tech companies were all nearby. He also knew that there was a major hotel in the area, although he couldn’t locate it on the map. On a summer day in mid-June; well, he just hated to think about how many people there were near the explosion site. And then on top of that, if the wind really was travelling northeast and carrying contamination with it, it was headed right toward the city of Milpitas.
A lieutenant walked in the door with a handful of papers he split between Brenda and Max.
“These are all the off duty people,” he said. “Start calling them back to work. They’ll be assisting Santa Clara Police and Fire as needed. Have them meet at the San Jose State University P.D. parking lot and wait for further instruction. CHP, S.O., Campbell PD, Morgan Hill, Gilroy, and I think even some Santa Cruz units will be meeting there, too. And then to Max he said, “When you’re through with that, the Chief wants to see you.”
Shit, Max thought, those DHS guys must have made a complaint.
Max and Brenda started making calls and were only able to get a hold of about sixty percent of the off-duty officers despite calling both cell and home numbers. This made Max suspect that some of them just weren’t answering their phones, instead opting to stay with their families until they knew for sure they were safe and didn’t have to evacuate the city.
Max took a break and put a call into Raha and told her she and the others were in no danger but if conditions changed, he would call them right away. He then tried to call Myra, but couldn’t get through.
He did receive a call from Steve, though, who told him everything was “all fucked up.” Steve explained there were at least a thousand kids and their parents at Great America when the bomb exploded and radiation levels showed they had all been exposed. There were also a couple hundred students starting summer classes at nearby Mission College who had to be evacuated, high density housing nearby, and several thousand employees of high tech companies in the area who were affected. All the cars parked near the explosion site had to be left behind because of the potential of contamination, so people were being taken in county buses to decontamination centers that were overwhelmed by the number of clients. The Red Cross had already started setting up shelters outside the area. And as far as casualties from the explosion were concerned, there were about seventy five injured enough to require transportation to triage centers.
The bomb had apparently been driven to the convention center in a stolen catering truck. The explosion wasn’t so powerful that it caused extensive structural damage, but it dispersed what the Hazmat people figured to be Cesium 137, a radioactive substance used in medical, industrial, and research applications, and found in just about every country in the world.
“Did you happen to see Myra?” Max asked.
“Naw, sorry man, I didn’t go anywhere near the scene. In fact, right now I’m wearing this paper suit and mask and working a perimeter position. I’ve seen plenty of ambulances go by, but haven’t seen who’s in ‘em.”
“How safe do you feel?” Max asked.
Steve laughed. “They say I’m okay. Supposedly I’m in the cold zone, so far enough away that contamination isn’t likely, and even if I get dusted a little, the chance of getting sick from it is pretty small. It’s a weird feeling, though. You can’t see it or smell it, so you could be covered in the stuff and you’d never know. A couple of the guys were freaked out enough about it that they refused to work the perimeter, so have been assigned to evacuation centers instead. Oh, and those DHS pussies have made sure they’re way out of reach. The only ones I’ve seen are the ones with air packs and moon suits, headed to the scene.”
“Okay, keep your eyes out for Myra, will you? I haven’t been able to get a hold of her.”
After hanging up with Steve, Max told Brenda he had to go to the Chief’s office and would be back as soon as possible. Just as he said that, he heard over the scanner that Mineta San Jose International Airport had been shut down and all incoming flights were being diverted to other airports. The light rail had also been stopped well short of the danger area.
The potential financial cost of this one single incident suddenly struck him. It seemed staggering; millions, maybe billions. What if the convention center, Great America, the new 49’er stadium, all those high tech companies, and the hotel had to be abandoned? Think of the money lost. Think of the jobs lost. Think of the loss of sales tax, hotel tax, parking fee revenues. Mind boggling.
CHAPTER TEN
The Chief’s office was on the second floor of PAB. To get there, Max had to actually walk outside the building, up a set of stairs, and go through an exterior door. As soon as he stepped out, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was getting dusted with radiation. Everything he knew so far said he was safe. He could only imagine, though, what people who didn’t have the same access to information he did, felt.
Chief Morris Flanders III was a tall, trim, fifty year-old African American widower, with close-cropped gray hair, who almost always wore his uniform while at work. He was rumored to be a competitive cyclist, but was also rumored to suffer from high blood pressure, so looking at his retirement options.
Max had never had a private conversation with him before. His feelings toward the Chief were ambivalent. The Chief was, however, said to be a fair man, not overly ambitious, who seemed genuinely concerned for the welfare of the troops.
Flanders was standing at his window, staring out, when Max walked in. Without turning around, he asked, “Coffee?”
It was only when Max said, “No, thanks” that the Chief turned, crossed the distance between them, and shook Max’s hand.
“Hell of a mess, huh?” the Chief said. “Have a seat. I got a job for you.”
So it’s not about the DHS, Max thought. He let out a silent breath.
He dropped into an upholstered chair facing the Chief’s desk as his boss moved to his own chair.
“Does it involve someone trying to kill me?”
Chief Flanders laughed, “Probably not.” Then the smile disappeared. “I heard about you opening up your home to cops and their families. And of course that whole thing at Farid’s house with the fire bomber; impressive. The thing is, it’s only going to get worse …is getting worse. Some of the civilian, non-sworn have already left the building to be with their families, despite our warning them not to. Well, for that matter, some of the sworn, too. I can’t blame them; I mean look at what’s happening, but I also can’t run a police department unless I have people here to do it with. That’s where you come in.”
Max gave him one of those, what the hell can I do about it, looks.
“You’re going to open up the Southern Substation and operate it as a shelter for families of employees. There’s plenty of room, over a hundred thousand square feet of floor space, bathrooms, kitchen, televisions, parking, and an eight foot fence around the whole thing with electronic surveillance. Our employees can take their families there, know where they are, know they are safe, and contact them whenever necessary. I’m hoping this will give them enough peace of mind to come back to work and stay when bad things are happening.”
The south substation was a ninety million dollar debacle. It was budgeted for, contracted for, designed, and started at a time when it seemed the money would never end and the expansion south would never stop. But along came the 08 crash, and by the time the building was finished, the city couldn’t afford to operate it. Even if they somehow found the money, by then they had laid off so many cops and cut the pay and benefits of the rest, causing a wave of resignations, they couldn’t possibly staff it now if they wanted to.
“Why me? Why not a lieutenant or sergeant,” Max asked.
“Well for one thing, you’re on light duty for a couple more weeks, so can’t work the street anyway, and I need every one of my command people and supervisors here at work. The other thing is, well to be frank, I have confidence in you. What you did at the mall and the other night ….” He didn’t finish the sentence.
Yeah? Well you should have seen Steve and me trading punches with those DHS assholes a couple of hours ago and maybe you would have a different opinion of me, Max thought. “Look Chief, the idea might work, but we need more than a building. We’d need food, cots, blankets, tables and chairs, garbage cans, mops, brooms, TP, maybe even a couple of vehicles to pick people up and drop them off in an emergency.”
“Some of that is already there. Some of it I can get with a phone call or two. As for the rest, …” he opened his center desk drawer, pulled out a city credit card, stood up, reached over, and set it on the edge of his desk nearest to Max. “It’s got a five thousand dollar limit on it. If you need more, call me and we’ll talk about it. There are also a couple of those big, metal, cargo containers on site that contain pre-positioned disaster supplies. There should be some folding cots, food, water in those little Mylar packages, and so forth.” Your old PAB key should fit the locks. If not, I’m sure you know what to do.”
“Okay, you kind of took me by surprise there, but now I’m thinking about it. There’s no way I’m going to be able to do it by myself. I’ll need some help. Just like at my place, I can use some of the parents to do things; cooking, monitoring the kids, clean up, stuff like that, but if a lot of people show, it will be too much for me alone. Can you give me anyone else to help?”
“Pick someone.”
“Steve Woods.”
“Done. What else?”
“I need a letter from you putting me in charge and saying I report directly to you, that way some sergeant, lieutenant, or captain doesn’t come in there and start changing things he doesn’t have to live with.”
“I’ll have it ready for you twenty minutes after we finish our conversation. In fact, as of now you’re an acting sergeant. I’ll put that in there, too. But since I’m now your supervisor, I’ll want daily verbal reports from you on what’s going on and, from time to time, I’ll be dropping by to see how things are going.”
Max nodded his head. “When do I start?”
“Today. Now.” Chief Flanders wrote something out on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “This is the name and phone number of a guy at Public Works who knows that building inside out. Call him and get the grand tour.”
Max looked at the note and saw the name Will Mason.
Max stood, shook the Chief’s hand, and turned to leave. Before reaching the door he turned and said, “I’ll want a couple of shotguns, too.”
Chief Flanders flicked his hand, “Whatever you need, take it. If they give you trouble, tell them to call me.”
Max told the Chief’s assistant he’d be back in thirty minutes to pick up the letter making him a sergeant and putting him in charge of the substation. He then returned to his office where he discovered Brenda had bugged out on him. He let the phones ring, the callers would eventually hang up or be transferred to the Bureau of Field Operations clerical staff, and called Communications for an update on what was happening.
What he learned was that the shelter in place order had been lifted for everyone except those north and east, within two miles of the blast. For the rest, the danger was very, very minimal. The radioactive cloud was diluting nicely the farther away it got. However, a six-block area, completely around and out from Convention Center, had been cordoned off and declared a ‘no go zone’ for anyone without the proper equipment. The evacuations and decontaminations were continuing, and in a new twist, people were showing up at the hospitals by the dozens, erroneously complaining about radiation sickness. There were so many in fact, that cops had to be redeployed there to maintain order.