Going Dark(104)

Claude was in the dark. A goddamn lone straggler hair on his scalp.

He waited half a minute till the diesels kicked in and the emergency lighting fluttered on. Dim but functional. And the rumble in the walls started up again, right back where it was.

He plucked the sucker, then walked out into the hall, where workers in their hard hats were in low-volume panic mode, hustling here and there, asking each other what was going on, was this a drill, what about the reactor, and the hubbub grew as Claude walked down the hallway to the security office, where his men, his twelve best, had assembled outside the door as he’d told them to do if anything happened tonight the least bit hinky, such as if the lights went off, or the reactor alarm beeped, which had just begun.

Yes, sir, look what we had here, the biggest nuke plant in Florida with a Class One Crisis. And who would be called on to bring it to a successful conclusion? Why, none other than Claude Sellers.

* * *

They cruised into the center of the plant without a problem. Saw no sign of security, just workers bustling about in golf carts fitted with toolboxes.

Halfway to the reactor building, the overhead lights went dark, the jangle and roar of the plant ceased.

No one in the car spoke, Pauly driving on.

A half minute later, maybe a third of the lights brightened and the plant’s drone and vibration returned. There were shadows now, pockets of darkness around the grounds, near buildings, not the false noontime of before.

“The diesels,” Prince said. “Five minutes, Wally’s virus shuts them off.”

They drove past the southern cooling tower. Around sixty stories high, gigantic, a cement hourglass with a thick middle, a steady stream of bright condensation rolling into the black sky.

Off in the distance, thirty miles north across Biscayne Bay, Thorn could make out the ruby glow of Miami and the beach. A hazy mist of light that hugged the city like cheery smog. They continued to roll deeper into the plant, past the second cooling tower.

“This doesn’t strike you as too easy?” said Thorn.

“‘Come into my parlor,’ said the spider to the fly.” Frank looked at Thorn, shook his head. Bad shit coming.

“Do we need this government asshole anymore?” Pauly said.

“No more killing,” Leslie said. “That’s not what we’re about.”

“It is now,” Sheffield said. “You’re officially in the murder business.”

“Sheffield’s right,” Thorn said. “This smells like a trap.”

Leslie was silent as they crept toward the office complex. Two or three hundred yards away, she told Pauly to stop.

“What?”

“Right here,” she said. “They may be right. Time to change things up. Set the first charge. Base of the cooling tower. No one gets hurt, giant distraction.”

“He’s going off on his own?” Prince said.

“Cooling tower, maintenance shed. When you’ve set those two, meet us at the biology lab. From there we take the airboat to the skiff.”

“What about the cage?” Cameron said. “We need Pauly’s muscle.”

“We’ll take the critters inside one by one. Do it, Pauly. I’ll drive the rest of the way.”

Pauly held her eyes for a second, grunted, then got out, went back to the hatch, pulled out the suitcases and slammed the door, and headed off across an empty plaza.

“I don’t trust that guy,” Thorn said.

“You damn well shouldn’t,” said Frank.

Leslie settled into the driver’s seat and moved the shifter into gear.

As the car began to move, Thorn swung open his door and jumped out. Pitched sideways, his left leg numb, almost went down, but caught himself.

“Get back in here, goddamn it, Thorn.”

Thorn stood at the open door and watched as a golf cart rolled toward them, two security guys giving them a close look.

“Strong and decisive,” Thorn said. “Never knuckle under.”

“But always the knucklehead,” Sheffield said.

“Take this.” Cameron held out the revolver.

Thorn waved it off. “You guys are going to need it.”

Sheffield bent forward at the waist, straining against the plastic cuffs. “At least take this.” Frank motioned with his chin toward his utility belt.

Thorn reached behind Frank and drew the flashlight from its holster. A foot long, heavy enough it could double as a billy club. “Now this I like.”

Thorn slammed the door, watched the security guys rolling down the asphalt toward the domed reactor building, a couple of other golf carts with uniformed men converging on the same location.

He saluted Leslie with the flashlight and limped into the dark.





FORTY-ONE