“So what?” Claude said.
“I’m guessing those rods haven’t moved since I was here last. They’re still crammed in pools of refrigerated water. Is that correct?”
With some reluctance, Sheen gave him an affirmative nod.
“I seem to remember if that water ever leaks out or stops circulating, the rods only take an hour or two to reach a thousand degrees. They get that hot, the zirconium cladding they’re wrapped in catches fire; not long after that the cement walls vaporize; next thing you’ve got is a radioactive cloud spewing out the roof like Mount Etna shooting ash.
“Worst case, a day or two Turkey Point is in the center of a dead zone the size of Rhode Island, an area that stays toxic for centuries. Even if it’s a small leak, if the wind’s right, Homestead to the Broward line, five million souls are affected. If there’s a quick fix, very best case, a few hundred thousand are in jeopardy. Land’s contaminated for miles around, southern Biscayne Bay is off-limits the rest of our lives and our kids’ lives. That’s how I remember it from before. All that still true? Because I’ve read it’s gotten worse. Even more spent fuel rods crammed in those pools.”
Sheffield leaned forward a little more, clicked his lighter, got a flame, and touched it to the squarish structure north of the containment building. The plastic caught and began to crinkle and give off a chemical vapor.
“Because if this is still true, folks, this is the building we should be watching.”
Everyone stared at the small replica burning, the fire spreading swiftly across the rest of the scale model. Claude came to his feet, hustled out the door, and was back with a fire extinguisher just as Frank was patting out the small fire with the palm of his callused hand. The domed containment structure was blackened but intact.
“Was that necessary, Agent Sheffield?” Sheen was on her feet, waving the smoke from her face.
“You can’t hold it in your hand, it isn’t real,” he said. “Right, Claude?”
Claude cranked open a window. “The water can’t leak out, smart guy. The walls of the tank are concrete, five feet thick, lined with stainless steel. The spent fuel tank is the size of an Olympic pool. That means pumping out thousands of gallons of water. It’d take a week. Maybe a truck full of dynamite could blast a little hole in the side, but that isn’t going to happen because we got barriers on top of barriers to prevent exactly that. So your little fantasy, it ain’t going to happen. Put that one back up your ass where it came from.”
Voice raspy from the fumes, Sheen managed some canned closing remarks about what a productive meeting it had been. How happy she was to be working with such a highly motivated group of people. Not a trace of irony.
So it was settled.
One week from tomorrow. On the seventeenth of August, a Friday, the drills would officially begin. Starting after midnight on Thursday, the FBI team would have a seventy-two-hour window to mount their attack: Friday, Saturday, or Sunday. The attack could begin at any time during that seventy-two-hour period. Laser weapons and sensor vests would be distributed in the next few days along with reflective armbands, white for the FBI and red for Turkey Point. Sheffield was to choose six combatants, and Sellers would select six from his security team. Any of the scenarios mentioned today were fair game, or if Sheffield wanted to improvise, that was also fair.
“Good luck to all of you,” Sheen said. “And the NRC will be watching with great interest.”
SEVENTEEN
TEN MINUTES LATER, ON THEIR way out the exit drive, Frank said, “Anybody other than your superiors at NIPC know you were running Bendell?”
Nicole shot him a dark look. Not happy with his performance. Over the top, belligerent. Sure, Frank could’ve handled it better. He’d have to work on that. Learn to keep his cool. Maybe one of these days before he retired.
“No one knew about Bendell except the essential players.”
“Like Claude Sellers?” Frank said.
“I don’t like Sellers either. But he’s the power company’s security point man. We don’t have a lot of choice in the matter.”
“So he knew Bendell was working for you?”
“He knew I had someone in an ELF cell, but he didn’t know Marcus by name. Why? You don’t trust him?”
“Understatement of the month.”
They drove in silence till they were back on the turnpike. Nicole going the speed limit. A deep downdraft in her mood.
“So what now, Agent Sheffield?”
“Next thing is, I’d like to watch a video.”
“What video?”
“The one starring Leslie Levine and a crocodile.”