Frank could feel a swell of heat in his chest. He was onto something, a glowing presence very close, like a word he’d been working to remember, fetching, fetching, until there it was, appearing from the haze but, damn it, still just beyond his grasp.
Then a few yards behind him some grievous asshole pulled a big black Lincoln over the edge of the asphalt lot, rolling right onto the patch of pristine sod next to the shuffleboard court. The sod had been laid two weeks ago. The seams between the squares were still clearly visible. Sheffield had been watering that patch an hour a day. Religious about it.
He stood up, ready to ream somebody out. But, no, it was the hippie security guy, Miles Shuster, and another guy from Professional Responsibility who got out of the Lincoln and ambled over.
“Move your car. And do it slowly so you don’t dig up my new grass.”
Miles looked back at the Lincoln. “Look, Frank,” the security man said, laying an unwelcome hand on his shoulder. “We came out here to let you know in person that with serious reservations, the panel has decided to clear the Prince Key case. We all agree there was a considerable dereliction and reckless disregard, and we may need to revisit the situation later after the field reports come in, but given these unfortunate circumstances with Agent Magnuson we’re suspending—”
“Put it in a memo,” Frank said. “Just get your fucking gas hog off my new grass.”
When they were gone, he checked the time, half past five, and called Marta. He knew she’d be in long past quitting time today, with an agent down.
“Look up a number for me,” he said.
“You okay?”
“Everybody keeps asking that.”
“Well, are you?”
“Her name is Sheen. She’s NRC. I don’t know where she’s based. But this is her area, region two. Get her number and call me back.”
“You sound frantic.”
“The number, Marta.”
She was back in five minutes with three numbers. Sheen’s home in Palm Beach, office in Lauderdale, and her cell.
Frank tried her cell first. Got her right off. Good sign.
“Agent Sheffield, how nice to hear from you.”
“I’ve got a question.”
“About Friday’s drill?”
“That’s right. Friday’s drill.”
“Well, shoot.” She chuckled. “No, no, I guess that’s the wrong thing to say to a federal agent.”
Sheffield pushed on. “Whose idea was it, the force-on-force? The ELF logo shows up, then you guys got involved. It’s the NRC’s call, isn’t it, when to do a force-on-force?”
“Yes. We’re charged with oversight. We make the determination when all such inspections or drills are required.”
“And is that how it worked this time? Your call?”
She said, “What’s the problem? You sound very stressed.”
Frank closed his eyes and held the phone at arm’s length. Everybody concerned about his blood pressure. It just made the pressure worse.
He brought the phone back to his ear in time to hear her say quietly, “Claude Sellers proposed the idea and Mr. Sellers set the date.”
“And Agent McIvey?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was she collaborating with Mr. Sellers before you came on board?”
“Collaborating?”
“Did they double-team you? Pressure you to schedule the drill?”
She was silent for a while. When she came back, her voice was firm and precise as if these words were being recorded for some official record. “I wouldn’t say pressure. But, yes, before I was consulted, Ms. McIvey and Mr. Sellers had discussed the situation and mutually agreed that such a drill was necessary. And they made their case to me very forcefully.”
“So that was the purpose of the ELF logo, why they put it up there in the first place. To get everybody hot and bothered, to justify running the force-on-force.”
“And why would anyone do that?” Sheen asked.
“Why indeed?”
THIRTY-SIX
BY SUNDOWN THAT MONDAY WORK crews from the Aqueduct Authority along with engineers from South Florida Water Management had the pipeline repaired. The geyser sprouting above the treetops sagged, then sagged some more and disappeared.
While it was still spewing, Prince had driven out to the highway and joined the crowd nosing around the rupture and gathered what information he could from cops and bystanders. He stayed for an hour watching the backhoes and the welders and the dozen guys in the shovel-wielding road crew.
When he returned, he reported that the FKAA folks believed a software glitch was responsible for the mess. Apparently Wally’s high jinks would have no further repercussions. But Leslie warned Wally if he tried anything like that again, he’d be excluded from the operation.