Read Online Craig Kreident #2 Fallout by Doug Beason Kevin J Anderson - Free Book Online
Authors: Doug Beason Kevin J Anderson
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knocked down or caved in . . . twisted ends where steel doors had been torn free. Broken bricks littered the ground, but low, gray-green vegetation thrived. They walked under a steel railroad bridge whose immense girders had been twisted and bent like a pretzel.
“You can see where we tested different designs for bomb shelters,” PK Dirks said. “For a while it was a status symbol in this country to have your very own bomb shelter. My parents built one when I was a kid.”
“In former Soviet Union, everyone had bomb shelter,” Bisovka said, blowing away a cloud of smoke. “But our shelters were also called subway tunnels.” The other Russian team members chuckled.
Ranks and ranks of low structures protruded from the sands — reinforced-concrete domes and rectangular bunkers covered with dirt. Many had collapsed like eggshells, while others remained unscathed decades later.
Ursov nodded, his interest finally piqued. “I am curious to see if your successful designs look similar to ours.”
Dirks laughed. “Come on — we can look inside the intact ones.”
Paige’s cellular phone rang again, and she stepped back toward the van, trying to conceal her expression as the rest of the group continued into the abandoned ghost town. A pair of fighter jets roared overhead, streaking low then pulling up in a high-G climb, performing aerial maneuvers that caught the Russians’ attention. They stood outside the rows of crumbling bomb shelter domes, pointing at the criss-crossed contrails of the jets.
On her phone, Paige listened to the filtered voice of Madeleine Jenkins, an Undersecretary at the Department of Energy who did not mince words. “It was already an international incident when Nevsky was found dead, but now the State Department is reeling. We’ve got a summit in a couple of days to celebrate the successful completion of this work, to show off our bilateral cooperation. The President is scheduled to meet the team on Friday — what’s he going to say?” She sighed. “If this was a premeditated assassination, is it your belief that the other members of the team may be in danger as well?”
“I’m not sure that’s the case, Madam Undersecretary,” Paige said. “Nevsky was alone in the DAF, and someone may have seen an opportunity. If we keep the other Russians together, there should be no cause for alarm.”
“Nevertheless,” Jenkins said, her rich voice clipped, her words spoken quickly. She carried out her conversation at a Beltway speed, rather than a casual Nevada drawl. “We have spoken directly with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Their agent will be working separately from the Secret Service advance team — they’ll keep to the airport, since the President won’t be on the ground more than an hour.”
“The FBI?” Paige said. “I suppose that’s standard procedure.”
“It turns out one of their best investigators is in your area right now. He’s a specialist in high-tech investigations, and I believe you worked with him before on a murder case out at Lawrence Livermore.”
“Craig?” she said, surprised. “I mean, Special Agent Craig Kreident?”
“Let me stress, Ms. Mitchell, that the DOE and the State Department have an extraordinary interest in solving this incident quickly. It would be a matter of great embarrassment both to our own president and to the Russian president if this ruins our scheduled disarmament talks. Do I make myself clear?”
“I understand, Madam Undersecretary, but I’m not a murder investigator —”
Jenkins interrupted, “You are an expediter — a people person, a protocol officer. Smooth the way for Agent Kreident. Get him anything he needs and do what you can to keep the Russians happy. And don’t tell anyone we suspect foul play — not yet.”
Paige swallowed, watching as Ursov ducked inside the old bomb shelters.
“I’ll call you
“You can see where we tested different designs for bomb shelters,” PK Dirks said. “For a while it was a status symbol in this country to have your very own bomb shelter. My parents built one when I was a kid.”
“In former Soviet Union, everyone had bomb shelter,” Bisovka said, blowing away a cloud of smoke. “But our shelters were also called subway tunnels.” The other Russian team members chuckled.
Ranks and ranks of low structures protruded from the sands — reinforced-concrete domes and rectangular bunkers covered with dirt. Many had collapsed like eggshells, while others remained unscathed decades later.
Ursov nodded, his interest finally piqued. “I am curious to see if your successful designs look similar to ours.”
Dirks laughed. “Come on — we can look inside the intact ones.”
Paige’s cellular phone rang again, and she stepped back toward the van, trying to conceal her expression as the rest of the group continued into the abandoned ghost town. A pair of fighter jets roared overhead, streaking low then pulling up in a high-G climb, performing aerial maneuvers that caught the Russians’ attention. They stood outside the rows of crumbling bomb shelter domes, pointing at the criss-crossed contrails of the jets.
On her phone, Paige listened to the filtered voice of Madeleine Jenkins, an Undersecretary at the Department of Energy who did not mince words. “It was already an international incident when Nevsky was found dead, but now the State Department is reeling. We’ve got a summit in a couple of days to celebrate the successful completion of this work, to show off our bilateral cooperation. The President is scheduled to meet the team on Friday — what’s he going to say?” She sighed. “If this was a premeditated assassination, is it your belief that the other members of the team may be in danger as well?”
“I’m not sure that’s the case, Madam Undersecretary,” Paige said. “Nevsky was alone in the DAF, and someone may have seen an opportunity. If we keep the other Russians together, there should be no cause for alarm.”
“Nevertheless,” Jenkins said, her rich voice clipped, her words spoken quickly. She carried out her conversation at a Beltway speed, rather than a casual Nevada drawl. “We have spoken directly with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Their agent will be working separately from the Secret Service advance team — they’ll keep to the airport, since the President won’t be on the ground more than an hour.”
“The FBI?” Paige said. “I suppose that’s standard procedure.”
“It turns out one of their best investigators is in your area right now. He’s a specialist in high-tech investigations, and I believe you worked with him before on a murder case out at Lawrence Livermore.”
“Craig?” she said, surprised. “I mean, Special Agent Craig Kreident?”
“Let me stress, Ms. Mitchell, that the DOE and the State Department have an extraordinary interest in solving this incident quickly. It would be a matter of great embarrassment both to our own president and to the Russian president if this ruins our scheduled disarmament talks. Do I make myself clear?”
“I understand, Madam Undersecretary, but I’m not a murder investigator —”
Jenkins interrupted, “You are an expediter — a people person, a protocol officer. Smooth the way for Agent Kreident. Get him anything he needs and do what you can to keep the Russians happy. And don’t tell anyone we suspect foul play — not yet.”
Paige swallowed, watching as Ursov ducked inside the old bomb shelters.
“I’ll call you
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