Read Online Craig Kreident #2 Fallout by Doug Beason Kevin J Anderson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Doug Beason Kevin J Anderson
Ads: Link
his mind. His foot tapped faster. Even though all the shift employees were accounted for at the time, one of the legitimate workers could have granted the terrorist access, helped him perform the sabotage. “I want Connors’s address,” he said, “and his employee record.” Flustered, the shift supervisor hurried off.
“Hey, Craig!” Another voice drifted from the far end of the sidewalk. Craig turned and spotted Goldfarb. The curly-haired agent held a cup of coffee from the gift shop snackbar, sloshing a few drops as he waved. “Phone call for you down in the temp CC! It’s June Atwood. Says it’s urgent.”
Craig took a last glance at the water rushing past the rocks below, not anxious to talk to his supervisor back in Oakland. A warm breeze ruffled his hair. Goldfarb strode to the unmarked access door leading to the temporary command center. Craig followed, walking stiffly after such a long day.
The inside of the dam smelled of lubricants, oil, and grease for the massive generators. They trotted down three flights of stairs to a room crammed with agents, some at laptop computers, others going over pictures of the bomb the EOD team had dismantled under the turbines. A low throb of equipment and conversation hummed in the background.
“Which line?” Craig asked as he headed for the phone. Feeling a pang of hunger, he realized he hadn’t eaten anything since this morning.
“Over there. We’ve set up a STU-3.” Goldfarb pointed with his coffee cup across the room to where Jackson sat next to a portable set.
Jackson held up the receiver, muffling the phone with his hand. “She’s getting antsy. And we all know what that means.”
Craig dodged a metal table holding computer printouts of MOs and intelligence data on regional terrorists groups. “Why is she calling on a secure phone? Is she worried about the Eagle’s Claw tapping into our line?”
Jackson handed the phone to Craig. “Beats me, boss. I only do what I’m told around here.”
Craig glanced around for a seat and pulled up an old gray swivel chair that looked as if it had been left there by the original dam construction crew in the 1940s. He grabbed the receiver. “Hello, June.”
“Ready to go secure, Craig.” His supervisor back in Oakland sounded no-nonsense, and not interested in conversation. The Motorola STU-3, a version of the military’s secure phone, could transmit classified information as scrambled electronic signals. The Bureau used it only for particularly sensitive cases. “Do you have a STU-3 key?”
Jackson rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a black plastic key with serrated ridges, metal edges, and a magnetic strip. Craig inserted the card into the base of the phone. “Okay, June, I’m ready.”
“Going secure.” The line went dead.
Craig turned the key and waited until a tiny message appeared on the LED display. SECRET: FBI OAKLAND CA FIELD OFFICE. Craig heard a scratchy noise over the receiver. “Craig? Are you there?”
“Ready on this end, June.” He waited, listening to the barely perceptible pause in the words as the signals were encrypted and decrypted.
“Something bigger has come up, Craig,” June said without preamble. “I’m pulling you from the Eagle’s Claw case.”
Craig nearly fell off his chair. “Bigger? What can be bigger than a bunch of terrorists wanting to blow up the Hoover Dam?” The two-second STU delay seemed interminable to him.
“There’s been a murder at the Nevada Nuclear Test Site, fifty miles outside of Las Vegas. An ambassador, the senior member of a Russian disarmament team, has been killed, staged to look like an accident. If we don’t handle this quietly, we’ll have an international incident on our hands. The president has scheduled a summit meeting with the Russian president for this coming Saturday, to celebrate
“Hey, Craig!” Another voice drifted from the far end of the sidewalk. Craig turned and spotted Goldfarb. The curly-haired agent held a cup of coffee from the gift shop snackbar, sloshing a few drops as he waved. “Phone call for you down in the temp CC! It’s June Atwood. Says it’s urgent.”
Craig took a last glance at the water rushing past the rocks below, not anxious to talk to his supervisor back in Oakland. A warm breeze ruffled his hair. Goldfarb strode to the unmarked access door leading to the temporary command center. Craig followed, walking stiffly after such a long day.
The inside of the dam smelled of lubricants, oil, and grease for the massive generators. They trotted down three flights of stairs to a room crammed with agents, some at laptop computers, others going over pictures of the bomb the EOD team had dismantled under the turbines. A low throb of equipment and conversation hummed in the background.
“Which line?” Craig asked as he headed for the phone. Feeling a pang of hunger, he realized he hadn’t eaten anything since this morning.
“Over there. We’ve set up a STU-3.” Goldfarb pointed with his coffee cup across the room to where Jackson sat next to a portable set.
Jackson held up the receiver, muffling the phone with his hand. “She’s getting antsy. And we all know what that means.”
Craig dodged a metal table holding computer printouts of MOs and intelligence data on regional terrorists groups. “Why is she calling on a secure phone? Is she worried about the Eagle’s Claw tapping into our line?”
Jackson handed the phone to Craig. “Beats me, boss. I only do what I’m told around here.”
Craig glanced around for a seat and pulled up an old gray swivel chair that looked as if it had been left there by the original dam construction crew in the 1940s. He grabbed the receiver. “Hello, June.”
“Ready to go secure, Craig.” His supervisor back in Oakland sounded no-nonsense, and not interested in conversation. The Motorola STU-3, a version of the military’s secure phone, could transmit classified information as scrambled electronic signals. The Bureau used it only for particularly sensitive cases. “Do you have a STU-3 key?”
Jackson rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a black plastic key with serrated ridges, metal edges, and a magnetic strip. Craig inserted the card into the base of the phone. “Okay, June, I’m ready.”
“Going secure.” The line went dead.
Craig turned the key and waited until a tiny message appeared on the LED display. SECRET: FBI OAKLAND CA FIELD OFFICE. Craig heard a scratchy noise over the receiver. “Craig? Are you there?”
“Ready on this end, June.” He waited, listening to the barely perceptible pause in the words as the signals were encrypted and decrypted.
“Something bigger has come up, Craig,” June said without preamble. “I’m pulling you from the Eagle’s Claw case.”
Craig nearly fell off his chair. “Bigger? What can be bigger than a bunch of terrorists wanting to blow up the Hoover Dam?” The two-second STU delay seemed interminable to him.
“There’s been a murder at the Nevada Nuclear Test Site, fifty miles outside of Las Vegas. An ambassador, the senior member of a Russian disarmament team, has been killed, staged to look like an accident. If we don’t handle this quietly, we’ll have an international incident on our hands. The president has scheduled a summit meeting with the Russian president for this coming Saturday, to celebrate
Similar Books
