Read Online Ground Zero (The X-Files) by Kevin Anderson, Chris Carter (Creator) - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kevin Anderson, Chris Carter (Creator)
Tags: Fiction
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shell. Superimposed on top was the slashed circle of the universal
“No” symbol. The words underneath read, “This prestigious NO-BELL prize awarded to Dr. Emil Gregory by the Bright Anvil Project staff.”
“No-Bell prize,” Mulder said with a groan. “The strangest part, though, is that Bear Dooley—Dr. Gregory’s number one man—insisted to me vehemently just yesterday that the Bright Anvil Project doesn’t exist. Who signed that certificate?”
Scully glanced down. “Miriel Bremen—the woman who used to work for Gregory but then quit to become a protester.”
“Ah,” Mulder said. “Based on this, and what Bear Dooley told me yesterday, I think it’s time we spoke with Miriel Bremen. The offices of the protest group are in Berkeley, aren’t they? Not far from here.”
Scully nodded, preoccupied. Her answer surprised him.
“I’d like to go see her by myself, Mulder.”
“Any particular reason why you’re giving me the afternoon off?”
She shook her head. “Old stuff, Mulder. Nothing to do with this case.”
58
GROUND ZERO
Mulder nodded slowly. He knew enough not to push her when she didn’t want to come out with what was bothering her. He trusted his partner to tell him in her own time. 59
EIGHT
Teller Nuclear Research Facility
Wednesday, 12:08 P.M.
Two days of maniacal asbestos-removal construction— de struction, actually—had left a disconcerting whitish film all over Bear Dooley’s desk, his notebooks, his computer terminal, and his telephone.
Using an industrial-strength paper tissue, he wiped down the exposed surfaces, telling himself that it was probably just flakes of drywall, gypsum from the plasterboard, nothing hazardous. All of the stray asbestos fibers would certainly have been removed with meticulous care. The contractors were, after all, government employees.
That thought sparked uneasiness in him all over again. Dooley wanted his old office back. He passionately disliked these temporary quarters. He felt as if he were camping in his own workplace. “Roughing it,” Mark Twain would have called it.
Such distractions annoyed him. The Bright 60
GROUND ZERO
Anvil project was too important for him and his coworkers to “make do” while the investigation into Dr. Gregory’s death continued. What did that have to do with the progress of the test? Who set the priorities around here, anyway? The project had a very narrow window of time, and conditions had to be exactly right. A murder investigation could continue indefinitely, regardless of the time of year or weather conditions. Just let Bright Anvil go off without a hitch, he thought, and the FBI agents could have all the time they wanted. He glanced at his watch. The new satellite images were ten minutes overdue. Dooley reached for the phone, then heaved a sigh of disgust. It wasn’t his own phone in his own office with numbers preprogrammed on the dialing pad. Instead he had to ransack the desk drawers for a facility phone book and flip through the pages until he found Victor Ogilvy’s extension. He punched it in, rubbing his fingers together and looking at the fine white dust he had picked up. Scowling in disgust, Dooley wiped his hand on his jeans. The phone rang twice before a thin voice answered.
“Victor, where’s that weather report?” he said without wasting time on greetings or cordialities. His young assistant could certainly recognize his booming voice by now.
“We’ve got it, Bear,” came the researcher’s nasal reply. “I was just double-checking and triple-checking the meteorological projections. Uh, I think you’ll like them this time around.”
“Well, get ’em over here,” Dooley said, “so I can check them a fourth time. Things have to be exactly right.”
“On my way!” Victor hung up the phone.
61
THE X-FILES
Dooley sat back in the creaking old chair, trying to get comfortable. The air-conditioning was turned up too high in the old barracks building, so he had not taken
“No” symbol. The words underneath read, “This prestigious NO-BELL prize awarded to Dr. Emil Gregory by the Bright Anvil Project staff.”
“No-Bell prize,” Mulder said with a groan. “The strangest part, though, is that Bear Dooley—Dr. Gregory’s number one man—insisted to me vehemently just yesterday that the Bright Anvil Project doesn’t exist. Who signed that certificate?”
Scully glanced down. “Miriel Bremen—the woman who used to work for Gregory but then quit to become a protester.”
“Ah,” Mulder said. “Based on this, and what Bear Dooley told me yesterday, I think it’s time we spoke with Miriel Bremen. The offices of the protest group are in Berkeley, aren’t they? Not far from here.”
Scully nodded, preoccupied. Her answer surprised him.
“I’d like to go see her by myself, Mulder.”
“Any particular reason why you’re giving me the afternoon off?”
She shook her head. “Old stuff, Mulder. Nothing to do with this case.”
58
GROUND ZERO
Mulder nodded slowly. He knew enough not to push her when she didn’t want to come out with what was bothering her. He trusted his partner to tell him in her own time. 59
EIGHT
Teller Nuclear Research Facility
Wednesday, 12:08 P.M.
Two days of maniacal asbestos-removal construction— de struction, actually—had left a disconcerting whitish film all over Bear Dooley’s desk, his notebooks, his computer terminal, and his telephone.
Using an industrial-strength paper tissue, he wiped down the exposed surfaces, telling himself that it was probably just flakes of drywall, gypsum from the plasterboard, nothing hazardous. All of the stray asbestos fibers would certainly have been removed with meticulous care. The contractors were, after all, government employees.
That thought sparked uneasiness in him all over again. Dooley wanted his old office back. He passionately disliked these temporary quarters. He felt as if he were camping in his own workplace. “Roughing it,” Mark Twain would have called it.
Such distractions annoyed him. The Bright 60
GROUND ZERO
Anvil project was too important for him and his coworkers to “make do” while the investigation into Dr. Gregory’s death continued. What did that have to do with the progress of the test? Who set the priorities around here, anyway? The project had a very narrow window of time, and conditions had to be exactly right. A murder investigation could continue indefinitely, regardless of the time of year or weather conditions. Just let Bright Anvil go off without a hitch, he thought, and the FBI agents could have all the time they wanted. He glanced at his watch. The new satellite images were ten minutes overdue. Dooley reached for the phone, then heaved a sigh of disgust. It wasn’t his own phone in his own office with numbers preprogrammed on the dialing pad. Instead he had to ransack the desk drawers for a facility phone book and flip through the pages until he found Victor Ogilvy’s extension. He punched it in, rubbing his fingers together and looking at the fine white dust he had picked up. Scowling in disgust, Dooley wiped his hand on his jeans. The phone rang twice before a thin voice answered.
“Victor, where’s that weather report?” he said without wasting time on greetings or cordialities. His young assistant could certainly recognize his booming voice by now.
“We’ve got it, Bear,” came the researcher’s nasal reply. “I was just double-checking and triple-checking the meteorological projections. Uh, I think you’ll like them this time around.”
“Well, get ’em over here,” Dooley said, “so I can check them a fourth time. Things have to be exactly right.”
“On my way!” Victor hung up the phone.
61
THE X-FILES
Dooley sat back in the creaking old chair, trying to get comfortable. The air-conditioning was turned up too high in the old barracks building, so he had not taken
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