“I’ll take you to him, sir.”
“You’re not taking me anywhere, Captain. You’re confined to quarters until I can get a handle on what the fuck happened here. Dismissed.”
Hensley salutes and hurries to get back inside before Malloy changes his mind and puts him on one of the choppers. He steps through the door and nearly plows over his executive officer, Kat Connelly.
“How bad is it?” Connelly asks.
“Bad. I’ve been relieved of command and banished to my quarters.”
“He can’t do that. It’s not your fault.”
“He can, Kat. That’s why he has those two stars on his sleeve. And, although what happened was out of our control, I’m the commanding officer.”
“So, what, then? You going to your cabin to fall on your sword?”
Admiral Malloy comes stomping in the door and stops. “To your quarters, Mr. Hensley.”
Kat comes to attention. “Sir, with all due respect—”
Malloy cuts her off with a wave of his hand. “Would you like to join him, Lieutenant Commander Connelly?”
“No, sir.”
“That’s what I thought.” Malloy heads for the stairs. “Ms. Connelly, tell the sailor in charge of weapons to get them up and running.”
Hensley clears his throat. “Sir—”
Malloy whirls around. “Why am I still looking at you, Mr. Hensley? You’ve been ordered to your quarters. Move your ass.”
Hensley ducks through the hatch and heads down the corridor.
“Sir?” Connelly says.
“You’re already walking a very fine line, Ms. Connelly.”
“I know that, sir, but we immobilized the weapons systems.”
“What the fuck do you mean, you immobilized them?”
“We disconnected them from the ship’s computer, sir.”
“How are we going to diagnose the problem if we can’t communicate with the weapons computers?”
“We can’t, sir.”
“Fix it, Ms. Connelly. And tell one of those choppers to park their ass on the deck until I tell them otherwise.”
“We can’t, sir. The radios are inoperable.”
“Then go stand on the deck and wave him in.”
“Yes, sir,” Connnelly says as she snaps off a salute and hurries out to the rear deck.
CHAPTER 37
When people think about Los Angeles they often think of the weather, the movie stars, Hollywood, or the interminable traffic. For those with longer memories, thoughts of Los Angeles might trigger images of the Watts riots, the white Bronco chase through the city, or chaos in South Central. Very few people, other than those who work there, ever think about the sprawl of industrial properties that are situated fourteen miles east of downtown Los Angeles. Hemmed in by densely populated neighborhoods that have filled in over the years, the area known as Santa Fe Springs is home to an amalgam of chemical manufacturers that put nearly five million LA residents at risk if something were to ever go wrong.
One of those companies is CleanCal Industries. The list of items manufactured at CleanCal sounds innocuous — household cleaners, personal hygiene products, pool and spa supplies, automotive fluids, and general cleaning supplies. Nothing on the list triggers alarm bells and two of the most common chemicals used at CleanCal are chlorine and ammonia — two ubiquitous products found in homes all across the world. Their presence at the plant doesn’t move the danger needle for many nearby residents because most don’t stop to contemplate the quantity of chemicals the company must store on site to keep the production lines humming along.
Separately, the two chemicals are relatively safe as long as they are used according to the labeled directions. But many people have discovered during everyday cleaning duties that if the two chemicals are accidently mixed — say, in a toilet bowl — it creates a toxic vapor that’ll burn the sinuses and trigger a coughing fit.
The combination of the chlorine and ammonia creates chloramine vapor, a toxic substance that irritates the eyes, nose, throat, and airway. If inhaled, the vapor enters the bloodstream directly through the lungs and combines with a person’s red blood cells, making them incapable of carrying oxygen. Prolonged exposure to the vapors could be fatal.
The people working inside the plant are properly trained and each and every employee is aware of the toxic hazards. To alleviate potential mistakes, the ammonia and chlorine are kept in separate areas of the plant and are isolated from each other by a series of pipes and valves that feed each chemical to the production line when needed.
In addition to the careful handling of chemicals, CleanCal prides itself on innovation. The plant is highly automated, using the company’s computer networks to control almost every aspect of production. There are humans to act as oversight and the company also employs seven information technology people to keep the software up to date and to ward off the nearly continuous intrusion attempts on the facility’s computer network.
But someone missed something somewhere and unbeknownst to those seven IT employees, the plant’s network is now compromised.
Four blocks east of the plant is a dense neighborhood of smaller homes that contains nearly a thousand residents. Three of those residents are Loretta Ortiz and her two sons, nine-year-old Mateo and seven-year-old Gabriel. Celebrating their last few days of freedom before school starts, Loretta is preparing a late picnic lunch for them to share at the neighborhood park. The mostly Hispanic community is a fairly tight-knit group of families that have bonded over the years through interactions at the neighborhood elementary school adjacent to the park. Loretta steps over and switches on the small television in the kitchen, hoping to catch a quick weather update.
The area is experiencing an intense heat wave, thanks to a stationary high-pressure ridge stalled over the deserts to the east. Instead of the usual cooling easterly winds that blow in off the coast, Los Angeles is being blistered by westerly winds from the hot desert regions of the state. It’s almost enough for Loretta to cancel the picnic, but the park offers plenty of shade and the boys have been cooped up in the house all morning. Loretta, an English teacher at the school, is hoping to run into other children from the neighborhood so the boys can burn off some of their rambunctious energy. And if it gets too uncomfortable they can always walk down the street to the library.
Loretta makes fairly good money as a teacher and her husband, Miguel, has a good job as a supervisor at a grocery distribution center just down the street. It’s close enough that he can walk to work, allowing Loretta to keep the family car for emergencies and it also helps them avoid making payments on a second car. The plan had been for him to join them at the picnic, but he called earlier to say he’s tied up.
Their small two-bedroom, one-bathroom home has an open living and kitchen area, thanks to the renovations that she and Miguel have made. They bought it in foreclosure, and Miguel and Loretta spent every weekend for months making the home theirs. They eliminated walls, remodeled the kitchen and bathroom, and repainted everything, both inside and out. Now it’s a bright and airy home and Loretta loves it. The only downside is the boys have to share a bedroom. The backyard is large enough to add a third bedroom, but Loretta and Miguel don’t want to overbuild and possibly end up taking a big loss if they ever decide to sell.
Loretta groans when a weather tease for the six p.m. newscast promises more of the same. She pulls her long, dark hair up off her neck, twirls it a time or two, and clips it up out of the way. A short, curvy woman with large, dark eyes and a dark complexion, Loretta prefers the natural look and rarely applies much makeup other than a dab of lipstick on occasion. Today she doesn’t even bother with that. It’s too hot. After turning off the television, she grabs her cell phone, her sunglasses, and the picnic basket. “Boys,” she shouts, “time to go.”