Back up in his office, Bob worked on his PR game plan and talking points for his boss, Mike O’Brien. Public officials would have to be alerted and a press conference called, soon—maybe within twenty-four hours. The company had to sound responsible, honest, and upfront. Bob would make sure Mike had the key words down—words of assurance—that the leak was contained, and there was nothing to worry about.
He tried to keep O’Brien’s comments short and easy to remember. The man’s true passion was out on the fairway with a five-iron, and when it came to speaking to the press, he was known for rattling off plausible facts that were difficult to substantiate. For now, the leak would be played down. The NRC would issue a press release late on Friday, a time that newsrooms were winding down or closed for the weekend. The report would be lost at the bottom of the pile by Monday.
Although they were the federal oversight agency, Bob knew the NRC wouldn’t nag the company about the leak. In fact, the federal agency was more friend than foe. No matter what went wrong at the plant, the NRC would issue its own public statement acknowledging the situation. If it was something really bad, they might slap ALLPower with a fine. But the fines were minimal, never over $50,000, which hardly made a dent in the multibillion-dollar corporation’s revenue base.
In fact, the feds were more an asset and less a regulator. The NRC was autonomous, and the only way to change their lofty status was by a vote in Congress, a process that takes years and the right political climate.
Right now, everything was very cozy. If ALLPower failed an inspection, the NRC would lower their safety rating a notch and demand they get their act together. The company, wise to this charade, promised timely repairs, adding exponentially to the backlogged fix-it list. Bob would diligently issue press releases, dumbing down a complicated problem and reiterating that the plant was a safe, reliable source of much-needed electricity.
It was all about keeping the business looking good and the shareholders happy. The two working reactors on the shores of the Hudson River raked in over one million dollars a day from selling electricity. It would be a big loss if the plant was ever forced to shut down.
Chapter 9
Every newsroom has a “day book” that lists daily events, from stumping politicians to town board meetings. Owen was ruminating over the book that held the hard-copy announcements faxed or e-mailed in that day. He flipped through the pages hoping for a filler story, something that would run a few hundred words. He needed it to take the place of an ad just pulled by a client, an unfortunate but common occurrence these days, one that made the publisher scowl. Owen paused momentarily at the ALLPower press conference, then turned the page. Not much happening. He thumbed quickly through the book for the third time and, shaking his head, glanced around the newsroom. Who could he pluck for a quick write up?
Ah yes, Lou Padera—the guy who could write about anything, but who might need some arm twisting. Owen leered, poised to dish out the assignment.
“Padera? Get over here and check out the day book, will ya?”
Lou looked up and grimaced.
“Any sports stuff in there?” Silly question he thought, as he grudgingly stood up and walked past five empty desks to where Owen was standing.
“This should be a no-brainer, so don’t give me guff,” the editor said. “Pick something and hack out a brief story. Pick anything you can freshen up with a quick phoner. Something easy.”
The editor slinked away toward his office. Over his shoulder he said, “And let me know what you’ve chosen. Make it snappy so I can put it in the layout.”
Lou’s eyes glazed over as he started to page through the book. The plant’s evening press conference jumped out at him. A leak? He was curious but didn’t want to commit. It was his night off with no games scheduled, and he wanted to live it up, check out some topless bars or hang with an old girlfriend. The usual.
What else could he write about? The school budget meeting? The blood pressure training session at the hospital?
“How ’bout it Padera? You choose or I’ll choose!” Owen rasped from his office cave.
Ugggh. Lou hated indecisiveness, especially his own. If he went as a news reporter, he’d be forfeiting his macho sportswriter persona. He knew nothing about nuclear power; asking the right questions would be tough without sounding stupid. They knew he was a sportswriter, so they would snow him every chance they got. But then there was that nagging question from the mysterious lady caller. It still haunted him.
Suddenly Owen was at his side.
“It can’t be that hard, Padera. Do what’s easy, that’s all.”
“No sports stuff here, Owen. I was hoping—”
“We’ve been through this. Now pick.”
Lou quickly turned the pages and then stopped.
“I’ll check out the ALLPower press conference tonight and file when it’s over. Okay?”
Owen blinked a few times. “You’re kidding. Never thought you’d go for that. Just remember, this is not investigative reporting, just get the facts, a few quotes, write it up. Short—remember, it’s just a brief.”
It was dusk as Lou drove north along the two-lane state road to the community center where ALLPower was holding the press conference. His mind wandered back to the sex house website: could he ever muster the guts to check this one out? It seemed an easy, meet-up place full of promise. The ideal would be to go there with an open-minded chick to engage in anything—a fun ménage à trois, or who knows what?
Lou intentionally arrived early to get in some interviews before the meeting, to get a handle on what was going on. The only person he knew was Bob Stalinsky, the rest of the players were local politicians and inspectors. He approached Bob, who was hovering over another man.
“Hey, Bob. Good to see you again.”
“Lou? Nice to see you. You covering this for the paper? I’m surprised.”
“Just checking it out. No big deal.”
“Oh. Well, this is my boss, Mike O’Brien. Mike, this is Lou, the sports reporter for the Daily Suburban.”
“Sports?” Mike was confused.
Lou ignored him and pumped his first question.
“So how bad is the leak?”
“Seems it’s just a small one, Lou. I’m not really worried. We’re waiting for a full report from our own inspectors and then the one from the NRC.”
Lou noticed Bob stiffen as his boss spoke.
“What’s the worst case scenario?”
“Could be slightly tainted is all.”
“Tainted? With what?” Lou cursed himself for not reading up more about leaks at nuclear power plants.
“Radiation—”
Bob quickly butted in. “We expect the amount to be minute, no more than what you’d get from an X-ray. Mike, I think we’re ready to start.”
Bob guided the man toward the podium where Mike looked out at a packed room. In the back stood a small group of anti-nuclear activists with raised, handmade posters that demanded the plant be closed. A few other news reporters sat in the front row, and the local cable TV cameraman was doing a wide pan of the room.
Lou took the end seat in the front row and got out his pad and audio recorder. Just as O’Brien stepped up to the microphone, a tall, attractive woman swept into the room and marched up to the front. The hem of her flowered skirt brushed Lou’s arm as she passed him. He couldn’t see her face, but he saw her slender back and dark, straight hair that fell to her chin line.