Owen winced. The publisher had, not for the first time, reminded him how ALLPower’s advertising was vital to the paper. Now, as more newspapers faced bankruptcy, the dividing lines between advertising and reporting became blurred.
“Why don’t you guys write it, Mike?” Owen offered. “It will be featured as an ALLPower guest column, and you can say whatever you want. We won’t cut a word and you can have as much space as you like. What do you say?”
Mike looked over at Bob, still shooting imaginary bullets into Lou’s gut. Bob shook his head.
“I want a retraction, dammit. I want an admission of guilt from this piece of shit.” He jabbed his jaw toward Lou.
“We can’t do that, Bob,” Owen said quickly. “Please consider my offer.”
“A guest column is not enough. It would take a weekly series explaining how safe the plant is,” Bob sneered.
“A short cartoon strip would probably do it,” Lou scoffed, unable to keep his mouth shut. Owen rolled his eyes, silently reprimanding him.
Bob jumped out of his seat. “You can’t even report a balanced story that gives us the benefit of the doubt!”
Before Owen could stop him, Lou calmly said, “The story was based on what people told me, and their stories all corroborated. You chose to be silent. Not my problem.”
“Bullshit. This is your problem. You have an agenda—you want to shut us down. Admit it!”
Owen stood up to meet Bob eye to eye. “You can put that perspective in your column, Bob,” he said.
Bob reeled and pushed his chair back.
“You want to know something about your precious little sports reporter, Owen? How about this for a news flash: he’s screwing that activist school lady, and they hang out at those sicko sex houses. She’s a walking advertisement to shut us down. Did you know that?”
Owen tried to hide his surprise. He would deal with Lou later.
“That’s Lou’s personal business. We don’t care what our reporters do on their own time.”
Lou stood up, speechless.
“Let’s get out of here, Bob,” Mike said softly. “We’ll write the column, Owen. You’ll have it later today. Can you print it tomorrow?”
Mike nudged Bob toward the door. Just before leaving Bob turned and looked hard at Lou.
“You better watch your back.”
The door closed, and Owen looked dully at Lou.
“What lady is he talking about?”
“He’s full of shit. Doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Besides, I thought our personal life was private. Don’t fall for this crap, Owen.”
“I don’t like the way Stalinsky talks. But mostly, I can’t afford to get leaned on by our profit-hungry publisher who doesn’t want to jeopardize ALLPower’s advertising. You get that, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I get it.”
Owen started for the door, then turned around.
“Quite frankly, if you’re really getting it on with this gal, I think you’re out of your mind. Being hooked up with an activist is stupid for a newsman like you. The implications—if anyone finds out?” He shook his head.
“If it were true, it shouldn’t matter,” Lou countered. “It wouldn’t affect my reporting. That’s what matters.”
“Maybe. But if your credibility takes a nosedive, the big guy upstairs could yank you out so fast—I wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it.”
His hand on the doorknob, Owen needed to dish out one last dig.
“What ever happened to the occasional fling with the girls from the topless bar? That’s more your style, isn’t it?”
Chapter 35
Chrissy was the first reporter allowed into the plant since the accident, which had happened over a month ago. Bob was planning a media blitz that invited major papers and news outlets to tour the plant and to see how safe everything was and the latest repairs that were near completion.
Chrissy earned the privilege in exchange for her juicy tidbit about Lou and Diana. The night she followed the two, she researched the rather camouflaged hotel and got the real scoop. When she told Bob it was really a sex house, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. She did good.
Chrissy drove up to the main security gate, the only entry point between high fences topped with barbed wire. It was like a military checkpoint, with soldiers holding semiautomatic weapons. She parked near the glass office building and was surprised to see just how close the plant was to the river. Bob met her in the lobby and handed her a hard hat.
“Nice to see you, Chrissy. Ready for Nuclear Power 101?”
“Of course. I hope I can keep up. It’s complicated, isn’t it?”
“Nah. You’re a smarty. You’ll get the picture. We’ll start over at the reactor.”
They put on the bright orange hard hats and walked down a dirt road and into the long, rectangular turbine building. The noise was deafening.
“Oh—I forgot the ear plugs! Sorry!” Bob screamed out.
“What?” Chrissy yelled.
He quickly ushered her into the control room and shut the heavy steel door.
“Forgot the ear plugs. Just wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”
“How often do you get down to this building? Is this really your turf?”
“The whole plant is my turf, Chrissy. The entire three hundred acres. I know every inch.”
Workers in the control room briefly acknowledged the visitors. One of the monitors was turned off. Chrissy looked at the men, trying to see if they looked tired, something her editor suggested after reading Lou’s article. As far as she could tell, they looked a bit haggard, but they seemed alert.
Bob pointed out a few monitors showing the inside of the reactor dome. Chrissy pointed to the screen that was off.
“Would that show us the reactor that is being repaired?”
“Not sure. Could be. Let’s get you your radiation detection badges and take a look at the spent-fuel pool. Come on.”
He led her out of the control room past the turbines and a long, wide open canal filled with water that ran from inside the building to outside and directly into the river. A few small fish in the canal were moving lethargically, as if they were drugged.
“What is this?” she asked.
“The canal. The cooling water gets flushed out into the river.”
“Is it radioactive?”
Bob laughed. “No. Of course not! Its water we flush out after it cools the reactors. It’s harmless.”
She vaguely recalled Diana telling her about thermal pollution and how the water returned to the Hudson from the plant was too hot for the fish, causing small fish and some aquatic life to die.
In a few minutes they were in the spent-fuel pool building, where a woman gave her safety goggles and pinned a small dosimeter to her collar.
“Just in case,” said the woman.
“In case what?”
Bob interjected. “We have to measure the radiation every time we go into the spent-fuel pool area. Then we log it for the record. It’s required by the NRC. You won’t be in there long enough to be in any danger.”
They walked through a booth that scanned the body for a radiation level. A number was noted down that would be compared to the reading taken at the end of her visit.
He carefully led her on a wire catwalk with a metal railing that crossed over the spent fuel pool.
“You wouldn’t want to take a dip in that water,” Bob laughed.
“Uh-huh.”
The pool was bigger than she imagined, and the bottom was a jungle of metal cages.