“I’ve got to get some shut-eye. I assume I can use one of the spare rooms?”
“You know where they all are. Help yourself.”
I trudged off to find a bedroom, weighed down by the decision I’d just made. I didn’t want to bring the Old Man along. It was just simply a bad idea on a number of levels, but what choice did I have? It was a Hobson’s choice. It was just after midnight and I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
The next morning, after a good, although brief night’s sleep, I stood on the porch as the sun began its climb over the hills to the east. I rubbed Blackie’s ears and shook the Old Man’s hand good-bye.
As I headed over to my truck, I called back, “Get up there as soon as you can. Call me when you get close. You have my number.”
“Let me find someone to watch Blackie, and I’ll get on the road. I’ll meet you as arranged.”
With that, I climbed into my truck. The Old Man was standing on the porch holding a steaming cup of coffee, with Blackie at his side. He was looking at me with enough resolve to give me confidence in my decision to bring him along. The decision had been made and I needed to move on from it. I put the truck in gear and pulled away.
I loved the early morning. Cool and clear, it represented a promise of better things to come. I’d always been a morning person. As tired as I was, I always felt better in the morning than in the evening. I drove off the Old Man’s ranch with a lot on my mind. A glance in the rearview mirror showed him standing on the porch watching me drive away. Blackie was sitting alongside his master, with a stoic look on his face, no doubt wondering where I was going without him and when I might be coming back — a good question. Something about the scene was a bit melancholy, but it was morning, after all, so I turned on the radio and headed north through the hay fields and oak-studded hills.
CHAPTER 29
As I drove back to The Headlands, I was lost in thought. I had many of the pieces already put together, and what I knew, I didn’t like. I knew the people involved were capable of murder — they’d already demonstrated that. They apparently had money to spread around because they’d already corrupted at least one plant employee. I knew Jansen was involved and I knew better than anybody what that meant. He had the look of a mercenary. A capable one, and no doubt very expensive, but hired help just the same. When money was your only motivation, there was usually a line you wouldn’t cross. But I wasn’t sure his employers felt that way, too. That thought gave me pause. I didn’t know how far they’d go with this — more accurately, how far they’d make Jansen go with this — but I had a pretty good idea.
The threat itself didn’t reveal too much about the plan though it gave me some insight into the people involved. It indicated a two-pronged approach by taking out the transmission lines and then the plant itself. And whoever they are, they wanted us to think they’re al-Qaida. It was a smoke screen, a diversion. But because Jansen was involved, I knew it wasn’t a Muslim terrorist cell. That left a group or a person with a grievance — or someone who stood to make a lot of money. As I drove I tried to think of who would stand to gain from all this? The point of terrorism was to instill fear. I knew that from my years in Special Forces. I saw it in many of the countries I’d been sent to. The powerful ruled by fear. They planted fear in those who opposed them, threatening either the victim or their families with a sure and horrible death if they didn’t do as they were told. That allowed them to control commerce, trade, communications, and even religion. But the US was a nation of laws — and a lot of folks with guns. There were no feudal lords in California who would benefit from this — although some might think they were.
This left me with few possibilities. One was to assume that this was a play by a rich and powerful coalition of Hollywood money and local pro-safety groups, organized to shut down nuclear power or just get headlines. A lot of people who lived here had a belief that they were somehow different from folks in other parts of the country. There was an entitlement mentality as though they were entitled to do it differently in The Republic of California. These people had morals, skewed though they may be. If these people were behind it, I could at least understand their motives, if not agree with them.
The second possibility was much simpler and much more sinister. Money. Someone could be manipulating the electric industry for monetary gain. Such people had no conscience. I didn’t think the Hollywood types would stoop to murder, even as much as they didn’t agree with nuclear power. So that left the people who were in it for greed. It made sense, if I applied the theory of Occam's razor, though it didn’t get me any closer to discovering their identity.
The third possibility was the Old Man’s theory of a foreign country that wanted parts to support its own burgeoning nuclear industry. That was a scary thought. A foreign country would have almost unlimited resources to pull this off, knowing it would be very hard to draw a line of culpability back to a responsible party.
Regardless of who was specifically behind this, I was convinced that greed in one form or another was the driving force. In some regards, that made it easier for me. I learned in the military that an enemy who believed he was right made a determined and dangerous adversary. So if the people behind this were in it simply for money, then I had a better than even chance to beat them.
Driving up the highway with the window down, I reflected on how this job had changed from just consulting on the security readiness at The Headlands to figuring out who was behind this threat and stopping it, or at least helping the plant recover from it. Of course the FBI no doubt thought they had a handle on it, as did the sheriff. Typical, I thought to myself, of most government organizations. They’d spend a great deal of their time up front setting up an integrated command system, bringing in mobile trucks and satellite receivers, tents for lunches and meetings, and portable toilets for the masses that were sure to follow. And they’d only do that after something actually happened. I, on the other hand, couldn’t wait for all that, or for their permission to get involved. Too many layers to work through. I was used to working on my own or with a small team. I frequently operated with limited information, short time lines, and usually in the world’s most disagreeable environments. Unfortunately, this situation certainly met most of those conditions.
While I knew this kind of thing could happen in my line of work, I wasn’t sure I was prepared to do this again. I was still carrying a lot of baggage from previous missions. And now I’d gotten the Old Man involved. This kind of self-doubt wasn’t good, and I knew in my heart of hearts it would have to go away. I couldn’t do what I needed to do otherwise. Despite the early hour, I suddenly felt the need for a beer. It was a good thing for me it was so early or I might have take the next exit and looked for an ice-cold one.
As the day heated up, so did I. With the radio blaring because of the noise from the open window, my mind drifted back to Marti, which provided a nice distraction. It’d been a long time since I’d looked at a woman with more than just a passing glance or a hormonal stare. I’d known some women in the last few years, but I’d never found the time to get serious with one. With Marti, though, I felt an attraction to her on another level, and I couldn’t tell if that was disturbing or exciting me. I wasn’t looking for a relationship, but isn’t that how it happens… when you least expect it?