“We can’t focus on the virus now,” Ben said. “The bomb is a larger threat. Much larger.”
“Why?”
“Because of where it’s located. If it is, in fact, where they said it is, it’s sitting on top of the largest active volcano in the entire world.”
She looked at him incredulously.
“I’m serious,” he continued. “The Yellowstone caldera is an active volcano, lying directly underneath the park. Scientists have argued about it for decades.”
“What about it? That it’s an actual volcano?”
Malcolm answered. “No, that’s a scientific fact. It’s actually considered a ‘supervolcano.’ What they’ve been arguing about is exactly when it’s scheduled to erupt again.”
“Right,” Ben said. “Some say it’s ‘due,’ while others just say that it’s a complete mystery. What I don’t think they’d argue about, though, is that if there were a bomb underground, anywhere in that area, and it went off…”
“It would cause a chain reaction?” she asked.
“To say the least. The crust there is thinner than most other places on Earth, and it wouldn’t take much to upset the enormous mass of molten rock below it.”
Julie thought about this for a moment. “What would the blast radius be?”
Ben and Malcolm looked at each other, but Ben answered. “I’m not exactly sure, but the last time it blew, it apparently shot ash about twenty miles into the air, and was somewhere around 1,000 times more powerful than Mt. St. Helens.”
“So, total destruction.”
“Total destruction, at least for the western United States. But that doesn’t even account for the fallout afterwards, with the ash settling.”
Julie whistled. “So we’ve got a mystery organization trying to blow up Yellowstone and half the United States, while also working on spreading a virus to the rest of the United States.”
She had summed it up pretty well. Malcolm nodded. “It’s the destruction of an entire nation, within the span of mere days.”
“And you think Stephens and Livingston are somehow involved?” Ben asked.
“No, I don’t. They were just following protocol back there. Trying to keep it contained. But Livingston’s actions from earlier — blocking Stephens’ emails from getting through, preventing me from getting them altogether — that doesn’t sit well with me.”
“But I thought you said it sounded like him to do something like that. That he’s a paranoid freak?” Ben asked.
“He is,” Julie answered, “but he’s not that bad. I would have expected him to log in once a week and read the emails that have been sent back and forth, but not actually re-route them.”
Ben and Malcolm listened as she explained the situation and personality of her boss.
“Do you think he suspects you’re involved?” Malcolm asked.
Ben and Julie looked up sharply.
“Hey, no harm in asking,” Malcolm added. “I’m just wondering if he’s got it out for you. Thinks you might be involved, or at least know something he doesn’t. If your description is accurate, he sounds like the kind of person who needs to be in the know.”
“Yes, he definitely is. And now that I’m thinking about it, I was already near Yellowstone when the bomb went off. I was supposed to be working on a surveying project in the area, but for all he knows, I could have been here for… other reasons.”
She paused. “But still, he’s not stupid. He has no reason to think that I’m involved other than my proximity to the blast. Why would he jump to that conclusion so quickly?”
The two men shared a glance. “Julie, how well do you know your boss?” Malcolm asked.
Again, she paused before speaking. When she did, her jaw was set and her eyes steady. “Not well enough, I guess.”
As she finished, her phone vibrated on the table in front of her. Unknown. She frowned, but answered it anyway.
“Hello?”
She waited.
“Randy! My God, are you okay? I’ve been trying —”
She turned on the phone’s speaker function so Malcolm and Ben could hear.
“—Fine. I didn’t want to call on my phone in case it’s being tracked. Anyway, I saw an email thread between Livingston and Stephens. They said you were in a hospital? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. It’s the virus, but it seems to have slowed down for the moment. I’m with Ben…” she wasn’t sure how to explain Malcolm’s presence, so she moved on. “Listen, Randy, I–I don’t know for sure, but I think Livingston might be involved in all of this somehow.”
No response.
“I know you’re already under fire for this, but I really need eyes on him. And keep sending me anything you find on Diana Torres and what she was working on.”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“I owe you one.”
“You owe me a lot of ones.”
She hung up.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
David Livingston flicked off the 75-inch curved television in his living room. Brand new and still priced like the novelty it was, the Samsung was his pride and joy, at least for this month.
He had satellite and cable television, Netflix, and an action movie collection of over one thousand titles, and he still couldn’t find something to watch. He tossed the remote control to the other side of the couch. Unsure of how to satiate his desire for entertainment, Livingston sat in silence for a minute.
Juliette’s involved in this, he thought. He knew it. It was stronger than the standard pang of paranoia that constantly plagued him about each of his employees; this was real. He had proof.
Stephens believed him. Both men had been at the hospital, planning to interrogate her after she’d failed to turn over the information she’d acquired during her “stint” in the field. And after Livingston had discovered that Randall Brown, his own IT technician, had helped Julie, it was enough for Livingston to convict her.
He didn’t know exactly how, or why, but he knew Juliette Richardson was involved in this mess. He’d spent enough time in government to know that careers were made or broken by the men who went the extra mile to prevent mutiny within their ranks.
And his career would be made. He just needed a little more proof, and a motive wouldn’t hurt, either. He had ordered Randall Brown to record and send over to him any conversations Julie had with him, but he’d also placed a few IT bugs of his own on Brown’s network. Any calls the IT tech made or received would be immediately recorded and emailed to Livingston.
It was these types of plays that Livingston knew would eventually get him noticed in Washington. He wasn’t naive enough to think that those in power got there by cashing in on their good deeds.
He rose from the couch, pacing once before moving toward the office. The foyer of his house was immaculate, smaller than he would have liked, but impressive nonetheless. He paid a few hundred dollars a month to a maid service to keep the place clean enough to meet his standards, and another couple hundred on the side to the maid herself for “on the side”-type activities. It had taken a few months to find a woman agreeable to his terms, but as he’d discovered in his own career, a bit of cash went a long way. The companionship did little to satiate his loneliness, but it helped make his large house feel lived in a little.
He entered the great office at the front of his house, admiring his decorating job. A huge bust of an elk or moose — he wasn’t sure which, and he hadn’t shot it anyway — smiled down at him from the far wall, hanging directly above a large fireplace with an ancient-looking mantle. He’d placed a few picture frames, the stock photos still inside, on the mantle and around the room on floating shelves.