We hung up, and Kate looked at me. “Nuclear physicist.”
“Right.”
“What’s he doing at the Custer Hill Club?”
“Fixing the microwave oven?”
“John, we need to fly to New York today and have Walsh assemble the appropriate people-”
“Hold on. You’re overreacting. We don’t have any startling information other than a nuclear physicist happened to be a guest at the Custer Hill Club-”
“We have MAD, NUK, ELF, and-”
“Jeez, I hope they found that by now.”
“What if they haven’t?”
“Then they’re stupid.”
“John-”
“We can’t admit to having evidence that we’ve hidden… well, that we just forgot to mention.”
“We?” She rose from her chair and said, “You didn’t report it. We have committed a felony. I’m an accessory.”
I also stood. “Don’t you think I’m going to cover for you?”
“I don’t need you to cover for me. We need to report everything we have, including Putyov. Now.”
“For all we know, the FBI knows everything we know, and they’re not sharing it with us-so why should we share it with them?”
“That’s our job.”
“Right. And we will share it. But not now. Think of what we’re doing as a supplemental investigation.”
“No, we’re engaged in an unauthorized investigation.”
“Wrong. Walsh authorized us-”
“Liam Griffith-”
“Fuck him. For all I know, he’s here to bring us a week’s worth of clean underwear.”
“You know why he’s here.”
“No, I don’t. And neither do you.”
She moved closer to me. “John, what’s your agenda?”
“As always, truth and justice.” I added, “Duty, honor, country.”
“Bullshit.”
“Well, the real answer is we need to save our asses. We’re in trouble, and the only way out of that trouble is to bring this case further along toward-”
“And don’t forget your ego. This is John Corey, NYPD, trying to prove that he’s smarter than the whole FBI.”
“I don’t need to prove that. It’s an established fact.”
“I’m going back to New York. Are you coming with me?”
“No. I need to find Harry’s killer.”
She sat on the bed, sort of staring at the floor. Clearly, she was upset.
I stood there for a full minute, then said, “Kate.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “Trust me.”
She didn’t reply for a while, then muttered, almost to herself, “Why can’t we just return to New York and tell Tom everything we know…? And try to salvage our careers…?”
“Because,” I replied, “we’re past the point of no return. There is no turning back.” I added, “Sorry.”
She sat there a bit longer, then stood. “All right… what’s next?”
“ELF.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Kate seemed to have calmed down a little, and resigned herself to the fact that the idiot who got her into this mess was probably the only idiot who could get her out of it.
I was feeling a little pressured by that, but I knew if I stayed focused and solved this case-Harry’s murder and the Madox mystery-then our career problems and personal problems would disappear. And while we were at it, maybe we could also save the planet. As Kate herself said, “Nothing succeeds like success.”
The opposite of that was… well, disgrace, humiliation, dismissal, the unemployment line, and some sort of nuclear surprise. But why be negative?
To make Kate feel part of the solution, I said to her, “Okay, I’ll take your advice, and we’ll call John Nasseff.”
Kate and I sat at the writing desk and took out our notepads.
I’d rather have used Ned’s laptop, but I was pretty certain that John Nasseff, who was a Technical Support guy, was out of the ATTF loop anyway.
She dialed out, using her personal calling card that would not show Wilma’s number on a caller ID, then identified herself to the ATTF operator and asked for Commander Nasseff. She put the phone on speaker, and as the call was routed, she said to me, “John Nasseff is an active-duty naval commander, so you may want to initially address him by his rank.” She added, “He’s an officer and a gentleman, so watch your language.”
“And you be careful how you phrase the questions.”
She replied, “I think I know how to do this. But why don’t you take the lead as you usually do?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Navy Commander John Nasseff came on the line. “Hi, Kate. How can I help you?”
“Hi, John. My husband, John, who works with-works for me-and I need some information about extremely low frequency radio waves. Can you help with that?”
“I think so…” He paused, then said, “Can I ask what this is about?”
I chimed in, “Good afternoon, Commander. This is Detective Corey, who works for Special Agent Mayfield.”
“Just call me John.”
“Same to you. To answer your question, unfortunately, this is a sensitive matter, and we’re only at liberty to say it’s urgent.”
“I understand… What would you like to know?”
I asked, “Can ELF waves fry an egg?”
Kate looked pissed, but Commander John replied, “I don’t think so.”
John Nasseff sounded like the starched Navy guy that he probably was, so I followed up with, “Just kidding. Can you give us some background on ELF waves? And please don’t be too technical. I can’t even program the buttons on my car radio.”
I got him to chuckle, and he replied, “All right… it’s sort of a technical subject, but I’ll try to speak English. First, I am not an expert on ELF signals, but I can certainly give you some basic background.”
“We’re all ears.” I opened my notepad and picked up my pencil.
“Well, to begin… I’m pulling up some of this on my computer… okay, ELF waves are transmitted at extremely low frequencies…” He chuckled to himself and said, “That’s why they’re called… Anyway, these are extremely long waves, so say you’re transmitting at 82 herz, or 0.000082 megaherz-that’s equal to a wavelength of 3,658,535.5 meters, or 3,658.5 kilometers-”
I dropped my pencil and said, “Hold on, John. Hold on. We don’t want to send a message on our ELF transmitter. Who uses this wavelength? And what’s it used for?”
He replied, “It’s only used by the military. Specifically, the Navy. It’s used to contact nuclear submarines operating at very low depths.”
Kate and I looked at each other. I wanted to ask him if he knew Fred, but instead I inquired, “Can these ELF waves be monitored?”
“Sure. If you have the right equipment. But you might wait a long time to hear an ELF transmission.”
“Why?”
“They have very limited use. And anything you heard would be encrypted.”
“Okay… take us through this. Who, what, where, when, how, and why?”
“I don’t think anything I’m going to say is classified, but I need to ask you if you’re on a secure line.”
Typical military commo guy. I thought maybe Ned was listening to pass the time of day, but he didn’t look like a spy, and Wilma was probably watching the Home Shopping Network. I said to Commander Nasseff, “We’re on a regular landline, and it’s a one-time use for me at a resort up in the Adirondacks.” We weren’t actually in the Adirondack Mountains any longer, but that’s where Walsh and Griffith needed to think we were if this conversation got back to them. I added, “A resort called The Point. The chef is French, but I’m sure he’s not listening in.”
“All right… as I said, most of this is not classified. So let me explain the practical application of ELF technology. As you know, we have nuclear subs operating at very low depths for extended periods of time-months, sometimes-and most of these subs operate in their regular patrol areas near… well, this is a little sensitive, but I’ll say near underwater hydro-acoustic stations where they can be in touch with naval operations through normal radio channels. But some of these subs can be out in no-man’s-land, too far from these underwater stations, so in an emergency situation, naval operations in Pearl Harbor, for the Pacific Fleet, or Norfolk, for the Atlantic Fleet, need to get in touch with these nuclear submarines that are not near the surface or near an underwater relay station. Follow so far?”