job!”
Knapp crossed to a credenza. Two inches of single malt Scotch in a cut crystal glass. After a swallow, he slammed the glass down. “Do you realize the Feds probably know the size of your jockey shorts, much less your prick? You get your ass back to the building site and make those goddamn trucks disappear, then pick up Mario’s tracks.”
A refill of the whisky. Knapp’s prematurely grey hair was combed straight back. Exactly like his father and grandfather. He was short, but cut a quietly impressive figure. A preference for double-breasted Dunhill blazers. Custom-made shirts, tailored to fit his barrel chest and thick neck. Half-moon pouches under each eye cast shadows, making them look like he had two black eyes. Gold cufflinks, nothing flashy. He was too smart to want to stand out in a crowd. And no one was going to outsmart him.
The first shipload had arrived from Canada. Already offloaded. Tons of mined rock transported to Gary, Indiana, to Knapp Chemical Processing Co., Inc. Using a combination of acids, uranium-rich ore was impurely separated from the crushed rock. Then packed in steel barrels. Residual rock was packed in thick wooden kegs. These tailings were as radioactive, if not more so, than the semi-pure uranium. This little problem was of no importance to Knapp. Billions to be made. Billions.
He dialed a private long distance number, got right to the point. “Senator, a little something has come up. We may well be exposed.”
“Lord, no, Anthony. No way—I am not to be involved.”
“Get that damn bill on the floor tomorrow. It sure as hell has been in committee a long time.” Knapp hesitated to allow the senator to do a bit of mathematics. If he didn’t get that property re-aligned so it was designated as federal land, they both could lose millions.
He told him a shipment was going out right away, adding softly, almost whispering, “Joseph, you do understand what could happen if someone stumbles on to those trucks, don’t you?”
20
W ith one hand rolled in Josh’s FBI vest, Lori tried to sweep the broken glass from the dashboard and seats. Sunlight raked over the cliff face, glinting off the glass shards, flashing in her eyes. She looked through the shattered windshield to see Jack emerge from the dark forest at the base of the cliff. He walked slowly past an old wooden corral and loading chute, and back uphill to the Scout. He had been gone for nearly an hour, one of the longest hours in her life.
At one point she heard a horrible sound. Like a dying animal. She could only guess what he was going through. A crushing, disintegrating hurt.
Eyes averted, he struggled with the mangled door. His knuckles were bleeding, like a fighter. He wrapped his arms around his chest. Visibly shuddered. Head down, he murmured, “Let’s go, I’ve got a lot to do.”
She didn’t reply, knowing plans were in place for him. She needed help to explain the next move, a decision made without his input. Driving as fast as the Scout would allow, she made it to the hospital emergency entrance at Black Rock.
“What are you doing? I’m not going in there! Take me to my Jeep, down the street. I’m catching the first flight to Chicago.”
“You need to see Doctor Newman first, then you can do whatever you want. Remember, you’re in the military, I believe with the equivalent rank of Navy Lieutenant. Am I correct?”
He felt a choking in his throat. His heartbeat was deafening. He hit the jammed door with his shoulder, kicked glass out of the way, slid out. Jerked the ER door open, letting it slam behind him. Lori ran after him, praying Bill Newman was ready.
He was. He wrapped an arm around Jack’s shoulders, guided him into his office. “I’m so sorry. I really feel for you.”
Jack pulled back, his jaw set. He looked feverish, his muddy shirt was stained with sweat. He smelled of grief. He stared at Bill, said flatly, “Feel what? I missed the goddamned funeral! But, I’m sure you know
Knapp crossed to a credenza. Two inches of single malt Scotch in a cut crystal glass. After a swallow, he slammed the glass down. “Do you realize the Feds probably know the size of your jockey shorts, much less your prick? You get your ass back to the building site and make those goddamn trucks disappear, then pick up Mario’s tracks.”
A refill of the whisky. Knapp’s prematurely grey hair was combed straight back. Exactly like his father and grandfather. He was short, but cut a quietly impressive figure. A preference for double-breasted Dunhill blazers. Custom-made shirts, tailored to fit his barrel chest and thick neck. Half-moon pouches under each eye cast shadows, making them look like he had two black eyes. Gold cufflinks, nothing flashy. He was too smart to want to stand out in a crowd. And no one was going to outsmart him.
The first shipload had arrived from Canada. Already offloaded. Tons of mined rock transported to Gary, Indiana, to Knapp Chemical Processing Co., Inc. Using a combination of acids, uranium-rich ore was impurely separated from the crushed rock. Then packed in steel barrels. Residual rock was packed in thick wooden kegs. These tailings were as radioactive, if not more so, than the semi-pure uranium. This little problem was of no importance to Knapp. Billions to be made. Billions.
He dialed a private long distance number, got right to the point. “Senator, a little something has come up. We may well be exposed.”
“Lord, no, Anthony. No way—I am not to be involved.”
“Get that damn bill on the floor tomorrow. It sure as hell has been in committee a long time.” Knapp hesitated to allow the senator to do a bit of mathematics. If he didn’t get that property re-aligned so it was designated as federal land, they both could lose millions.
He told him a shipment was going out right away, adding softly, almost whispering, “Joseph, you do understand what could happen if someone stumbles on to those trucks, don’t you?”
20
W ith one hand rolled in Josh’s FBI vest, Lori tried to sweep the broken glass from the dashboard and seats. Sunlight raked over the cliff face, glinting off the glass shards, flashing in her eyes. She looked through the shattered windshield to see Jack emerge from the dark forest at the base of the cliff. He walked slowly past an old wooden corral and loading chute, and back uphill to the Scout. He had been gone for nearly an hour, one of the longest hours in her life.
At one point she heard a horrible sound. Like a dying animal. She could only guess what he was going through. A crushing, disintegrating hurt.
Eyes averted, he struggled with the mangled door. His knuckles were bleeding, like a fighter. He wrapped his arms around his chest. Visibly shuddered. Head down, he murmured, “Let’s go, I’ve got a lot to do.”
She didn’t reply, knowing plans were in place for him. She needed help to explain the next move, a decision made without his input. Driving as fast as the Scout would allow, she made it to the hospital emergency entrance at Black Rock.
“What are you doing? I’m not going in there! Take me to my Jeep, down the street. I’m catching the first flight to Chicago.”
“You need to see Doctor Newman first, then you can do whatever you want. Remember, you’re in the military, I believe with the equivalent rank of Navy Lieutenant. Am I correct?”
He felt a choking in his throat. His heartbeat was deafening. He hit the jammed door with his shoulder, kicked glass out of the way, slid out. Jerked the ER door open, letting it slam behind him. Lori ran after him, praying Bill Newman was ready.
He was. He wrapped an arm around Jack’s shoulders, guided him into his office. “I’m so sorry. I really feel for you.”
Jack pulled back, his jaw set. He looked feverish, his muddy shirt was stained with sweat. He smelled of grief. He stared at Bill, said flatly, “Feel what? I missed the goddamned funeral! But, I’m sure you know
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