Nick looked up at the clock. “Four hours,” he said.
“Uh huh,” Walt replied. He pointed a finger at the computer screen, “You see that?”
“What?”
“There’s a path just east of the dam with recent off-road activity.”
“Could be anything.”
Walt shoved the mouse away and leaned back in the chair. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “I don’t know, Nick. I’m thinking it’s the dam.”
Nick pushed a button on his office phone. “Stevie,” he said. “Get in here.”
A moment later the door opened and Stevie Gilpin came bustling in.
“What’s up?” he asked.
Nick tapped his pen on the desk. “Stevie, tell me exactly how much moisture you found and how significant it was compared to someone who walked in a mud puddle.”
The tech specialist seemed to understand the question. “Okay, well, Semir’s shoes had significant amounts of chlorine and moisture. When I say moisture I mean saturated H2O. This type of fresh water is found primarily around lakes, rivers and streams. There’s very little chance this concentration of moisture was the result of recent rainfall. The molecular structure just doesn’t match up.”
Nick and Walt were sitting back now, hands in their laps, like they were listening to a good bedtime story.
“And the two guys you scraped from the cabin last night?” Nick asked.
“The same,” Stevie said. “The samples I took from their shoes were identical to Semir’s. Wherever Semir was, they were there within the past seventy-two hours.”
“And you found this on only two of the men’s shoes?” Walt asked.
“Yes. And one other thing. I sent samples to Phoenix just to verify my results and they came back with even more detail. They’ve also found traces of copper in all three of their shoes.”
“Copper?” Nick said.
“Yes.”
Nick looked to his right and caught Walt’s shrug.
“Not sure what that means,” Walt said.
“There’s some copper mines in the area,” Nick said. “Maybe that’s where they’ve kept the Semtex.”
“It’s possible,” Walt said. “What’s the name of the power company which handles the dams in the area?”
“Salt River Project,” Nick said, then considered the question. “I like where you’re going.” He looked at Stevie. “Get a high end SRP engineer over here as soon as possible. Tell them it’s a matter of national security.”
“Got it,” Stevie said, then shut the door behind him.
Nick stood up and smoothed out the paper map with his one good hand. He’d had every federal building protected, every national park. “No matter how much I look at this map, I just can’t find anything which could cause significant damage with a large amount of Semtex. A building, yes. A park, sure. But there are no sporting events or large concerts scheduled for today. Everything points to Palo Verde or Hoover Dam.”
Walt nodded. “Agreed. That’s why I’m taking the helicopter up to the dam.”
“Then, I’m going with you,” Nick said.
“No,” Walt held up his hand. “I need you right here controlling things. As information comes in, I need you here to analyze it and react.”
“But-”
“No!” Walt bellowed. He stood and tugged up on his pants. He reached down to pick up his laptop, then returned his gaze on Nick. His face softened. “I need you to use your instincts, okay? All this technology just gives us charts and graphs and spreadsheets, but I need you here to decipher what all of it means.”
Nick looked down at the map. “I don’t know, Walt. My instincts got five good men killed last night.”
Walt pointed a long, thick index finger at him. “Don’t you dare,” he growled. “Barzani is an animal, but to anticipate he’d sacrifice his entire team of loyal soldiers is insane. You did exactly what any-”
There was a quick knock, then the door opened. A field agent from Phoenix stuck his head in. “Someone just found a dead body in some bushes outside of a condominium complex about three miles from here. It doesn’t fit Barzani’s description.”
“Send Tompkins,” Nick said. “And have him take a couple of people with him to canvass the area.”
The door shut. Nick and Walt looked at each other. There wasn’t much more to say. They both wanted the same thing and neither one had any more insight than the other.
“I’m leaving,” Walt said. As he headed toward the door, he pointed to his temple. “Use it,” he said.
President Merrick drummed his fingers on the Oval Office desk and listened to the discussion going on in the War Room via speakerphone. With him were Fisk, Himes, Vice President Gregory Hearns and his main speechwriter, Chester Grant.
Grant was scribbling notes on a legal pad while everyone else was engaged in the ongoing flow of communications with the basement full of intelligence officers.
Lynn Harding was just finishing the latest update on the security of Palo Verde Nuclear Power Plant and Hoover Dam in Arizona.
“So there’s no chance of a nuclear incident, correct?” Merrick asked.
A delay always seemed to occur whenever the President wanted definite answers.
“Sir,” FBI Director Louis Dutton said over the speakerphone. “We can’t deal in absolutes here, but if you’re asking if Palo Verde is secure, the answer is yes.”
Merrick shook his head. “Come on, Louis, give me something I can grab on to. What are the chances of an incident occurring there tonight?”
“With everything we know about Barzani’s manpower, or lack of manpower, plus the amount of security being applied, I would say you would have a better chance of getting hit by lightning.”
Fisk let out a nasty chuckle.
Merrick placed his hands over his eyes and moaned. “Thanks for the analogy, Louis, however, I’ve already been hit by lightning before.”
“Not tonight you haven’t,” Dutton recovered quickly.
Merrick stood and looked out the window, his hands clasped behind his back. The room was quiet, while muted conversations drifted over the speakerphone. A tone of excitement bubbled up from the periphery of the conversations. The words “fighter jets” became audible.
Merrick turned and leaned over the dome-shaped speaker on his desk. “What about fighters?” he asked.
CIA Director Ken Morris spoke. “Sir, Turkey has just deployed a squad of fighter jets over western Kurdistan. They’re currently in a surveillance formation, but that’s how most of their missions begin.”
“What does this mean?”
“We don’t know, Sir. Not yet anyway. We’ll continue to monitor.”
Merrick returned to the window. His back to the room. “Any thoughts?” he said to his assembly.
“Sounds like Budarry might be ready to bomb Kurdistan,” Vice President Hearns said.
“Not a chance,” Fisk said and left it there.
“Why not, Sam?” Merrick asked over his shoulder.
“Because you’re about to offer your unilateral support for the Turkish people and a killing campaign wouldn’t exactly make him look like a team player. He’s neurotic, but he’s not stupid.”
Merrick nodded.
“Sir,” Morris said, over the speaker, “now there’s a small unit of Turkish soldiers heading down a road toward Karliova. This is the city where the KSF headquarters is located, it’s also Temir Barzani’s hometown. It’s where his family still resides.”
“Small unit?” Merrick asked.
“One tank, followed by one truck. The truck is a large transport vehicle covered with a canvas top. Many times used to move troops. However, it is large enough to carry a short-range missile.”
“Shit,” Merrick said, rubbing his chin. “What is he doing?”
“It could be his way of warning Barzani not to implement a terrorist attack on American soil,” Morris said. “He might’ve sent a threat directly to the KSF. The fighters could be there to pave the way for their attack.”
“Would he do that?” Merrick asked. “Would that work? Would that stop Barzani from detonating a bomb?”