"For God's sake, Dick, have you lost your mind?" he said to the man who held the Commonwealth's highest office. "No, no, don't even bother telling me any of that ' " he snapped. "You are interfering with what we're doing out here, and if it costs lives you can be assured I'm going to announce who's to blame…"
He fell silent for a moment, and the expression on his face as he listened was scary. Then he made several other salient points as the governor ordered the National Guard back. In fact, their huge helicopters never landed, but suddenly changed formation as they gained altitude. They flew right past Old Point, which just now we could see, its concrete containments rising in the clean blue air.
"I'm very sorry," the senator apologized to us, because he was, above all, a gentleman.
We stared out at scores of police and law enforcement vehicles, ambulances and fire trucks, and flowering satellite dishes and news vans. Dozens of people were outside as if enjoying a lovely, brisk day, and Wesley informed us that where they were congregated was the visitors' center, which was the command post for the outer perimeter.
"As you can see," he explained, "it's no closer than half a mile away from the plant and the main building, which is there." He pointed.
"The main building is where the control room is?" I asked.
"Right. That three-story beige brick building. That's where they are, at least most of them, we think, including the hostages."
"Well, it's where they'd have to be if they planned on doing anything with the reactors, like shutting them down, which we know they've already done," Senator Lord remarked.
"And then what?" the attorney general asked.
"There are backup generators, so no one's going to lose electricity. And the plant itself has an emergency power supply," Lord said, and he was known for being an ardent advocate of nuclear energy.
Wide waterways ran on the plant's two sides, one leading from the James, the other to a man-made lake nearby. There were acres of transformers and power lines, and parking lots with many cars, belonging to hostages and the people who had arrived to help. There did not seem an easy way to access the main building without being seen, for any nuclear power plant is designed with the most stringent security in mind. The point was to keep out everyone not authorized, and unfortunately, that included us. A roof entry, for example, would require cutting holes in metal and concrete, and could not be done without risk of being seen.
I suspected Wesley was thinking about a possible amphibious plan, for HRT divers could enter undetected either the river or the take, and follow a waterway very close to one side of the main building. It looked to me that they could swim within twenty yards of the very door the terrorists had stormed, but how the agents would escape detection once ashore, I could not imagine.
Wesley did not spell out any plan, for the senator and the attorney general were allies, even friends, but they were also politicians. Neither the FBI nor the police needed Washington inserting itself into this mission. What the governor had just done was bad enough.
"Now if you'll notice the large white RV that's close to the main building," Wesley said, "that's our inner perimeter command post."
"I thought that belonged to a news crew," the attorney general commented.
"That's where we try to establish a relationship with Mr. Hand and his Merry Band."
"How?"
"For starters, I want to talk with them," Wesley said.
"No one's talked to them yet?" the senator asked.
"So far," he said, "they don't seem interested in us."
The Bell 222 slowly made its loud descent as news crews assembled near a helipad across the road from the visitors' center. We grabbed briefcases and bags and disembarked in the strong wind of flying blades. Wesley and I walked swiftly and in silence. I glanced back only once and saw Senator Lord surrounded by microphones while our nation's most powerful lawyer delivered a string of emotional quotes.
We walked inside the visitors' center with its many displays intended for schoolchildren and the curious. But now the entire area was divided by local and state police. They were drinking sodas, eating fast food and snacks near plats and maps on easels, and I could not help but wonder how much of a difference any of us could make.
"Where's your outpost?" Wesley asked me.
"It should be with the squads. I think I spotted our refrigerator truck from the air."
His eyes were roaming around. They stopped on the men's room door opening and swinging shut. Marino walked out, hitching up his pants again. I had not expected to see him here. If for no other reason, I would have thought his fear of radiation would have kept him home.
"I'm getting coffee," Wesley said. "Anybody?"
"Yo. Make it a double."
"Thanks," I said, then to Marino I added, "This is the last place I would have thought to find you."
"See all these guys walking around in here?" he said.
"We're part of a task force so all the local jurisdictions got somebody here that can call home and say what the hell's going on. Bottom line is, the chief sent my ass out here, and no, I'm not thrilled about it. And by the way, I saw your buddy Chief Steels out here, and you'll be happy to know Roche has been suspended without pay."
I did not reply, for Roche was not important right now.
"So that ought to make you feel a little better," Marino went on.
I looked at him. His stiff white collar was rimmed in sweat, and his belt with all its gear creaked as he moved.
"While I'm here, I'll do my best to keep an eye on you.
But I'd appreciate it if you didn't go wandering into the crosshairs of some drone's high-powered rifle," he added, smoothing back strands of hair with a big, thick hand.
"I'd appreciate it. I didn't do that either. I need to check on my folks," I said. "Have you seen them?"
"Yeah, Fielding's in that big trailer the funeral home people bought for you. He was cooking eggs in the kitchen like he's camping out or something. There's a refrigerator truck, too."
"Okay. I know exactly where it is."
"I'll take you over there, if you want," he nonchalantly said, as if he didn't care.
"I'm glad you're here," I said, because I knew I was part of the reason, no matter what he claimed.
Wesley was back, and he had balanced a paper plate of doughnuts on top of cups of coffee. Marino helped himself while I looked out windows at the bright, cold day.
"Benton," I said, "where is Lucy?"
He did not reply, so I knew. My worst fears were confirmed right then.
"Kay, all of us have a job to do." His eyes were kind, but he was unequivocal.
"Of course we do." I set down my coffee because my nerves were bad enough. "I'm going out to check on things."
"Hold on," Marino said as he started his second doughnut.
"I'll be fine."
"Yeah, you will," he said. "I'm going to make sure of that."
"You do need to be careful out there," Wesley said to me. "We know there's someone in every window, and they could start shooting whenever they want."
I looked at the main building in the distance, and I pushed open the glass door that led outside. Marino was right behind me.
"Where's HRT?- I asked him.
"Where you can't see them."
"Don't talk to me in riddles. I'm not in the mood."
I walked with purpose, and because I could not see any sign of terrorism or its victims, this ordeal seemed a drill.
Fire and refrigerator trucks and ambulances seemed part of a mock emergency, and even Fielding arranging disaster kits inside the large white trailer that was my outpost did not strike me as reality. He was opening one of the blue Army footlockers stamped with OCME, and inside was everything from eighteen-gauge needles to yellow pouches designed to hold the personal effects of the dead.