Uncle Mike looked sickened. “What can I say? PK screwed up. It was late at night, the Pit Assembly Area was empty in the off-shift, and Nevsky must have taken a wrong turn. It can be a maze in here sometimes.”
“But how was he killed?” Paige asked.
“One of our forklift drivers, Carl Jorgenson, was stacking crates on the second tier when one fell. This is a warehouse, and that type of thing happens — not often, but cutbacks affect everything. Jorgenson was rushed, trying to do two jobs — he’s a contract worker and wanted to make sure he didn’t get laid off in the next reduction in force.” Mike shrugged. “Nevsky was just unlucky to be standing in the wrong place when it happened.”
He stopped by a door set into a concrete wall, ran his badge through the card reader, and punched in a series of numbers. The door swung open, showing a shadowy alley sectioned off by wooden crates. Paige could smell a musty odor from stored material that had sat around for years.
A team of medical workers huddled together where a large crate lay splintered on its side. Paige drew in a breath, searching for calm as the medical techs looked up. One squatted by a pool of dark liquid spilled on the floor. Blood.
Paige’s heart raced as she stepped back from the mangled corpse. The Russian’s arm was crumpled over his head as if he had tried to ward off the falling object at the last moment. His skin looked battered, his face grotesquely rearranged like a sagging rubber mask with the facial bones pulverized underneath. Pools of dark blood had soaked into the wooden sideboards of the crate.
“I guess he won’t be going home with the rest of the team on Saturday,” she said.
Uncle Mike slid an arm around her shoulder and nudged her from the grisly sight. He seemed even more sickened than she did, self-conscious about offering Paige his comfort. His face had a sad, hangdog look. She could smell his Brut aftershave, a scent that reminded her of her childhood.
As DAF Manager, Uncle Mike would consider himself ultimately responsible for the death, and the accident investigation just might cost him his job. He now wore the same expression she had seen when Aunt Genny had died — a vacant, stricken look that had lost all hope.
Mike and Genny Waterloo had been frequent visitors to the Mitchell home back in Livermore, alternating visits at Christmas, coming out for the Napa Valley balloon festival. Their families had lived next to each other in small suburban homes in the early days of the Livermore Radiation Lab, when most of the town had been employed in nuclear weapons work. Since Genny’s death, Uncle Mike had buried himself in his job, first as a member of a U.S. inspection team traveling in Russia, then appointed to manage the DAF, with all the responsibilities — and headaches — that entailed.
Including the death of a high-profile Russian disarmament inspector.
Hearing the security door open behind her, Paige turned to see a red-faced man in a brown Russian military uniform charging ahead of an NTS security escort. The guard huffed to keep up with the big-shouldered man.
Paige braced herself as General Gregori Ursov pushed his way into the crowded warehouse area. Silver-haired Ursov was slightly shorter than Paige, but held himself erect. His weathered face looked as if it had been chiseled out of hard stone with a blunt instrument.
“Explain this to me! I have been able to get no information from DAF personnel. Is Ambassador Nevsky truly dead? I intend to file a protest because of this brick-walling!”
Paige moved to meet him, already trying to choose the best path as peacemaker. “No one is trying to, uh, stone-wall you, General. We are still trying to determine —”
His glance seizing on the fallen crate, Ursov brushed past her and strode to the squashed body. Ursov stood stoically, staring down at the pool of blood, then knelt in front of his comrade. He reached out to touch Nevsky’s arm. “Idiot,” he muttered, as if the ambassador could hear him. The Russian word was the same as English.
Uncle Mike looked helplessly at Paige, and she stepped forward. “Sorry, General, but you’ll have to step back. Please don’t touch anything.”
Ursov remained squatting, studying, but did not touch the body. He spoke without turning. “I demand full reports, full investigations.”
Paige spoke quietly. “These people are trying their best to determine exactly what happened, General. It appears to be a tragic accident.”
Ursov turned to glare at Paige. “How could this happen? This place is supposed to be the most secure facility in all of Test Site. You insist we have escorts every time we take a piss or blow our noses, and yet Ambassador Nevsky is allowed to wander until a crate falls on his head? Unbelievable!”
“The ambassador’s escort left him alone for only a moment, General,” said Uncle Mike. To Paige, he sounded more forceful than he had in years. “We don’t know what Ambassador Nevsky was doing over here or what he was looking for. This is a restricted area, clearly marked, and he should not have trespassed.”
Ursov raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “It is after nine o’clock in the morning, Mr. Waterloo. If this so-called accident happened last night, why wasn’t I notified until now?”
“We are just beginning our investigation, General. We’ve been working diligently all night.”
“It took you all night to identify Nevsky? Preposterous!” Ursov pressed up against Uncle Mike as if to intimidate him, though the DAF Manager towered over the Russian by a good half foot. “You will grant me immediate access to a telephone so I may contact my embassy.”
“Certainly, General,” Paige said, stepping up to them. “We will keep you informed of the investigation as it progresses.”
Ursov remained toe to toe with Uncle Mike. “Without Ambassador Nevsky, I am now officially in charge of the disarmament team — as I should have been in the first place. You will ensure that our activities remain precisely on schedule. We have only four more days to complete our assigned activities, and I have no wish to stay in this desert wasteland an hour more than necessary. If the summit meeting does not take place as planned, it will prove quite an embarrassment to both of our governments.”
“Ambassador Nevsky’s death was an accident, nothing more,” said Uncle Mike coolly. “You must make that very clear to your embassy.”
“I demand an autopsy of the body, and a review of your safety procedures,” said Ursov. “We must have this all documented and submitted before I can transmit my final report to our president when he meets with your president.”
Paige stepped up and tried to defuse the situation. “Certainly, we’ll order the autopsy.” She wasn’t sure why Ursov would insist — Nevsky had plainly been squashed like a bug, and there wasn’t any question as to the cause of death. “But it might take a few days for a detailed analysis.”
Ursov snapped his head around. “Very well, Miss Mitchell. Let us call the surviving members of my team, so we may begin our tours for today.”
CHAPTER 5
Though Craig and his partners had prevented disaster at the Hoover Dam, he could not congratulate himself on wrapping up the case. The Eagle’s Claw investigation remained wide open.
He had found no leads that pointed to the ringleader responsible for planning the terrorist strike, or the probable murder of undercover agent Bill Maguire. The body of the bomber had vanished into the churning Colorado River — and Craig had no further evidence, no place to turn, despite the support teams of additional agents from the Las Vegas Satellite Office.