“It was vandalized beyond recognition. The fiberglass hull and decking were bashed in by a heavy object, probably a sledgehammer. Its GPS unit was in pieces, dangling on wires from the dashboard. We did manage to get the model number and manufacturer’s name from a sliver of hanging metal, though. We also found shards of the circuit board and brought them back, hopefully with the memory chips intact, but other than that, it was a total waste of time. We’re surprised it still floated.” Dover reached into his pocket, pulled out a dull gray lump of metal, the size of a dinner roll, and offered it to Poole. “Here’s the evidence.”
“What is that?” she asked, hesitating, but reaching out for it.
“The GPS circuitry wrapped in lead foil. If it’s radioactive, the foil will shield it. Give it to your electronics forensics group. See if they can pull anything from the chips. Hopefully some data is in there, too. Don’t know if it will help or not, but we tried.”
Taking the object, she handled it with two fingers and carefully placed on a sidewall shelf. “Thanks guys. We’ll leave no stone unturned, so to speak, in our seemingly impossible task.”
Disappointed, Cross watched. “It that our search limiter in that foil? Is that all we’ve got?”
“Yes, but we’ve got more prospects. A team of deputies is searching a county landfill east of Dana Point, looking for paper scraps from his house. Keller suspected that they might carry information about Fogner’s plans. They had been pinned all over a wall, like a bulletin board.”
“A bag of paper scraps in a county landfill?” he asked. “That’s probably harder to find than the bomb.”
“Not when it’s hot with radiation, Mr. Cross. We have half the Geiger counters in Orange County out with them right now. They’ll know when they’re within ten feet of the bag. Still not an easy search, you’re right.”
“Yeah, too bad we can’t do that with the warhead. Even if it’s glowing hot, spewing out all sorts of radiation, the water will shield it past two or three meters away. I won’t find it unless I’m sitting on top of it.”
He squinted, looking across the room at nothing, thinking. “What about this Fogner guy? Think he’s still alive?”
“We’ve had an APB out on him for days. Him and his Prius. Of course, everyone’s driving a Prius these days, so he blends in. A few of our patrol officers are even carrying scintillation counters with them, hoping to get an alarm on a passing car. Nothing yet.”
She paused, then turned to Norton. “So what are your search plans, Commander? Have you discussed them with Mr. Cross?”
Shifting in his seat, glancing at Cross, he answered, “No Lieutenant, we haven’t had time. I’ll take him back with me to Seal Beach this evening. Get him a room in the VOQ, the Visiting Officer Quarters, for the night. We’ll talk over dinner, then catch the Osprey back to the ship when it arrives tomorrow. I plan to caucus with Mr. Cross and Captain Broward in the morning. There’s a big ocean out there and not much time. We have to start the search immediately.” He knew from his previous chats with Broward, that a search scenario around Los Angeles was almost hopeless. Even though he didn’t know what they would be looking for, he was very pessimistic based on the populated location. They had been assigned searches for large objects: satellites, downed spy planes and even nuclear submarines, but those were far out at sea, without civilian intervention. Now they were facing the California Maritime laws, restriction after restriction, overseen by Greenpeace and a multitude of harbor patrol ships. Only the Coast Guard knew of Adam, and they weren’t talking.
Preparing for the mission, based on the elevated-level homeland alert just days earlier, Broward had researched the area and found that cable repair ships were fairly commonplace off the L.A. coast. Major fiber-optic transcontinental submarine cables started there and ran across the ocean floor to China, Japan, and South Korea. They were always being interrupted or broken by fault systems, marine growth, or submarines. He liked that idea for a cover. If his ship were discovered, his story would be that they were repairing the CHUS cable, the China-U.S. Cable Network, over thirty-thousand kilometers long and very prone to outages.
“When will you be coming back ashore?” she asked, looking between Cross and Norton.
“Realistically? When we find Adam and disarm or dispose of him. However that happens.”
She sat back, spinning her pencil on the table, and said, “Well, our taskforce is dwindling; we’ve solved many puzzles up to this point. Now it appears our tasks are moving offshore for the duration. Commander, how many passengers will the Osprey carry?”
“Twenty-four fully outfitted troops. It’s a troop carrier, mostly,” said Norton.
Cross nodded in agreement; he had spent much of his trip examining the rows of uncomfortable jump seats. They reminded him of his mini-sub’s two seats, small, hard and efficient.
“We have a heliport on top of our building. Think it could land there in a pinch?”
“What normally lands there? What aircraft do you use?”
“Usually a Bell 430, but we have a lot of other aircraft using it too.”
“Hmm,” he said. “The Osprey has a thirty-thousand pound liftoff weight versus the Bell’s ten-thousand pounds. The slightly larger size is not a big problem but the prop wash from it will be three times more powerful lifting off and landing. Think your heliport can handle that?”
“I’ll have to ask. I was thinking you might stop by and pick a few of us up for a short ocean cruise.” Winking after her comment, she chuckled.
“Well, that would be fine with me, Lieutenant. The Trident Tine is a huge ship. I’m not sure how Captain Broward will handle it, though, but at least you can be frustrated with the rest of us as we search. Good idea. If we can’t land it on your rooftop heliport, you can always travel down to our Seal Beach heliport and board it there. It’s not a far drive; we just did it in thirty minutes.”
“I’ll consider that, too.”
Agent Gibbs interrupted, smiling. “I think I may need to oversee the operation, too. Count me in.”
Norton, seeing the trend, asked around the table, “What about you Ensign Dover? Agent Strong? Maybe we should have our nuclear physicist, Dr. Gruber and Officer Briscoe, too, if only for a familiarization tour. They’ll be able to see the results of their efforts.”
Those addressed, smiled, and nodded. Strong added, “I think I’ll delay my trip back to D.C. by a few days. It’ll be more comforting to see our work in action.”
“Done!” Poole slapped her hand on the table. “I’ll ask Briscoe and Gruber. You check with the Captain and if he approves it, we’ll meet your Osprey somewhere. I’ll let you know in a few hours. Okay?” For the first time since she commanded the group, she was happy, genuinely happy. The slight curl of her lips showed it.
Surprised by her acceptance, Norton said, “Sure. The more the merrier, so they say. Except there’s nothing to be merry about when you have less than three weeks to live.”
“On that note,” she said, “I call this meeting to an end. Time for a break. The purpose of our taskforce has been to assess the threat, find it, and squelch it. In a way, we’re now moving on to the second phase. Loose ends we’ve left from phase one are Fogner’s whereabouts and his yet unfound paper trail. Those are progressing in the background at an acceptable rate, so far. I have the team roster, as do all of you. I’ll call you this evening with details on our field trip. I expect we’ll return tomorrow night, so pack lightly.” Standing, she added, “Remember, this is a highly sensitive project. Not a word to anyone. We don’t want to start a panic.”
Leaving the Crime Lab, the group’s spirit was brighter. They walked to their cars and drove off, leaving Norton and Cross waiting for the Navy car. From the side parking lot, the driver saw them and pulled up front.