"Cops almost never find the doer, ‘cept if it’s the spouse or the lover. Hell, you know that. Kid’s probably in Mexico by now."
"Another interesting tidbit," I continued. "There was an international cell call made to Germany, on a throw-away phone, from the vicinity of the Lab, at the same time as the professor’s murder."
"Hmmm."
"And one other thing I think might be important. The cops have found no motive, but… a novel piece of chemistry equipment the professor had invented disappeared from the Lab the night he died. According to the Lab Administrator, this invention is unique and highly sophisticated. He told me what the apparatus is for, that is, what it does. But he also assured me that it didn’t have any military or terrorist applications."
I paused.
"So why am I still feeling a terrorist in my gut?"
Bull considered what I had just told him.
"The international call is weird. How many of those d’ya ‘spose get made in the middle of the night from the Ottawa County boondocks — ‘specially from a dime store phone? And the missing lab gadget is interesting. What’s it s’posed to do?"
"It makes elemental potassium metal."
Bull raised an eyebrow as he finished off the Corona.
"Huh. That is something new. Elemental potassium. Tricky stuff. But I gotta go along with the Lab guy. Doesn’t sound like a weapon of mass destruction.
"Would make one hell of an explosion in the river, though," Bull went on, thinking out loud. "Reacts with water like a sonofabitch. But you’d have to get the stuff to the target without it blowin’ up in your face. Not easy to transport. Reacts with water in the air, too. Way too unstable to be used as an explosive in any traditional sense."
I couldn’t remember ever having heard Bull speak so many words consecutively. He usually said little. His interest confirmed that my suspicions weren’t entirely baseless.
"And yet… my gut," I said, as two new Coronas arrived to replace the empties.
We ordered our food. I had Dos Enchiladas Verdes. Bull had the Mole Burrito. The waitress left to fill our orders.
More silence.
I respected Bull’s opinion in the area of explosives. I knew no one with more knowledge of things that blow up. Bull claimed he’d worked with everything from crude ammonia/diesel bombs, to C4 plastique, to specialty pyrotechnic ordnance. He knew his bombs.
"Cell call to Germany," Bull said, mostly to himself, shaking his head as he held the second Corona in both hands.
The waitress brought our food. After she left, I restarted the dialogue.
"Okay. Let’s look at this from another angle. If you were a terrorist stationed in Minnesota, and you could pick any target at all, what would you choose?"
Bull washed some burrito down with a swallow of Corona. "Easy. One of the nuke plants — Prairie River or Canton."
"I was thinking the same thing. And one of those nukes is just a stone’s throw from Red Wing — and from the University Lab."
Bull thought some more.
I waited.
Bull finished off his lunch before speaking.
"Those plants have pretty heavy security. No idea what weapons are inside that fence."
Bull thought some more. I waited again.
" ‘Course, you might be able to crash a private plane into one of the reactor towers. But they’re built like a brick shit-house. Plane would squash like a bug on a windshield. And no way Al Qaeda is gonna get another commercial plane close enough. New rules of engagement since 9/11."
I nodded my agreement with Bull, but I persisted. "Every target has a soft spot somewhere. If I were going to attack a nuke plant, I’d find it. It might be a challenge without inside information. But there could be an insider."
"Could be," Bull conceded. "And that cell call is unusual. But you’ve got a lot of question marks."
"Bull, I need to find out more about the Prairie River Power Plant. It’s right here in Ottawa County. And it’s also the larger of the two nukes. Any ideas?"
"Got some contacts on the Rez. Can maybe find out some that way. But you’re never gonna know nothin’ for sure."
"Okay. That’ll be my problem to deal with," I said.
Bull raised his Corona in a toast in my direction. "Good luck with that." He drained the bottle.
CHAPTER 19
After having lunch with Bull, I told Gunner about my theory that terrorists were planning an attack on the Prairie River Nuclear Power Plant. To put it tactfully, he was skeptical.
I had to admit that hard evidence was scarce. Nevertheless, he did do me the favor of connecting me with Dana Winston, a chemist at the plant. Dr. Winston agreed to meet me for a beer at the Hog and Jowl after her shift ended at 3:30 that afternoon.
The Hog is a Midwestern imitation of a British pub. Lots of dark wood and dim lights. At the appointed time for our meeting, I was seated at the bar, a pint schooner of Bass Ale in front of me.
As I waited, I leaned one elbow on the bar and checked out the terrain. Burgers and steaks sizzled on a metal grill in the back corner. Booths and chairs were tightly upholstered in imitation red leather with rows of brass rivets around the edges. The atmosphere was discreet and comfortable. Even at four in the afternoon, couples groped one another over small round tables in the corners.
I inhaled. The smoky aromas from the sandwiches toasting on the grill completed the ambience.
At five after four the outside door opened, slashing a shaft of light across the smoky room. After the door swung shut, I saw a well dressed, middle-aged woman standing in the doorway, her eyelids batting at the change in illumination.
I had told Dana I would be at the bar. I turned halfway on my bar stool and gave a subtle wave, the heel of my hand resting on my thigh. Responding to the gesture, the woman headed my way.
I stood.
"James Becker," I said, offering my hand to Dr. Winston. "Please call me Beck."
"Dana Winston. And Dana is fine with me."
After the introductions, the barkeep drew us a couple fresh ales and we sat at a table for four, as distant from other patrons as practical. Neither of us wanted to broadcast the discussion we were about to have.
After we had settled in, Dana spoke first.
"So Deputy Gunderson says you need information about the nuke plant. Obviously, there are limits to what I can tell you. We — that is, the utility company folks — like to keep information about the nukes as close to the vest as possible."
I decided to play the attorney confidentiality card.
"Dana," I said. "I am a lawyer and I can assure you that I fully understand the meaning of confidentiality. No one will hear from me any hint of the topics we discuss today."
Dana had been sitting primly on her chair — back straight, with her hands in her lap. Now she allowed herself to relax into the backrest.
"Okay. So how can I help?" She picked up her schooner smoothly and sipped the ale.
"Let’s start with the basics. Tell me about the plant in general. Give me Nuclear Power Plant 101."
"Okay." She replaced her glass on its cocktail napkin. "Let me think a minute."
I tipped my schooner, enjoying a swallow of the cold Bass, then dabbed the foam off my upper lip with an extra cocktail napkin. While I waited for Dana to organize her thoughts, I watched the bubbles rising in lines inside my glass. Like my terrorist paranoia, they seemed to emanate from nowhere.
"Okay. Let’s start with electric power in general.
"The vast majority of electric power in the U.S. is made with steam. Nearly all electric plants use fuel of one type or another to boil water and make steam.