My own knowledge of aircraft agreed with the analysis of their structure. I didn’t know whether the boiling issue might be a problem.
I broadened my web search to other topics.
I located several conceptual diagrams of nuclear reactors that illustrated what Dr. Winston had told me about their design and function. I read a lot more about potassium. I viewed a short video clip showing a tiny pinch of potassium being tossed into a barrel of water. The pyrotechnic explosion was visually impressive, even given the minuscule quantity of potassium involved.
I leaned back in my chair and checked my watch. It was well past midnight. Trying to absorb all this chemistry and nuclear technology made my head hurt.
Refocusing on the task at hand, I struggled to combine my previous knowledge with the new information I had just learned from the web. It seemed plausible… barely… that a terrorist might breach plant security from the air, crash a small plane into the spent fuel building, and start a fire. Maybe if you had enough potassium aboard, if the potassium hit the pool, there might be an explosion big enough to crack the pool and make it leak.
That didn’t seem like much of a plan. At least, I wouldn’t attack a nuclear plant that way. Chances of success seemed slim. How would you get a big enough plane even close to the plant? There must be all kinds of red flags that would go up if a commercial flight were in the air below 10,000 feet. And I knew the plant had at least some anti-aircraft capability. A small plane wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance.
Even if you somehow managed to steal and crash a commercial plane, would the lightweight aluminum airframe penetrate the steel building with sufficient fuel aboard to boil away the water? Would potassium make a significant difference? And how in the world would you get elemental potassium through airport security? That was simply not possible on a commercial flight.
Security for cargo flights had become just as strict — not to mention the fact that the potassium would probably blow up when some forklift operator dumped it onto the plane. ‘Fragile’ has no meaning to cargo carriers.
I still couldn’t make it add up. All I could theoretically accomplish was a nuclear nuisance. I could maybe shut down the plant for a few days while they scraped my charred remains from the building roof.
I checked my watch again. Three-thirty a.m. I would nap in my comfy lawyer chair for two hours. Then I’d go home, make coffee and take my best shot at preparing a nice breakfast for Beth.
Loving husband. Breakfast in bed.
CHAPTER 22
Two weeks had gone by since my all-nighter and I still had not been able to formulate a reliable plan to cause a significant nuclear incident at Prairie River. Nor had Gunner made any progress locating Mr. Ahmed.
I was at the office today.
I depressed the "Intercom" button on my desk phone. "Karen, intercom please," I said, in the general direction of the built in microphone.
"Yes, Beck," Karen’s voice replied from the speaker.
"Could you come into my office for a moment."
"Certainly. I’ll be right there."
Moments later, Karen knocked once on my door, opened it and entered the room. "Open or closed?"
"Ah, leave it open please." She let the door swing open all the way.
Efficient, loyal, and capable legal secretary that she was, she had come equipped with a yellow pad and pen in hand to record any instructions I might give her.
"Karen. How’s your workload today?"
"About normal. No real rushes. What may I do to assist?"
"You see these piles of paper and file folders all over my office?" I extended my upright palm and swivelled my comfy chair 360 degrees. "It would really be a wonderful thing if these papers found their way into the right files, and the files into the correct cabinets." I gestured again, this time at the rows of wooden laminate file cabinets whose specific purpose it was, in theory, to provide lots of filing room — so my office wouldn’t get messy.
Karen was still standing unruffled, near the door, paying close attention to my every word.
"Do you think you could take a stab at making that a reality?" I asked. I did my best imitation of a puppy face.
"Of course, Beck. Is there a deadline?" Karen said it as if it were her mess to clean up and not mine. Part of the job. This was just one more work item for Karen to prioritize among drafting and filing legal documents, talking with my clients, writing my letters, and performing lots of other tasks I didn’t even know she did, because she did them so well.
"Do you think you could work this in by the end of the week? I know it’s a big job."
Smile. More puppy face.
"I believe I can, Beck… but may I ask a favor?"
"Sure. Fire away."
"Frank has got me organizing a dinner party for him. He wants formal invitations, a seating chart, place cards… so the right people don’t sit next to the wrong ones… English party crackers, individually wrapped party favors. And he wants me to buy him a ‘festive belt.’ I don’t even know what a ‘festive belt’ would look like. Any chance you can get some of that off my plate?"
"No sooner said than done. Fear not!" I rush in where even fools fear to tread — never mind the angels.
"Bless you," said Karen, now ready to leave. "Door open or closed?"
"Let’s leave it open. I think I’m heading out soon. Long day already, you know."
"Open it is." Karen returned to her desk.
Frank was in his office right now. I might as well do the deed and have it over with. I rose from my comfy lawyer chair, departed my office and knocked firmly on Frank’s door, three times.
Frank motioned for me to enter. When I was halfway through the door he greeted me. "Come in, Jimmy boy. What’s up?"
I closed the door quietly behind me. Turning to look straight into Frank’s eyes, I held my index finger to my lips. ‘Confidential.’
Frank duplicated my gesture.
"I just wanted to give you a heads up," I whispered, moving away from the door and balancing on the edge of one of Frank’s client chairs.
"How’s that?" Frank whispered back.
I leaned forward over the desk, furtively glancing at the door as if someone might be spying on us. "Well. Karen has a bad sinus infection today. She wouldn’t tell anyone. She just soldiers on. You know Karen." I was still whispering.
"A real team player." Frank was still whispering, too.
"That’s for sure. Problem is, the last couple files I gave her to organize for me this morning? Well, they came back to me a mess. Everything out of order. Sub-files intermixed. Typos on the manila folder tabs. I think the sinus infection is affecting her concentration."
"Yikes!" Frank’s worst nightmare.
"Anyway, I just wanted to warn you maybe not to have Karen do anything that requires a lot of organizing today. Maybe just stick to dictation and stuff. And make sure to proofread everything!"
"Thanks for the heads up, Jimmy Boy." Frank looked a bit distracted. "I was going to have Karen… well I had asked her to… get me a new belt for a festive occasion. Do you think she could do that?"
"Frank, if I were you, I’d choose your own attire. Relying on Karen’s judgment today might not work out so well."
Frank breathed deeply while appearing to stare at something on the ceiling. "Right you are, Jimmy Boy. Thanks again."
"No problem."
Frank was practically on my heels as I left his office. He waited for me to return to mine before approaching Karen. I peeked out my door.