"And what would that do?" Beth asked.
"The potassium will react violently with the water in the pool and result in a tremendous explosion and fire — essentially using the pool water as fuel. The explosion may also crack the sides of the pool and/or damage the fuel racks, though I’m doubtful. There is too much opportunity for the explosive force to go up, rather than down or out, when the potassium hits the water."
"Go on. This sounds creative." Beth was not patronizing me. She was sincere.
"In any case, the pool water will be gone and the stored fuel will immediately begin to heat up. The burning hydrogen released by the potassium/water reaction should accelerate the heating process, as would any burning fuel from the aircraft. And if the pool racks are damaged, the assemblies might tip into each other. That would also heat the fuel rods faster.
"The extreme heat creates an intense fire — a meltdown — releasing a steamy plume of radioactive and poisonous chemicals. It would be the equivalent of a nuclear attack on the sprawling residential neighborhoods of the Twin Cities metro area. Thousands, or possibly tens of thousands, would die within days. And the toxic effects on communities farther east, while less dramatic, could collectively result in even greater human casualties over time."
The idea was sobering.
"If the pool itself isn’t cracked, doesn’t the utility have a backup source of water to fill the pool and cool the fuel?" Beth was helping me think this through.
"I am told that they do. But I’m not convinced that the backup system would be effective with the pool emptying so suddenly and the heat developing so quickly. I suspect new water would just boil off. I don’t know for sure. But this theory explains the missing lab equipment, the hijacked potash truck — since potash contains a lot of potassium — the involvement of a chemist, the international cell phone call, and possibly the motive for the professor’s murder."
Beth leaned back from the table, wine glass held in both hands at breast level. "Where does the plane come from?" She was still trying to help me work out the kinks in my theory.
"Well, that’s where the ‘sort of’ part comes in. It would almost certainly be possible for a small plane pilot to take off from the Red Wing Airport and hit the spent fuel building roof. I’m just not sure if a light plane like that would penetrate. Or if it could carry enough potassium. I don’t have enough information."
Beth smiled at me. I could feel the warmth radiate across the table. "Babe, I think you have enough to take your theory to the authorities. Maybe they can fill in the blanks."
"I’ll bring it to Gunner tomorrow. And if he won’t listen, I’ll find someone who will."
CHAPTER 30
It was 7:00 the next morning. I had already been sitting in one of the lobby’s plastic ‘torture chairs’ for half an hour when Gunner came through the front door to the Law Enforcement Center.
Yes, he works on Saturdays.
I jumped up. "Gunner. I need to see you. In private." My expression and lack of donuts conveyed urgency.
Gunner looked like he had been bushwhacked, which he had. Without protest he directed me to the conference room just off the lobby and followed me in. "Now what’s got your feathers in a bunch," Gunner said, mixing metaphors while sipping his convenience store coffee.
We sat.
"First, I need to know. Is there anything new on the murder case?"
"Not that it’s really any of your business…" He paused for effect. "But we haven’t been able to find the lab assistant or his car. His credit cards, telephone and bank accounts remain untouched since the night of the murder. His apartment has been re-rented to a new tenant. We got everything we could from there, which was essentially nothing, and then had to give the apartment back to the landlord. He was raising holy hell with the County Commissioners and at City Hall."
Gunner looked directly at me now. "Why? Have you got something useful to tell me?"
"Well. I’m afraid I don’t know the location of your murder suspect," I confessed.
Gunner frowned.
"But I’m pretty sure there is going to be a terrorist attack on the nuke plant. And I think I know how they’re going to do it."
Now Gunner really frowned.
I relayed to Gunner my theory and how it meshed perfectly with the professor’s death, the potash hijacking, the cell call and the missing lab equipment — not to mention that the prime murder suspect was Arabic.
After he finished listening, Gunner took another sip of coffee from his paper cup. Leaning back in his metal conference chair, he looked straight at me and said, "You’ve got squat! Where you see terrorists, I see fertilizer. Other than racial profiling of our suspect, why do you think the nuclear plant is involved?"
I sat for a moment. "My gut?"
"Your gut."
"That, and the only worthwhile target within miles of here is Prairie River Nuke. Plus, I can show you and everybody at the nuke exactly how it could be done."
Gunner remained unconvinced.
"Okay. Let’s look at it this way," I said. "Just suppose you possess the information I have just given you, and you keep it to yourself. Next week the Prairie River Plant gets dive-bombed by an airplane. All hell breaks loose. Worst nuclear event in history. Assuming you are lucky enough to survive, how are you going to feel?"
Gunner is a good guy and a good cop. He just doesn’t like to play the fool in front of his law enforcement comrades. Sometimes a little fear can help a person do the right thing.
Gunner took a deep breath. I could feel the weather changing.
"We happen to have a Joint Enforcement Committee meeting Monday afternoon out at Prairie River. The FBI, the BCA, the NRC and a whole lot of other TLA’s will be there. Why don’t you come to the meeting and explain it to everybody?"
"Sure," I said. "What’s a TLA?"
Gunner smiled. "A three letter acronym."
CHAPTER 31
Al Qaeda had no intention of trusting execution of the Prairie River nuclear assault plan solely to three Americans and a young boy. While John Sigler, no doubt, considered attack logistics to be under his control, the council had taken its own measures to assure operational success.
For the past many months, three elite Al Qaeda guerrillas had been conducting specific training exercises at a base in central Africa. Their purpose was to bring strategic technology and military firepower in support of the primary attack team at Prairie River.
The training base was arranged to simulate a small airport. Six months earlier, the runway proper had been overgrown with jungle foliage. Since then, local supporters had chopped, hacked, sawed and cut the tropical undergrowth until the runway emerged as a mile long clearing of jungle grass. Workers had also erected beside the ‘runway,’ what amounted to a full-scale model of the buildings at the Red Wing Airport.
Rough-hewn, empty shacks, fashioned from indigenous tree trunks and branches, simulated the main terminal, the hangars and all of the airport outbuildings. Cleared dirt or grassy alleys were the taxiways. There was even an elevated, cruciform structure on the main taxiway, intended to represent a large airplane.
To be sure, it would not have been prudent to land a plane here. But the replica was effective for its purposes.
Day after day, for months in the jungle heat, the three tactical operatives faced one simulated challenge after another. Their goal — protect the plane at all costs.
CHAPTER 32