“Right, only here we believe it’s a variation on that tactic. We believe the attack on the gas pipeline is a diversionary tactic.”
Puller felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. “So what’s the real target?”
“If that gas pipeline explodes first responders from a hundred-mile radius will get there ASAP. That’s not guesswork. There are tri-state teaming agreements in place in the event that pipeline goes up in flames. Those resources are committed to that contingency and they can’t be stood down for any reason.”
“Okay.”
Mason continued. “Now, there’s lots of forest in that area. It’s been dry as hell. You could be looking at a fire that could cover three states and fed by a mountain of gas, at least until they could shut it down. As I said, disruption in power could be severe. Hundreds of thousands of homes are fed by that gas. No telling when they could get it up and running again, especially with a forest fire raging around it.”
“That sounds bad, but like you said, not very sexy for a terrorist. Then what’s the primary target?” Puller said again. “By definition that has to be worse than the diversionary target.”
“Forty miles from that pipeline is a light water nuclear reactor that feeds power right to the national grid.”
Puller drew a long breath. “You think that’s what they’re after?”
“It’s the only asset we can see in the area worth their while.”
“How would they attack the plant?”
“Right now security seems tight. But we can’t afford to find out later it wasn’t good enough. But if they can pierce that place, and somehow blow the reactors, it would be devastating. A radiation cloud could cover multiple states within a few days. And with all emergency crews fighting a gas pipeline eruption and potential fire, together it would be catastrophic.”
“So beef the security the hell up at the nuke plant.”
“We think they have folks on the inside there. That was the separate piece of intelligence I was telling you about, Puller.”
“Can you find out who?”
“In three days, probably not. And if we change security in any way there…”
Puller finished the thought for him. “The insider will easily find out, tell his people, and they go early and try to blow it anyway. And the same for the pipeline.”
“Right. At some point we have to make that decision, Puller. We have to beef up security at both places. But ideally we nail these bastards before that becomes necessary.”
“Necessary? Joe, it’s three days.”
“I told you it was bad.”
“I haven’t seen one Middle Easterner in Drake while I’ve been here.”
“Well, I have to believe they’re keeping a pretty low profile.”
“What do you want me to do? I’m just one more.”
“Keep doing what you’re doing. Find these guys, Puller.”
“And if I don’t, in time?”
“Then I have to pull the trigger.”
“And they’ll pull the trigger too.”
“Way it goes. Keep me in the loop, and I’ll do the same to you.” He paused. “I wish I could send you some assets, but the brass here thinks that might tip our hand.”
“Yeah, I know. I do have one local asset.”
“Right, Cole the cop.”
“No, guy named Dickie Strauss.” Puller filled Mason in on what he gotten Dickie to do. “At the very least it gives me another pair of eyes on the ground here. He was a former soldier.”
“I’m not thrilled you engaged this guy, Puller. We know nothing about him.”
“I didn’t have a lot of options,” Puller replied.
He could hear Mason sigh. “When are you meeting with him? We don’t have much time.”
“I can meet with him tonight.”
“You got a safe place to do that?”
Puller thought for a moment. “Yeah, I do. Place called Xanadu.”
CHAPTER
66
Puller climbed out of his car and walked into the Drake County library. It was a one-story orange brick structure that was architecturally tasteless and had not worn well. He went inside, asked a librarian at the front desk a few questions, and was shown what he needed. While there were a few computers in the library, Puller found himself using the old-fashioned method of looking through newspapers by hand. He covered the time period that seemed relevant to him. What he discovered was nothing, which in itself was significant.
As he was leaving his phone rang. It was Kristen Craig, the forensic tech from USACIL in Georgia.
“Got some preliminaries for you, Puller.”
He sat in his car with the air running and wrote down what she told him.
“We did a super-fast rush on the DNA samples you sent. Looking at the exclusions list we found one set unaccounted for. We uploaded it to the FBI’s Combined DNA Indexing System. We might get a hit.”
“What else?”
“We identified the wadding in Colonel Reynolds’s body. It was a twelve-gauge.”
“Anything else. Manufacturer?”
“Nope, sorry.”
“Okay, keep going.”
“The doc up there who did the posts was good. Our guys have basically validated everything he did. We don’t have the bodies down here, obviously, but the guy knew what he was doing.”
“Okay.” Validation was good, but what Puller really wanted was some info that could help him solve the case.
“We did find something strange on the twenty-two-caliber round you sent down.”
“What was that?”
“Well, I had it confirmed by three different people down here, because it’s not something you’d expect to find on a round fired into someone’s brain.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense, Kristen.”
“It was gold foil. West Virginia is coal country, not gold, right?”
Puller thought of the Trents in the big house. “Well, for some people up here it’s apparently the same thing. But gold foil?”
“That’s what it is. Just a nearly microscopic bit, but we confirmed that’s what it was. Don’t know what it means.”
“You make any sense of that soil report I sent down?”
“The soil report didn’t reveal anything startling. The uranium levels were normal, particularly for coal country. There was nothing else remarkable. If someone was killed because of it, damned if I know why.”
“You and me both. What about the stuff from the meth lab?”
“Now that was interesting. You sure it was just a meth lab?”
“It looked like one. It had the stuff you’d normally associate with one.”
“Yes, it did, but it also had one item that you wouldn’t normally find in one.”
“Like what?”
“Tungsten carbide.”
“What did you find that on?”
“Some of the bottles, the tubing, and some coils. Enough to where it couldn’t be just some trace residue.”
“So it might have been on Treadwell’s or Bitner’s hands?”
“Possibly. We did find Treadwell’s prints on the equipment.”
“So it wasn’t just planted there,” said Puller. “That’s good to know.”
“You were thinking it was planted?”
“No. But I like confirmation of my ideas as much as the next person. So tungsten carbide? That can be used in industrial tools, as an abrasive, in the jewelry trade?”
“That’s right. Stiffer and more dense than steel or titanium.”
“Treadwell had a ring. Maybe it was made of tungsten and it leached somehow onto his skin.”
“It wasn’t. We checked the ring.”
“He worked at a chemical shop. And he had a Harley.”
“Again, that doesn’t necessarily explain the presence.”
“Anything else?”
“Isn’t that enough?” Kristen said.
“You haven’t given me any answers.”
“I only provide facts. You have to come up with the answers, my friend.”
She clicked off and Puller slowly put his phone away.
There was another use for tungsten carbide that he, being in the military, well knew. It was very often used in armor-piercing ammunition, particularly when the material of choice, depleted uranium, wasn’t available.
But if Treadwell were making such ammo, there wasn’t any other evidence of it in his home. You needed space, and specialized equipment to manufacture it. And money. And many of the components on the list to make ordnance utilizing depleted uranium were ones that the government watched very carefully. How could a Harley-driving redneck who worked at a chemical supply store in nowhere West Virginia manage that? And if Treadwell had managed to do that, why had he been murdered? Maybe whoever he was building it for found out he might have gotten cold feet and was working with the government through Reynolds.