Robert Hanley was nervous. When Hal Brognola had returned his files that evening, he had told him that someone was coming down later with more questions.
Brognola hadn't said anything specific, but Hanley knew something big was happening. You could see it in the man's eyes. Hanley had asked, but Brognola had all but ignored the question.
"You don't want to know," Brognola had said.
And Hanley didn't want to know. It was spooky, sitting alone in the big house. His wife and kids were safe at least. They had gone to her sister's in Phoenix. But the darkness of the Virginia countryside was no comfort. If anything, it made Hanley feel more vulnerable.
He wanted to look at the files again. But first he had to make sure the house was secure. He turned on the outdoor floodlights, but a glance at the wide front lawn didn't reassure him. There were too many shadows. The trees that had been his pride and joy could hide anything. Or anyone. Locking the windows one by one, Hanley felt cold shivers slip down his spine.
On the way up the sweeping semicircular staircase, he thought he heard something on the front porch. A thud maybe. Or a footstep. He went back down to peek through the thick glass of the front door. There was nothing there.
Returning to the top of the stairs, he checked the bedroom windows one by one and then the sitting room.
As he moved toward his office, he thought of the papers again.
So much anxiety over them meant there had to be something in them. Something he hadn't seen the first time. A pattern, some link that bound all the accidents together.
Whatever it was, he wanted to find it. After all, Robert Hanley knew he knew more about nuclear safety than anyone in the country. If there was something in those files to upset Brognola, he'd find it. He'd be ready for Brognola's emissary. He could do it even without knowing what Brognola knew. He didn't need any help.
He was the best.
The door to his office was locked as usual. He had taken to keeping it closed, not so much for security, but because of the kids. It was off-limits to them, even for hide-and-seek. When the lock clicked open, he pushed through the door and felt for the light switch with his left hand.
Across the large office the broad window was bright.
The outdoor floodlights cut through the thin curtains, which moved gently in the evening breeze.
The window was open, and the thick bands of shadow cast by the fighting squirmed like a tangle of snakes. The side window was rarely opened, but he glanced at the heavy draperies for a second. They were still.
When the overhead light clicked on, the shadows on the curtain disappeared. Hanley crossed the room swiftly, pulled the sliding glass closed and locked it. He flipped on his desk lamp and went back to the doorway to shut off the overhead light. He returned and sat down at his desk and pulled the folders toward him.
Opening the first file, Hanley felt another chill. He knew it wasn't the breeze; it was the file itself. He started to examine the thickest of the documents. It was the detailed report of a research team that had explored the causes of a reactor shutdown in the Ohio Valley. The Nuclear Regulatory Commission, for all the flak it took outside, was proud of its research. Meticulous and thorough, the NRC examined every nuclear "event," and issued a comprehensive analysis.
The public, especially those opposed to nuclear energy, might argue with its conclusions, but never with its science. The fat sheaf of papers before him bore out the depth of the NRC's scrutiny. Hanley sometimes believed the research teams gathered too much information.
It was often difficult to know why things happened, when you had so much detail on what happened. The Pitt General reactor event was no different. Midway 2 was a medium-sized pressurized water reactor. It was older than most, and Hanley knew age could have been a factor in the malfunction. That had been the conclusion of the NRC, in fact. Now Hanley wasn't so sure. Neither was Brognola apparently.
"Good reading?" The question so startled Hanley that it took him a minute to react. The visitor moved out from behind the heavy draperies at the side window before Hanley could say anything. He was tall and slender, but his features were obscured by the shadows cast by the desk lamp. Hanley didn't recognize him.
But he knew a gun when he saw one. And the one in the man's left hand looked very deadly.
"Who are you?" Hanley demanded.
"It doesn't matter who I am, Mr. Hanley. It's what you do for a living that counts."
The man moved to the easy chair at the left of Hanley's desk. He sat down, keeping the gun pointed at his reluctant host. Seated, his features were visible at last, but that meant little to Hanley. He had never seen the man before. The intruder took off his slouch hat and dropped it to the floor beside his chair. The man's hair was sparse in front and thinning everywhere else. He ran the fingers of his free hand through it once or twice, arranging the stray hair in a way that was supposed to conceal his baldness.
"I asked if your reading was interesting. Is it?"
"Who are you and why are you here? This is my home. You have no right to be here."
"You're right, of course," the visitor said.
His manner was nearly apologetic. Hanley found this more annoying than the rudeness he had expected.
"Still, there are things I must know, Mr. Hanley. Things that you already know."
"What things?"
Ignoring the question, the man said, "Someone visited your office this afternoon. He returned some papers to you, did he not? Important papers?"
"What business is that of yours?" Hanley was beginning to sweat. The longer the intruder remained polite, the more uneasy Hanley became.
"This time I must disagree with you, Mr. Hanley. It most definitely is my business. Now, if you continue to make things difficult, my assistant and I will have to change our demeanor. I will, at least. My assistant, as you will see if you remain obstinate, has few manners. In fact, he barely has any of the social graces. Otto?"
While the intruder spoke, Hanley watched his face intently. He barely noticed as the closet door behind the man's left shoulder slid open. The intruder's assistant had made his appearance. He moved quickly across the floor to stand behind his superior.
The hulking newcomer was massive. Otto's broad shoulders were clearly used to heavier work than supporting his hairless, bullet-like head.
"Otto, Mr. Hanley seems reluctant to tell us what we need to know. Do you think you can persuade him to be more cooperative?"
Otto grunted. His thick lips parted slightly in what Hanley took to be Otto's best attempt at a smile. He stepped around the seated man and swept Hanley's desk clean with one swipe of his thick forearm.
"Otto, you should be more careful. Mr. Hanley's papers are of some value to us."
Hanley leaped to his feet, but Otto was quicker than he looked. He reached across the desk and caught Hanley by one shoulder. With a grunt, Otto lifted the smaller man in the air, then slammed him down heavily in his chair again.
"All right, Otto. Let me ask Mr. Hanley a few questions. I'm sure he understands now how serious I am."
The hulk returned to his place with a second parting of his lips.
"What do you want?" Hanley asked. "Why are you here? What is this all about?"
"I want to know who your visitor was. I also want to know why he wanted the papers he returned to you."
"It was nothing. Just a routine investigation." Hanley sounded desperate, and he knew it. But he also knew these men wanted information they shouldn't have.
He'd be damned if he'd give it to them.
"No, Mr. Hanley, it was not routine. Your files are very sensitive. They never leave your office. Never. At least not until two days ago. I find that very interesting. So do my associates."
"Your associates?"
"Mr. Hanley, I am losing my patience with you. You are a bureaucrat, Mr. Hanley. No match for Otto's persuasive skills, I assure you. Give Mr. Hanley a demonstration of your technique, Otto."
This time Otto laughed. He walked swiftly to the front of Hanley's desk and hauled the man to his feet. Without bothering to move around the desk, Otto grabbed Hanley's left arm and gave it a sudden yank, dislocating the shoulder. Hanley screamed, and Otto shoved him back into his chair.
Hanley moaned. His shoulder felt as if it were on fire. He reached up to rub it with his right hand, but the pain was too great. He wiped cold sweat from his forehead. He knew that they were going to kill him if he didn't cooperate with them. It struck home for the first time. They would kill him unless they got what they had come for. And they would most certainly get it. If he stopped resisting, maybe they would let him live. What was the point of suffering if he was going to tell them what they wanted to know?
"Are you prepared to answer my questions now?"
"Yes," Hanley said, his voice cracking under the strain of the situation.
"Good. Otto, get Mr. Hanley some water, please. His throat seems a little dry."
The big goon lumbered out into the hallway. Hanley could hear him searching for the bathroom. A dim light flashed on, and soon Otto was back, carrying the blue glass tumbler from the upstairs bathroom sink. The huge man held the tumbler out, and Hanley reached for it gingerly with his good arm. When he held it securely, Otto caught the hand in his own. And squeezed. Glass cracked, and so did bone. Hanley fainted and collapsed back into his chair. Otto smiled at the bright, wet puddle on the desktop.
"A nice touch, Otto. But can you revive Mr. Hanley?" the intruder inquired.
Otto grunted. He lifted the unconscious man easily. Carrying Hanley as if he weighed no more than a rag doll, Otto went down the hall to the bathroom again. Inside, he dumped his burden into the tub. He turned on the cold water tap, then sat on the edge of the tub.
The water revived Hanley, who moaned and tried to sit up. He shook his head groggily. He started as he realized where he was.
Otto reached down and caught Hanley by his left shoulder. Hauling the injured man roughly to his feet, he lifted him free of the tub, holding him at arm's length to avoid the water streaming from Hanley's clothing. Otto dropped the smaller man to the floor, nudging him with one foot.
Hanley got to his feet slowly. He stumbled when Otto shoved him toward the door, hitting his dislocated shoulder on the doorframe as he passed through.
Hanley knew he was going to die, no matter what he told his captors. As they reached the head of the staircase to the ground floor, the NRC man leaped. He landed halfway down the stairs, his feet flying out from under him. He grabbed the handrail with his left hand, but the pain in his shoulder was too intense. He let go with a groan, falling the rest of the way to the hallway below. Otto bounded down the steps behind him as Hanley crawled toward the front door. Before he could get the door open, Otto was on him. The big man stepped on Hanley's back, pressing the fallen man into the carpet.
Hanley twisted to one side far enough to see the figure of the other man descending the stairs. He was almost casual in his descent; there was something delicate, almost feminine in the graceful walk.
"I am disappointed, Mr. Hanley. I had hoped you would be more cooperative. This is very unfortunate."
"Go to hell," Hanley said. His teeth were clenched against the pain, but his captors had no trouble understanding him. Otto pressed harder with his foot.
"This could have been so much easier for you, Mr. Hanley. But now..." He shook his head. "Otto, Mr. Hanley's papers are in a mess upstairs. Perhaps you should gather them up. There is a briefcase beside the desk. Put them in it and bring it down." Otto nodded, but didn't remove his foot from the small of Hanley's back. "Now, Otto. We have to hurry." Reluctantly Otto climbed the stairs.
Hanley could hear the rustle of the papers as Otto swept them together. He looked at the intruder, trying to decide whether he had seen the man before. It might not make any difference now.
Still, for some reason he now looked familiar.
Otto was back, a briefcase in his hand. He stood to one side, docile as a dog at heel.
"Otto, take the papers out to the car and wait for me. I won't be long," the intruder said as he looked directly into the terror-glazed eyes of Robert Hanley.