Craig Kreident #2 Fallout Read Free

closest Federal law-enforcement agents.”
    “Good enough,” Craig said, fidgeting, anxious to get moving.   “We’ll take all the help we can get, sir.”
    “We’ve been here and vigilant since we received your message an hour and a half ago,” said the second policeman, flushing beneath his freckled skin, “but we don’t know exactly what we’re looking for.”
    The other policeman looked more bothered by Craig himself than the threat of the explosives.   “Agent Kreident, the Eagle’s Claw and their militia counterparts have been blabbing to the newspapers and radio stations for months.   What makes you believe this one’s not just another false alarm?”
    Craig frowned.   “Because this one’s real in my opinion, sir.”
    Goldfarb smiled and stepped into the conversation.   He was a head shorter than Craig with deep brown eyes and a sunny smile; he used the smile as a weapon more often than his own handgun.  
    “I’ve checked up on the Eagle’s Claw,” Goldfarb said, “and I’ve read their collected letters in the evidence file — cheery reading, let me tell you.   Typical right-wing militia organization, so patriotic they’re bloodthirsty.   America for Americans and none of this ‘world policemen’ crap — that’s their own words.   They want no more foreign aid, closed borders, protectionist trade policies.   They hate the United Nations with a passion, because it ‘waters down American ideals and dilutes the sovereignty of our nation.’“
    Robbins, the skeptical policeman, took off his wire-rim glasses and swiped them across the front of his shirt.   Craig noticed beads of sweat on his forehead.   “People around here are a bit more conservative than in San Francisco,” he said.   “Isn’t that where you’re stationed, Agent Kreident?”
    “I’ve been assigned to this case, sir,” Craig said firmly.   “Where I live has nothing to do with this morning’s operation.   Even militia members are entitled to their own opinions, so long as it doesn’t spur them to violence.   I think that’s what’s going to happen this morning — violence, and a lot of it.”
    “But what evidence do you have?” Robbins said, hooking his eyeglasses over his ears and straightening them.   He squinted toward the dam’s broad expanse of gray-white cement.   The waters of the river far below and the Lake Mead reservoir above looked deep blue, peaceful in the morning.
    Craig stated crisply, forcing himself to stop fidgeting for just a moment.   “We . . . received a note.”
    The FBI had kept tabs on various militia groups, especially since the Oklahoma City bombing and the Freemen standoff in Montana.   During their investigations, they had increased surveillance on certain ones they considered most dangerous.   Though the Eagle’s Claw spent most of its time on propaganda and misinformation, the FBI had sent an undercover agent, William Maguire, to join the militia and investigate their activities.   For two years Maguire had submitted regular reports, which grew sparser but grimmer in the recent six months.
    Unlike their frequent letters full of empty threats, the Eagle’s Claw had issued no warning, promised no action against the Hoover Dam or the hydroelectric generating station.   But yesterday Maguire had been found dead in his house trailer on the outskirts of Boulder City.  
    It might have appeared to be a simple heart attack — though Maguire submitted himself to regular physical exams, and no prior inkling of a health problem had ever been found.   But then a hidden note had been discovered next to the phone on an innocuous-looking pad of message paper, five sheets down.   Maguire’s house cleaner, also an FBI courier, knew where to look.  
    According to the scribbled message, the Eagle’s Claw intended to strike Hoover Dam this morning, planting explosives in strategic positions.   Maguire had been prepared to call in a full-fledged FBI assault — but he