Craig Kreident #2 Fallout Read Free Page A

had died of his convenient “heart attack” the same evening.  
    “What’s so special about another note?” Robbins said sourly.   Craig could see that the man liked wearing his uniform but didn’t like to be called upon to do his duty.  
    “I’m inclined to believe this one, sir,” Craig said, then turned smartly, cutting off further conversation.   “We don’t have many men, but we have to act now.   Have we contacted the foreman of the redeye shift?”
    The second policeman nodded.   “Yeah, a man named Garcia.   He’s standing by for further instructions from you.”
    The park ranger looked up as a heavy truck crossed the dam and rattled past, heading up into the hills toward Las Vegas.   “I hope we don’t have to blockade this highway.   This’ll be a monumental mess if we can’t wrap it up before the Visitor’s Center opens at nine.”
    “We’ll take care of it,” Jackson agreed tersely, standing tall and dark under the morning sun, not sweating a bit.
    Seeing a gap in traffic, Craig jogged across the narrow highway and looked down to the generating stations, the heavy transformers and turbines far below at the bottom of the dam next to a set of administrative buildings.
    “All the hydroelectric machinery’s down there, Agent Kreident,” the ranger said as he approached.   “If somebody wants to cause mischief, there’s your best bet.   They can’t do much to damage the dam itself.   It was designed to withstand a 6.9 earthquake and made with enough concrete to construct a highway from San Francisco to New York and still have some left over.”
    “It would take an atom bomb to wreck that,” Goldfarb said.
    “Be thankful the Eagle’s Claw doesn’t have one of those,” Craig said.   He pointed to the generating station and a single-lane roadway on the Nevada side of the river.   “How do we get down there?”
     
    Silver-painted Frankenstein machinery hugged the canyon wall — conversion transformers that took the power from hydroelectric turbines and changed it to alternating current, sending it through high-tension electric wires that ran across the river up to naked trestles on the canyon rim above.
    On the opposite side of the river, rock alcoves contained more heavy machinery, needle valves that had once been used to shunt the flow of the river during the construction of Hoover Dam.   From beneath the dam and the hydroelectric generators, the swirling cold currents of the tailrace eddied where water sloshed out from the churning turbines.
    The shift supervisor came out to meet them, moving furtively, as if he didn’t want anyone to see him there with three FBI agents.   Craig took the initiative and stepped forward.   “You’re Mr. Garcia?”   He extended a hand.
    The compact man had wiry gray hair beneath a yellow hardhat.   His face wore a wizened expression, and his brown eyes flickered between fear and indignance at the suggestion that one of his workers might be involved in a conspiracy to destroy the dam.
    “I’m not keen on the idea of accusing my crew,” he said.   “I like to think they’re trustworthy enough to hold their responsibilities, or they shouldn’t be working here in the first place.”
    “I’d like nothing more than to be proven wrong, sir,” Craig said, brushing his suit jacket, glancing at the dam, adjusting his shoulder holster.   “But unfortunately we must take precautions.   Can we get everyone into a secure area without arousing their suspicions?   That’ll give us the freedom to inspect for sabotage quietly.   At the moment, they don’t know we know.”
    Garcia nodded.   “I’ve called a meeting of Team B.   They should be waiting for me in our conference room, and I’ve telephoned the five maintenance and support workers.   They’ll be in my office and not at their stations.   The other workers are all in the administration structure beneath the main dam, where it’ll be easy to keep track of