Craig Kreident #2 Fallout Read Free Page B

them.”
    “Excellent, Mr. Garcia,” Craig said, trying to be firm, yet supportive, thankful that the supervisor hadn’t lost his cool.   “Keep your people busy, hold your meeting, tell the others to wait.   We’ll search for evidence of explosives or any other kind of sabotage.”
    Garcia bolted to do as he had been ordered, holding his yellow hardhat.   Craig gestured to the others.   “Jackson, Goldfarb, go take the admin offices, make sure somebody’s in every room.   Keep a tally.”   He directed the three policemen and the park ranger to take other levels inside the warren of tunnels within the dam and the cliffside, the upper machinery rooms and the hydroelectric stations.
    Craig himself took the main generating floor.   The echoing chamber was like an enclosed football stadium, an airplane hangar filled with horizontal turbines each the size of a circus tent, thrumming and whirring.   The Colorado River poured through spiral intake pipes that spun flywheels.   Atop each generator, a white light indicated which turbines operated and which ones sat idle.
    Craig moved uneasily, walking across the sealed cement floor.   The sound of his footsteps vanished in the throbbing vibration of the turbine generators.   The vast room had the atmosphere of a high-tech haunted house.   He felt as if someone might be there, watching him, though Garcia claimed to have accounted for all of his employees.
    Craig crept slowly around, studying the turbines, looking for any sign of tampering, loose access plates, boxes or packages that could have been explosives.   He didn’t know what he expected to find, but he had to keep moving.   He glanced at his watch once more.
    After he had circled the third generator and bent toward the fourth, he saw a man emerge from one of the many tunnels that connected elevator shafts, access halls, and river bypass tubes.   The stranger wore the jumpsuit and hardhat of a dam worker, but he moved with a furtiveness and quickness of purpose that did not mesh with someone just going about his daily duties.
    Craig stepped out of his hiding place, withdrawing his nine-millimeter handgun and his badge.   “Federal agent,” he shouted.   “FBI.   Remain where you are, sir.”
    The stranger stepped backward and froze, then he spun into action.   Though Craig had been prepared, he didn’t react fast enough when the stranger snatched a small revolver from inside his overalls, cocked it, and fired in a single swift motion.  
    Craig dove behind the shelter of the turbine, and he heard the man running, heavy workboots echoing in a humming background of main generators.  
    Pulse pounding, Craig snapped up his own Beretta, but the stranger fired quickly three times in succession.   Bullets ricocheted off the curved metal hulls of the hydroelectric turbines; one bounced with a high-pitched whine from the solid stone wall.  
    Craig cautiously peered around the curve of the tall turbine, ready to jerk back, hoping he could react fast enough the moment he saw a muzzle flash.   The terrorist knew his location, but Craig had lost track of where the stranger had fled, where he might be hiding.   He yanked out his walkie talkie.   “Goldfarb, Jackson, all officers — I need backup down at the main generator room.   I’ve found our customer.”
    As the others rapidly acknowledged, Craig switched off the speaker; it wouldn’t do to have a squelch of static or an unwelcome voice coming at the wrong time.
    The tunnel was empty now, and Craig couldn’t tell if the terrorist had ducked back through the labyrinth of passages, or if he had hidden himself somewhere in the cavernous main generator room.  
    Craig hustled cautiously, keeping low.   By the book, he should have called out and demanded that the man surrender — but those procedures were better left for fairy tales.   This man wouldn’t surrender unless he had absolutely no other chance.   Fanatics were fanatics, whatever the