We Know

I climbed the three wide steps, reaching the bullet-riddled back of the Jeep-a few of the plant guards with machine guns must have figured out, late, where it was heading and opened fire. The rims had been worn down, one bent on the axle.

My voice sounded thin. "It's Nick Horrigan!" I shouted. "Don't shoot me. I'm just here because you asked for me."

To get in I had to slide through the Jeep's broken rear window and claw my way through the crumpled interior, not-so-shatter-free glass pinching my hands. The front half of the vehicle was buried in the embrace of the caved-in wall. The deflated air bag had been shoved aside, and the windshield had been kicked out so the guy could slide protected from vehicle to building. There was blood on the steering wheel, the dashboard.

I rolled down the gnarled hood and tumbled to the floor amid a scattering of windshield pebbles. Checking that the cell phone remained in my pocket, I stood. The spa-blue water, lit from within, set the walls and high ceiling aglow. Monitors recessed in consoles flashed readings. The reek of chemicals and something more sinister burned my nose, my throat. Tanks and generators lurked at the dark edges, adorned with neat mazes of pipes and endless coils. Set with respectful clearance to the center of the enormous building was the pool.

At its end, like a swimmer contemplating a dive, stood a man in ripped clothing, dimly illuminated from the rising glow. The man from the photo, though older and in far worse shape. His shoulders were slumped unevenly, as if from injury, his head lowered on his neck. His face was badly lacerated, a section of cheek lifted to crowd his left eye. Unruly blond hair, dulled with age, swirled up and out. His eyes jerked back and forth, almost uncontrollably, but his posture remained perfectly still.

Slung over one shoulder was an army-green rucksack, his hand buried in it up to the wrist.

My throat was so dry the words seemed to stick. "I'm Nick Horrigan."

With two fingers he beckoned me forward. His elbow was torn open, probably from the crash, and blood pattered at the lip of the pool. A crimson drop hit the crystal-blue water and blossomed.

I couldn't move at first, so he beckoned again.

I headed forward on legs that decided they didn't belong to me. The air, dense with humidity, felt almost liquid. I drew even with the pool and stared into the perfectly still aqua water. Down at the bottom, packed maybe ten inches apart, were the spent-fuel rods, benign-looking bundles. Not a speck of debris in the pool-it was maintained with a care suitable to the awesome lethality it contained. My Pac-Man shirt, damp with sweat, clung to me.

The blue light played over the man's bloodied features. That wide, wild mouth. He hardly moved as I approached, but his dark pupils shifted, tracking my movement.

"Do you know me?" I asked.

He raised a hand, pressed a shh finger to his lips. I stopped. I was maybe ten yards away. His toes were over the edge of the pool. He swayed a little, then took a step back. I let out a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding.

His weary features barely moved. "Did they give you something?"

His voice was a low rasp; it took me a moment to realize I'd understood him. "What? Oh. A phone."

I pulled it from my pocket.

His hand slid out of his rucksack, matching the movement of my own. He held a black, cigarette-size box with three bars of red light and a recessed button.

I stopped breathing.

He eyed the phone in my hand, grimaced as if disappointed that I'd broken my end of some bargain, and lowered his thumb to the ominous little box.

My entire body went rigid. "Wait a second!"

He pressed the button.

When I dropped my hands, which still existed, I saw the man staring at me with a puzzled expression.

He looked from my face to the small black box in his hand, seeming to put the two halves of the equation together. "Pink-noise generator."

I took a gulp of humid, bitter air. Sweat burned my eyes. I used the collar of my T-shirt to wipe my forehead. "Pink noise?"

"Subaudible. Pretty much plugs up any frequency they're listening in on."

"I'm not wired."

"Yeah, but you can bet your ass that cell phone they gave you is." He crouched and set the little generator on the floor at his feet, right at the edge of the pool. He flicked his bloody head. "Come here."

I remembered Wydell's warning to get him away from the water. I wanted his rucksack moved away, too. "I'm not going near that pool," I said.

"The radiation won't hurt you. Not unless the water boils off."

"Is that what the bomb's for?"

"There is no bomb," he said impatiently.

"I… What? What are you doing, then?"