Fractured State (Fractured State Series Book 1) Page 8

  “I didn’t see anybody on the way in or out. It was completely quiet—like usual.”

  If they brought up the SUV, he’d say he was asleep.

  Reeves leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table and lacing her fingers together. “So if I were to stop by your house, all I’m going to find is a tub full of seawater?”

  “At this point,” he said, glancing at his watch, “you’ll see two barrels. One filled with about ten gallons of seawater, the other filled with about five of fresh. I can convert about 1.5 gallons an hour with my rig, which is in desperate need of repair. I do this so we don’t have to watch every drop of water that comes out of the faucet. My kid can run cross-country. My wife can break a sweat practicing yoga and make an extra pot of tea every night. We can raise a few tomatoes and peppers in the backyard—hidden from the neighbors, of course.”

  “There’s nothing illegal about a desalinator,” said Reeves. “Why the secrecy?”

  “It’s a gray-area activity here. Upper management frowns on any real or perceived water-allowance advantage by Water Reclamation Authority employees. Bad for the water authority’s public image, or some bullshit like that.”

  Reeves stared at him for several uncomfortable seconds before breaking eye contact and turning to the inspector. “Any questions?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Ramirez, shaking his head.

  “A few more questions for me,” said Reeves.

  Nathan nodded.

  “Are you affiliated with the California Liberation Movement?”

  “What? No. No. I haven’t donated money, signed any petitions, or any of that. That’s not my thing.” Nathan shrugged.

  “Because of water-department policy?” asked Reeves.

  “No. I don’t have any interest in getting involved, which fits nicely with the county’s preference that we keep our opinions on the issue private. We live a comfortable life here. I see no reason to rock the boat, so to speak.”

  “So you’d support a campaign against the CLM? To keep things the same,” said Reeves.

  “I didn’t say that,” said Nathan. “I don’t get involved either way.”

  Reeves produced a tan document-size envelope and slid it across the conference table toward Nathan. He stared at the envelope, noting thick block letters forming the words CLASSIFIED: INTERNAL US BUREAU OF RECLAMATION USE ONLY. Nathan couldn’t suppress a smile. They’d done their homework.

  “Can I assume you know what’s in this envelope?” asked Reeves.

  “If it’s my master’s thesis, you can correctly assume I know what’s in the envelope. I’m surprised you have access to this,” he said, patting the envelope. “I wasn’t allowed to keep a copy.”

  “You don’t exactly take a neutral stance about California’s water crisis in the paper.”

  “Did you read the paper?” asked Nathan.

  “I read the Bureau of Reclamation’s executive summary.”

  Nathan was tempted to engage Reeves in a blatantly “over her head” conversation about the paper’s topic, to demonstrate the perils of relying on a jaded bureaucracy’s executive summary of an eighty-page, meticulously documented academic paper, but decided it wouldn’t be in his best interest.

  “I guess you can attribute the tone of the paper to my more idealistic college years. I’m quite happy working on the more practical and lucrative side of the problem now. The ongoing theft of 1.6 trillion gallons of water per year from the lower Colorado River basin keeps my expertise in demand.”

  Reeves kept a neutral expression. “And your wife?”

  “What about her?”

  “Does she support the CLM?” asked Reeves.

  “Do you think she drove my car to the beach this morning? County can confirm that I was the only one in the car. I was stopped at one of their checkpoints on the way to the beach. Northbound exit ramp at Del Mar Heights.”

  “We know,” said Reeves. “I’m required to ask the question.”

  Did they actually suspect that the CLM was behind the sabotage of a project they spent millions lobbying to support? Everyone was losing their minds over this.

  “All right. I’m good to go,” Reeves said, pulling the envelope to her side of the table.

  “Thank you,” said Nathan, wishing he could read the bureau’s executive summary.

  “I wasn’t finished,” she said. “I’m good to go with a temporary geographic restraint. I want you close to home until someone figures out what happened in Del Mar. I’m going to submit a request to restrict your movement to San Diego County.”

  Shit. Keira was going to kill him. Even if he lost his job today, he was stuck in San Diego County. Better than having the police dig around his house. Maybe.

  “I can live with that,” Nathan said weakly.

  Reeves cracked a short-lived laugh and handed him a card. “Bet your ass you can live with that. Log into the website on this card with your California ID number to access the court paperwork. And don’t even think about leaving the county.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Detective Emma Peck typed a string of sixteen keys into her system, triggering the “blind spot” virus provided by her handler. Until she retyped the sequence backward, her activity on the San Diego County Police Department’s Virtual Investigative Division’s server would remain invisible and unrecorded. She’d have free rein on the department’s most classified and powerful data network, with zero limitations.

  Total insider access, which is exactly what her clients wanted—badly enough to pay an exorbitant, untraceable monthly fee. She’d been on their payroll for two and a half years, amassing enough money in a confidential overseas account to comfortably retire anywhere in the world. She planned on sticking around another year or so before resigning—and putting as much distance between herself and California as possible.

  She glanced over her shoulder more out of nervous habit than necessity. Due to the sensitive nature of her team’s work, which frequently involved Internal Affairs requests, her cubicle walls extended to the ceiling, and she could lock the door. Inside her eight-foot-by-eight-foot haven, she could examine the police commissioner’s expense account or view the chief of Internal Affairs’ e-mails without anyone knowing.

  As usual, the information request she’d received through an encrypted, self-erasing message packet on her phone seemed mundane: an hourly sweep for all San Diego County Police Department data related to the Del Mar Triad Station. She’d scour every investigative case file and e-mail in the county system, along with 911 and online reporting sources. Overall, an easy search to execute, since the parameters were narrow and the keyword layers had been predefined by her clients. They’d obviously done their homework—whoever they might be.

  Peck entered the keywords, in a system application exclusive to the Virtual Investigative Division, and waited for the results. The program returned eighty-three hits in the first layer, seven in the second, and nothing in the final filter. She typed an eight-digit code into the keyboard, which packaged the data in a file and sent it to her phone. The wireless transfer took less than a second, her cell vibrating briefly. Now all she had to do was take a short break in the detectives’ lounge on the second floor—the only room in the building designed to permit communication outside of the VID network. She’d walk in, buy a cup of coffee from the vending machine, and the program installed on her phone would do the rest when it connected with the room’s wireless signal. Easy retirement.

  CHAPTER 17

  Mason Flagg checked his watch, wondering if Leeds had slipped and killed himself in the bathroom. He’d woken him seven minutes earlier, with assurances that he’d be there shortly. “Shortly” had been five minutes ago, and time was ticking in front him on the computer screen. He scrolled through the police report, frustrated by its lack of detail. His gut told him something was missing, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  Nathan Fisher, a San Diego County Water Department engineer, had been at the beach when Olmos retr
ieved the dive team. There was little to no doubt about that. The time-stamped vehicle track data attached to the investigating detective’s report confirmed that Fisher’s vehicle had been at the San Dieguito River beach preserve at the same time, further backed by Leeds’s report of a matching silver Toyota sedan parked alone in the small lot on Ocean Front Road. Strangely enough, Leeds didn’t record the car’s license plate or investigate the beach on foot.

  Flagg read the text of the police report again, trying to figure out what bothered him. In this morning’s interview, Fisher had made no mention of the boats, or any activity at the beach, which was consistent with the claim that he’d fallen asleep in the beach grasses above the high-tide line, but—but what? That was the question.

  The door behind Flagg buzzed, drawing his attention to the leftmost screen on the parabolic array beyond his computer station. Leeds’s face filled the screen, his head positioned too close to the security camera embedded in the door. Finally. Flagg touched the security icon on the bottom right-hand corner of his computer monitor and selected “GRANT ENTRY-FULL CLEARANCE” from several choices.

  When Leeds opened the door, the other screens retained their images, which would not be the case following the entry of most of the Cerebrus team assigned to the operation. Like all larger-scale Cerebrus operations, information was compartmentalized, with teams operating independently of one another, with no concept of the bigger picture. The current California operation utilized eighty-three operatives divided between several groups. Of these, only Flagg and Leeds knew the full scope of the operation, though Flagg was quite sure a few more had put together enough of the pieces to figure out why Cerebrus was here. When the operation ended, Flagg would make sure those pieces didn’t come together in a meaningful, public way—even if it meant terminating a few employment contracts.

  Leeds closed the door and walked straight for the coffeemaker.

  “I figured you’d already grabbed a coffee—and breakfast—down the street, perhaps,” said Flagg over his shoulder.

  “You didn’t stock the bunkroom with adult diapers, so I took the liberty of using the toilet—and, God forbid, brushing my teeth.”

  “I’m not sure how the two are related, and I don’t want to know,” said Flagg. “Take a look at this. We might have a problem, thanks to you.”

  Leeds abandoned his coffeemaking efforts, instead sliding a chair next to Flagg. “Thanks to me?” he said. “I’m sorry, was I even on the ground in San Diego when Olmos ran behind schedule?”

  “Why didn’t you conduct a detailed sweep of the beach preserve area?”

  The operative squinted at the center computer screen, absorbing as much as possible before answering. “Thermal surveillance from the boats indicated no observers,” said Leeds, his eyes never leaving the monitor.

  “But you reported a car in the parking lot.”

  “I scanned the area with a spotlight. The beachside area was empty,” said Leeds. “It’s not uncommon to find cars parked overnight at the beaches.”

  “According to the report you’ve been scrambling to read since you sat down, somebody was at or near the preserve when the boats picked up the divers,” said Flagg. “In fact, this somebody may have been less than a hundred and fifty yards away from the pickup.”

  “Why did Olmos pick them up so goddamn close to the beach?”

  “Because they were behind schedule, and dawn was breaking,” said Flagg. “That’s why I sent you over to sanitize the area, which you apparently failed to do.”

  Leeds seemed to ignore him, focusing on the screen for a few seconds before responding. “He didn’t see the boats or the SUV.”

  Flagg thought about his comment for a moment, suddenly realizing what he’d missed. He’d been so focused on the boats, he’d forgotten about the vehicle. His fingers worked the keyboard furiously, adding the GPS track for Leeds’s SUV to the geographic overlay. When it hit the screen, he didn’t like what it suggested. Maybe Fisher’s omission had been intentional.

  “He left in a hurry, less than a minute after you drove away,” said Flagg. “That’s too quick for someone shaking off a nap. He had to be awake when you stopped at the intersection.”

  “Maybe I spooked him with the light. He might have thought I was a cop and bolted as soon as I left.”

  “The police stopped him at the Del Mar Heights exit on the way to the beach and let him proceed,” said Flagg. “He wouldn’t be worried about CPD.”

  “Everyone is worried about CPD,” said Leeds, continuing to read the screen. “It’s odd that he didn’t report the SUV. He had nothing to lose by mentioning it.”

  “Or, he felt that he had more to lose by mentioning it—especially after discovering that the nuclear reactor shut down,” Flagg said. “Suspicious boats in the water. Black Suburbans combing the neighborhoods. Sudden reactor shutdown. I might be a little cautious about what I disclosed to the authorities.”

  “Or was he asleep?”

  “I propose finding the answers to a different question: How long was he awake?”

  “I’ll work up a surveillance package,” said Leeds.

  “I want full electronic access to his devices, a neighborhood-based stakeout, and a team following him, twenty-four seven.”

  Leeds stood up, staying in place for a moment. “I should have taken the team through the scrub at the beach.”

  “It worked out better this way,” said Flagg. “If this Fisher character still managed to elude you, he might have become overly suspicious and reported the boats to the police. We can contain this. A little watch-and-wait to determine what Mr. Fisher knows—and make sure the police are none the wiser.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Nathan pushed his food around, forcing a polite smile that betrayed his desire to be left alone when his son or wife looked up from their dinners. He felt anxious and distant, his mind far away from the fish tacos, seasoned pinto beans, and spicy coleslaw on his plate.

  He knew they felt it, too, caught them trading nervous glances while efficiently finishing the food on their plates. Everyone wanted dinner to end, especially Nathan. He had no appetite at all. His presence at the table was a ruse to feign normality—and not a very successful one. In fact, he’d probably made matters worse by coming to dinner. Now his family knew for a fact that something was wrong. Maybe he could turn this around.

  “Sorry I’m so tense,” said Nathan, placing his fork on the plate. “Everyone at work was in a panic over the reactor shutdown. County is looking at our division to make up for a significant portion of the difference in lost drinking water, and nobody has any idea how to do that. We’re squeezing just about every drop possible out of our—”

  “Don’t say it,” said Keira, finally cracking a smile.

  “—suburbs,” said Nathan, shrugging.

  “That’s not what you were going to say,” she insisted.

  “What do you think?” asked Nathan, nodding at his son.

  “I think it was going to rhyme with scoop,” said Owen, grinning.

  “More like a combination of ship and fit,” said Nathan, causing his son to break into a laugh.

  “Honey!” said Keira, shaking her head. “He repeats that stuff at school, you know.”

  “Good,” said Nathan. “Just don’t tell them you heard it from me. How was school today?”

  “Fine.”

  “Just fine?” asked Nathan, raising an eyebrow. “This is your last week of school. You should be excited.”

  “We’re barely doing anything. And I hate going to camp. Do I have to go to camp this summer?”

  “Yes,” Nathan and Keira said in unison, his wife continuing to answer.

  “Both of us have to work,” she said, “and you can’t stay home by yourself.”

  “I know a lot of kids that stay home, and they’re the same age.”

  Keira beat him to one of their signature parent lines: “Well, that’s not how we roll. You’re eleven.”

  “I’ll be twelve in
July.”

  “If you’d said fourteen, you might have had a chance, buddy,” said Nathan. “I don’t think it’s legal to leave you home by yourself.”

  “It’s legal when I’m twelve,” said Owen. “I’ll be twelve in forty-two days.”

  “We’ll consider it next year,” said Keira. “Anyway, we’re planning a trip to visit Nana and Pops. You won’t be in camp all summer.”

  “In Idaho?” asked Owen, clearly excited by the prospect.

  “In Idaho,” said Keira.

  “Awesome! When are we going?”

  Nathan barely heard the question. Keira’s unsubtle reminder of her plan to flee California prompted a cascade of concerns and questions; he was also saddled with a county command to stay local. He dreaded the prospect of bringing this up with Keira.

  “Did you hear Owen’s question, honey?” asked Keira.

  “Yeah,” he said, picking up on of his tacos. “Uh … I’m not exactly sure when we’re going.”

  Keira’s smile waned a little.

  “It might be a little tight with work stuff,” he said. “Why don’t we talk about it after dinner? Settle on a date and figure out how long we can be gone. I know they’ll be super excited to see Owen. It’s been two years. We’ll get you swimming in a real lake.”

  “Grandpa said the lakes were freezing up there,” said Owen.

  “They’re cold, but the water is crystal clear, and you can drink right out of the lakes and rivers. The second you see it, you’ll want to jump right in. There’s nothing like it.”

  “Is it colder than the ocean?”

  “It’s like the beach here in the winter,” said Nathan. “Cold, but once you get in, you’re fine. And it’s freshwater, so it doesn’t burn your eyes. You’ll love it.”

  “I hope we can go,” said his son. “Maybe I could stay up there after you leave and come back later in the summer. Nana said that was okay.”

  “You really don’t want to go to summer camp, do you?” asked Keira.