Critical Reaction (41 page)

Maybe King had figured out that this parade of LB5 workers they were putting on the stand was a waste of time, Ryan thought. Maybe he’d decided to get in some golf.

Ryan looked into the gallery. Poppy hadn’t returned from his errand yet, but Dr. Trân was in the back. Now that Ryan was aware of the depth of Dr. Trân’s knowledge, he had asked the scientist to be present most days in case he had questions.

Ryan looked next at the jury box. The jurors were bored—never a good sign for a plaintiff. Even the schoolteacher was losing patience. She was smart enough to know that the last two days, since Poppy left the stand, had been filler.

They were losing the panel.

Last night, Ryan had finally come up with a plan. It was a painfully long three-point shot, but it was all he could conjure to move the judge to allow them into LB5. And as soon as this witness was done, Ryan would be giving it a try.

“We’re running out of time,” Ryan had said to the assembly of Kieran, Emily, and Poppy in the Annex living room the night before. “I can’t come up with a single piece of evidence strong enough to convince Judge Johnston to change her mind about
the LB5 inspection. So I propose we push the judge a different way—by making a late demand for evidence Pauline
would have
demanded if Covington’s inspection reports hadn’t hidden a number of facts. Then we use that demand as a bargaining chip to get the inspection.”

Emily looked lost. They all did. “All right,” Ryan said, “just hear me out.”

He turned to Poppy. “You said the HR guy who grilled you about your statement claimed the lights went out that night because of a broken fuse. I’ve been thinking: if the LB5 building manager knew what was going on in LB5 that night—which is almost a certainty—it’s likely he had the lights killed to hide the plume you were witnessing, till they sorted out what to do. So we ask for the repair logs for the phantom, nonexistent ‘broken fuse.’”

Ryan lifted his fingers to signal point two, still looking Poppy’s way. “Second, you said the HR guy told you they tested Lewis’s weapon to confirm it was never fired. Okay, we ask for a copy of the alleged LB5 weapons logs to confirm they logged out the weapon for testing.”

Next he turned to Kieran. “Third, we ask for your boots that they never returned, to test for radiation you probably picked up from the operations in the lower levels of LB5.”

Ryan looked once more to Poppy. “You’re concerned that Covington’s got Lewis hidden somewhere—or worse. So we demand the records of Lewis’s transfer to Savannah River from Darter Security.”

Ryan surveyed the group collectively once more. “The judge isn’t going to like all these late evidence requests, but she’ll be sensitive to the fact that we might have asked for this information earlier if the inspection report had been complete. King will stand up and counter that it could take weeks to gather it all up. ‘
Fine,’
we’ll tell the judge, ‘
we’ll waive our
request for all this new evidence
—
if you’ll just
permit the LB5 inspection
.’”

Kieran raised a hand. “But then wouldn’t we be giving up a lot to get the LB5 inspection?”

Ryan shook his head. “The boots, the weapons log, the transfer records—they all make Covington out to be lying in their explanations to Poppy and Kieran. But none of it’s going to win this case. Only proving the existence of the other detonation materials might do that.”

He’d looked around the room at Emily’s skepticism, Poppy’s thoughtfulness, and Kieran’s excitement.

“Even if you don’t follow through and get those weapon logs,” Poppy offered, “my son Michael’s a guard. He could probably get a copy of the LB5 weapons log from the central Hanford security office where they’re stored monthly.”

Ryan nodded. “That’s fine, Poppy. But, Emily, do you agree we try this tactic?”

His daughter shook her head. “I’ve got nothing better, Dad.”

It was less than a vote of confidence, but Ryan had taken it as the best he would get.

And now it was time to give it a try. Emily was finishing her examination at the podium. “No further questions,” she said. The Covington lawyer looked up from her notes. “No questions, Your Honor,” she echoed.

Ryan grasped his potpourri of demands and approached the podium.

“Your Honor,” Ryan began. “Plaintiff asks for a moment to address the Court outside the presence of the jury.”

Judge Renway gauged Ryan carefully before signaling the bailiff to send the jury out.

As Ryan went through the list of evidence they now sought, he saw the clouds gathering on the judge’s face. She knew this would delay the case. Still, to his relief, she allowed him to go on without interruption.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, Ryan was finishing his pitch. As he made his concluding remarks, he heard the courtroom door
open behind him. Moments later, Eric King appeared and sat at counsel table, slightly breathless.

Ryan finished with his offer of compromise: the LB5 inspection in lieu of the evidence. As he sat down, he cast a final glance at the anger glowing in the judge’s eyes.

King was immediately on his feet.

“Your Honor,” the Covington lawyer said, a light sheen of perspiration still visible on his forehead, “this morning I’ve been conferring with my client. In the interests of moving this case along, Covington is willing to agree to withdraw its objection to an inspection of LB5—subject to noting its safety concerns on the record.”

Disbelief flooded the judge’s face, mirroring Ryan’s own. “You’re offering to permit the inspection, Mr. King?” she asked, incredulous.

“Yes, Your Honor. Subject to making our record.”

Judge Johnston turned to Ryan, shaking her head. “Mr. Hart, I assume this is acceptable?”

“Yes,” he answered, stunned. The judge looked back at King. “Explain your safety concerns.”

King nodded. “Judge, I’m informed that the LB5 lower level beneath the room 365 mixing room is a large, empty production room—untouched since the late 1980s. Even so, it must be remembered that these rooms were once the heart of plutonium production in the building and for the reservation. When production closed down, tools, supplies, and equipment were left where they lay. Over the decades it is possible that these objects have absorbed ambient radiation in the atmosphere. This creates the possibility of a criticality incident.”

Ryan could hear the clacking of the court reporter’s keys as the judge responded, “What do you mean ‘criticality incident.’”

“I’m informed,” King went on, “that when two radioactive objects come into proximity with one another, it is possible to have a ‘critical reaction’—a sudden release of heat and radia
tion, which could cause a cascade of other critical reactions or a toxic fire. It’s impossible to predict with certainty when that will occur, or its magnitude. The care needed to remove objects in LB5 to avoid this event is one of the reasons that LB5 is among the last two dozen or so nonoperational buildings to be fully shut down and demolished.”

The judge looked worried. “Based on what you’re sharing, Counsel, I’m concerned that it isn’t safe to allow the inspection—even if Covington is now willing to proceed.”

“Judge,” Ryan began anxiously, rising to his feet, “if three explosions strong enough to obliterate room 365 three stories above the levels we want to inspect could not trigger a spontaneous critical reaction, I strongly doubt a simple walk-through inspection will do so.”

Ryan looked back at Dr. Trân, still seated in the gallery. “Your Honor, our expert Dr. Minh Trân is here today. I wonder if he could address this issue.”

The judge nodded her assent.

“Your Honor,” Dr. Trân began, standing, “I would say the risk is minimal, almost nonexistent. These facilities have remained stable for two decades or more. Any explosion resulting from spontaneous reaction of residual radioactive materials is extremely unlikely. I cannot speak, however, to the possibility of detonation of the other substances that I testified were likely involved in the October sixteenth explosion—if some are still there.”

The judge was silent for a long interval. “Gentlemen,” she said at last, “I will permit an inspection of LB5 tomorrow afternoon at four o’clock. That gives you over twenty-four hours, Mr. King, to prepare the site to avoid danger. I will permit each of you to bring counsel and an expert of your choice. Covington shall designate a guide from LB5 to lead us through the facility. And I intend to participate.”

“Your Honor?” King exclaimed.

“Yes, I am going to participate. The implications of plaintiff’s counsels’ theories in this case are extraordinary. I intend to be present for the walk-through. Bailiff, please dismiss the jury until the day after the inspection Friday morning.”

The gavel fell. Within minutes Ryan was alone with Emily and Kieran in the suddenly empty courtroom.

Ryan lingered as Emily gathered her papers, still marveling at King’s unbelievable turnabout. As Emily worked, he watched her talking animatedly with Kieran about the turn of events.

Ryan wanted to feel the same enthusiasm Emily was showing—but excited as he was, now that the moment they’d been fighting for had arrived, the emotion eluded him. Because Covington hadn’t been forced to this break in the impasse: they’d
agreed
to allow the inspection. Covington and King wouldn’t have agreed to this inspection unless they thought there was no evidence in LB5 to help Kieran’s case.

Maybe they’d cleaned it up. Maybe there was never anything to find there at all. Either way, this could all prove to be a worthless exercise.

In the midst of his doubts, Ryan thought again of their scientist, Dr. Trân: so confident in his conclusions and so convinced he’d find further support for them in the bowels of LB5. Ryan reminded himself of his wife’s repeated advice in their joint practice: that sometimes all you had was your trust in the people around you. It was a simple sentiment that had never been simple for Ryan.

He’d try to heed that advice again tomorrow. He had no other choice. He’d put his trust in the skill of Dr. Trân. When the hour arrived, Ryan would take a deep breath and hope, as they walked the halls of the lower levels of LB5, that their nuclear scientist was smarter than Covington’s.

CHAPTER 46

Emily watched the guide as he called them all together by the entrance to the dark side of LB5: her father, Dr. Trân, Eric King, Judge Johnston, and herself. Each held a HEPA mask in his or her hand. Dr. Trân had a set of sampling tools in the other. With the exception of Dr. Trân, everyone looked a little nervous.

The guide introduced himself as Hank. “You’re going to be fine,” he said with a smile. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. I’ve been working in this building for seven years and I’m still going strong.”

Which meant, Emily thought with a chill, that he had to be in on Project Wolffia.

Hank pointed to the dosimetry badge on his own chest, matching the badges each of them wore as well. “These badges will tell how much radiation, if any, you come in contact with on this trip. We can then calculate any dose you absorbed. But again, this is strictly a precaution. The average Hanford worker goes five shifts a week, 240 to 245 shifts a year—and can endure a long career without radiation harm. Isn’t that right, Red?”

The supply technician Red Whalen grunted his approval from across the room behind the supply counter.

Despite joining in the exchange with Hank, Emily thought the supply man looked uncomfortable. Red Whalen had to be a Wolffia team member, too, she thought, given his job at this
building, and the way they’d used Whalen to turn Taylor Christensen. It suddenly felt to Emily as though they were in the middle of an enemy camp.

With a final gesture to follow, Hank turned and headed through the door into the dark side.

They walked the solitary hallway, their shoes shuffling on the hard floor like a dance troupe without music. Hank led, with Dr. Trân behind him and Eric King at his side. Ryan followed with Emily at his shoulder. The judge was in the back.

Hank called over his shoulder that the log showed there were crew members on duty today, though none in the lower levels. “We’ll be on our own there today,” he said.

Midway down the lengthy hall, Hank reached a descending stairwell. He switched on a light at the head of the stairs, then led them down.

“What are we going to see?” Ryan called out.

“We’re going into a former production room,” Hank called back as he walked, “directly below room 365. These rooms were shut down in mid-production. The space we’ll be examining has tables and work stations with tools and equipment that were used for processing. The closed glove boxes will have some plutonium residue—or even fully processed material still in the enclosed production space. There is some chemical storage as well. You’ll be able to look through the observation ports if you wish.”

At the base of the stairs, the group turned left. Emily ran a finger along the wall of the hallway as they walked. The smooth green walls seemed . . . different, even in the dim light.

She put her full hand against the wall’s surface. It was freshly painted. That was it. The first-floor walls hadn’t been.

Emily saw that Dr. Trân, only a few steps ahead, was also touching the walls, and sliding his feet on the floor’s surface. Emily looked down and saw that the floors were newly painted, too. Trân was clearly seeing the same thing.

“Sir,” Dr. Trân called, “it appears these walls have been coated with lead paint recently. Isn’t that done to cover over and capture potential radionuclides?”

Hank smiled over his shoulder. “That’s true. It was likely just precautionary after the explosion last October.”

Then why
wasn’t the first floor painted?
Emily thought.

Near the end of this hall, they halted beside a double door to their right. “Now we’ll enter a small space between these exterior safety doors and a second set of safety doors leading to the production room,” Hank said, pointing to his right. “This is the entryway into the primary LB5 production facility when it was in use prior to 1989—directly below room 365. Once we pass through the second set of doors, we’ll be in the actual production space itself. Don’t be surprised at the appearance of the room: remember, this facility was shut down suddenly and with every expectation that it might begin production again any day. It will be messy, and perhaps appear a little chaotic.”