Tortoise Soup (38 page)

“Hey, Porter. All is forgiven. It seems my Geiger counter was wacky, after all. Damn those labs and their RAD counters! But I’ve been getting some very strange phone calls. What say you and I talk? By the way, you owe me at least coffee and a doughnut for the mailbox.”

I let my mind go blank, not wanting to think right now about DOE and the length of their reach. Later on I would decide just what Lanahan really believed and how much he really knew.

I wasn’t surprised to hear Duff Gaines of the
Las Vegas Sun
pop up on my line, still chipping away at the tortoise story. But it was the next call that caught my attention. Santou’s voice gently wound around my heart.

“Listen,
chère
. Maybe I pushed too hard last weekend when I was out there. What say we blame it on the voltage sparking off those Vegas chapel signs? I’m thinking we should spend some quality time together and try to sort things out. How about we meet somewhere on neutral ground?” There was a moment’s pause. Then Santou cleared his throat, his voice turning soft and low. “What will never change is that I love you, Rachel. Give me a call as soon as you can.”

His message left me feeling not quite so alone. Maybe Noah had been right after all. I’d waited almost too long to grab hold of the brass ring, afraid of taking a chance, fearful of losing it all. If Santou was willing to give it another try, I promised myself not to blow it this time.

I threw the remaining mail off my lap, anxious to pick up the phone, when a large manila envelope caught my eye. It’s funny how some things can grab you without your knowing why. The envelope nearly jumped into my hands as I pulled it out of the pile and quickly ripped it open. Goose bumps worked their way up my spine, past my neck, gathering for a powwow at the top of my head.

The letter had been sent by Dee. My heart pounded at the possibility that she might still be alive until I examined the envelope more closely. It had been postmarked the day of the fire.

I pulled out the contents, trying to steady my hands as I focused my mind. But all thoughts of remaining cool, calm, and collected were trashed as my eyes settled on the papers inside. Neatly clipped together was a bombshell big enough to blow both DOE and Alpha Development clear out of Nevada.

Topping the pile was a deed from Golden Shaft granting fifteen thousand acres of prime real estate to Alpha Development for the bargain basement price of one dollar. But Dee’s revenge went further than that. Official papers spelled out the exact extent of DOE’s cover-up, along with a blueprint revealing how Golden Shaft was set up to be used for the storage of high-level nuclear waste. Best of all was the document that reported that leakage had now taken place.

Dee had chosen her material wisely, handing me everything I could possibly need. The only decision to be made was whom to give the information to first.

My spirits soared. Along with the realization that DOE hadn’t won after all came an end to the whispering taunts that had trailed me ever since I had left the mine.

I was still rejoicing in my new-found victory when the ringing of the phone took me by surprise. I quickly picked it up, hoping it would be Santou—but the robotic voice that greeted me was like a shot of freon injected straight into my veins.

“This is being said just once, Porter,” the voice warned. “If you’re smart, you’ll forget everything you saw the other night. Otherwise someday you won’t come home. Your boss will wonder what happened for a while. Your little neighbor? She’ll think you packed up and moved. As for your boyfriend, he’ll just pickle his brain in booze. You won’t ever be heard from again.”

The mechanical voice gave a malicious chuckle. “It’s a big desert out there, princess. Piss us off enough, and you’ll end up a lab rat at Area 51.”

The phone clicked dead in my ear as a bolt of recognition tore through me.

I now knew who had been responsible for the threats and the pipe bombs all along. It hadn’t been Harley and his two pals or even Garrett and his nephew. Only someone involved with the government would have been able to know my every move. And only one person had ever referred to me as princess. My mind screamed in rage at the undeniable truth: Brian Anderson was alive.

I sat stunned. I knew that DOE could track me down wherever I went, haunting my every move. And then I remembered a basic tenet I’d learned from old Charlie Hickok.

“Sheet, Bronx. Every criminal and case has its weak spot. Ya just gotta figure out what that is. Then after you’ve done that? You just drive a goddamn stake right through the sonofabitch.”

I chuckled to myself, knowing Charlie would be pleased, even though he’d never admit it. If DOE had one weak spot, it was their fear of the public’s right to know. And what the hell—while they might be supremely angry with me for a while, my best protection lay in placing what I knew right out in the open.

I pulled out my cell phone, certain that a tap on my residence line was already firmly in place. There was the call to be made to Santou and plane tickets to be purchased. But I had one task that had to be dealt with first. My fingers quickly punched in the numbers, my exhilaration revving back up as my adrenaline kicked into gear. My call was answered on the second ring by a voice eager to be given the bait.

“Duff Gaines,
Las Vegas Sun
.”

“Hi, Duff. This is Rachel Porter, with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. Have I got a story for you.”

JESSICA SPEART is the author of ten Rachel Porter mysteries, as well as the nonfiction thriller
Winged Obsession
. Speart created her mystery sleuth — U.S. Fish and Wildlife Agent Rachel Porter — after years of investigating wildlife and drug-trafficking crimes for publications such as
The New York Times Magazine
,
Omni
,
Travel & Leisure
,
Audubon
,
National Wildlife
,
Mother Jones
,
Wildlife Conservation
,
Earth Journal
and
Animals Magazine
.