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Copyright © 2010, 2011 Brian Paul Davis
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Prologue – November 1967
Larry Johansson heard voices. It was a man and a woman, but their words were muted and fuzzy. He cracked open his eyelids, but only one let in light. He raised them a little more. Larry’s right eye began to focus and adjust to the light. His left eye began to catch some light too, but only a sliver. His eye was covered with something.
The clouds in his head began to clear, but as the clouds moved out, a stinging sensation moved in. His left hand, arm, and the side of his face stung more with each beat of his heart. It felt like the raw skin under a freshly popped blister.
His ankle throbbed, but he couldn’t move it. It was encased in something—a cast. His right arm was strapped to his stomach. His wrist was also in a cast. Pain reverberated through his body with every pulse.
The voices became clearer, but the words bounced off the pain. The chatter was now accompanied by moaning—his own.
“Sounds like Mr. Johansson’s ready for another dose of morphine,” the male voice said.
“Are we cutting his dosage today?” the female voice asked.
“He’ll be a little uncomfortable today.”
“Today? Just today?” she said.
“Well, we can’t have him go on in a narcotic stupor, can we,” he said. He walked out.
“Good morning, Mr. Johansson,” she said. “I’ll be right back with something for the pain.”
Larry stared at her, unable to speak.
She came right back, as she said she would. She took his arm and stuck him with a needle. It was long and sharp. Within minutes, Larry realized the needle stick was a shot of heaven. The pain wasn’t all gone, but he could think again. He could remember now. He was obviously in the hospital, but it was foggy. He had no clue how long he’d been there.
Like a tidal wave, that fateful day at the refinery started rushing back to him. Like it or not, he was there again…
The crew at the Purchase Oil Refinery auto mechanics shop was winding down, waiting for the lunch whistle. “Larry,” the shop superintendent barked. “Before you break for lunch, go check on Boris and Hanny. See what’s keepin’ them.”
“They’re checking on that forklift in Building 6,” Larry answered, crinkling his brow.
“I know that. What’s taking so long?” the super said. “If it’s not a quick fix, then let’s haul it back here. We’ll work on it in the shop.”
“I’ll check,” Larry moaned. “This is not coming out of my lunch hour,” he mumbled.
Boris and Hanny started only three months earlier and a just few months after Larry. Boris and Hanny got along as though they had known each other for years.
Building 6 was a short walk. It was a huge green metal box of a building and threw a long shadow, even at midday. The loading dock, the most direct entrance into the building, was straight ahead.
A large tractor-trailer delivery truck blocked most of the opening. There were no markings on the truck—probably non-union. Larry wondered what the Teamsters would think about that. Curious, Larry crossed in front of the cab to check out the driver’s side.
The lunch whistle blew. The monotone horn was beautiful music to Larry. He turned back to see his fellow workers, filing out for their lunch break.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the burst of bright flash from Building 6. A ball of fire followed. A boom that would drown out a clap of thunder, followed almost instantly. It rattled his teeth and shook the ground under his feet.
Shards of metal and little flaming missiles whizzed by around him.
A searing wave of heat from the blast singed his hair and ignited his greasy coveralls. The force from the shock wave overpowered his legs, pummeled him sideways, and kicked him off his feet. He slammed onto the pavement landing on his right hip and forearm, then his shoulder, then…
Larry shook his head and blinked a few times. That was it. That was all he could remember.
The next day…
It was a busy day at Baton Rouge Memorial Hospital. Doctors decided Larry was strong and coherent enough to have visitors. He was in a fog until the day before from the heavy painkillers.
Memories and flashbacks repeatedly rushed through him—the fireball, the boom, the intense heat. Larry could do without them. With the cut in the pain medication running through his veins, he was alert enough to hold a conversation. He would have preferred to have the extra meds.
Larry survived with a concussion, a broken wrist and ankle, and a separated shoulder on his right side. He had metal fragments removed from his ribcage, and endured first and second degree burns up and down his left side. With one side burned and the other side battered, he would take all the pain medicine they would give him.
The visitors started with the shop superintendent. Next, the state investigator arrived, followed by plant security and the OSHA investigator. It wasn’t long before Larry was ready for a nap.
There were more visitors than he cared to talk to. Larry didn’t have much to tell. He learned more from them, than they did from him. Boris and Hanny never showed. They didn’t survive, Larry would learn.
The explosion shot debris and burning fuel over the entire property, and even outside of the compound, according to the shop superintendent. At less than one hundred feet away, Larry was lucky his injuries weren’t more severe, or fatal, the investigator told him.
“There was nothing left,” the young state investigator said when he made his visit. “The fire was so hot it completely incinerated everybody and everything non-metallic that was caught inside. Metals were melted, fused, and unrecognizable. We believe the delivery truck probably saved your life.”
“The container part of the truck was totally fried and partially melted,” the investigator continued. “Since you were directly in line with the front of the truck, we think the large mass of the truck’s engine deflected the blast and saved you.”
“Besides Boris and Hanny, do you know who else was in there?” Larry asked.
“Pretty sure, but as I said, there was nothing left to really examine,” he told Larry.
“Six, including the truck driver, were killed, or are missing. They’re technically still missing, but we have witnesses placing them all inside the building at the time of explosion,” he continued. “There’s no doubt they perished.”
Chapter 1 – March 2007
Daniel Hartwick was one of the last at Aurora Cooper Engineering to get a cell phone. He liked being out of touch in the evenings and on weekends. That was something he couldn’t have done at his previous job at the Ironwood Flats Nuclear Power Station, outside of Phoenix.
His job was his life during his years as a nuclear engineer. He vowed to take a different path in his new career as a civil engineer. The prospect of a cell phone, paid for by ACE, as company loyalists liked to call the engineering firm, was too good to pass up.
There hadn’t been much downside to having the cell phone. There were only a couple of weekend calls. Most of the evening cell phone calls were just after he left the office at five o’clock sharp.
It was just past ten o’clock when Daniel turned off the TV and meandered out to the kitchen, in his shorts and t-shirt, for a bedtime snack. The melody of Canon in D coming from his briefcase gave him a start.
It was his cell phone, comfortably buried in his briefcase as usual. His briefcase sat on the floor, by the door to the garage, where it was rarely opened outside of the office.
He dug the phone out of his briefcase. “Hi, this is Daniel.”
“Daniel, it’s Shane. I need you to get to La Salle, Louisiana,” his boss said. “Tomorrow!”
“Aren’t you in Sacramento?” Daniel asked, knowing Shane Gorman flew from Phoenix to Sacramento two days earlier for a series of management workshops.
“They’re having some problems with the flood walls you worked on last year. Jackson Herrick is assembling a team that will include a representative from each key discipline. You will meet there tomorrow to visit the sites and assess the situation.”
Jackson Herrick worked out of the Kansas City headquarters and was in charge of all of the company’s Army Corp of Engineers and flood control projects.
“What’s the problem?” Daniel asked. “Why tomorrow?”
“The client wants us down there right away.”
“It’s after ten. I could use a little more notice, I just got back from Salt Lake.” Daniel was annoyed with the late night phone call. He was even more irritated at the prospect of another trip.
“Can I at-least wait till tomorrow afternoon so I can arrange for someone to take care of Sarah?”
“Listen, I don’t know what the issue is. Jackson didn’t tell me. You just need to get on the very first flight to New Orleans,” Shane directed.
“Call Rachael tonight,” Shane continued, referring to his young wife. “She’s home. You have the phone number. I just checked-in with her, so I know she’s still up, and she knows Sarah. She can pick her up and take her over to our house tonight.”
Poor Sarah, Daniel thought, his faithful and very well fed Basset hound.
“She’ll bring her to the kennel tomorrow.”
Daniel hated leaving her at the kennel again or the pet resort, as the proprietors like to call it. “No doubt Rachael’s thrilled about that arrangement. She won’t be able to hoist Sarah up into your SUV. Rachael can barely climb in herself without a ladder,” Daniel said barely taking a breath. “And I don’t have any plans or specs with me tonight.”
“Daniel…” Shane tried to cut in.
“I’d be lucky to get four hours sleep if I have to run over to the office before I go.”
“Daniel,” Shane upped his volume.
“Why don’t I just fly out tomorrow afternoon?” Daniel asked. He stopped to take a breath.
“Do you think I like getting called at this hour?” Shane scolded. “You’ll meet Yanus Fautonov and Nadine Russo from K.C. in New Orleans. The director of the La Salle Flood Control District is expecting to meet with you tomorrow afternoon in La Salle, and it can be more than a three-hour drive from New Orleans these days.”
Shane Gorman seemed to have an answer for every detail or excuse Daniel could bring up. “Don’t worry about the plans or specs,” he continued. “Someone will get them to you electronically. Just get there. There is a six a.m. flight direct from Phoenix to New Orleans. I’ll make the reservation and I expect you to be on it.”
“I can’t wait,” Daniel mumbled as he hung up. At least Yanus will be there. He hadn’t seen him in a while.
Slowly, his frustration gave way to concern. Something’s gone wrong with the construction. Design error?
Was this another screw-up? Was this another Ironwood Flats?
It took almost a year to get back to work after they fired him from Ironwood Flats. His new salary was barely half what he used to make at the nuclear power plant.
Was this a real emergency, or were they just going there to appease their client? Why was no one briefed on this so the engineers could better prepare? Does Shane know more than he is letting on? Daniel’s uneasiness was churning in his gut.
Was he flying out there to be thrown to the wolves? ACE probably wouldn’t spend the money to fly him out there if he was going to be fired, he consoled himself.
“Come over here, Sarah. I’ll be lucky to get four minutes sleep tonight.” Sarah lay down at his feet. Daniel stroked the short brown fur on her head and back. Sarah was his Valium. She thumped her tail rhythmically on the floor as he scratched the side of her neck and behind the ears.
“Oh yeah, oh yeah, that’s the spot, isn’t it?” Daniel said. “More behind ears, I know.”
Sarah soaked up the flood of attention.
“Do they give you any attention at that place?” Sarah just kept thumping her tail. “Not much of resort is it. Who are they trying to kid—pet resort.”
Daniel called Rachael Gorman to made arrangements for Sarah. Rachael tried to be pleasant, but she didn’t sound happy about the unexpected plans either.
“Now, Rachael will be here in a few minutes,” he told Sarah, looking into her sad brown eyes. She knew he was leaving her again. Daniel had no doubt dogs could sense things like that. “I think you’ve got a few pounds on her so be gentle. But if you run into Shane, feel free to nip at him a little. And bite with your left side.” Sarah was missing a tooth on the right side of her mouth.
Resigned to his fate of an early flight to New Orleans, Daniel threw together a few days worth of field clothes—jeans, boots, and a jacket. He added sneakers, a couple of polo shirts, a dress shirt, underwear, and his shaving kit to his small rolling carry-on suitcase. He figured the weather in Louisiana should be cool, but pleasant this time of year, although a thunderstorm wouldn’t be unusual.
He set the alarm for three-thirty. Then he set a backup alarm, his travel alarm clock, for four a.m. just in case he slept through the first alarm. After the tone of his talk with Shane, a missed flight would make tensions worse between Daniel and Shane.
Three-thirty a.m. came with little sleep. Daniel hoped to get some sleep on the plane, but the lack of information on the situation in La Salle churned in his gut. He couldn’t understand the urgency. He couldn’t understand why they would need to be in La Salle for three nights. A day, maybe two, to get chewed-out by the client, visit the sites, and take photos, should be enough.
Daniel didn’t look forward to getting blind-sided with questions about why the engineers designed it “that” way or how could “this” have failed. He had been through the blame-game before and had no desire to repeat it. Were Yanus and Nadine Russo as much in the dark as he was?
Normally he would have called Yanus, to see what he knew. They became friends while working on the design for the La Salle floodwall upgrades a year ago. But unlike some people at ACE, he wasn’t going to call at all hours of the night.
“Juice and coffee?” the flight attendant asked.
“Just O.J., thanks,” he answered.
Daniel wanted to sleep, but his thoughts kept drifting back to his former career at the Ironwood Flats Nuclear Power Plant.
Daniel was a dedicated, hard working nuclear engineer. A forty-hour workweek was rare for him back then. Daniel earned his Reactor Operator’s License. Controlling a nuclear reactor was not a task he really expected to do, but after transferring from engineering to operations, the operator’s license was an important career step. It was a proud accomplishment for Daniel, with a big boost in pay as well.
He barely had his license six months when the incident happened. Daniel was filling in overnight in the control room.
“Operator error” was among the many disparaging conclusions of the incident report. The unnamed “operator” in the report was Daniel. It was a simple pump failure, but “the failure of the operator to instigate proper emergency procedures in a timely manner, magnified the impact of the incident,” the report stated.
After a torturous three months of administrative leave, Daniel was officially out of a job. His operator’s license was also revoked and his career as a nuclear engineer was over. There were no injuries or casualties, but the report, and the multi-million dollar cost in repairs and lost revenue put a permanent black mark on his career as a nuclear engineer.
Chapter 2
Daniel’s plane arrived almost an hour late. Yanus Fautonov and Nadine Russo, from Kansas City, were already in New Orleans, waiting in the airport terminal.
Daniel found Yanus at the entrance to the baggage claim area. Yanus was dressed for the field in baggy blue jeans, a sport shirt, and work boots.
“Yanus how are you? Been a long time, eh?” Daniel was happy to see a friendly face.
“About a year ago, right here in Louisiana. Good to see you, Daniel,” Yanus’s accent was slight, softened by his many years of living in the U.S.
“Where’s Nadine?” Daniel asked.
“She’s renting the car. She should be done in a minute.”
“I hear this year’s company conference will be in K.C. September, right? We gonna be able to get some good Royals’ tickets?” Daniel asked.
“Are you kidding? There’re always good Royals tickets available. Now the Chiefs—forget about it,” Yanus said. “You’re the only one who wants Royals tickets, everyone else wants Chiefs tickets.”
“I’m a baseball junkie. How else could I sit through watching the Diamondbacks the last few years?”
“You should be right at home watching the Royals,” Yanus said.
“Hey, when’s the last time you were back to visit the Ukraine?”
“Twenty years.” Yanus flipped a dismissive wave with his hand. “I almost went back in ’97, but there’s nothing for me there anymore.”
A striking woman, about the same height as Yanus, began walking toward the two men from the car rental counter. Her straight, shoulder length, black hair curled slightly inward under her jawbone. Her dark hair and golden brown complexion contrasted sharply to Yanus’s pale skin and sandy brown hair, trimmed around his ears.
It was Nadine Russo. Daniel had seen her photo in the company newsletter, participating in some corporate charity event. She was a rising star in the company. Although they had never met, he recognized her immediately. Women engineers tend to stand out from the crowd.
Nadine wore a mix of business and casual clothes, with slim black jeans and a green polo shirt under a black blazer. Daniel figured the blazer was for the meeting, and the jeans were for traveling and possibly a site visit.
Yanus leaned into Daniel’s ear. “I need to talk to you after dinner—just you and me,” he said softly as Nadine approached.
“Nadine,” Yanus spoke up. “This is Daniel Hartwick. Daniel, this is Nadine Russo. We always make the new person get the car rental,” Yanus kidded.
Nadine Russo and Yanus may be close in height, but they were not in stature. Yanus was heftier, but not flabby or muscle bound. Nadine Russo was lean, like a runner. She looked to be in her late thirties. Yanus, like Daniel, was in his upper forties.
“Pleased to meet you, Daniel,” Nadine said as she shook his hand. Her grip was firm and confident, but not crushing like some handshakes. “Yanus speaks highly of you.”
“Good to meet you. I pay him well for that kind’ve endorsement.” Daniel said, nodding towards Yanus. “Would you believe it was foggy in Phoenix? You don’t see that very often.”
“Our flight was late too, so I guess it didn’t matter,” Nadine said.
Daniel didn’t know much about her. She did not work on the original rehabilitation design, but was apparently taking over managing the project. It was a cordial first meeting. A good start, Daniel thought.
Two men leaned on the large square column near baggage claim. They were average in size and appearance and blended in well. One man reached into his pocket and flipped open his vibrating cell phone. “Yes,” he answered in a low tone.
The other man continued to stare at the three subjects.
“Have they arrived?” the voice on the phone responded.
“Yes, finally,” he said.
“Including our friend?” the voice asked.
“Yes. Our friend too.”
“Did they see you?”
“Of course not,” the man said louder than he wanted too. He glanced up at the subjects, two men and a woman. They continued to talk with each other. “They don’t know us anyway,” he continued.
“Our friend would be able to tell if he got a good look at you two. He can tell the difference between us and them.”
“We’re far enough away,’” the man said. “Now what?”
“Nothing yet. Keep an eye on them until they get here,” the voice said. “It’s a long drive. Don’t loose sight of them”
“Got it.” He hung up.
“Shall we hit the road?” Nadine said. “You guys can catch up in the car.”
She was the youngest of the three engineers, but showed no hesitation in taking control.
“I’m ready.” Daniel lifted his small rolling bag to show them he had all of his stuff.
“We’ll be late for our meeting,” Nadine took charge. “I told the District Engineer we’d be there at four, thinking we could check-in at the hotel first, but we may have to go directly to the district office.”
The client was the La Salle Flood Control District, which had jurisdiction over the La Salle levees and flood protection system.
Nadine led the way toward the airport terminal exit.
“Let’s go,” Yanus said. “I’ll take the back, you ride shotgun, Daniel. You could use the leg room.”
“No argument here,” Daniel said as they wheeled their bags out together.
The drive up I-10 did not go as planned. The highway was a parking lot. The mass of cars and trucks sat on the freeway, almost still at times, halfway between New Orleans and Baton Rouge. They crept along for another hour before passing the inconsiderate offender. A tractor-trailer blew a tire and jackknifed, blocking all lanes just south of Baton Rouge. Nadine inched the rented Taurus past the toppled truck and the flagman, on the freeway shoulder.
“I better call the District,” Nadine said. “There is no way we will be able to get there by the time the office closes.”
“So much for our important meeting. It’s a good thing we got up ridiculously early just to get together for dinner tonight,” Daniel said as they exited I-10 onto Highway 37. “I’m going to enjoy needling Shane about this escapade.”
Highway 37 seemed to go on forever. It roughly parallels the Mississippi River, except that the Mississippi has some large loops and switchbacks, sending the river miles from the roadway at times.
“Do you guys know as little as I do about why we are here?” Daniel asked. “I got the impression we messed up somewhere, but I couldn’t get anything out of Gorman. Just get there ASAP was all he said.”
“Guys, you say?” Nadine said.
“Uh, that would be one guy, and one lady,” Daniel corrected himself.
“Better,” Nadine said. “I didn’t think there were any design issues or design problems.”
“Then what’s going on?”
“Jackson said there has been some vandalism or sabotage on the rehab work.”
“I wish I knew that last night,” Daniel said. “I still don’t know why we’re here. Shouldn’t this be handled by district security or police or the FBI?”
“I expect they’re looking for some inspection and maybe redesign. You know, to make repairs and make it more resistant to tampering,” Nadine answered. “They also want some expert inspection of the rehab work, to make sure they haven’t missed anything.”
“Why don’t they just run a stake-out or something until they catch whoever is doing this?” Daniel continued. “And why didn’t Shane tell me that last night, so that I wouldn’t have stewed over this all night?”
“He probably didn’t know himself. He was probably thinking the same thing you were,” Nadine said.
“Probably thinking my days at ACE were numbered,” Daniel said.
She chuckled. “I hope you’re kidding. You gotta think positive. You get what you expect to get out of situations like this.”
“Huh?” Daniel didn’t get it.
“He’s just paranoid,” Yanus said.
“Scripting your life. If you expect bad things to happen, you’re more likely to attract bad things to come your way,” Nadine explained enthusiastically. “Same goes for the good stuff.”
Daniel got it. He wasn’t sure he bought it, but he understood it.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” she air tapped him on the arm, reaching for, but not quite touching his left arm.
“OK then,” Daniel said in agreement, but the skeptic inside him still had to think it over.
“I know you’re not really buying this, but it’s true,” she said confidently.
“I think he’s just absorbed too much radiation out there in the desert,” Yanus said. “Hey, did you bring your watch?”
“Yes, I brought my special watch,” Daniel moaned. “You’re easily entertained.”
“What’s so special about the watch?” Nadine asked.
“It has a Geiger counter built-in,” Yanus answered for Daniel. “You’d be surprised how many times his watch picks up radiation.”
“It’s more of a toy than anything. There’s background radiation everywhere,” Daniel said, “sometimes ‘round medical equipment, or just flying on a jet. Potassium chloride, you know the sodium-free water softener stuff? You can get elevated readings just from a bag of KCL.”
They continued their drive through rural Louisiana. Nadine made good time behind the wheel. Yanus was never short of things to talk about or questions to ask.
The bends in the road were getting sharper. The tires squealed around a ninety-degree bend in the road.
“Sorry about that,” she said. “That turn was a little sharper than it looked.”
“You gotta watch these young drivers,” Yanus smiled.
“I wouldn’t go there.” She looked in the mirror at Yanus. “Unfortunately for me, I’ve seen you drive.”
“There was a UFO,” Yanus leaned diagonally forward, poking his head between the two bucket seats. “It was very distracting.”
“Distracting? I never heard UFO’s described that way.” Daniel said.
“Yeah, distracted you right into a ditch,” Nadine replied. “You and your UFO’s.”
“They’re out there, trust me. Remember those lights over Phoenix?” Yanus asked, looking at Daniel. “Nine-ten years ago?” he continued. “Your government’s explanations were a little weak for that one, yes?”
“Sure. Whatever you say,” Daniel said sarcastically. “Maybe they were just some angels flying around to look over us earthlings.”
“Angels?” Nadine asked with a smile. “Now that’s a new one.”
“We’ve all got angels looking out for us,” Yanus said, as though he was stating the obvious.
“Like guardian angels?” she said.
“Of course,” Yanus answered.
Daniel caught Nadine’s eye and shrugged his shoulders. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought up the angel stuff. Yanus was interesting, inquisitive, and a little quirky. He attributed much of Yanus’s quirkiness to being an immigrant, but some of his ideas were too far out-there for many people.
“What about your brother, Daniel? Now, he’ll tell you about UFO’s.” Yanus pointed his index finger.
“I’m sorry I told you about that one,” Daniel said.
“Your brother saw a UFO?” Nadine asked. She seemed amused by all the talk of angels and UFO’s.
“He thinks he saw a UFO.”
“Let’s hear it,” she said, “unless you want to talk about engineering.” She tilted her head feigned a snore.
“It’s nothing,” Daniel said. “He was visiting a friend of his at a cabin on Arnold’s Lake, a small lake in upstate New York. Some heavy thunderstorms came through. The storms spawned a tornado. In this case it was a waterspout since it was over the lake.”
“Here’s where the tequila took over.” Daniel took a deep breath. “He insists he saw a space ship or UFO of some kind, either behind or inside the funnel?” He paused a few seconds. “That’s it, end of story.”
“Ha! See?” Yanus slapped his hand down on the front console armrest.
“Guardian angels and UFO’s!” Nadine shrugged her shoulders. “Well OK then. Maybe we should stick to engineering.”
They continued along the narrow roadway, passing an occasional car or pickup going the other direction.
“La Salle 3,” the sign read. They craned their heads to look ahead for signs of the levees that ringed the town.
“My grandfather worked on the La Salle levees and floodwalls back in the twenties,” she said as they approached La Salle. “He worked for the contractor, hired by the Lapointe Land Company.”
“You have a history with this place?” Daniel asked.
“Indirectly,” she said. “They rebuilt most of the pump stations in the late sixties, though.”
The road curved to the right to expose the twenty to twenty-five-foot high berm of earth holding back the Mississippi. They were headed directly toward the Mississippi River levee.
Nadine made an abrupt, sharp left turn, tossing their shoulders to the right. “That was another sharp one,” she said.
They began a slow climb toward a smaller berm, less than half the height of the Mississippi levee. The Ford Taurus rental car climbed up the small canal berm and onto the short bridge that spanned the canal, to expose the mix of brick and white wood-sided buildings below.
“Welcome to La Salle, Population 2900, Elevation 40” the sign on the canal bridge read.
Acres of farmland, scattered farmhouses, and clusters of small houses, lay beyond the town center, within the surrounding levee. The sun’s rays barely touched the top of the mound of earth, holding back the Mississippi to the east.
Daniel was fascinated by the fact that most of the houses lie well below the waterline elevation of the adjacent Mississippi River. All that separated the home from the rush of the river was a mound of dirt. It was an imposing mound of dirt.
The La Salle area had once served as one of the many natural Mississippi floodwater pressure-relief valves. Floodwater would break through at the low spots along the riverbanks, which helped to keep the river flood levels lower.
Many of those flood relief valves had since been plugged with higher levees and floodwalls in order to make way for cities and towns, or to reclaim farmland.
La Salle was a small farming town in a flat basin just west of the Mississippi. For centuries, before the Lapointe Land Company built the La Salle levees, the Mississippi would routinely flood the area leaving rich fertile deposits behind.
“Five forty, not exactly the way we planned it. Let’s go to the hotel, check in, and arrange to meet for dinner,” Nadine said. “We’re booked at the La Salle Inn up ahead on Pearl Street. I think it’s the only hotel in the area, so hopefully it’s OK.”
“I need to make a call and get a few things together,” Yanus said. “Let’s meet at six-thirty.”
“Sounds good to me,” Daniel agreed, thinking he could talk with Yanus before dinner, instead of waiting until after.
There were fewer than forty rooms in the La Salle Inn. The two-story hotel was U-shaped with the central lobby fronting Pearl Street. The lobby was in the bottom portion of the “U” on the first floor. The front desk was in the middle, with a meeting room to the left, and a restaurant to the right.
Shades of tan and brown dominated the lobby. Non-distinctive earth tones covered everything from the old chairs to the sheetrock walls, broken up by the olive green curtains on the windows.
“Here you are ma’am.” The desk clerk handed Nadine the key to her room. ”Second floor, above the lobby. Just up those stairs.” The clerk pointed.
Yanus’s room was in the north wing of the building on the first floor. Daniel had room 203 in the south wing.
Between the front desk and the restaurant rose the main stairway and a single elevator. Daniel skipped the elevator, carried his small suitcase up the stairs, and wheeled it toward the south wing.
Once in his room, Daniel dialed Yanus’s room—number 121.
“Hello, Daniel?” Yanus answered.
“You got ESP,” Daniel said. “How’s your room?”
“Perfect. Come over for a few minutes before dinner.”
“I’m going to check in on Sarah and then I’ll be over,” Daniel said. “So, what’s this mystery about? Something you can’t talk about in front of Nadine? Girl trouble maybe?”
“I can’t figure it out. Is Sarah your dog or your wife?” Yanus said. “Maybe both, huh?”
“Very funny.” It was clear to Daniel that Yanus wasn’t going to offer any explanation until they got together to talk.
“I’ll prop the door open for you,” Yanus said.
Chapter 3
Yanus opened the door slightly and turned the deadbolt knob so that the deadbolt was projecting out. He let the deadbolt rest against the door jam, propping open the door.
He thought he would go through the restaurant menu while he waited. Since dinner was at company expense, he wanted to get the most out of it.
He heard footsteps. The door hinges creaked. Daniel showed up sooner than he expected.
“That was quick. Come in,” he said turning toward the door as it opened.
“Oh!” Yanus stepped back. “What are you doing here?” He tossed the menu on the bed.
The man entered and approached Yanus, but didn’t answer.
“You have to go, right away,” Yanus continued. “I am expecting someone here any minute. I don’t want to have to explain you being here.”
“You won’t have to, Sunan,” the man said.
Without pausing, the man swung his left arm from behind his back, pressed a black stun gun into Yanus’s ribcage, and zapped him with fifty-thousand volts.
Yanus jolted violently and dropped to the floor like a felled tree. “Sorry about that, Sunan, or Yanus, or whatever you’re calling yourself today. No time to waste with someone coming over.”
The man knelt down on one knee next to Yanus, and plunged a small hypodermic needle into his neck. Within seconds, Yanus’s eyelids dropped. He was out. “You’re coming with us this time.”
A second man backed in from the hall, pulling a large storage trunk on wheels. It was the size of a large footlocker. “Come on, Jenson. Let’s load him up,” the triggerman with the stun gun waved him in.
“I’m coming. I’m coming,” Jenson said.
They picked Yanus up off the floor and rolled him into the trunk. The triggerman pushed Yanus’s head down and pulled his knees up, almost to his chest, so they could wedge his feet into the trunk.
They tossed some loose papers and clothes into the trunk, on top of his curled up body, and shut the lid. Jenson tossed Yanus’s carry-on suitcase on top of the lid.
Yanus was only about five-seven or eight and one hundred seventy pounds. With the added weight of his luggage and the trunk itself, it was more than a two-hundred pound load.
They wrestled the trunk out the room door and into the hallway. They stopped in front of the exit door that led to the stairs. The triggerman held the door, while the Jenson pulled the trunk through the open doorway into the stairwell. They let the door slam shut.
To their left were the stairs leading to the second floor. Straight ahead was the exit door to the outside. The hinges were bent and the door hung crooked. The bottom of the crooked door caught on the floor sill plate, preventing it from closing completely.
Clicking noises resonated down the stairwell. They popped their heads up in unison. It sounded like the upper stairwell door latch—someone was entering the stairwell. They quickly bent down and jerked up each end of the trunk, then charged toward the exit door.
Jenson’s back slammed into the door forcing it open. He then flung the door fully open with a push from his butt. The door swung all the way open, then bounced back. The automatic closure mechanism on the top of the door began pulling the door shut. The door whacked the side of the trunk with a crunch. They continued through the opening, with the edge of the door scraping on the side of the trunk.
Once through, the crooked door slammed and bounced off the door jam.
They continued toward their waiting car, a Ford Crown Victoria.
Chapter 4
As darkness approached, Larry Johansson walked down Elm Street toward Hawthorn Drive with his black Labrador retriever, Napoleon. This was his routine almost every day, morning and evening, for the past four years.
Elm ran parallel and one block west of Pearl Street, dead-ending into Hawthorn. Hawthorn Drive ran alongside the levee, connecting Elm and Pearl Streets. Larry would sometimes turn right on Hawthorn toward Pearl and the La Salle Inn, but he preferred to take Napoleon the opposite direction. The north pump station, a favorite pit stop of Napoleon’s, was about a quarter mile down Hawthorn on the right.
Larry had stopped growing when he reached sixteen, or at least it looked that way. If only he had also stopped aging. At one time he was five-foot seven, but over the years lost almost an inch. He had a long and narrow rugged face. The discoloration from the burns on his left side had faded into wrinkles and age spots.
His hair was scraggly and gray, but still mostly there. He looked more like an aging computer geek than a mechanic. Social skills were never his strong suit.
Larry never married. He had few close friends. His only brother lived in Spokane. They didn’t talk much. He was pretty much on his own in Louisiana.
“Come on, Napoleon, we have a job to do at the old pump station. Stick with your old man.” He sensed his lab wanted to take a different route, but Napoleon was trained well enough to stay close, even without a leash.
Tonight was not exactly Larry’s usual walk with Napoleon. Ken, from the construction company working on the levee upgrades, had asked a little favor of Larry. They were in the midst of a union dispute. Ken had seen Larry walking by regularly and asked for some after-hours assistance. He was willing to pay for it, too. This was the third little favor for Ken, but the first at the north pump station.
Larry knew he could get himself in trouble if caught, but it was for the union. What could they do to an old man anyway, he thought.
Larry had been in the union for thirty years at the Purchase Oil Refinery outside of Baton Rouge. As a plant mechanic, with no college education, Larry made a modest living. He was able to own his two-bedroom, twelve-hundred square foot ranch house, a mile from the plant.
The union went to bat for Larry back in 1994. He fell off the side of the forklift he was repairing and wrenched his back. He was on disability for four months. When he started working at Purchase, it was an independent refinery. It was bought out shortly after the explosion in 1967.
Larry’s ankle ached on and off, and was never the same since the explosion, but it was his ailing back that enabled him to retire early at half pay. When he retired, he moved up to La Salle to get away from the plant for good. He wanted to be nowhere near the lights, the noise, the fumes, and the constant threat of toxic leaks and deadly explosions. He walked as much as he could to keep his ankle and back loose.
Larry approached Hawthorn and was about to make his usual left. Off to the right, he caught a glimpse of activity on Hawthorn, around the rear exit of the La Salle Inn. “Who would want to stay here in La Salle?” he said to Napoleon.
Napoleon looked up at his master, appearing to take in every word.
“It is pretty late to be checking out,” he said curiously. There was a lot of luggage too, from what his sixty-four-year-old eyes could see. “Could they be helping themselves to some hotel room stuff?” A TV would be the likely choice, but it could also be a mini-fridge, or some other piece of furniture. Maybe it was just a big crate or a luggage trunk.
Two men, about medium height and weight, hoisted the large crate into the trunk of what looked like an old Crown Victoria or Grand Marquis. Both men were about the same size as Ken, the union rep. Although Ken wouldn’t be here, he lives in Morganza.
They were a couple hundred feet away. The streetlights on Pearl silhouetted the men, so he couldn’t make out their faces. There were no streetlights on Hawthorn Drive.
“Come on, Napoleon. To the stinky old pump station we go. I may have to tie you up when we get there, OK?”
The car drove off toward Pearl and swung a U-turn on Hawthorn back toward Elm. The large sedan swayed as it took a sharp left onto Elm.
“You’re going a little fast there Karson, don’t you think?” Jenson said.
“Do you think the old man could make us?” Karson, the driver said.
“No, not from that distance, besides, we were just loading our luggage into the car.”
“That’s easy for you to say. He doesn’t know you.” Karson drove on as planned, looking back two more times in the rear-view mirror toward Hawthorn Drive.
Chapter 5
The hallways were dimly lit, creating some eerie shadows around the corners and doorway nooks. Energy-saving light bulbs, Daniel thought. He walked by room 221 and room 223. He leaned on the stairwell door across the hall from room 223. The bar that operated the latch resisted. He pushed harder until it clicked open.
Daniel heard footsteps and banging doors as he entered the white concrete block stairwell. The fluorescent, workshop style, lights in the stairwell created a stark contrast to the hallway “mood” lighting. The stairway, which doubled as an emergency exit, was unheated, damp and drafty.
He maneuvered down the steps to the first floor. The emergency exit door on the first floor was out of alignment and didn’t shut all the way.
He was glad to get back into the dim, yet warm, hallway. The door to room 121 was propped open, as planned, with the older mechanical deadbolt sticking out.
“Yanus?” Daniel knocked twice and pushed open the door. He entered and looked around, but the room appeared empty. “I hope I wrote down the right room,” he said aloud to himself. “Of course, it’s the right room, he propped the door open.”
Daniel looked in the bathroom and opened the closet. “Maybe he went to get Nadine.”
Daniel picked up the phone and pressed “0.”
“Front desk, this is Julie.”
“May I have Nadine Russo’s room?” he asked. “I don’t remember her room number.”
“Just a minute, I’ll ring her room.”
After five rings, a recording answered, “the party you have dialed is not answering. Please leave a message after the tone. If you would like further assistance please dial zero at any time.”
Daniel waited for the tone. “Hi Nadine, this is Daniel, just checking to see if you’re still there. I’m in Yanus’s room. We arranged to meet before dinner, but he isn’t here, so I thought maybe he went to get you. Something seems a little strange here, but I guess I will just see you both at dinner.”
Daniel hung up and dialed “0” again.
“Front desk, this is Julie.”
“This is Daniel Hartwick, Room 203, are there any messages for me?”
“Let me check,” she answered.
Daniel re-scanned the room again. There was no luggage, no clothes, and no evidence of anyone occupying the room.
“No messages, Mr. Hartwick.”
“Thanks.” Daniel hung up, retracted the deadbolt and shut the door. He walked down the hall toward the lobby.
Chapter 6
Karson drove the Crown Victoria down Elm Street. Small houses lined the street. They were mostly ranches, with some bungalows and a few two-story homes mixed in.
The houses on the east side backed up to the rear of the commercial property on Pearl Street. The houses on the west backed up to acres of farmland.
There was still a warm orange glow on the horizon between the houses on the right, from the setting sun.
He continued on Elm to a stop sign at Pitre. He flipped on his directional light and stopped completely. It was part of their training. “Obey all traffic laws,” his trainers would say. “Don’t attract attention to yourself.”
For transportation, he bought an all-American Ford. He liked the roominess and the soft, quiet ride of the Crown Victoria. He realized soon after he bought it that a pick-up truck would have been more appropriate for La Salle.
He turned right from Elm onto Pitre Lane. About a half mile, down on the right was the farmhouse of George and Emily Hughes.
It was a small farmhouse, more like a bungalow, with white wood siding. The roof sloped toward the sides. Under the peak, in the front of the house, was a single double hung window. Below the window was a covered porch. It made the house look quite long from front to back.
The driveway ran along the right side of the house. It led back toward a parking area in the rear. Straight back was the end of a large barn.
Karson pulled the Crown Vic around the back, so that the house shielded the car from view of the street.
He came to a stop by the back door and popped the trunk of the car. They hopped out of the car. Karson lifted the trunk lid. They each grabbed one end of the luggage trunk, with Yanus inside.
“On three, OK,” Karson said.
“One, two, three!” They hoisted it up, out of the car trunk, and set it on the ground behind the car. They lifted it up again and hauled it up the three back-door steps, though the door, and into the kitchen. They plopped it down on the floor.
“How much of that stuff did you give him?” Jenson asked.
“About a half a vile,” Karson answered. “He should be waking up soon. We’d better get him downstairs quick and tie him up.”
George Hughes walked in from the living room. “I assume you got him in there,” he said pointing toward the trunk. “He’s still alive right?”
“Of course,” Karson said.
“Bring him downstairs and get him out of sight. And watch him. Let me know when he wakes up.”
George Hughes opened what looked like a closet door. The two men carried the trunk through the open door to awaiting stairs. They slowly slid it down the stairs into the basement, banging the trunk on every step. Karson and Jenson unloaded Yanus’s limp body from the trunk and sat him on the floor. They propped him up against the cold, concrete basement wall.
Yanus promptly flopped over like a passed out drunk, hitting the side of his head on the floor. Jenson propped him back up only to have him fall over again. “Just leave him there,” Karson said. “He’ll get up on his own soon enough.”
They each took a seat on some folding chairs across from Yanus and waited.
It was a few minutes before Yanus began to stir. He opened his eyes and set himself upright against the wall, saying nothing.
Yanus slowly put his hand to his head. He squinted and rubbed his temples in a circular motion with his fingers.
“What did you guys do to me?” Yanus said as he began to look around the basement. “You didn’t have to zap me like that. I’m not your enemy.”
“We couldn’t take that chance, Sunan,” George Hughes said coming down the creaky wooden stairs. “You skipped-out on us ten years ago. We need to make sure you go back this time, with Karson and Jenson here.”
George Hughes looked to be in his sixties. He had streaky gray hair, slightly wavy and cut short around the ears, with just a half-inch or so of sideburns. Many years of working out in the Louisiana sun tanned and wrinkled his skin. He was probably quite distinguished in his younger days.
“I stayed here to help,” Yanus responded. “I tried to get them to leave the pump station alone, but I couldn’t convince them.”
“That’s weak. How would you know ten years ago this would come up?” Hughes stared straight into Yanus’s eyes. “You just didn’t want to go home with the rest of your countrymen.”
“You know you can’t stay here. If they found out about you, they’d lock you up and stash you away.” Hughes went on. “They’ve done it before.”
“We were lucky we got Boris, Hanny, and your father out, back in Baton Rouge.” Hughes began to pace. “We couldn’t do that unnoticed today.”
“Unnoticed? They noticed alright.” Yanus said. “Three dead, more burned and a burned out refinery? They noticed. They just never found out the real cause.”
“You know what I mean. They cannot find out that we are here. We did what we had to do. We minimized the losses as much as we could. You should be grateful we got your father out,” Hughes said, keeping his distance from Yanus.
“I am. But now you’re going to flood the town. You’ll destroy them, and for what?” Yanus asked, not expecting an answer. “Whose dumb idea was it to stash that stuff here anyway?”
“You’re exaggerating. They’ll recover,” Hughes said.
“Let’s just leave it,” Yanus said. “Let ‘em find it. They’ll freak out for a while, than forget about it. Or,” he raised his long index finger, “the government will just cover it up.”
“So, maybe I should just call the U.S. government and be done with it,” Hughes said. “You are naïve, Sunan. Now you got this Hartwick guy involved. You did that on purpose, didn’t you Sunan? You realize if you shared any of this with him, we’ll need to deal with him too.”
“I didn’t. He knows nothing. As his friend, why would I do that?”
“But, you were going to, weren’t you?” Hughes said looking intently at Yanus.
Yanus didn’t answer. What could he say? What else did they know?
“You looked surprised. You think we forgot how to bug phone calls. You think we don’t know that you got him assigned to this? They didn’t need him here, you did.”
“He’s a friend. I like working with him.”
“Why was he coming to your room? What was the mystery he was referring to?” Hughes stepped forward and pointed straight at Yanus’s face. “What mystery were you going to unravel for him?”
“Nothing,” he answered. “You realize he’ll be looking for me now—so will the police.”
“No kidding. Had to be done. This is getting far too risky,” Hughes said. “It’s not easy to hide anymore. That’s why we’re going to finish here and get out. We’re all getting out. And we may not be able to come back for awhile.”
“Even you?” Yanus asked.
“Maybe,” Hughes answered. “We planned to stay here for ten more years, but I think we should all just go back, as soon as we take care of this mess.”
Upstairs, the vintage 1960’s phone jingled. The ring of the old metal telephone bells resonated through the house.
“Hello?” Emily Hughes answered. “Yes, Kalo.” She stood with her eyes focused intently on the old desktop telephone. The phone sat on a small round mahogany table. The table was forty-years old, like the phone and much of the furniture in their home.
“OK. Did you check the room to make sure it was clean?” she asked. The lines on her forehead deepened as she listened. “OK. Are you sure it’s clean?”
“Where were you when you heard them?” she asked. She brushed her wavy, shoulder length silvery hair with her free hand. “Good. Don’t compromise your cover. We need you out there to keep an eye on them.”
“OK. Bye.” A small smile escaped.
Yanus tried to listen from downstairs, but all he could make out was something about “clean” and “cover.”
Emily Hughes came to the top of the stairs. “They’re in the lobby talking about rechecking the room and calling the police already.”
“The sheriff’s office won’t do anything tonight,” George Hughes replied, looking at Karson, then Jenson. “Are you sure you got everything out of the room?”
“Everything’s out,” Karson said.
Jenson looked straight ahead, but not at George Hughes.
“Are you sure?” Hughes demanded, glaring at Jenson.
“We got all of Sunan’s stuff, but we’re missing the hypodermic,” Jenson said.
Hughes dropped his head. He brought both hands to his forehead and began rubbing his temples with his fingers. “You’ll have to go back,” he said firmly “Do you have the stun gun?” he asked, still rubbing.
“Of course,” Karson said.
Hughes rolled his eyes, and shook his head.
“You’ve gotta go back! Tonight! We can’t have anybody analyzing that hypo. You couldn’t just use local drugs, huh,” he said. “You had to use our stuff.”
“It works better,” Jenson said.
Hughes fought to look calm. “They’ll know something’s strange if they analyze what’s in that hypo.”
“Relax,” Karson said. “This puny town can’t do that kind of analysis.”
“They’ll send it out,” Hughes said, raising his voice. “We can’t afford to be this careless. Just find it!”
Hughes turned to go up the stairs. “Wait a few hours,” he said looking back. “And don’t get caught. We can’t come after you if you get caught.”
Hughes reached the first step and stopped. He returned to the bottom and pulled Jenson aside. “Before you go tonight,” he said quietly, “I need you to secure the upstairs. You know, cover the window and nail it shut.”
Hughes looked over at Yanus. Yanus seemed preoccupied, rubbing and massaging the back of his head.
“We can’t leave him down here with all of our equipment,” he continued. “Nail the door shut once he’s inside. I’ll go in the morning and get a good lock for the door.”
Chapter 7
It was almost six-thirty when Daniel reached the lobby. Nadine was already there.
She sat in one of two well-worn chairs in the middle of the lobby. A coffee table and a small area rug in front of the chairs finished the small sitting area.
The chair had seen better days. Threads trailed off the welt along the edge of the tan seat cushion. The polyurethane finish had worn off the ends of the oak armrests. The sagging straps supporting the cushion barely cleared the floor. She looked at ease, despite sitting in the beat-up chair. Daniel walked briskly up to her.
She looked up and saw Daniel approach. “I was ready, so I thought I would come down here and wait,” she said. “I haven’t seen Yanus yet.”
“I was supposed to meet him in his room before dinner, but he wasn’t there.” Daniel put his hands on his hips. “I can’t find him.”
He walked around the back of the old chair. “There was something he wanted to talk to me about. The door to his room was propped open. He said it would be.” Daniel turned around and walked back to the front of the chair.
Nadine twisted her neck and torso, from her seat, to follow his movement.
“The room was empty. I was hoping he was down here with you.” He folded his arms across his chest.
Nadine did the same. “I haven’t seen him or talked to him since we checked in,” she said. “What did he want to talk to you about?”
“He didn’t say,” Daniel said. “It was strange that he couldn’t just wait for dinner.”
“Maybe he wanted to re-live some old times,” she replied. “Maybe it was some guy talk.”
“Yeah right—guy talk—like in those annoying beer commercials?” Daniel took a step toward the other chair and stopped. He wasn’t sure whether to sit, stand, or do something other than just wait around. Judging by how low Nadine sank into the chair, he figured he’d be sitting on the floor if he sat down. “Let’s give him a few more minutes.”
“He must be around here someplace,” Nadine said, pushing herself up and out of the sagging chair.
“I guess we can check outside, recheck his room, ask around.” Daniel said. “There was something strange about his room though. And I’m sure it would be an overreaction, at this point, to call the police.”
Nadine looked up. “What was in his room that would make you say that?”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t all messy, like my room. I basically throw stuff all over the room. The first thing I do is throw my suitcase and briefcase on the bed, and put my toothpaste and shaving stuff in the bathroom. I don’t recall seeing any of that stuff in his room.”
“Maybe he’s just very neat,” she responded. “I’m sure he’s around. He’ll show up.”
Daniel peered into the restaurant, but Yanus was nowhere to be found. Daniel and Nadine wandered around the lobby until almost seven, carefully watching the front door and the hallway for signs of Yanus.
“Let’s go recheck the room,” Nadine said. “You said the door was open?”
“I locked it when I left,” he answered. “I now wish I hadn’t. Let’s check anyway.”
They walked down the dimly lit hallway to room 121. The walls of the hall and doorways were banged up, but not too bad for an older hotel. The room was locked as Daniel left it. He knocked on the door.
“Yanus,” Nadine raised her voice.
No one answered.
“Hmm!” Nadine turned her ear toward the door. “I actually thought I heard some noise inside as we walked up here.”
“Yeah, me too! But these walls are so thin it could have come from any of these rooms.”
“Let’s ask around,” Nadine said. “Somebody must’ve seen him.”
They walked back down the hall to the lobby. They looked around corners and through any open doors for signs of Yanus.