Whitewash (10 page)

Jason Brill couldn’t believe how bad it smelled. And he wasn’t even thinking about the rotting chicken guts. It was the stink inside the limousine that challenged his gag reflex and brought him close to upchucking his own lunch.

Jesus! The entire limousine smelled like vomit despite having all the windows rolled down. Yet he tried not to look away from the senator, tried not to look repulsed.

Marek handed Senator Allen another wet towel. “I not get stench out for weeks,” the limo driver said, shaking his head and not bothering to hide his disgust. Then he climbed into the front seat totally unaware of the senator looking up and staring at the back of the driver’s head like that was exactly where he’d like to shoot a poisoned dart.

Jason refrained from helping, other than offering to hold a discarded towel or two. Unlike Marek, he knew when to sit back and shut up. He knew that the navy suit was probably toast. Instead of focusing on the smell, he concentrated on what had happened. Jason couldn’t help thinking that asshole Sidel knew exactly what he was doing when he took them all up the catwalk that overlooked the holding tank with his “magic feedstock.”

Whatever his intention, it didn’t matter. What Jason would never forget was that Sidel had laughed like some fucking frat boy when Senator Allen started puking over the railing, yelling not to worry, they could break that down, too, with the rest of the “magic” garbage. Jason used to teach guys bigger than Sidel a lesson with an elbow to the kidneys and a fist to the throat. It seemed cleaner and more fair than the way the senator insisted things be done. And all Jason could think at the time was, “Thank God there weren’t any media around.”

Sidel had gone too far. After everything the senator had done for him the man should be licking the vomit off Senator Allen’s Italian-leather shoes, not pointing and laughing. Jason had never understood the connection between the two men. He knew they had both attended Florida State University at the same time, but he couldn’t imagine them being friends even as young men. They seemed too different. Sidel had been a linebacker for the Seminoles while Senator Allen headed the debate club. And yet there appeared to be a strong allegiance, at least on the senator’s part.

Allegiance, unrelenting loyalty, Jason certainly understood. The whole concept was one he had had to learn the hard way. He came from people who trusted no one, who knew how to steal and cheat and lie so well they didn’t realize there were boundaries. Jason supposed it wasn’t much different than politicians. No wonder he had been attracted to D.C. when he was old enough to buy a motorcycle—a sleek, powerful Yamaha—and drive as far away as possible. He got a job as a courier and muscled his cycle around the capital, squeezing in and out of traffic, pushing the limits, breaking a few rules. But then he banged up himself and his bike when he darted in front of a black SUV.

Jason still delivered the bloodstained package despite three broken ribs and a badly bruised knee. The SUV owner, some hotshot foreign diplomat, threatened to have Jason’s license pulled. Didn’t matter, the bike was busted up worse than Jason. He figured he was out of business.

Three days later he got a message from the courier service that the recipient of his last delivery wanted to meet him. Immediately Jason thought he was fucked, another asshole upset about the blood, or maybe there had been something important inside that got crushed. He never imagined that the recipient had heard the rumors about Jason’s heroic delivery and actually wanted to offer him a job. Senator John Quincy Allen told Jason he reminded the senator of himself when he was a young man. Evidently it was something good because less than two years later Jason Brill became the youngest chief of staff to a U.S. senator on the Hill. No one had ever shown such trust in Jason before.

Now Jason couldn’t help wondering what William Sidel had done to garner such trust. Everything he had read about the man painted him as a simpleminded, down-home good ole boy who happened to be a bit of an entrepreneurial whiz. Sidel had no particular talent. Instead, he possessed something much better—the gift of bullshit, the ability to ignite and excite others about his schemes using only words and promises, getting them to follow, to believe, to create, to rally and even to invest. Only, thermal conversion wasn’t a scheme at all. It was brilliant, but it also wasn’t Sidel’s idea. He had bought the patent, hired one of the founding scientists, then added to and improvised the process enough to claim it as his own.

Sidel’s witty repartee made him the life of the party and his annoying banter made him everyone’s buddy only by default because no one wanted to end up as the butt of his one-sided jokes. The man could pull a zinger even on the best of the best. Jason remembered when a cocky reporter from
E: the Environmental Magazine
tried to attack Sidel by calling him a snake-oil salesman, Sidel quipped, “It’s not snake oil, it’s real oil. You’d know that if you were smart enough to read your own magazine.”

And the thing is, Sidel was right. It was the real deal. It was an ingenious process. Jason was proud the senator was a part of it. But he didn’t trust Sidel and he wasn’t sure why Senator Allen did.

“How do you put up with that guy?” Jason couldn’t help it. He had to ask.

“Who? Sidel?”

“Of course, Sidel.”

Senator Allen finished wiping his silk tie, balled up the last towel and tossed it on the floor across from them. “He gets things done, my boy. He gets things done.” And then he turned to watch the miles of pine trees pass by outside the limousine window as if that was all the explanation that was needed.

Sabrina rushed back to the lab to hang up her lab coat and retrieve her briefcase. She’d be late, but hopefully she could get to Chattahoochee before dinner was served. It pained her to think of her father needing to be spoon-fed because they refused to take off the restraints. Despite the circumstances she was relieved that the tour had to be cut short.

She wasn’t surprised to see O’Hearn and Pasha still working. Pasha’s family had all remained in Moscow. O’Hearn had claimed he was a dedicated bachelor though he had mentioned a son once. Earlier, when they had all drawn blanks trying to figure out where Dwight Lansik might be, Sabrina thought it remarkable how little they knew about their boss. And with the exception of Anna Copello, whom Sabrina knew nothing about nor did she wish to know, none of them had anyone to go home to.

She was on her way out again, car keys dangling, when Pasha asked, “The tour good? No?” He stopped on his way to the back storage area, waiting for an answer. Usually Pasha didn’t even bother to look up from his work. That he had bothered to ask made her realize that the three of them had probably continued to discuss the subject while she was gone.

“It was good,” Sabrina said, despite remembering the malfunctioning valve to Reactor #5. “Until Mr. Sidel had everyone take a look into the holding tank.”

“Ow, that couldn’t be good.” O’Hearn crinkled his nose, the mention enough to revive the memory of the stink.

“Senator Allen puked right over the railing,” she told them.

O’Hearn let out a rare laugh, but Pasha turned his head.

“Puk-ed?” Pasha didn’t understand the word.

“He tossed his cookies,” O’Hearn said, smiling and enjoying the Russian’s confusion. “He upchucked his lunch.”

Sabrina hated that O’Hearn poked so much fun at Pasha, once even claiming it was his superficial revenge for the cold war.

“He vomited,” she said before O’Hearn could continue.

“Oh, right. That no good.” Pasha finally nodded and continued to the storage room.

Sabrina started to leave again. She glanced at O’Hearn, who now sat in front of one of the computers. Not much got past O’Hearn. If changes had been made to the system, he would probably know. She checked to make sure Pasha was out of earshot then stopped beside the bank of computers. She waited for O’Hearn to look up at her.

“Do you know if Dr. Lansik reprogrammed the process to include Reactor #5?”

“Five’s only for Grade 2 garbage—plastics and metals.”

“Yes, I know.”

“We’re not set up to process plastics and metals. Too many toxins are given off. We’d have to find a way to dispose of the toxins.” O’Hearn was matter-of-fact. “We have a long way to go before we use Reactor #5. That’s probably another forty million dollars away.”

“Yes, I know all that.” Sabrina tried to keep her patience intact. She didn’t need a lecture. She knew this process inside and out, and she also knew what she had heard and seen. The valve to the reactor looked like it had been opened. She was almost certain. “But is there any reason Dr. Lansik may be using Reactor #5? Maybe to increase production?” Only Lansik controlled the computer software that ultimately cranked the gears and lifted levers or, in this case, opened valves.

“There’s no reason for Reactor #5 to be open except to process Grade 2 garbage,” he repeated. But this time he scratched his head, his fingertips disappearing into the wild mass of hair. He cocked his head as he looked up at her, his dark eyes becoming slits as though he was trying to see what she was getting at. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing, really,” she said and immediately regretted it. Of course he knew it was something at this point. How much did she want to tell him? If it turned out she was wrong and she hadn’t heard what she thought she heard, and if the valve wasn’t opened at all, she would look like a fool. On the other hand, if there was a malfunction…“It’s just that on the tour today I thought it looked like the valve to Reactor #5 was opened. That’s all. But I’m sure I must have been mistaken.”

She didn’t tell him that it also sounded like gravel running through the pipes, exactly what it would sound like if ground-up, pea-sized plastic and metal were, in fact, running through those pipes instead of soupy, soft chicken guts. Even the bones would not make the type of sound she’d heard.

O’Hearn was still staring up at her, not convinced.

“Everything always looks a little backward to me when I’m down there, anyway,” she added with a smile, playing his male chauvinism to her benefit for a change. It was the sort of thing Anna Copello would say and none of them would question. “For all I know I was probably looking at the valve to Reactor #3 the whole time.”

“That’s probably it.” He nodded, satisfied, and he turned his attention to the computer screen.

Sabrina tightened her grip on her briefcase, hesitant and standing there as if she were waiting to be excused, probably the result of too many years in academia. She had never been a very good team player, too much of a loner to depend on others. She had been at EchoEnergy almost a year and still knew little about her colleagues. But that was obviously the atmosphere Lansik promoted. Look how little any of them knew about Lansik. If there was a problem he might not share it with the rest of them unless he needed their help to fix it. She decided to wait and talk to Lansik about it.

O’Hearn looked up at her again. “Was there something else?”

“No, nothing else. I guess I’ll see you on Monday,” she said. “Or tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow. I have plans this weekend,” he said, shifting his weight and tapping the keyboard, abruptly cutting off any further discussion. He sounded a bit defensive this time.

Sabrina didn’t care and she didn’t wait to find out. She was simply relieved to escape.

Sabrina rushed back to the lab to hang up her lab coat and retrieve her briefcase. She’d be late, but hopefully she could get to Chattahoochee before dinner was served. It pained her to think of her father needing to be spoon-fed because they refused to take off the restraints. Despite the circumstances she was relieved that the tour had to be cut short.

She wasn’t surprised to see O’Hearn and Pasha still working. Pasha’s family had all remained in Moscow. O’Hearn had claimed he was a dedicated bachelor though he had mentioned a son once. Earlier, when they had all drawn blanks trying to figure out where Dwight Lansik might be, Sabrina thought it remarkable how little they knew about their boss. And with the exception of Anna Copello, whom Sabrina knew nothing about nor did she wish to know, none of them had anyone to go home to.

She was on her way out again, car keys dangling, when Pasha asked, “The tour good? No?” He stopped on his way to the back storage area, waiting for an answer. Usually Pasha didn’t even bother to look up from his work. That he had bothered to ask made her realize that the three of them had probably continued to discuss the subject while she was gone.

“It was good,” Sabrina said, despite remembering the malfunctioning valve to Reactor #5. “Until Mr. Sidel had everyone take a look into the holding tank.”

“Ow, that couldn’t be good.” O’Hearn crinkled his nose, the mention enough to revive the memory of the stink.

“Senator Allen puked right over the railing,” she told them.

O’Hearn let out a rare laugh, but Pasha turned his head.

“Puk-ed?” Pasha didn’t understand the word.

“He tossed his cookies,” O’Hearn said, smiling and enjoying the Russian’s confusion. “He upchucked his lunch.”

Sabrina hated that O’Hearn poked so much fun at Pasha, once even claiming it was his superficial revenge for the cold war.

“He vomited,” she said before O’Hearn could continue.

“Oh, right. That no good.” Pasha finally nodded and continued to the storage room.

Sabrina started to leave again. She glanced at O’Hearn, who now sat in front of one of the computers. Not much got past O’Hearn. If changes had been made to the system, he would probably know. She checked to make sure Pasha was out of earshot then stopped beside the bank of computers. She waited for O’Hearn to look up at her.

“Do you know if Dr. Lansik reprogrammed the process to include Reactor #5?”

“Five’s only for Grade 2 garbage—plastics and metals.”

“Yes, I know.”

“We’re not set up to process plastics and metals. Too many toxins are given off. We’d have to find a way to dispose of the toxins.” O’Hearn was matter-of-fact. “We have a long way to go before we use Reactor #5. That’s probably another forty million dollars away.”

“Yes, I know all that.” Sabrina tried to keep her patience intact. She didn’t need a lecture. She knew this process inside and out, and she also knew what she had heard and seen. The valve to the reactor looked like it had been opened. She was almost certain. “But is there any reason Dr. Lansik may be using Reactor #5? Maybe to increase production?” Only Lansik controlled the computer software that ultimately cranked the gears and lifted levers or, in this case, opened valves.

“There’s no reason for Reactor #5 to be open except to process Grade 2 garbage,” he repeated. But this time he scratched his head, his fingertips disappearing into the wild mass of hair. He cocked his head as he looked up at her, his dark eyes becoming slits as though he was trying to see what she was getting at. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing, really,” she said and immediately regretted it. Of course he knew it was something at this point. How much did she want to tell him? If it turned out she was wrong and she hadn’t heard what she thought she heard, and if the valve wasn’t opened at all, she would look like a fool. On the other hand, if there was a malfunction…“It’s just that on the tour today I thought it looked like the valve to Reactor #5 was opened. That’s all. But I’m sure I must have been mistaken.”

She didn’t tell him that it also sounded like gravel running through the pipes, exactly what it would sound like if ground-up, pea-sized plastic and metal were, in fact, running through those pipes instead of soupy, soft chicken guts. Even the bones would not make the type of sound she’d heard.

O’Hearn was still staring up at her, not convinced.

“Everything always looks a little backward to me when I’m down there, anyway,” she added with a smile, playing his male chauvinism to her benefit for a change. It was the sort of thing Anna Copello would say and none of them would question. “For all I know I was probably looking at the valve to Reactor #3 the whole time.”

“That’s probably it.” He nodded, satisfied, and he turned his attention to the computer screen.

Sabrina tightened her grip on her briefcase, hesitant and standing there as if she were waiting to be excused, probably the result of too many years in academia. She had never been a very good team player, too much of a loner to depend on others. She had been at EchoEnergy almost a year and still knew little about her colleagues. But that was obviously the atmosphere Lansik promoted. Look how little any of them knew about Lansik. If there was a problem he might not share it with the rest of them unless he needed their help to fix it. She decided to wait and talk to Lansik about it.

O’Hearn looked up at her again. “Was there something else?”

“No, nothing else. I guess I’ll see you on Monday,” she said. “Or tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow. I have plans this weekend,” he said, shifting his weight and tapping the keyboard, abruptly cutting off any further discussion. He sounded a bit defensive this time.

Sabrina didn’t care and she didn’t wait to find out. She was simply relieved to escape.