“But soon enough?” That was the question.
“Here we are,” Alex said.
“How did you get these?” Miller asked in amazement.
“Routine, man. Power companies shoot aerial photographs of their territory all the time. They help us plan the surveys we have to do. And here” — he reached into his briefcase — “is a topographic map. There’s your target, boy.” Alex handed him a magnifying glass borrowed from his company. It was a color shot, taken on a bright sunny day. You could tell the makes of the cars. It must have been done the previous summer — the grass had just been cut . . .
“How tall is the cliff?”
“Enough that you don’t want to fall off it. Tricky, too. I forget what it’s made of, sandstone or something crumbly, but you want to be careful with it. See that fence here? The man knows to keep away from the edge. We have the same problem at our reactor plant at Calvert Cliff. It’s the same geological structure, and a lot of work went into giving the plant a solid foundation.”
“Only one road in,” Miller noted. “Dead end, too. That is a problem. We have these gullies here and here. Notice that the power line comes in cross-country, from this road over here. It looks like there was an old farm road that connected with this one, but they let it go to seed. That’s going to be helpful.”
“How? No one can use it.”
“I’ll tell you later. Friday, you and me are going fishing.”
“What?” Miller looked up in surprise.
“You want to eyeball the cliff, right? Besides, the blues are running. I love bluefish.”
Breckenridge had silhouette targets up, finally. Jack’s trips to the range were less frequent now, mainly in the mornings before class. If nothing else, the incident outside the gate had told the Marine and civilian guards that their jobs were valuable. Two Marines and one of the civilians were also firing their service pieces. They didn’t just shoot to qualify now. They were all shooting for scores. Jack hit the button to reel his target in. His rounds were all clustered in the center of the target.
“Pretty good, Doc.” The Sergeant Major was standing behind him. “If you want, we can run a competition string. I figure you’ll qualify for a medal now.”
Ryan shook his head. He still had to shower after his morning jog. “I’m not doing this for score, Gunny.”
“When does the little girl come home?”
“Next Wednesday, I hope.”
“That’s good, sir. Who’s going to look after her?”
“Cathy’s taking a few weeks off.”
“My wife asked if y’all might need any help,” Breckenridge said.
Jack turned in surprise. “Sissy — Commander Jackson’s wife — will be over most of the time. Please thank your wife for us, Gunny, that’s damned nice of her.”
“No big deal. Any luck finding the bastards?” Ryan’s day-hops to CIA were not much of a secret.
“Not yet.”
“Good morning, Alex,” the field superintendent said. “You’re staying in a little late. What can I do for you?” Bert Griffin was always in early, but he rarely saw Dobbens before he went home at seven every morning.
“I’ve been looking over the specifications on that new Westinghouse transformer.”
“Getting dull working nights?” Griffin asked with a smile. This was a fairly easy time of year for the utility company. In the summer, with all the air conditioners up and running, things would be different, of course. Spring was the time of year for new ideas.
“I think we’re ready to give it a try.”
“Have they ironed the bugs out?”
“Pretty much, enough for a field test, I think.”
“Okay.” Griffin sat back in his chair. “Tell me about it.”
“Mainly, sir. I’m worried about the old ones. The problem’s only going to get worse as we start retiring the old units. We had that chemical spill last month –”
“Oh, yeah.” Griffin rolled his eyes. Most of the units in use contained PBBs, polybrominated biphenyls, as a cooling element within the power transformer. These were dangerous to the linemen, who were supposed to wear protective clothing when working on them, but, despite company rules, often didn’t bother. PBBs were a serious health hazard to the men. Even worse, the company had to dispose of the toxic liquid periodically. It was expensive and ran the risk of spills, the paperwork for which was rapidly becoming as time-consuming as that associated with the company’s nuclear reactor plant. Westinghouse was experimenting with a transformer that used a completely inert chemical in place of the PBBs. Though expensive, it held great promise for long-term economies — and would help get the environmentalists off their backs, which was even more attractive than the monetary savings. “Alex, if you can get those babies up and working, I will personally get you a new company car!”
“Well, I want to try one out. Westinghouse will lend us one for free.”
“This is really starting to sound good,” Griffin noted. “But have they really ironed the bugs out yet?”
“They say so, except for some occasional voltage fluctuations. They’re not sure what causes that, and they want to do some field tests.”
“How bad are the fluctuations?”
“Marginal.” Alex pulled out a pad and read off the numbers. “It seems to be an environmental problem. Looks like it only happens when the ambient air temperature changes rapidly. If that’s the real cause, it shouldn’t be too hard to beat.”
Griffin considered that for a few seconds. “Okay, where do you want to set it up?”
“I have a spot picked out down in Anne Arundel County, south of Annapolis.”
“That’s a long ways away. Why there?”
“It’s a dead-end line. If the transformer goes bad, it won’t hurt many houses. The other thing is, one of my crews is only twenty miles away, and I’ve been training them on the new unit. We’ll set up the test instrumentation, and I can have them check it every day for the first few months. If it works out, we can make our purchase order in the fall and start setting them up next spring.”
“Okay. Where exactly is this?”
Dobbens unfolded his map on Griffin’s table. “Right here.”
“Expensive neighborhood,” the field superintendent said dubiously.
“Aw, come on, boss!” Alex snorted. “How would it look in the papers if we did all our experiments on poor folk? Besides” — he smiled — “all those environmental freaks are rich, aren’t they?”
Dobbens had chosen his remark with care. One of Griffin’s personal, hobbyhorses was the “Park Avenue Environmentalist.” The field superintendent owned a small farm, and didn’t like having some condo-owning dilettante tell him about nature.
“Okay, you can run with it. How soon can you set it up?”
“Westinghouse can have the unit to us the end of next week. I can have it up and running three days after that. I want my crew to check the lines — in fact, I’ll be going down myself to set it up if you don’t mind.”
Griffin nodded approval. “You’re my kind of engineer, son. Most of the schoolboys we get now are afraid to get their hands dirty. You’ll keep me posted?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep up the good work, Alex. I’ve been telling management about you.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Griffin.”
Dobbens left the building and drove home in his two-year-old company Plymouth. Most of the rush-hour traffic was heading in while he headed out. He was home in under an hour. Sean Miller was just waking up, drinking tea and watching television. Alex wondered how anyone could start the day with tea. He made some instant coffee for himself.
“Well?” Miller asked.
“No problem.” Alex smiled, then stopped. It occurred to him that he’d miss his job. After all the talk in college about bringing Power to the People, he’d realized with surprise after starting with BG&E that a utility company engineer did exactly that. In a funny sort of way, he was now serving the ordinary people, though not in a manner that carried much significance. Dobbens decided that it was good training for his future ambitions. He’d remember that even those who served humbly still served. An important lesson for the future. “Come on, we’ll talk about it in the boat.”
Wednesday was a special day. Jack was away from both his jobs, carrying the bear while Cathy wheeled their daughter out. The bear was a gift from the midshipmen of his history classes, an enormous monster that weighed sixty pounds and was nearly five feet tall, topped off with a Smokey Bear hat — actually that of a Marine drill instructor courtesy of Breckenridge and the guard detail. A police officer opened the door for the procession. It was a windy March day, but the family wagon was parked just outside. Jack scooped up his daughter in both arms while Cathy thanked the nurses. He made sure she was in her safety seat and buckled the belt himself. The bear had to go in the back.