Runaway Bomb, page 2
part #4 of Jack Kenyon Mystery Series
Amanda sniffed heavily, then blew her nose. “I’ll…I’m alright. It’s just such a shock!”
“I know it is, dear. Can you tell me what Dag does for the NRC?”
“He’s an inspector.”
“So, he goes around inspecting nuclear stuff?”
Amanda took a deep breath. “Our chief mandate is to supervise the use of special nuclear materials, or SNMs.”
“Like, atom bombs?”
“Nuclear weapons fall under the domain of the Department of Defense,” said Amanda. “We handle all the civilian uses.”
“This is Agent Jasmine Leroi. Does civilian use include fuel for nuclear reactors?”
“Yes, that’s a big part of it. But there are a score of uses for SNMs, from medicine to scientific research and everything in between. We have over 20,000 licensed users in the US.”
“What does Dag do most often?” asked Marge.
“He audits the records of licensed users to ensure that every gram of SNM is accounted for,” said Amanda. “But he also handles investigations into allegations of theft, fraud, and unauthorized attempts to gain access to SNMs.”
“What is he doing in San Francisco?” asked Marge.
Amanda ruffled some pages. “We had a tip from UCENT, one of our licensees in New Mexico that enriches uranium. Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory in California ordered 100 kg of low enriched uranium, or LEU. It was out-of-spec to their previous orders, and, as per regulations, UCENT passed it on to us. We assigned Dag to do the follow-up investigation.”
“Doesn’t the California Energy Commission have authority in this case?” asked Samantha. “Why send Dag?”
“The NRC leads when there’s a multi-jurisdiction incident,” said Amanda. “We’re kind of like the FBI when there’s a cross-state crime.”
“We’re going to need to see Dag’s case record,” said Marge. “Can you send it to us?”
“I’m sorry - I don’t have universal access to ongoing investigations. I’ll have to obtain formal authority from the director to gain access to Dag’s files.”
Marge spoke softly. “Time is of the essence, Amanda.”
Amanda’s voice was firm. “Trust me, I’ll do everything I can to help you catch Dag’s murderer. I’m going to call our liaison officer at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, Dr. Dev Patek, and arrange for you to interview him. You can start there while I get clearance on Dag’s files.”
Chapter 3
Mid-morning traffic was light as Jack and Jasmine drove east toward Livermore. They crossed San Francisco Bay using the San Meteo Bridge, then headed inland on Hwy 580, traversing a range of scrub-covered hills and descending into a broad valley of pastureland and suburban villages.
Traffic dwindled between towns. Jack placed the car on cruise control then glanced over at his partner. “Hey, Jazz, what’s up?”
“What do you mean?”
“What’s going on with you and Sam? Has she been questioning your work?”
Jasmine shrugged. “No.”
Jack was silent for a moment. “Has she been prejudicing you in any way?”
“No.”
Jack was relieved. Jasmine had the double distinction of being an African-American and gay. “So…?”
“Girl gets under my skin, that’s all.” Jasmine turned to Jack. “You know what really bugs me? They didn’t ask you to be ASAC.”
“Even if they did, I would’ve turned them down.” Jack returned his attention to the road. “Who’d else would be crazy enough to be your partner?”
“Huh. You got that right.”
Jack glanced over to see a trace of a smile in Jasmine’s face. “We still on for tonight?”
“Yeah. Ryan’s back this afternoon from her flight to Mexico City, so she’ll be picking up the balloons and stuff.”
Ryan, Jasmine’s partner, was a commercial pilot for an international courier service, and was often out of town. Her son Bobby turned five today, and she had promised to be back to help him celebrate with a dinner party. Jack was bringing a coleslaw salad made by his downstairs neighbour Bronson.
Most of all, Jack enjoyed the opportunity to play with Bobby. “I got him a baseball mitt for his birthday,” he said.
Jasmine rolled her eyes. “Now that’s original.”
Jack laughed. “Wait ‘til I get him a pony.”
Livermore was a typical California inland town, with broad paved streets, white clap-board bungalows on large lots, and innumerable strip shopping malls. Jack followed his GPS to the east end of town, where the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory was located.
The LLNL was one square mile in size, surrounded by a high fence and a 200-yard no-go zone. It had originally been built by UC Berkeley after World War II as part of the US government’s efforts to further develop nuclear weapons. It had since grown to encompass a wide range of military, research and civilian usage of nuclear materials.
Jack entered at the west gate, stopping at a security kiosk. He had called Dr. Patek after their talk with Amanda Young, and the senior administrator had arranged passes for the agents. The security guard gave them a map and directions, and they entered.
Both agents were immediately struck by the unique nature of the LLNL complex. Some of the buildings resembled typical campus structures built from red brick, while others were modern edifices clad in glass and steel. They drove for one-quarter mile down a broad, tree-lined avenue until they came to a modest, two-story office block.
A security guard met Jack and Jasmine at the entrance and escorted them upstairs to the mezzanine level. They announced their presence to a receptionist, who contacted the chief administrator by phone.
Dr. Dev Patek was a short man of slight build and dark skin. He wore thick glasses and his hair cut short. He greeted the FBI agents with a sad expression. “I was so sorry to hear about poor Mr. Hammerson. A tragedy, indeed.”
“We assure you, the FBI won’t leave any stone unturned in our efforts to find those responsible,” said Jack. “Anything you can tell us will help our efforts tremendously.”
“Yes, of course!” Dr. Patek’s mood improved perceptively. He placed a surprisingly large hand on Jack’s shoulder and spread the other toward Jasmine in an expression of welcome. “Please, come into my office, and we can talk further.”
The contents of Dr. Patek’s office were a combination of administrative and research paraphernalia. Posters of elemental properties shared the walls with press photos of scientists, politicians and astronauts. Piles of budget folders jostled for space among computer printouts.
“You must forgive the mess, I wear so many hats.” Dr. Patek lifted stacks of paperwork off two office chairs. “Please, sit down.” He settled down in a chair behind his desk. “Tell me how I can help.”
Jasmine leaned forward. “Dr. Patek, do you mind first telling us a little about yourself and your work?”
Dr. Patek absently scratched his head for a second. “I personally hold a PhD in physics, graduating from the University of Berkeley in 1998. I came to LLNL as a post-doctorate in order to work on the medical applications of SNMs. Specifically, the uses of Molybdenum 99 for non-invasive, internal tests.”
“Can you explain that in layman’s terms?” asked Jack.
“Gladly.” Dr. Patek stood and approached a color poster adjacent to his desk. “This is a schematic breakdown of the process of diagnostic nuclear medical imaging, which is the formal name of the technology that images blood flowing in the arteries.” He tapped a pointer against an image of a man dressed in hospital gown and lying on a gurney. “A dilute solution containing the nuclear element technetium 99 is injected into the patient, where it emits low levels of radiation that create high quality internal images.”
“What diseases is it good for?” asked Jasmine.
“It is especially useful to diagnose problems with heart muscles, as well as the spread of cancer in the bones.”
“But doesn’t the radiation cause problems for the patient?” asked Jack.
“The beauty of technetium 99 is that it has a very short half-life, only a few hours, before it decays to a harmless, inert substance. The total amount of radiation is less than that of an X-ray.”
Dr. Patek once again turned to the poster, tapping his pointer onto an image of a squat building with a round dome. “But that is also its main drawback. In order to make technetium 99, you need molybdenum 99, which is created in highly-enriched uranium nuclear reactors. There are only five such HEU reactors in the world producing molybdenum 99, and they are getting well beyond their active-design life. It’s a matter of when, not if, these reactors eventually close.”
“So, you’re looking for an alternative source?” asked Jasmine.
“Indeed. We have shown that molybdenum 99 can be made using low enriched uranium, like that we acquire from UCENT in New Mexico. Our procedure produces a lot less molybdenum 99 than the HEU reactors, but LEU has the advantage of being able to create many more small-scale reactors near to nuclear medical facilities.”
Jasmine continued. “Dr. Patek, did Amanda Young explain to you why we’re here?”
“Just that Mr. Hammerson was murdered while investigating a suspicious LEU order originating from LLNL. She couldn’t be more specific. Do you have a copy of the order?”
Jasmine shook her head, no. “We’re waiting for Amanda to get clearance to access Mr. Hammerson’s detailed investigation files, so none of us have a lot to go on at this point. Did Mr. Hammerson discuss any of this with you?”
“No, he called to set up an interview, but I’ve been away at a conference in Copenhagen. We were scheduled to meet later this week.”
“Have you gone through your UCENT order forms at this end?” asked Jack.
Dr. Patek opened a drawer in his desk and drew out a file filled with papers. “I ordered all documentation going back a year. Here, I’ll show you.” The scientist took the file over to a large table, where the two agents joined him as he spread the documents out. “You can see they’re all straight-forward. We list the amounts, the recipient and the research project.”
Jack tapped one of the forms. “Is this number the amount?”
Dr. Patek glanced over Jack’s shoulder. “Yes, it’s an order for 100 mg of LEU.”
“Is that, like, around four ounces?” asked Jasmine.
Dr. Patek nodded affirmative. “Approximately.”
“We were told the order in question involved an amount of 100 kg of LEU,” said Jack.
Dr. Patek shook his head in astonishment. “We never order that much! We only need tiny fractions of LEU.’
“Is 100 kg of LEU enough to make an atomic bomb?” asked Jasmine.
Dr. Patek rubbed his chin in concentration. “In theory, yes. But in practice, no.”
“I’m confused.”
“I’ll explain.” Dr. Patek advanced to a black board and picked up piece of chalk, drawing a round ball with orbit trails around it. “This is one atom of uranium 235, the element in a fission bomb.” He drew a small ball above the uranium 235 with an arrow pointing to the uranium. “This is a neutron. When it strikes the uranium 235, the latter splits into two other elements. The process, which is called nuclear fission, releases a tremendous amount of destructive energy.”
“So, why can’t you use LEU to make a fission bomb?” asked Jack.
“Most uranium ore is made of the uranium 238 isotope, which is useless as nuclear bomb material,” said Patek. “But the raw uranium ore contains a tiny amount of uranium 235, which has to be painstakingly separated. LEU contains 3 percent of uranium 235, which is sufficient for use in nuclear reactors and research.”
“So, you need more concentration of uranium 235 for a bomb?” asked Jasmine.
“A fission bomb contains 90 percent uranium 235. LEU would be useless without further concentration.”
“I take it that’s a tough proposition,” said Jack.
“You’d need thousands of centrifuges working for months. And, in the end, 100 kg of LEU might yield less than 3 kg of uranium 235, which is just at the theoretical threshold of fissile reaction.”
“Could you make a dirty bomb with LEU?” asked Jack. “You know, blow it up with dynamite and scatter it widely over a city?”
“Uranium 235 is not highly radioactive.” Dr. Patek tapped the drawing on the chalk board for emphasis. “The fission products, krypton and barium, are highly radioactive, but they don’t exist until you can get the uranium 235 to blow up.”
Jack took out his cell phone and took pictures of both the poster and Dr. Patek’s chalk drawings. He extended his hand toward Dr. Patek. “Thanks, doctor. This helps a great deal.”
The scientist shook Jack’s hand, as well as Jasmine’s. “I hope my physics lesson wasn’t too boring.”
“We’ll be back in touch when we have more detailed information regarding the order,” said Jasmine. She pulled out a card from her suit jacket. “In the meantime, don’t hesitate to call if you come across any relevant information.”
Chapter 4
Jack and Jasmine made good time back to the city, running against the outgoing late-afternoon traffic. Marge and Samantha were still in the office when they arrived.
“You wouldn’t believe the physics lesson we got,” said Jasmine. “My head is still spinning.”
“Oy, I hated physics,” said Marge. “That’s what I like about the FBI; nobody asks you the theory of gravity when you shoot somebody.”
Jack had downloaded his photos and printed off copies for the cork board. “You want the lesson or the synopsis?”
“Let’s keep it simple, cookie,” said Marge.
“OK. This stuff on the mystery order is called low enriched uranium, or LEU. It contains 3 percent of uranium 235, which is a fissile element, which means it splits in two and emits a big bang when it’s hit by a neutron.”
Marge crossed her eyes. “Hey, professor, get to the point.”
“LEU can’t be used to make an atomic bomb. For that, you need highly-enriched uranium, or HEU, which is 90 percent concentration.”
Samantha tilted her head to one side as she studied the photos. “So, this means that whoever ordered the LEU wasn’t trying to make a bomb?”
“Not unless they had access to like, a zillion centrifuges,” said Jasmine. “You can’t even use this LEU to make a dirty bomb.”
“Jazz is right.” Jack tapped the photo of Dr. Patek’s chalk drawing. “LEU isn’t highly radioactive. You need a nuclear reaction to create it.”
“OK, so whoever tried to order this stuff wasn’t doing it for any obvious terrorist reasons,” said Marge. “What does that leave us?”
“Not a lot,” said Jack. “We’re going to have to wait until Amanda can turn over Dag’s files before we have any leads.”
Marge stood up. “OK, gang. “Let’s call it a day and re-group tomorrow.”
Jack had just enough time to race home and change into a pair of jeans and a T shirt before grabbing his present and running down the stairwell to the main porch. He owned the upper half of a Queen Anne home in Russian Hill, just west of Columbus Ave. His neighbour on the main floor was a former stage costume designer named Bronson.
Jack banged on Bronson’s front door. “Hey, you there?”
A slim man with silver hair and dressed in an Oxford shirt and pressed trousers answered the door. “Just finished.” He held out a sealed plastic container containing the coleslaw. “Give the birthday boy a big hug from Uncle Bronny!”
“Will do.” Jack glanced at the sky. “Think it will rain tonight?”
Bronson sniffed the air. “Nope. Offshore breeze. You should be good to take the Bobber.”
Jack thanked Bronson and scurried to the back of their house. A one-car garage had been built into the ground floor. Jack opened the door and turned on the light, revealing two motorcycles. The first was a 1969 Norton Commando, shrouded with a dust cover. Jack had spent six months pulling the bike apart and completely restoring it.
The second was a brand new Bonneville Bobber, a 1200cc cycle with bob-tail rear and a single floating saddle seat mounted only 27 inches off the pavement. Jack pulled on a leather jacket and placed the coleslaw and birthday present in the saddlebag. He donned a black-colored helmet with full chin protection and visor, then wheeled the bike out onto the street.
Rush hour traffic was still relatively heavy, but Jack drove between lanes, weaving around slow-moving buses, trucks and SUVs. Normally, he would expect honks and shouts from annoyed drivers while driving the Norton, but there was something about the throaty rumble and bad-boy looks of the Bobber that kept expressions of their wrath down to the occasional finger.
Jack soon reached his destination. After their wedding, Jasmine had moved in to Ryan’s home located in Central Richmond. The neighbourhood, sitting north of Golden Gate Park, was filled with suburban homes built in a variety of styles.
Jack parked on the street in front of a Spanish style, two story home clad in coral adobe. He knocked on the door and was greeted by a girl in a pink tutu. “Are you the clown?” she asked.
“No, I’m the magician. Do you want to see a trick?”
She nodded solemnly, and Jack reached forward and plucked a chocolate wrapped in candy foil out of her ear. “Here, sweets for the sweetie.”
“I want an iPhone.” She took the candy and wandered into the party.
Jack followed her, stopping to get a kiss on the cheek from Ryan. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going crazy!” Ryan was tall and buxom, with the blonde hair and radiant smile of a California girl. Several children ran shrieking past her. “It’s a madhouse!”
