Color of Blood(34)

“Why’d my name get stuck on those forms?” Dennis said. “He’s an Operations employee. That’s not how it’s done.”

“Sir, I cannot answer that question for you, but I’m required to alert the person on this form, which I’m doing right now. You’ll need to come down to sign some disclosure forms. Tomorrow morning first thing would be preferable. We don’t get a lot of these hazmats, so the sooner we get the forms filled out, the better it’ll be for everyone.”

“Wait, I’m trying to catch up here. What’s this about contamination? Who’s contaminated?”

“The crates,” he said. “Or what’s inside.”

“How do you know they’re contaminated?” Dennis said.

“Oh, that’s easy, sir,” Clancy said. “We run all incoming material through several scans. Your two crates lit up one of the scanners like a Christmas tree.”

“They did?”

“Roger that, sir. Radiation contamination: both crates.”

“Jesus Christ, Clancy, are you sure your scanner’s calibrated properly? I just can’t believe that’s correct.”

“No, sir; we ran it through twice. Stuff’s hot. No doubt about it.”

“You’re shitting me,” Dennis said, almost to himself.

“Negative. I’m not shitting you, sir.”

***

The room was barren except for a small, fake wood laminate table and two chairs. The walls were cinderblock and painted high-gloss white. A bank of fluorescent lights hummed from the dropped ceiling. A video camera peered down from the corner of the ceiling like a lone crow on a telephone pole.

Dennis looked at his watch again; it had been twenty minutes since the woman had left him there.

“Are you claustrophobic?” the woman had asked when she led him to the room. She warned him that both doors on the small room were locked from the outside and that he would not be allowed to leave the room.

Dennis had lied and said he was not worried about confined spaces, but a low-grade feeling of anxiety was starting to creep into his consciousness; the room seemed too small, the white walls too bright. He kept staring at the brushed-steel doorknobs, hoping someone would open them soon.

“Shit,” he said out loud. “Let’s get going! I don’t have all damn day.”

He stood, arched his back a little to release some tension, and gave a derisive glance at the video camera.

“Boo!” he said.

The door to the right opened; two men walked in and closed the door behind them. While Dennis was glad to see some action, he was also aware that there were now three people in the very small room.

One of the men—a small, freckly guy with reddish-brown hair—looked at a clipboard and said, “Mr. Cunningham, we just have a couple of questions to ask you about your shipment.”

“It’s not my shipment,” Dennis said. “I already told you guys about it. It’s a mistake. They put my name on it by mistake.”

“Yes, but your name is still on the shipment. And you seem to know about its contents.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Then we have no other choice but to ask you some questions.”

“Are you guys robots?” Dennis said, stepping closer to the man. “I told you it’s a mistake. These are the personal belongings of someone in Operations. I’m in IG’s office.”

The freckly-faced man took a quick sideways glance at his partner, a tall, lanky black man. Dennis noticed the look of alarm on the man’s face and it was the visual cue he needed.

“OK, look, I’m sorry,” Dennis said. “It’s just a little tight in here—and hot.”

“Of course,” the freckly-faced man said.

“So what do you want to know?” Dennis tried to slow his breathing.

“OK.” The man consulted his clipboard again. “Were you aware that the materials in the containers were contaminated or were suspected of being contaminated?”

“No,” Dennis said.

“Do you know how the materials got contaminated?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure what you guys are talking about. I got a call last night from someone in your office saying the crates were radioactive, or something like that. These are the personal belongings of a guy I never met. He died unexpectedly while on assignment. I did a follow-up investigation. That’s all I know.”

It didn’t stop the questions, which went on for nearly twenty minutes. Dennis did his best to remain calm, but toward the end, he began to get flustered.

The questions stopped. Dennis stared at the two men; the two men stared at Dennis.

“So?” Dennis finally said.

“So?” the freckly-faced man said.

“Can you tell me anything more about the contamination—the radiation?” Dennis said. “Where it came from?”

“We finished some tests just a few minutes ago.” The black man spoke for the first time. “It appears to be uranium.”

“Uranium?”

“Uranium,” the black man said.

“How did it get all over his belongings?” Dennis asked.

“That’s a good question,” the man said. “Our guess is that it had collected on the soles of his shoes and perhaps on some of his clothes, and when all the items were packed up together, the particles just spread around.”