Craig Kreident #2 Fallout Read Online Free Page A

without being noticed.   No doubt that was just what the Eagle’s Claw had intended.
    Except now this man had been caught in the main generator room of the Hoover Dam, shooting at an FBI agent.   The terrorist’s eyes took on a glazed look as if he had somehow been programmed with a different routine.   “It’s too late.   The bomb’s already set and ticking.   You’ll never find it in time.”
    “Yes I will,” Craig said, striding forward and extending his gun, “because you’re going to tell me where it is.”
    The militia man took a step backward, blocked by the deep river channel and churning cold water pouring through the bottom of the dam.   Across the canyon Craig saw the concave plane of concrete, a barrier holding back Lake Mead.   If that dam broke in an explosion, the stampede of water would reach all the way to Mexico in a few hours.   Hundreds of thousands of people could die — and Craig had no time for kid gloves.
    “You’re going to tell me, and you’re going to tell me now.”   Craig’s voice carried sufficient threat and absolute certainty — but the man took another step backward.   His face turned grayish, resigned.
    “You’re already in dreamland, man, if you think I’m going to tell you squat.”   He glanced over his shoulder and saw the churning water below, the rushing Colorado River that swept through the canyon.
    “You’ve got no place to go,” Craig said.
    “I can go to Heaven,” he answered.
    Craig lunged for the terrorist, but the man leaped backward over the edge, falling down.   He struck the rocky wall once, leaving a reddish stain, and then plunged into the rushing tailrace, which sucked him under before sweeping him downstream.
    Finally, moments too late, Jackson, Goldfarb and the others charged out onto the service road next to the conversion transformers.  
    Craig stared over the edge at the roiling water, gaping in disbelief at what the terrorist had just done.   But the shock paralyzed him for only a few seconds before a greater horror struck.   He turned and ran toward the others.  
    Now he knew the bomb was ticking.   And with the militia man dead, they had very little chance of finding it in time.
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 2
    Tuesday, October 21
    6:45 A.M.
     
    Rio Hotel and Casino
    Las Vegas
     
    Swiping groggily with her left hand, Paige Mitchell missed turning off the alarm on her first two attempts.   The room was dark, and she knocked over the glass she kept on the nightstand, spilling lukewarm water on the bedspread, the floor.   That, if nothing else, woke her up.
    Pushing aside the tropical bedspread, she leaned over and fumbled with the clock radio, finally clicking off the music.   Red numbers blinked 6:45 as she turned on the light in the unfamiliar bedroom.   Another hotel, another bed far from her home in Livermore, California.   This was Las Vegas, at the Rio.   Her bed sat on an oval pedestal; jungle-patterned curtains hung in front of a window that covered one entire wall.
    Paige ran a hand through her mussed blond hair and made her way to the bathroom.   Frequent travel was the price of her job working for the Department of Energy’s protocol office, a job that often didn’t seem like work at all, even if she had to walk on eggshells every day to keep the team of sometimes-volatile Russian disarmament inspectors on track, to soothe their indignant threats of pulling out.  
    Only a few more days, though.   By the end of this week, the team would have gone through their paces, filled out the forms, and completed the treaty-mandated disarmament inspections, just in time for the international nuclear downscaling summit.   The eight inspectors were scheduled to meet with the U.S. President late on Friday, when he made a quick stopover in Las Vegas, then depart on Saturday morning, when everybody could go home.   Mission accomplished, the world saved once again. . . .
    Last night, DAF manager Mike Waterloo, whom she’d known