“I am,” I said, resting my trembling hand on the leather strap of my satchel. “And my brother is currently trapped in an illegal quarantine cordon at 414 Elm Street. ”
Miller pulled a radio from her belt. “Unit Four, dispatch the second team from Newark directly to the Elm Street location. Break any barricade on that driveway immediately. Priority welfare extraction. ” She turned back to me, her face grim. “Mr. Ward, we received your telemetry dump at 6:38 AM. The SCADA override records match the chemical spike detected by the Passaic basin monitors at dawn. Durning’s office has already been locked by the state attorney’s marshals in Trenton. But we need you on site at your residence to verify the physical tampering. ”
“I’m going with you,” I said, picking up my satchel and the brass key ring.
We left Vance handcuffed to the metal bench in the station master’s booth under the guard of the transit sergeant. Within ninety seconds, I was in the passenger seat of Agent Miller’s lead cruiser, the siren wailing as we cleared the Harrison bridge and tore west toward the residential streets of Newark.
The dashboard clock read 7:38 AM. We had twenty-two minutes before the nine o’clock medical transport van was scheduled to arrive, but Durning’s men on Elm Street did not know Vance had failed. If they believed the satchel was gone, their next move was to purge the house.
We hit Elm Street with sirens screaming, cutting through the morning mist that hung low over the damp lawns.
The street was blocked. Across the entrance of my gravel driveway, a heavy county utility dump truck was parked sideways, its hazard flashers pulsing amber against the bare maple trees. Bright yellow polyethylene tape marked COUNTY HEALTH HAZARD – MANDATORY BIO-ISOLATION was strung across my chain-link fence, tied from my porch rail to the utility pole.
Standing on my front porch, holding a steel clipboard and wearing a high-visibility county supervisor’s vest over an expensive tailored suit, was Frank Durning himself.
Beside him stood two maintenance laborers in orange rain parkas, one holding a portable rotary hammer drill and the other holding an industrial bolt-cutter case. They had backed a white county utility van up to the front steps, its rear double doors swung wide open.
Agent Miller slammed the cruiser into park across the apron of the driveway, the tires throwing wet gravel against the utility truck’s bumper. The two trailing state cruisers boxed the county vehicles in from the rear, their sirens dying into low, threatening groans as four troopers stepped out onto the asphalt with their carbines unslung at low ready.
“State Police! ” Miller shouted through the cruiser’s public address megaphone. “Step away from the front door! Drop the tools and place your hands on the vehicle hood! ”
The two men in orange parkas dropped the bolt cutters onto the porch floorboards with a clatter, raising their hands instantly and backing away from the front door.
Durning did not drop his clipboard. He stood on the second step of my porch, his face darkening with fury as he saw me step out of Miller’s cruiser. He adjusted his silk tie, his chest swelling with the arrogant confidence of an executive who believed his political patron could erase any patrol car on the road.
“What is the meaning of this circus? ” Durning shouted, walking down the steps toward the tape line. “Officer, you are trespassing on an active hazardous materials investigation! My facilities team detected lethal concentrations of volatile chlorinated hydrocarbons venting through this foundation from an old municipal main. I declared an administrative quarantine under Section Twelve of the Public Health Code twenty minutes ago! This property is condemned for emergency entry! ”
“Section Twelve doesn't cover bolt cutters on an interior bedroom telephone line, Director Durning,” I said, walking past the front bumper of Miller’s car until I stood two feet from the yellow tape.
Durning’s eyes narrowed into slits as he looked at the satchel still slung across my shoulder. “Ward, you are an insubordinate technician undergoing a mandatory psychiatric evaluation. Whatever nonsense you fabricated in that bag is invalid. I suspended your civil service authority at 5:00 AM. ”
“He didn't fabricate the SCADA log, Frank,” Agent Miller said, stepping up beside me and holding up her laminated federal warrant. “And he didn't fabricate the transmission that hit Trenton at six-forty. We have the cryptographic ledger from your desktop workstation authorizing the release of four hundred thousand gallons of industrial runoff through Bypass Fourteen at 2:14 this morning. We also have Arthur Vance in custody at Harrison station with Ward's house keys. ”
Durning’s expression froze. The paper on his clipboard fluttered in the autumn wind. “Vance had no authority—”
“Arthur Vance carried this,” I interrupted, stepping forward and lifting the brass key ring into the daylight. The yellow dispatch wire swung between my fingers, the lead hexagonal seal catching the gray morning light. “Seal D-4-SEC-09. Stamped with your private warehouse die, signed out under your badge at 4:45 AM. You had him cut this off Valve Fourteen after you dumped the solvent, and you sent him to my house to plant a fake gas hazard before I could reach the courthouse. ”