of metal barrels. “What’s the problem with the rusted barrels? Seems like you’d want to get those out of here before they rust through.”
He took a moment to respond and Josie wondered if he was considering his response, or if he was still angry. “Sometimes it’s more dangerous to move material like that than it is to leave it be. We monitor the containers carefully. It’s not a pretty sight out there, but there’s no leaching.” He glanced over at her. “People don’t realize what a task it is to move dirty material to another site. It’s not like taking your trash to the city dump.”
“By dirty material, you mean material with radiation in it?”
He nodded.
A light rain began to fall as Diego maneuvered the golf cart through the sludge on the ground. When they reached the staging facility, Josie turned before entering the building to scan the lot one last time. She could not imagine going to work every day in that kind of environment: the combination of corroded metal and disassembled buildings, some nothing more than steel skeletons, made for a scene of bleak desolation.
* * *
In the cafeteria, several women in hairnets and white smocks teased each other good-naturedly as they placed silver pans into a buffet line. Josie glanced at her watch. It was 10:45. The room smelled like canned green beans and boiled potatoes.
The room was set up like a high school cafeteria. It was well lit with poor acoustics and neatly lined rows of tables that would seat groups of ten. The laminate-and-chrome tables looked straight out of a fifties diner. The room looked larger than necessary and Josie wondered if the number of employees was being kept low due to need or cost overruns.
As they reached the tables Josie received a phone call from Lou.
“What’s up?” Josie asked.
“Marta called back. The door to Santiago’s apartment was locked, no one home. No one at Family Value or the other businesses on the block has seen him recently, but they confirmed they knew who he was. They all said he didn’t make much of an impression.”
“Okay. What about the car?”
“No car registered in his name,” Lou said. “Marta also took prints around the door. She said to give her a call if you want her back there,” Lou said.
“All right.”
“One more thing. Marta talked to the postmaster. He said they left mail in front of his apartment door for several days and just took it back to the post office this morning until further notice. Nobody has picked up for five days.”
“Great. Thanks, Lou. That’s a start.”
Josie sat at the table where Diego and Otto had just settled.
“I’ve heard stories about why they named this place the Feed Plant,” Otto said. “Any truth to the rumors?”
“There’s a little truth in every rumor.” Diego smiled slightly. The intensity in his demeanor had subsided somewhat, but his face looked worn since hearing the news that one of his employees might have been murdered. “The name is actually quite accurate, although the motivation for using the name was probably twofold.” Diego crossed his legs and settled into the role of tour guide again. “The Feed Plant took in uranium materials; most of it shipped to us from the African Congo. The raw material was processed using a variety of steps in several units within the plant until we had enriched uranium. It was then sent to other nuclear sites around the country. Our material became fuel for nuclear bombs. We helped feed the bombs. Thus the name.”
Josie didn’t hide the suspicious look on her face. “They didn’t call it the Feed Plant to trick people in the community into thinking it was harmless? A place that created animal feed?”
He smiled. “Of course they did! This was back in the day when secrets were respected. When people knew the government kept secrets for their own good. And people were fine with that. They appreciated the grave responsibility the president carried. There were secrets and respect. Frankly, we could use more of both in today’s world.”
Four men walked through a door at the far end of the cafeteria. Diego’s expression turned serious. “Skip told the men the basics of what you shared with us. He explained that you had questions to ask about their coworker.”
Josie watched as they walked across the cafeteria. All four men wore loose-fitting blue jumpsuits with their names machine embroidered on their breast pockets. As they walked across the room, Josie noticed each man wore the