read everything for the past two weeks, both sent and received. She found nothing that connected to the body or Scratchgravel Road. In order to cover her tracks, she marked the new e-mail she had just opened as unread, and then closed the program. She had no idea if he would be able to tell that she had opened his e-mail, but she couldn’t worry about it at this point.
Next, she opened Internet Explorer and checked his bookmarked sites. She clicked through several Web sites and found horrific pictures of radiation poisoning and chemical burns. She could barely force herself to look at the pictures, worrying that Leo might have killed the man in the desert in the same way the people in the pictures had been killed.
Since the evening she had come home from the hospital and threatened to move out, Leo had changed. He had been talking to her more, helped her cook dinner the night before, actually acted interested in what she had to say. But his attempts were too little, too late. She thought it was all an act. He was spending countless hours on the computer each day, and she suspected it was related to the dead man.
Cassidy was scrolling through his list of “Favorites” and saw a link to First Bank and Trust—not their bank. She clicked on the link and a login appeared with Leo’s name preloaded. As far as she knew, they only had one account, with Bank of America, where both their checks were automatically deposited. She typed in the same password that she had used to log in to his computer and was taken to an account page. A few clicks later and she discovered Leo had made a deposit the day before in the amount of $1,200. She leaned back in the chair, staring at the computer screen, with no idea how to move forward.
* * *
Mitch Wilson entered the conference room thirty minutes after his conversation on the phone with Josie. He was wearing a grease-stained navy blue mechanic’s shirt and pants. With his shaggy black hair, tattooed arms, and deep southern drawl, he seemed more Hell’s Angel than ordnance specialist, but Josie felt confident in his abilities. She hoped the group from Beacon wouldn’t judge his skills by his appearance.
She introduced him to the group, and he apologized for his uniform.
“Had my head under the hood of a plow. Trying to keep those old machines on the road in this kind of mess is a never-ending problem,” he said.
“Please don’t apologize. We appreciate you coming on such short notice,” Paiva said. “I understand you worked as an EOD for the army?”
He nodded slowly. “Trained at Fort Lee. Served six years.”
“I served as an engineer in the army for twenty years. My experience led me here.”
Mitch nodded.
“I believe Chief Gray gave you a rundown on our situation. If the rain keeps up, we’re facing the potential of a mudslide in a matter of hours. And that’s just a guess. We don’t have time for options. Diverting the flow is the best idea we’ve got right now.”
“Makes good sense to me.”
“Are you experienced in laying and detonating explosives?”
“Take ’em apart, put ’em together, blow ’em up.” He grinned. “You name it, I can do it.”
Diego laughed. “It’s good to see your confidence. I’m afraid we’re well out of our comfort zone here.”
“C-4 explosives?” Mitch asked.
Diego nodded.
“You have enough det cord, blasting caps, and so on?”
“We’ve got everything you need. One of our engineers will get you set up,” Diego said.
“Excellent. Let’s do this.”
Paiva nodded, and Josie could see the relief in his expression.
“We’re ready to pull officers in from several different agencies. They’re waiting in the lobby. I’ll just ask that you listen to the briefing so you’re brought up to speed. Then we’ll start making plans.” He stood and placed two keys on the conference table in front of Josie. “For you and Otto to get in and out. Please return them at the end of the day. I’ve got to make a phone call to headquarters in Boston, and return a call to the NRC. Can you get the group organized in my absence?”
Josie nodded. “I’ll be glad to.”
Sylvia left the room and came back moments later, escorting a large group of officers. Smokey Blessings, three Texas Highway Patrol officers, and four agents from the Department of Transportation took chairs around the table. It was a quiet, grim-faced group of men.
“On behalf of Mr. Paiva, I want