Chapter 24
The wind swept beneath the seals of doors and sills of windows, sounding a low moan that rose and fell along the eves of the houses.
As Heather rode the school bus in silence, the moan leached into her soul, a portent of what awaited her. But she refused to yield to depression, stubbornly clinging to the tiny seed of hope that everything would yet be okay.
By early afternoon that hope had grown, sprouting small leafy shoots that reached longingly upward, seeking the sun. Then Principal Zumwalt walked into their English class, requesting that Mark, Jennifer, and Heather accompany him back to his office, and she felt the seedling get ripped out by its roots.
To Heather’s ears, their footsteps in the empty hallway sounded like dancers’ tap shoes on a stage. Both Mark and Jennifer looked like fugitives from one of those old vampire movies. The blood had been drained from their faces as thoroughly as if they had just finished an embrace with an undead Transylvanian count.
Heather felt sick. She wanted to curl up in her bed, pull the covers over her head, and never come out again.
Principal Zumwalt led them into the waiting area outside his office and asked them to sit. Then he disappeared inside, closing the door behind him so that the voices drifting out to where they waited were unintelligible. Several times the principal’s voice rose in anger before subsiding.
After several minutes, a man in a dark suit stepped out of the principal’s office and stopped in front of them. Heather had never seen him before, and as his cold, gray eyes lingered on each of them, she decided that she did not care to see him again.
His thin smile added no warmth to his face.
“My name is Special Agent Nixon. I need to ask each of you a few questions, so I will be calling you into the principal’s office one at a time. Your principal has insisted that he remain in the room to witness the questioning, and I have agreed.”
Once again the cold smile warped his lips.
“As I finish with each one of you, please return to your classroom. Do not pause to discuss anything with the others on your way out.”
Agent Nixon pointed at Mark. “Son, you’re first.”
Mark stood and followed the man back through the door. Thirty minutes later, Jennifer replaced Mark. By the time Jennifer emerged, puffy eyes indicating that she had not successfully kept her emotions in check, Heather was a basket case.
As she entered, she spotted Principal Zumwalt standing against the left wall, arms crossed as he glanced up at her. Agent Nixon motioned toward the low chair that had been positioned directly in front of the principal’s desk.
Heather sat down. Not only was the chair low, it was a soft leather that threatened to swallow her, leaving her with the unfortunate illusion that she had sunk so far into the seat that only her nose and eyes stuck out.
As Agent Nixon moved behind the desk and took a seat in Principal Zumwalt’s chair, Heather thought she detected a slight scowl on the latter's face.
The agent leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “Now, Heather, I want you to describe to me in your own words the sequence of events that led to you and your friends crashing a model airplane outfitted with video and listening devices onto a highly restricted and sensitive area of the Los Alamos National Laboratory.”
Heather had once read that in an interview you should try matching the body posture of the person conducting the interview. However, there was just no way to lean forward in the soft leather armchair that had her butt closer to touching the ground than her feet were.
For fifteen minutes she described how they had been excited to do a project where they modified a model airplane to add video and audio transmission capabilities, plus an onboard computer that enabled them to uplink simple flight plans. She made no mention of quantum switches, instead wrapping up with a description of how they had launched the plane, uplinked a flight plan, and then lost control of it as it flew out of the range of their radio control device.
“So you knew it was flying toward the laboratory?”
“Yes, sir. We launched it from the Western Area Park in Los Alamos and it was flying southeast. We must have lost line of sight while we tried to uplink a return plan, so our uplink didn’t make it, or something else went wrong. Once it was out of radio range, there was nothing we could do. We knew it was bound to go down, but had no idea it would make it all the way to the lab.”
“And you didn’t try to find out where it crashed?” The agent clenched his hands below his chin.
“We rode down the street a long way, but it had gone out toward the canyon. We didn’t know how far it traveled, so it seemed like searching for a needle in a haystack. We were upset, but it didn’t look like we had any choice but to give up and hope someone would find it and report it.”
Agent Nixon smiled. “But you weren't worried enough to tell your parents that you had lost your airplane? When I polygraphed your father and Mr. Smythe this morning, neither one of them seemed to know a thing.”
Heather gulped. This was a nightmare. Their fathers had been pulled out of work at the lab and administered a polygraph test because of this? She knew they were periodically required to undergo lifestyle polygraph tests because of the classified nature of their work. But being tested because of something their children had done was unbelievable.
“I don’t know. We were upset and embarrassed that we had modified the plane and had it crash on the first outing. They gave us the money for the whole project and it was gone.” She shrugged. “I guess we just wanted to wait a couple of days to see if someone found it before we had to confess.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Young lady, are you aware of the penalties for lying to a federal officer in the conduct of an official investigation?”
“No, sir.”
Principal Zumwalt stepped forward. “I have had enough of this fishing expedition, Agent Nixon. I have stood by as you questioned each of these students and have listened as all of them have told you essentially the same story. Now you have moved from legitimate questions to what I regard as intimidation and harassment. I will remind you that these children are juniors in high school, that I am their principal, and that at no time did I hear you read them their Miranda rights. So unless you are now going to do so and place my student under arrest, this interview is finished.”
The smile returned to Agent Nixon’s lips, but not to his eyes.
“Very well, Principal Zumwalt. I have the information I came for. Ms. McFarland, you are free to go.”
Heather struggled to her feet and walked from the room. Her hands shook as she opened the door and, glancing back, Heather thought she detected a smug look of satisfaction on the agent’s face.
A sudden heat flushed her face. Heather felt disoriented, at a loss to figure out where she should be going. The big round hall clock indicated that it was 2:15. That meant study hall, but before she went anywhere near anyone she knew, Heather felt the need to wash her face and spend a few moments trying to recover.
The rest of the day was a haze that failed to dissolve even when she, Mark, and Jennifer stepped off the school bus and made the short walk home. The shock of what had happened was so deep that they barely spoke to each other. What was there to say?
As she stepped off the sidewalk and into her driveway, Heather’s feet slipped on an icy spot, setting her down hard on her rear end, scattering her books across the asphalt. Mark and Jennifer rushed over as she gathered herself, blinking back hot tears.
“It’s okay, I’m all right,” Heather said, her voice sounding hoarse to her ears.
As Mark retrieved her scattered books and papers, Jennifer hugged her friend tightly, tears leaking from her own eyes.
Mark gently handed her books back to her. “It’s going to be okay. We have each other, and we’ll get through this.”
Heather sniffed and nodded, then turned and walked to her front door.
Dinner that evening was uncomfortable; it had been a while since Heather had felt so awkward with her parents. Once again, she was forced to tell the same tale she had told Agent Nixon, along with a description of what had happened at school. Her father did not reprimand her for failing to tell him about what had happened in the park, or for allowing him to be blindsided by the resulting investigation, but she could feel his disapproval in the tone of his voice and the weight of his gaze.
Heather considered herself to be a generally upbeat person, but by the time she went to bed she had been locked in depression for more than twenty-four hours. In fact, her black mood was sinking deeper. Not only had they violated the law, she had been forced to lie to a federal agent. Worse yet, she had lied to her own mother and father.
Instead of doing her homework and taking a bath, Heather just slid into her pajamas and crawled into bed. But sleep was a long time in coming.
For the next two days the three friends heard nothing about the progress of the investigation. School came. School went. Stress sat so heavy on their shoulders that Heather and the Smythe twins acquired a visible slump.
Shortly after Heather’s dad returned from work on Thursday afternoon, they received a call summoning the entire McFarland family next door to the Smythe house. As Heather stepped outside, she immediately saw the reason her dad had responded so quickly to the call.
Standing in the Smythe driveway, along with all of the Smythes, was Dr. Helmut Krause, director of the Los Alamos National Laboratory. Beside him stood Dr. Donald Stephenson.
As they moved up beside the Smythes, Dr Krause nodded a welcome.
“As you know, I’m not a fan of seeing my laboratory in turmoil. I’m sure this investigation has been stressful for your families, but anything impacting the Rho Division is so important that the questioning and corresponding pressure is trebled. That’s why I came here personally to let you know the results.”
Heather’s mouth felt so dry that she thought her tongue might permanently adhere to the roof of her mouth.
“As should be obvious, the two of you, Fred and Gil, passed your polygraphs. As for your children, while they may have acted irresponsibly, we know that the range of the transmitter on their model airplane could not have reached the lab from the park. Nor could they have received any video or audio feed from that distance. Therefore we have concluded this was an accident.”
The director looked directly at Heather, then Jennifer, and finally Mark, smiling warmly. “I was once a young person myself, as hard as that may be to believe. You three have been quite the topic of discussion at the lab. Our scientists who looked at the airplane you built really liked the innovative modifications you added. Of course, on future projects you need to program a reliable return home plan, in case your data link is lost.”
Then, turning to Mark, Director Krause said, “I hear you are quite a basketball player, young man. I don’t usually make the high school games, but I think I will try to come tomorrow night.”
Mark grinned. “I’m sure our entire school would be honored to have you there, sir.”
Director Krause nodded and shook hands with Gil and Fred. “I hope this puts your minds at ease. You have a good bunch of kids.”
Both men thanked the director, who got into his car and drove off with a wave.
Suddenly everyone became very aware that Dr. Stephenson was still standing in the driveway. As the director's car disappeared around the bend, the deputy director stepped forward.
“Be assured, if the decision were mine, neither of you men would ever work at a national laboratory again. It doesn’t matter one whit that you didn’t know what your kids were up to. You are responsible for their actions. No excuses. No exceptions.
“While your children may not have intended to spy on the lab, I’ll bet they were up to no good. Luckily, they are also no good at what they were up to, as evidenced by their incompetent construction and operation of their aircraft.”
Dr. Stephenson turned on his heel and walked back to his car, a classic model Jaguar convertible. As he opened the door, he turned toward them once more.
“Consider yourselves on probation. I’ll be personally checking the quality of your work to ensure it is better than the quality of your child rearing.”
He slammed the door, and the Jaguar departed with a squeal of tires.
Heather had never heard her mother cuss, but the stream of language that erupted from the petite woman’s lips was both creative and vile. When she stopped, there was a moment of awed silence.
Then, Mr. Smythe began to laugh, and the laughter soon spread to everyone in the driveway.
“Well, Anna, I don’t think anyone could have said that better.”
With a massive sigh of relief, they decided on a celebratory barbeque to be hosted by the Smythes that evening. While the dads fired up the grill, the moms worked on the appetizers and salad.
In the meantime, Heather, Jennifer, and Mark moved to their workshop in the Smythe garage. As soon as the door closed behind them, the three shared a round of high fives.
Jennifer melodramatically wiped her brow. “Thank God that’s over. From here on, no more wild schemes.”
Heather laughed. “You said it.”
“Hey, guys. You need to see this.” Mark’s excited voice caused them to spin around. “I never bothered to look at our receiver units since the plane went down—but guess what? We’re still getting a feed from the QTs. There’s a faint audio signal, and we even have video coming in from the camera.”
“Wait a second,” Heather said. “I thought the camera was destroyed in the crash.”
“It went black. Maybe the lens was in the mud. Now, wherever it is, it must be getting some light to power the solar cells.”
Heather was stunned. “You know what this means? Our stuff is still out there and working. We might want to start a recording.”
Jennifer’s jaw dropped. “Didn’t we almost get our heads handed to us? And didn’t we just agree not to stick out our necks again?”
Mark shook his head. “This is different. Our airplane is already out there somewhere. The QT doesn’t send detectable signals. There’s no risk.”
Heather paused a moment to consider, then nodded. “He’s right. It won’t hurt to investigate a bit more.”
Jennifer sat down hard on the bench, rubbing her temples with both hands. “Mystifying. Okay, stop. Don’t say another thing. I think I’m going to be sick.”
Mark grabbed his sister by the hand, pulling her to her feet. “Come on, Doc. Let’s go grab some dinner. Once you have some good food in your stomach and get a good night's sleep, you'll start seeing things our way.”
As they walked into the house, Jennifer replied, “That’s exactly what scares the crap out of me.”