Page 82 of Dead Mountain

“He’s in a position of responsibility. Authority. He’s not repeating rumors. His knowledge of the events is firsthand. Direct knowledge.”

“So why won’t he go on record?”

“The information is classified. The guy’s a stand-up soldier: divulging secrets isn’t usually his idea of patriotism. He also thinks he’ll be arrested—and that we won’t be able to protect him.”

Sharp sighed. For once, she could see what he was feeling: skepticism and anxiety.

“You realize this is a stunning accusation to make, with absolutely no corroboration whatsoever.”

“I realize that, sir.” They’d gone over this multiple times, when Corrie first briefed him on her two meetings the day before: O’Connell’s old girlfriend, with her story of the bunker . . . and then Brickell’s bombshell—literally.

They took the freeway exit for Kirtland and were soon at the base’s gate, handing over their IDs. They were quickly let through, and five minutes later were parking in front of the command building. Two soldiers, apparently waiting for them, escorted them to the commander’s office.

It was a capacious space, the vast polished desk flanked by flags. Behind it, the commander rose.

“Major General Frank Marsby,” he said, coming around and shaking their hands. “And Colonel Maryam Abecassis, whom you know.”

They were both dressed in formal uniforms, emblazoned with decorations. The two silver stars on General Marsby’s shoulders gleamed in the bright overhead lighting. The general invited them to join him and the colonel in a sitting area, with a glass-and-chrome table and a collection of taupe stuffed chairs.

Corrie felt a nervousness that was almost overwhelming. If this was all wrong, if Brickell was crazy, her promising career would take an instant nosedive.

“Thank you for meeting with us,” Sharp said.

General Marsby nodded. “We’re always happy to help the FBI. But I have to admit, this is an unusually mysterious summons, and naturally we’re anxious to hear what’s so urgent.”

Sharp leaned forward on his elbows. Corrie saw that he, too, looked nervous. It occurred to her for the first time that if this accusation were false, it might affect his career even more than hers.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” Sharp said. “We have a confidential informant who tells us that on the night of October 31, 2008, a B-52 out of Kirtland, carrying a decommissioned thermonuclear device, dropped its payload in the Manzanos about nine miles south of the base. The warhead didn’t go off—obviously—but the conventional explosives in the bomb detonated and caused a fire. The bomb debris was quickly retrieved, the area decontaminated, and evidence of any crater eliminated. The incident was then classified at the highest level.”

He paused. Corrie could see in the faces of the two listeners clear expressions of genuine shock, concern—and doubt.

“Furthermore,” Sharp went on, “and of immediate concern to the FBI, it may be that this accident was the cause of the Dead Mountain incident we’re investigating. The explosion and fire occurred, according to our informant, roughly a mile south of where they were camped at the time. It triggered the nine hikers into abandoning their tent and running northward, away from the explosion—where all perished.” He paused a moment, then said, “That’s it in a nutshell. We were hoping you might be able to shed some light on this, if it’s true. Of course,” he added, “our informant might be mistaken or lying, but if we believed that, we would never have brought the matter to your attention.”

General Marsby stared for a moment, ran his hand over his crew cut, and then said, “Can I ask who this confidential informant is?”

“I’m afraid,” said Sharp, “that they requested anonymity.”

“But you believe this story?”

“The CI was highly convincing,” said Sharp. “We neither believe nor disbelieve. That’s why we’re here, to seek clarification.”

“But you think this individual is trustworthy? Not crazy?”

Sharp turned to Corrie. “Agent Swanson interviewed the informant. Could you answer the question, please?”

At this Corrie looked at the general, who was looking at her in disbelief. “Yes, I believe the person is trustworthy and reliable.”

“How many people know the identity of this confidential informant?” asked the general.

Corrie nodded. “Just me, sir.”

“No one else? Not you, Agent Sharp?”

“No.”

“Is he connected to this base?”

“He or she. I can’t reveal that, sir,” said Corrie.

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