Page 57 of The Women of Oak Ridge
I’d just committed my first—and hopefully last—crime. How much time does a person spend in jail for the offense of breaking and entering? Months? Years?
The thought was sobering. But if my criminal efforts helped locate Sissy and brought her back to Oak Ridge, then breaking the law would be worth it.
I looked around to get my bearings. The first thing I noticed was how orderly and clean the confined space appeared. A cushioned bench ran along the front end of the trailer on my right, with built-in cabinets above the tiny window I’d seen from the outside. Across from where I stood was a small stove and a narrow refrigerator, with a shelf above that contained salt, pepper, and a tin of coffee. The sink and more cabinets that went from floor to ceiling were on my left. Past them, at the far end of the trailer, was a neatly made bed.
I gulped.
It felt wrong—so very, very wrong—to be inside Clive’s private home. He may be odd, and I may not like him much, but I wasn’t sure he deserved to have me break into his trailer, looking for something to prove he was a spy. What if Sissy had been mistaken about the documents she’d seen in his possession? What if her fears had been unjustified? Had I broken into the home of an innocent man?
I exhaled a long breath.
The deed was done. I might as well move forward with the reason I’d come. The sooner I found the documents and determined whether they were worrisome or not, the sooner I could get out of here. My stomach was in knots with nervousness. What would I do if Clive returned home while I was inside his trailer? That was a scenario I refused to dwell on.
Unfortunately I didn’t see any papers lying about. That meant I would need to open cabinets and look under furnishings. Over the next minutes, I poked around the tiny kitchen and sitting area, but I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. Dishware and glassware occupied one of the cabinets above the sink, while pots and pans filled the other. I even peeked inside the refrigerator, but only a half-full glass jar of milk and a hunk of cheese sat on a wire shelf. The tiny icebox above was empty.
The last place left to search was the area where Clive slept and kept his personal belongings. Dread washed through me at the mere thought of handling his things, but what else could I do?
I did a hasty search, opening drawers but not touching anything. I peeked in the storage beneath the bed and came up empty-handed. Disappointed, I returned to the entry. My eyes traveled the entire home. Had I missed something? If I were a spy, where would I hide items I didn’t want anyone to know about?
I ticked off what I’d seen in each of the kitchen cabinets. When I came to the door beneath the sink, I remembered seeing a wastebasket. But, I realized, I hadn’t looked behind it.
I knelt and opened the small door. When I removed the empty basket, I discovered a cardboard box with a lid, pushed all the way against the back wall. If I hadn’t been on my knees, I wouldn’t have seen it.
A bad feeling gnawed my gut as I removed the lid.
My breath came out in a rush at seeing the contents.
Documents. Dozens and dozens of documents, all stamped withSecretorConfidentialin red ink. When I got over the shock of seeing them, I lifted the stack and thumbed through them. Some were memos. Others were technical drawings. Some had what appeared to be math equations, with symbols and numbers whose meanings I couldn’t begin to guess.
All I could do was stare at them, my brain racing.
“Sissy was right.” The words echoed in the small space.
Clive had to be a spy. Why else would he have all these confidential papers hidden in his house behind a container for garbage? Yet, I reminded myself, being in the possession of secret documents could be part of his job as a health physics officer. If I was going to report my suspicions to Mr. Colby, I had to have more proof. I’d be in a world of trouble for breaking into Clive’s trailer if it turned out he brought work home on a regular basis withthe approval of his superiors. I knew SEDs worked long hours at times. Garlyn occasionally had to stay past the end of his shift to solve a problem or supervise a repair. It wouldn’t be so far-fetched if Clive brought paperwork home to work on instead of remaining at the plant after hours.
What would convince Mr. Colby and the authorities that Clive was potentially a spy?
A sealed manila envelope lay at the bottom of the box. I took it out, but there wasn’t anything written on it. Something small but slightly weighty was inside. I ran my fingers over the unseen contents. It felt flat, hard, and rectangular.
I chewed my lip.
The fact that it was in the box with the secret documents led me to believe it was important. That it was in a sealed, nondescript envelope convinced me Clive didn’t want anyone to know what was inside.
Should I open it? I doubted that something this small was the evidence I sought to prove Clive’s involvement in espionage, but my curiosity was on high alert. I wanted to know what was inside.
However, if I opened it, Clive would certainly know someone had been in his trailer and had gone through the box. He would never suspect me though. Why should he? If whatever the envelope contained proved he was a spy and I reported him, he would be arrested and taken far away from Oak Ridge. Even if he later learned I was the one who’d notified the authorities, there wouldn’t be anything he could do about it by then.
I stared at the envelope, vacillating between tearing it open or simply returning it and the documents to the box and calling the whole thing done. Yet I’d come this far. I needed to turn over every stone, as the saying goes.
I took the knife from my purse and attempted to run it beneath the sealed flap, but the glue held fast. If I had the time, I wouldsteam the envelope open, but I needed to get out of here soon. With a flick of my wrist, the knife sliced through the paper flap. It wasn’t a ragged tear, but there was no way to seal it again.
I set the knife on the linoleum floor and peered into the envelope.
An ID badge lay at the bottom.
My shoulders slumped. It was probably one of Clive’s old badges. When an employee obtained new security clearances, we were issued an updated, color-coded ID. I’d received a new badge when Mr. Colby approved my clearance so I could handle classified documents bound for the incinerator, as well as carry them to personnel in the control room and other offices.
With little interest, I tipped the envelope, and the badge slid into my hand.
My breath stilled.
The face in the black-and-white photograph was not Clive’s.
Sissy’s sparkling eyes stared back at me.
