Page 61 of Heart Thief

He scrubs one hand over his face. He hasn’t slept and I can tell he’s exhausted.

“Never mind,” I amend. “Sleep first. Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“I’ll make breakfast. Eggs and toast sound good?”

“That sounds amazing.”

He sits at the breakfast table while I cook. I don’t need to prompt him any further. He starts telling me about the events of last night all on his own.

“Once I arrived on site with my team, the first thing we needed to do was rule out a radiological threat.”

“Radiological?”

“A nuke.”

“A nuclear bomb? They can be small enough to fit in that can?” I ask as I break the eggs into a bowl.

“Absolutely. We attached a portable radiation detector to a line and dropped it down. The winds were blowing like crazy, so we had to drop a second line to hold it in place. We slowly moved it all around the can until we verified it wasn’t a nuke.”

“But it still could’ve been a bomb?”

“Yep. We lowered down other diagnostic equipment to try and figure out what we were dealing with and to see if a person could safely approach. The wind was our enemy and it took a long time. But we finally determined it wasn’t a bomb.”

“Thank goodness.”

“So, I put on my gear and rappelled off the side of the bridge. The can was about sixty feet down.”

I freeze, ice running through my veins. “That was you?”

“Yep.” He points to himself. “Team leader. Gotta go.”

“They caught it on camera. Scared the life out of me. I hoped it wasn’t you.”

He shakes his head. “It was me. Once I was stable, I had to determine if it was safe to remove the lid. The can was a thirty-three-gallon plastic garbage can being blown around by the wind as though it was a kid’s toy. Once I verified it was safe to open the lid, I took a look inside. It was filled with survival-type stuff. A CB radio, a couple of jugs of water, food, clothing, a blanket, a flashlight, a life vest, and a handful of political pamphlets.”

“What the heck?”

“Turns out, the jobless guy who did it planned to live in the flimsy can for at least a week. Some kind of bizarre protest to bring attention to the plight of the aged and infirm. Makes no sense.”

“But he fell when he tried to climb down to the can.”

“He did. They found him this morning, clinging to a rock near Point Diablo.”

“Wait, he’s alive?” I move the spatula around the pan as I cook the eggs.

“Miraculously, he survived. It’s a two-hundred-and twenty-foot drop to the frigid water below. That’s like falling twenty stories. He has two collapsed lungs and some broken ribs. He was nearly swept out to sea. Amazing he’s alive.”

“So, what did you do next?”

“Put the contents of the can into a satchel and sent it up. It’s evidence. Once back on the bridge, I asked the police if I should bring the can up.”

“What’d they say?” I ask as I butter the hot toast.

“They said, nope. Cut the line and let it drop into the bay. They had the evidence they needed, and they were eager to open up traffic to the bridge as soon as possible. So that’s what we did. After that, the rest of the night was clean up and paperwork.”

I bring our plates to the table and sit across from him. “Your job scares me.”

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