Case File: Bright Sun (Case Files of Newport Investigations) Read online

  "Jason Kilpatrick," he said.

  "Kilpatrick the black Irishman?" I asked.

  "In a prior life Jason used to be a Nuclear Engineer in the Navy. He was a reactor control officer on fast attack Los Angeles class subs and actually taught at the Navy's school in Idaho."

  "Are you serious?" I asked.

  Kilpatrick was the owner of a small breakfast and lunch restaurant setting on the bay. It was situated on the edge of the marina located in Corona Del Mar, just south of Newport Beach.

  "I'm as serious as a heart attack. Jason retired from the Navy about 10 years ago. He spent the last 6 years of his career in Idaho teaching Navy seamen and officers how not to blowup submarines and aircraft carriers. He wanted to live near the ocean and wanted to keep busy so, he settled here and bought the lease on the restaurant. We talk every now and then."

  "Well," I said. "It would appear as though you have a life I don't know about."

  "No, what it is," Jimmy said, cocking one eyebrow higher than the other, "is while you are spending hours riding your little red bicycle up and down the Pacific Coast Highway in a loosing battle with your waist line and genes, I, being of superior native American stock, can consume rich breakfast foods without making friends with a cardiovascular surgeon."

  "Two hours a day while we're not busy is not a lot time to keep my heart and body in good shape."

  "Yeah," he said with a small smirk on his face, "too bad it isn't working."

  I had a really good retort ready but Jimmy's girl friend arrived with the meat.

  "On the tab boy's?" she asked, smiling at Jimmy.

  "Por favor," Jimmy said.

  She delivered the wood plates supporting hot iron platters covered with thick cuts of red meet still cooking. Each plate held a baked potato without the normal aluminum foil covering and a large scoop of green string beans. She disappeared for a few seconds then returned and placed a basket with four thick pieces of toasted cheese bread on the table between Jimmy and me. She left and we began consuming the main course, which at one time was a live birth and had parents. We continued with small talk while we finished lunch. We each ordered a cup of coffee and watched the few remaining tourists walk and drive past the outdoor patio where we were seated. Jimmy finally looked at his watch and proclaimed we needed to get back. The walk back to the ferry and the ride across the bay took 20 minutes and we were walking up the street toward the office, almost two hours to the minute we left.

  -6-

  Jack Faraday was standing in front of the doorway to the office stairs. He was looking around and spotted us. He immediately became animated when he saw us. Jimmy and I slowed down as we approached, just to spin him up.

  "Come on you guys. I called my boss and he called me back an hour later. The board said it's a go."

  "Did you suddenly get religion while we were at lunch or are you still concerned someone might overhear you?" Jimmy asked as he stood with his head cocked to one side and his hands in his pockets.

  "Wups, my mistake," Faraday said. "Let's get upstairs."

  He turned and opened the door to the stairway and started up ahead of us. The door closed and we looked at each other.

  Jimmy walked past me and opened the door, bowed and waved me in past him.

  As I passed Jimmy, he said, “mark my words, nothing good shall come of this”

  We climbed to the top of the stairs and walked down the hallway to where Jack was standing in front of our office door. Jimmy stopped at the door and looked at Jack then turned the knob, opening the door. Jimmy entered the office and I followed him. We both sat down in our usual chairs and waited for Faraday to come in. He finally stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind himself.

  "Don't you guys ever lock the door?" he asked.

  "Why bother," Jimmy said. "If someone wants in they'll either pick the lock or more probably kick it in. The cleaning crew locks the bottom door at night. We don't keep anything important up here anyway. So you tell us."

  "The board of directors of the company will direct the company to place 4.12 million dollars in an escrowed interest bearing account. Mike Mendoza, FBI agent, will authorize release of funds. If you locate the fuel and it is recovered, then all of the funds will be transferred to an account of your choice, less 40% hold back to guarantee taxes are paid. If after one year, the fuel is not recovered, then Agent Mendoza will release the funds back to the company and any accrued interest will be released to the account of your choice, again, less 40% for the government. What do you think?"

  "What do we think?" Jimmy said. "I think you boys are going to give us a letter from the government stating we have no tax liability on this one. That's what we think."

  "I don't know if we can do that," Jack said, his brows pulled together and moisture suddenly showing on his forehead.

  "Then we don't know if we can do the job," I said.

  I looked at Jimmy and he nodded. It sometimes unnerves clients when Jimmy and I alternate sentences, especially when the sentences sound like one person composed and vocalized them.

  Faraday thought for about ten seconds then looked up and said, "I'll check with the home office."

  "I think I want to talk to Mike Mendoza. How did you boys get him signed up so fast?" Jimmy asked.

  "I don't know, I'm just the messenger boy," Faraday said, closing his briefcase.

  -7-

  Three days later we had a signed contract with the insurance company and what was referred to as a "letter of understanding" from the Internal Revenue Service stating "the transaction in question would not incur a tax liability”. The insurance company deposited the money in an interest bearing money market account controlled by a local escrow company. Only Mike Mendoza or his immediate supervisor in the event Mendoza was unable to execute the contract, could release the escrow account.

  Jimmy and myself, Mike Mendoza and his boss, and the ever-present Jack Faraday, met at the escrow office and signed the papers. Jack Faraday signed for the insurance company and presented a proof of transfer document showing the money had been transferred to the escrow company’s account. Faraday placed two signed copies of the documents in his briefcase and Jimmy handed our two copies to Mendoza and asked him to take care of them. Business for the day was concluded. We all shook hands and left. Mendoza and his boss drove out of the parking lot and headed up Harbor Boulevard toward the San Diego freeway presumably on their way back to Los Angeles. Faraday climbed into his rented car and said he was going to the local FedEx office to send one copy of the agreement to his office. The other copy was going with him on the airplane. Jimmy and I got into the big Navigator and drove over to the Newport Marina to Jason Kilpatrick's restaurant.

  It was 1:30, lunch was over, and there were only three cars in the parking lot. A late model Buick four door sedan like my Father drove, a beat up Volkswagen Bug the color of red bondo body putty, and a non-descript Toyota sedan that looked like it belonged to someone's Mom. We walked up to the door of the restaurant and looked inside. The restaurant stood by itself about 50 feet from a waist high fence separating it from the marina. The small building was about 25 by 40 feet in size and constructed of concrete blocks and a lot of glass. Looking inside through the larger than normal windows you could see the row of booths along the west wall, a single row of three foot square tables in the middle, and the lunch counter along the east wall. The outside of the building was painted a bright blue with white trim. The color scheme on the inside matched the outside with blue vinyl covering the booths, chairs, and stools. The floor was tiled in a white vinyl tile with a thin blue border.

  There were 2 people in view; Kilpatrick and some kid who looked like a refugee from a hippie commune. The hippie was wiping down the tables and Kilpatrick was clearing the cash register. Jimmy rapped on the glass door to get Kilpatrick's attention. He looked up and smiled then walked the long way around from behind the counter and over to the door. He pulled the door open wide and said, "The grills cold so I hope you don't
want a fat fix." He looked at me and smiled. "You must be the white boy with the quick hands," he said, sticking his right hand out.

  I looked around the parking lot.

  "Well, since I'm the only white boy out here I must be. It’s good to finally meet you," I said.

  Kilpatrick was about five foot ten inches and looked like Ozzie Davis the actor. He was instantly likable. He also had a grip like someone a lot younger.

  "Come on in," he said.

  We stepped into the restaurant and he motioned us to the counter.

  "Help yourself to some coffee, I haven't emptied it yet. Ricky and Alonzo will be gone in a few minutes then we can talk."

  "Sit down and I'll get us some coffee," Jimmy said.

  I sat and he followed Jason around the counter until he reached the coffee urn. Jimmy busied himself with getting two mugs of coffee. Jason came back up the counter on the working side and picked up where he left off clearing the register. Jimmy came back and sat down to my left and put a cup of coffee in front of me. It was hot, black, and smelled really good. Jimmy and Jason made small talk while Jason completed his task with the journal tape from the cash register. About 20 minutes later Alonzo came out of the kitchen and announced everything was cleaned up and ready for tomorrow. Ricky, the kid who had been wiping down the tables, had finished sweeping the floor and was sitting on a bench next to the door. Jason came around the counter, key in hand and unlocked the door. Alonzo and Ricky said their good-byes and walked to their cars. Alonzo unlocked the Toyota and started it.

  "Ah ha," I said to myself, the kid has the Bug and Jason drives the old guys car. Wrong, the kid walked over to the Buick and opened it with a remote. I turned around on the stool and looked at Jason.

  "I would have thought you were driving the Buick," I said to him, smiling.

  "Well Son," he said, "I have this restaurant and a 53 foot teak wood ketch I live on. That boat is like a black hole for money so instead of driving a Benz or something else expensive I make do with an old Bug.”

  "Don't let him fool you," Jimmy said with a big smile on his face. "That Bug has a big bore kit which bumps it up to about 2,1 liters, a 3/4 race cam, a supercharger, and a Porsche five speed transaxle. No one ever notices the soft rubber racing radials and he absolutely smokes every kid driving a 945 or a 911."

  Jason was smiling. He walked the length of the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee then came back to where we were.

  "Let's move over to a booth," he said.

  Jimmy and I picked up our cups and joined him in the booth.

  "Ok," Jason said to me, "Jimmy told me why you guys want to talk to me. You are going to be looking for some stolen fuel that may or may not be used by some wacko group to build a bomb. What you want to know from me is it really possible to do?"

  He stopped and looked at me.

  "That is the story," I said. "If these guys can really build a bomb then we have a different ball game. We found out that processed fuel is not really worth anything, relatively speaking. We know for a fact that the fuel is missing and anyone with the capability of stealing it knows they are not going to be able to ransom it. Since former Russian troops are selling bombs on the black market to Third World Countries I would guess there is probably not a big market in processed fuel for making bombs. Local homegrown terrorists are not going to have the money to buy a ready made bomb, seeing as how they have no control over a population they can rape money from. So I would guess they are actually trying to make their own." I stopped and looked at Jason and Jimmy. "Sorry, I was rambling." I apologized to Jason.

  "No problem son," he said. "Let's get started." He took a deep breath, let it out, and then started. "There are 2 basic types of bombs the people you are looking for could build. One is hard and one is slightly less hard. The hard one would be an implosion bomb. This is the type of bomb dropped on Nagasaki. The less hard bomb is called a gun bomb. This is a basic type of bomb where you have 2 pieces of metallic uranium at opposite ends of a tube. You position a high-energy charge at each end of the tube. When you fire the charges you drive the slugs into each other. The instant just before they are almost in physical contact, a chain reaction ensues, and you have a nuclear detonation. This is basically the type of bomb dropped on Hiroshima."

  I thought for a second. "How hard would it be to actually build?"

  "Well, I won't bull shit you, it's not a walk in the park but it can be done. Let's assume you want to build a weapon. You are going to need fuel to process. Let's ignore for the moment how you obtain the fuel. But for the sake of argument let's say our boys obtained some amount of uranium oxide. This would be the less desirable material, metallic uranium being the more desirable but most fuel is stored in the oxide form because it is less hazardous. So, you will need a laboratory furnace, a shaker table to mount the furnace on and a couple of hundred dollars of high temperature plastic tubing. The beakers, stoppers, and high temperature silicon tubing are available in any chemical supply house. The furnace is available from any number of equipment houses including mail order houses. None of this is going to raise any eyebrows."

  "Next you need some hydrofluoric acid. Hydrofluoric acid is used to etch glass and is also readily available. This is also why you need plastic beakers instead of glass. Same thing holds true for the tubing. So, we put the uranium oxide powder on a tray inside the furnace, pour some acid into a plastic beaker and put a stopper in the top of the beaker. Run a tube from the beaker into the furnace. Place a heat source under the beaker and the hydrofluoric acid will liberate hydrogen fluoride gas into the furnace. Turn the furnace up to about 500 degrees centigrade, turn on the vibrator, and let the whole thing cook for a couple of hours.

  "What happens is the hydrogen fluoride gas will defuse through the uranium oxide powder. The hydrogen from the gas will react with the oxygen in the uranium oxide forming water which boils off. The fluoride reacts with the left over uranium forming uranium tetrafluoride which is a powder." Jason stopped and took a sip of coffee.

  I jumped in and said, "Why go to all of the trouble to go from one form of powder to another?"

  "Because the end product is going to be metallic uranium. Remember, the terrorists are going to have more access to uranium oxide than they are have to metallic uranium. If they scored metallic uranium, then they will skip these first steps. Ok," he said, "where was I?

  "Right, so, now we have some uranium tetrafluoride. Next we take a graphite crucible and spoon in six parts of the powder to one part of powdered magnesium. Pour in some potassium chlorate and stir until everything is well mixed. We then embed an electrical glow wire, like you would find in a small heater, into the mixture. Secure a cap on the crucible, place it in a strong container and apply current to the wire. The glow wire ignites the magnesium, which in turn ignites the uranium tetrafluoride. The potassium chlorate in the crucible acts as a heat generator to keep the mixture cooking. The magnesium burns off and the uranium melts down to a metal. After the reaction finishes, you let the mixture cool down to a hundred degrees or so then pour water on the crucible to bring the temperate down to where it can be handled. Turn the crucible over and presto, out falls a pellet of metallic uranium. You repeat the process until you have enough metallic uranium to make your weapon, which is around ten to twelve kilograms for a small device.

  "What happens next?" I asked.

  "Next, we take half of the metallic uranium; put it into a fresh crucible roughly the shape of the finished slug you want. Heat the crucible and melt the uranium and let it cool. Dump out the slug, mount it into a computer controlled milling machine or lathe and machine it into the final shape. Repeat that step so you have 2 slugs or projectiles finished to about 3.5 inches in diameter and 5.5 inches long. Next we need a machined tube with an inside diameter about half a thousandth larger than the projectiles and the wall of the tube needs to be about 3 inches thick.

  "Why so thick?" I asked.

  "The steel walls reflect neutrons back into the reacti
on once we bring the 2 slugs together. The thicker the steel walls of the tube, the more the neutrons will be reflected back into the uranium once the reaction starts and the less overall uranium we need for a critical mass. We can find out the actual amount of steel we need by looking up public domain documents generated by government on the internet. Anyway, next we assemble the weapon. We have 2 choices; we can fire both of the projectiles at one time toward each other or make one stationary and fire the second down the tube. Low yield government weapons fire both projectiles because we get a better result but it's harder to synchronize the firing mechanism. Our boys are going to be limited in resources so we'll assume they will use the simple method.

  "So, we take the tube and weld a three or four inch steel plug into one end. Next we pour some epoxy down the hole and slide one of the slugs to the end and let the epoxy cure. The projectile just became the target. Now it gets tricky, we need to insert the other projectile into other end of the tube but we can't let it get too near the target or we will have a critical mass on our hands. Actually, it wouldn't detonate it would fizzle yield which would still kill you, just slower.