Train man 1999, p.30
Train Man (1999), page 30
Keeler knew what this had to mean: The 150-foot-long side girder had flattened out completely under the unusual deadweight of the cars, and then it had sagged through the perfectly horizontal into a negative, downward bowed arch. The sag would not have been visible to the naked eye. The strain gauges, however, did not lie. The girder was right at the edge of the metallurgic failure range.
He sat back on his haunches and wiped his face. The air was close and hot along the catwalk under the girders. He imagined he could hear the billions of ferrous crystals in the steel sliding and grinding imperceptibly against one another. If he wanted to bring the bridge down, here was the opportunity. The recovery engineers were waiting for his assessment of the center span. All he had to do was tell them that the girders had enough load reserve to allow both recovery engines out onto the span, and then these massive girders would fail, dropping the entire center span straight down into the river. It was that simple.
He climbed carefully across the underslung catwalk, very conscious now of the ominous creaking and groaning noises coming from the track bed above, and set up his instrument to measure the other main side girder. The readings came in just about the same, with maybe a little less magnitude showing on the dancing, spidery green lines. But still in tension, no doubt about it. He disconnected the wire clips and shut off his machine. Hell, the thing might let go even before any extra weight hit it. He looked back over his shoulder to see where the western recovery crew was. The crew on the eastern side was farther back down their side of the bridge. In another ten hours or so, the first of the massive engine cranes would be ready to stick its nose out onto the center span.
He thought hard. It might not work. They would be able to pick up several cars before the engines actually came out onto the bridge. That might unload the calculations to the point where it would become progressively safer for the engine to advance out onto the overloaded span. He climbed back up onto the track bed, momentarily blinded by all the white lights above. The individual cars were jacked over at odd angles, some still on the rails, others crashed all the way through the steel cross-supports of the track bed. He found what he was looking for: The cars nearest the western end were relative lightweights, compared to the hundred tonners out in the middle of the span. So it shouldn’t make any difference if they lifted one or two of them.
He swallowed to lubricate his suddenly parched throat. The real problem was the recovery crew. He didn’t want to kill fifty or so trainmen gratuitously. But he did want to drop that center span. He would have to figure out a way to get them to advance the crane engines out onto the center span while holding the people back until they were sure the span would hold. Right. He would set it up that way: He would report that the span’s side girders were dangerously close to deformation limits. They could hook up a second engine behind the crane set, thereby controlling the entire set’s movement from the rear cab without getting a manned engine out onto the dangerous span. If one of those side girders let go, everyone in Memphis would hear it, and the engineer ought to have time to jump clear before the crane was pulled over into the river. Once it happened, the railroad people would immediately finger him for the miscalculation. For now, though, all that pressure from Washington would predispose them to take his word for it that the center span was marginally safe, especially if he couched it in sufficiently cautious language. He looked at his watch again and then back at the crews. Ten, maybe twelve hours. Daylight. Early to midafternoon tomorrow. That would give him time to get some rest after his long night drive, and drop back by that FBI office to see what he could find out about their investigation. He had two more bridges to take care of, and he needed as much warning as possible before they developed a workable profile of who might be doing this to them.
13
AT NOON on Saturday, Hush was tapping his fingers impatiently on the cruiser’s center console as he waited for the traffic jam ahead to clear. Little Hill had offered to run the berm with sound and lights, but there really was nowhere to go until the jackknifed tractor-trailer sprawled across the interstate had been moved. Mike Powers had considerately dispatched Hill to pick Hush up at the Memphis airport, since Hush was now operating outside of FBI channels. Hush had been able to contact Tyler Redford at the office just before he checked out of his hotel in Baton Rouge. He had decided to take Redford into his confidence about working the Trainman case off-line with Powers and the state police. Redford’s reaction had been entirely predictable: “Carswell’s people in the field will find out,” he warned. “He’ll get the director to cut off your hands and feet.” Hush tried to pacify him by pointing out that the state people were going to work only the now-officially-discredited one-man theory. Redford wasn’t fooled: “You’re technically on convalescent leave,” he reminded Hush. “The deputy director will be watching you like a hawk for any chance to issue a retirement invitation. Don’t give the bastards an opening.”
There was finally movement ahead, and Little Hill pushed the cruiser onto the berm. He drove up past the wreck scene, slowing down long enough to let the Tennessee cops see who he was. They waved him through and then they were free again. Little Hill said it would take them about twenty minutes to get downtown to the bridge. Hush had pressed Redford to see if he could find out whatever had happened to that list of names IR was supposed to be developing based on the railroad counsels’ information. Redford initially balked, going off again on the point that the Trainman case was simply too hot for anybody, especially Hush, to start screwing around with from the outside. “The President is involved,” he said, “and there’s a pack of congressmen from the big farm states along the river raising absolute hell because of what’s been happening to agricultural-commodity shipments.” TV talking heads were accusing the FBI of fumbling the case, and the director was firing someone each time another accusation of Bureau incompetence was made on the evening network news programs. So far, one deputy AD and two section chiefs had been relieved of their duties and put “on staff.” The spectacle of the ruptured ship lying under the wreckage of the Baton Rouge bridge was keeping the story very much alive. The only bright spot was that the Frisco Bridge was predicted to be back in service this afternoon. In the end, however, Redford relented and promised to see what he could find out.
Hush had also asked about Carolyn Lang. Redford reported that she was still the principal spokesperson for the interagency task force, although there were now hallway rumors circulating to the effect that she was walking a real tightrope because Carswell either didn’t trust her or didn’t like her, or possibly both. There was also the problem of her being the author of the one-man theory. Hush told Redford that he agreed with her theory, despite her apparent role in what Wellesley had just done to him. Redford said that word of that little caper was also working its way around headquarters, and, for what it was worth, a lot of people who knew and liked Hush were upset with what had happened.
Little Hill checked in on his radio and reported that Captain Powers was over on the Arkansas side, where there was less city traffic and the approach to the damaged bridge more accessible. As they went over the interstate highway bridge, Hush could see a small army of railroad repair people gathered on the bridge as one of the giant engine cranes was being positioned to retrieve the first car on the center span. Actual access to the railroad bridge approaches took another half hour of checking in with railroad security people, followed by clearance through the National Guard roadblocks.
Hush let Little Hill do the talking, not wanting to call attention to himself. Little Hill said only that this gentleman had been summoned by Captain Powers, the interstate co-ordinator for all the state police forces working the bridge cases. This explanation, plus Little Hill’s imposing bulk, seemed to be sufficient for the roadblock cops. Hush was relieved; the last thing he needed right now was for word to reach the Memphis FBI people that AD Hanson was on the scene. Ex-AD, he reminded himself. He was also counting on the fact that most of the FBI effort right now would be down in Baton Rouge, where agents would be scurrying around like ants after their mound has been kicked over.
The cruiser bumped its way through a long line of emergency vehicles before finally heaving to a stop at the interior security perimeter, past which no vehicles were allowed. Above them, the lofty approach ramp of the railroad bridge rose into the hulking steel arches over the river. To the left three huge diesels were idling on separate tracks. A strange-looking contraption sprouting bundles of rails slung under an H-frame was positioned at the base of the bridge. Powers was waiting for them near one of the rumbling locomotives, and Hush climbed the bank to join him. He left his suit jacket in the cruiser, as it was very warm out on the gravel roadbed under the bridge approaches. Powers was in a short-sleeved uniform and wearing mirrored sunglasses under a wide-brimmed felt hat. He looked every inch the state trooper that he had been for years. The bandage on his left hand had been reworked, and there were still some smaller bandages on his face. He grinned when Hush walked up.
“We need to get you a hat,” he said, shouting to be heard over the big diesel. “Your bandages are going to get sun-burned.”
“In more ways than one,” Hush said. “I’ve been thinking about your little proposition.
“Powers took Hush’s arm and steered him away from the noisy diesel. A few seconds later, the engine spooled up and backed away from the approach switch so that the repair train could ascend the bridge. Up at the center span, the engine crane was beginning to back down the line with another battered grain-hopper in its grip. Hush back-briefed Powers on what Tyler Redford had passed on.
“So he’s going to try to get his hands on that list?”
“Yeah, but he has to watch his ass, like everybody else in the headquarters right now. It probably doesn’t help that he was my deputy at IITF.”
“I know how that goes. How about that Lang woman? Could she get it?”
“I don’t think I want to do business with her just now,” Hush said, setting his jaw. He explained what McDougal had told him and what he’d found out on his own.
“Goddamn,” Powers said. “So that’s why those St. Louis guys called her what they did.”
“Yup. I should have paid a lot more attention. What’s going on here?”
Powers explained the process as the engine crane inched its way back down the approach tracks. “Morgan Keeler is honchoing this thing right now. He gave a briefing this morning. Says the center span is touch and go, stress wise. They’re being real careful with that big crane set. Only letting one crane at a time out on that center span.”
“That must slow things down a lot.”
“Yeah, but he said if the first couple of extractions go okay, the weight would be reduced and then he’d let both engines go out. The railroad people are doing whatever he says.”
“Yeah, well, why not? If he’s wrong, it’ll be on his head and not theirs.”
Powers shook his head. “You Washington guys. Don’t you ever think about anything but blame?”
Hush smiled, but Powers was right. They had to stop talking as the big engine crane drew near and the rail train’s diesel prepared to go up the bridge. They watched as several railroad superintendents conducted a quick radio conference, and then one of them gave a hand signal and the rail train started up. There were now two diesels pushing the rig up the bridge; the second one had all the people on board. It looked to Hush like an engine crane was also starting up the Memphis side, although it was difficult to see through the steel maze of the bridge structure. High-rise office buildings shimmered in the Memphis heat behind the bridge.
He felt absolutely useless in the midst of all the activity around the bridges, where dozens of workers were moving railcars, servicing the engines, positioning materials for the rail train, removing damaged ties and bent rails, and talking incessantly into handheld radios. There was a great deal of diesel smoke, noise, and dust, and Hush was about to go back to the cruiser when he saw everyone stop and look up at the bridge. The rail train was approaching the center span, creeping slowly now, with the workmen dropping off onto the bridge structure before the crane actually went out onto the center span. Hush thought he could see Keeler in his white hard hat up there, standing on the parapet of the western pier tower, a radio pressed to his mouth. On the other side, an engine crane with another, smaller engine married to it from behind appeared at the pier tower on the Tennessee side and stopped. The center span still had about twenty railcars sitting out on the damaged track bed. As Hush and Powers watched, there was some more radio conferencing, a lot of hand signals up on the bridge, and then both engines advanced very slowly out onto the center span. Hush could see that the locomotive engineers on the western side were standing just outside the door to the engine compartment.
The rail train went first, because the working end of its frame extended some eighty feet out in front of the actual engine. The crew riding the second engine hung back for a few minutes, then eased gingerly out to the first damaged section of track and began unbolting the deformed rails. Over on the Tennessee side, an engine crane was advancing, aiming for an eighty-ton gondola car that was listing badly to port out on the track bed just beyond the pier tower.
Hush was turning to go back to the cruiser when there was a sound like a cannon shot, a huge, punishing boom, from up on the bridge. He whirled around and saw a small cloud of dust puff out from the middle of the center span on the left side, and then came another enormous boom as the main girder on the right side broke. He saw a mad scramble of workmen on the center span as they raced the twenty yards to the safety of the pier towers just before the entire center span folded into a steel-crunching slow-motion V of crumpling trusses and girders, then collapsed straight down into the river, taking the engine crane and the rail train with it as the drivers jumped off, accompanied by a roar of grinding and fracturing steel that seemed to go on forever. The wreckage hit the river with an impressive splash, sending up a huge wall of water hurtling out in all directions. Hush joined everyone else in a mad dash farther up the banks of the river as the small tidal wave came ashore in a brown rush, sweeping water all the way back to where the damaged railcars were waiting on the tracks. They beat the water by only a few feet, jumping up onto the platform of a tank car to avoid being doused. The river area around the bridge was obscured for a moment by a large, dense cloud of dust. When it cleared, they could see a couple of track workmen hanging on to the stubs of the main girders over on the Tennessee side. Hush looked at Powers.
“Think maybe Keeler screwed up?” Powers asked.
Hush pointed over to where some railroad engineers were standing. One of them had taken his hard hat off and was stomping it into pieces, while the others were all talking into their radios at the same time.
“They seem to think so,” Hush said, shaking his head. “Washington is going to go snakeshit over this.”
They walked back through the mud toward the concrete ramp of the bridge approach. Hundreds of small fish were flapping desperately on the ground. A crowd of railroad men was streaming down the tracks from the western pier tower. They could see Morgan Keeler in the middle, gesticulating frantically while the men around him kept pointing back toward the missing center span. Out on the river, three Corps of Engineers tugboats were milling around the wreckage area, looking for anyone who might have gone into the river when the span fell. When Keeler reached the approach ramp, he tried to bull his way through the crowd to where Hush and Powers were standing.
“He needs protection,” Powers shouted to Hush while reaching for his radio. “Those guys are ready to string him up.”
While Powers called for Little Hill, Hush elbowed his way through the crowd of angry men to reach Keeler’s side. He identified himself to the nearest men as FBI and announced in a loud voice that they were taking Keeler into custody for questioning in connection with what had just happened. This seemed to mollify the nearest men long enough for Hush to pull Keeler away to Powers’s cruiser, which the ever-watchful Little Hill had managed to bring closer to the approach ramp. Hush told Keeler under his breath to get in the backseat and look like a prisoner. Once in the car, Keeler stared, white-faced, out the window. Hush got in the back with him, and Powers jumped into the front seat. Powers instructed Little Hill to get them the hell out of there. The big trooper turned on his lights and siren and blasted his way through the angry crowd of railroad people converging on the bridge head. Once out from under the interstate highway complex near the river, Little Hill turned right on the nearest state road, extinguished the sound and light show, and sped due west, away from the bridges and the prospective lynch mob.
“Am I really under arrest?” Keeler asked finally. His normally lean and drawn face was almost cadaverous.
“No,” Hush said. “That was just to get your ass out of there before those people strung you up. They seemed to think you were personally responsible for that.”
Keeler took a deep breath. “In a way, I guess I was,” he said.
“So what did happen?” Powers asked.
“They were going by my calculations. They needed to get both ends of the center span worked to get the bridge clear. Everyone was pressing to get the thing done. I gave them clearance to take two engines out on the center span. The main side girders let go.”
