Killerwatt by Sharon Woods Hopkins Read Free Book Online Page B

chair while reaching for the computer mouse. The thin
LCD monitor sprang to life. Woody fingers flew across the keyboard with quick
efficient strokes.
    Rhetta and Randolph exchanged glances as Woody
opened a web browser and logged into a search engine. Images blazed across the
screen. Woody, a self-taught computer junkie, raced from one site to another.
Stopping when a familiar-looking drawing appeared, he swiveled the monitor
around to display what he located.
    Woody said simply, “Look at this.” He turned the
screen toward them. Filling the screen was a drawing eerily similar to the one
on the table.
    The three of them stared at a schematic displayed on
the Cotton Belt Electrical Supply website with an accompanying photo of what
the schematic matched: a 1500 kV ultra-high voltage transformer.
    The knot in Rhetta’s stomach tightened. Randolph
spoke first. “What the hell are we looking at?” He jerked his chin toward the
picture.
    “These babies are the guts of a power substation.”
Woody turned back to the monitor. He typed a few more commands. A printer whirred
and an image sailed off it. Woody trotted to the printer and retrieved the
color picture. He carried it to the table, turning it carefully so that the
picture aligned with the drawing. “I’ll be damned,” was all he said.
    “Al-Serafi had a schematic for a power substation
transformer?” Rhetta asked, glancing at the two men. “Why?”
    “Why, indeed?” Randolph chimed in.
    Now Al-Serafi is dead . I’d better not jump to
conclusions. I’m sure it’s coincidental . Who was she kidding? She didn’t
believe in coincidences. Al-Serafi was dead. He had a schematic for a power
substation transformer in his car. Those were facts.
    Woody gathered up the enlarged drawing they’d been
examining and folded it. He snatched the original that Rhetta had filched from
the car, along with the photo he’d just printed and took everything to the
large walk-in office safe.
    Randolph followed him.
    Woody spun the combination and spoke over his
shoulder. “Maybe you should call Doctor LaRose and tell him not to mention what
he saw here to anyone.” He set the drawings on a shelf in the safe and closed
the door.
    “Good point,” Randolph said. “Since we don’t exactly
know what this is all about, it would be best if we kept it to ourselves.”
    Randolph began tapping Peter’s number into his
BlackBerry. The line rang several times before an electronic voice announced
the mailbox.
    “Peter said he had a meeting,” Rhetta said,
listening to Randolph leave a message.
    “It’s about the drawing, Peter. Please call me right
away.” Randolph disconnected.
    Turning to Rhetta, Randolph said, “I think now we’d
better talk to the FBI. I don’t care if they didn’t listen to Woody the last
time. They need to know about this.”
    For once, Rhetta didn’t argue with him.
    Rhetta scanned the phone book then punched the
keypad. She bounced her foot impatiently while the number rang several times.
The call went to a recording. “The Cape Girardeau, Missouri office of the
Federal Bureau of Investigation is closed until further notice. Please call the
St. Louis office at 1-555-FBI-1000. That would be 1-555-324-1000.”
    Rhetta depressed the button to end the call. “The
Cape FBI office is closed. Budget cuts, I guess. They directed me to a St.
Louis number.” She dialed it.
    After following several voice prompts, a woman asked
Rhetta how she could direct her call.
    “I’d like to speak with Agent Cooper. He was
formerly in the Cape Girardeau office.” Rhetta coiled the curly phone cord as
she spoke. She remembered chastising Woody for doing the same thing. When she
noticed him glaring at her, she let go of the cord.
    “Hold on, please,” answered the all-business female
voice. Rhetta found herself listening to an instrumental version of Strangers
in the Night . The tune finished. She’d just begun humming along to I
Left My Heart in San Francisco, when a