Arsenal Code RED
By R.A. Jetter
Fear knotted Adam’s stomach. Palm moist, he pressed the phone harder against his ear and wasn’t certain he wanted to hear the answer to his first question — “Where inside the Arsenal, Lieutenant?” This could this be the accident he’s dreaded for years. His mind raced.
“Don’t have a location yet. We just know it’s Arsenal property, sir.”
Adam pulled the hand-made quilts over his wife’s shoulders. She stirred. Usually a sound sleeper, he worried his voice was too loud yet fired questions furiously. “You’re sure it’s a commercial? Did it hit anything out there? What about survivors?”
“Hold on a minute, please, sir,”
Adam listened to static on the line. He turned to look at Jean, his wife, awakened by rapid-fire questions.
Static in the earpiece muffled the sound of other voices.. all seemingly traumatized.
“Sir? We’ve just gotten communication with Denver International Airport. It is a passenger… red-eye. Independence Air, Flight 333 — went off their scopes south and west of DIA.”
Adam swallowed. “Definitely Arsenal property. Probably down around 85th or 75th Street, somewhere in there. Lieutenant, we need confirmation right away. Get someone out there.”
“We’re still talking to the information officer, sir.”
“Get your guys moving, NOW,” Wachtel said. “I assume his landing approach was toward the west if he went into the arsenal?”
“Unknown at this time, sir.”
“OK, Lieutenant.” Adam rubbed his hand over his face in a half-hearted attempt to eradicate sleep from his eyes. His brain now working on fear. “If he was coming in on a westerly heading… attempting DIA…”
“We should have a fix soon,” Baines interrupted.
“My God, Lieutenant! That plane’s in the Basin F pond — ten million gallons of hydrazine-laced rinse water used to de-activate nerve gas. Not deep, but deadly… and ninety acres wide… and it doesn’t freeze over.” Adam’s mind screamed with possibilities: the battered, twisted wreckage would be scattered from one end of the pond to the other. Dazed and confused passengers would fight each other to get out as frigid water rushed inside the cabin. Dozens of bodies floated in that pond. “Definitely not a nice place to put a plane down,” he mumbled and shivered. No way in hell could we get all the survivors out of that deadly chemical soup. My God, where are we going to find enough boats for that?
“Sir, where is that on the property?”
Adam blinked at the sound of Baines’ voice. “Northern part. Lieutenant, stop calling me sir. What’s your first name?”
“Robert, sir. Sorry, sir. I’m new to this shift. Been on graveyard a little over a month.”
“Understood, Robert.” Adam put his feet on the cold hardwood floor, hurriedly worked on his slippers and stepped away from the bed. “Get all my Precinct Commanders down there, immediately. Find them. Wake them. Get them to their stations.”
“Right away, sir. Uhm… excuse me, sir, you mentioned nerve gas. Is there something about the Arsenal I don’t know?”