The Burning Wire

what?” Cavanaugh asked.
    “We don’t know.”
    “Well, I never have,” Jessen said. Cavanaugh hadn’t either. But he said he’d check with the regional offices of Algonquin to see if they had heard anything.
    He took a call. He lifted his eyes to Andi Jessen. He listened then disconnected and said to Sachs, “No service in the steam access manhole for over a year. Those lines’re shut down.”
    “Okay.” Sachs was discouraged at the news.
    Cavanaugh said, “If you don’t need me, I’ll go check with the regional offices now.”
    After he left, a tall African American appeared in the doorway—the second of the men she’d summoned—and Jessen motioned him to sit. She introduced them. Security Director Bernard Wahl was, Sachs realized, the only nonwhite she’d seen in the company not in worker’s overalls. The strongly built man was draped in a dark suit and white shirt, heavily starched. His tie was red. His head was shaved and glistened in the overhead lights. Glancing up, Sachs saw that every other lightbulb was missing from the ceiling fixtures. An economy move? Or, given her anti-green stance, had Jessen decided that reducing energy use would be advantageous from a public relations standpoint?
    Wahl shook Sachs’s hand and snuck a glimpse at the bulge on her hip where her Glock resided. Somebody who’d come out of policing would not have any interest in her piece, which was just a tool of the trade like cell phones or ballpoint pens. It was the amateur cops who were fascinated with armament.
    Andi Jessen briefed him and asked about access to the codes for the computers.
    “The codes? That’s just a few people. I mean, they’re very senior. You ask me, it’d be too obvious. You sure we weren’t hacked? Those kids’re real smart nowadays.”
    “Ninety-nine percent sure,” Sachs said.
    “Bernie, have somebody check on access to the safe file room beside the control center.”
    Wahl pulled out his mobile phone and placed a call, told an assistant to handle the request. He disconnected and then added, “I’ve been waiting for a terrorist announcement. But you’re thinking it’s from the inside?”
    “We think it was either inside or with the help of somebody inside. But we did want to ask about ecoterror threats.”
    “Not in my four years here. Just protesters.” A nod out the window.
    “Have you ever heard of a group called Justice For something? Having to do with environmental issues?”
    “No, ma’am.” Wahl was placid, exuded no emotion whatsoever.
    Sachs continued, “Any problems with employees who’ve been fired recently, who’ve had complaints with the company?”
    “With the company ?” Wahl asked. “They tried to take out a city bus. It wasn’t the company they were after.”
    Jessen said, “Our stock’s down eight percent, Bernie.”
    “Oh, sure. I didn’t think about that. There’re a few. I’ll get the names.”
    Sachs continued, “I’d also like any information you have about employees with mental issues, anger management problems, or who’ve shown some instability.”
    Wahl said, “Security doesn’t generally get their names unless it’s serious. Some risk of violence to themselves or others. I can’t think of anybody off the top of my head. But I’ll check with HR and our medical department. Some details’ll be confidential but I’ll get you the names. You can go from there.”
    “Thanks. Now, we think he might’ve stolen the cable and hardware from an Algonquin warehouse, the one on a Hundred and Eighteenth Street.”
    “I remember that,” Wahl said, a grimace on his face. “We looked into it but the loss was only a few hundred dollars. And there were no leads.”
    “Who’d have the keys?”
    “They’re standard. All our field workers have a set. In the region? Eight hundred people. Plus the supervisors.”
    “Any employees fired or under suspicion of pilfering or stealing recently?”
    He glanced at Jessen to make sure he should be answering the questions. He got the subtle message that he should.
    “No. Not that my department’s been aware of.” His cell phone chirped and he looked at the screen. “Excuse me. Wahl here. . . .” Sachs watched his face as he took in some troubling news. He looked from one to the other then disconnected. He cleared his throat in a baritone rumble. “It’s possible—I’m not sure—but it’s possible we had a security breach.”
    “What?” Jessen snapped, face reddening.
    “The