R. Crow Associates -- Investigation I
Investigation I
Spotter Lake Power Plant
Misty and cold, midday, 1975.
As Mertβs stolen vehicle struggles its way through the switchbacks, the towers and outbuildings of the power plant disappear and reappear through the trees. At last, along a narrow but well-maintained road, he reaches the power plant compound, a tightly secured place. The towers are still high up on the ridge, at least a hundred yards away. The closest Mert can get to the plant is to stick his fingers through the chainlink fence, which surrounds a parking lot.
At this relatively near distance, itβs clear the power plant has clearly seen better days. The buildings are dingy and gray, with paint peeling and tiles fallen in places. Some of the larger structures have no paint at all, just rough, rust-streaked gray concrete. It looks older than its years, which canβt be many: metal signs with a black trefoil on a yellow field hang from the fence about every twenty-five yards. This is, to Mertβs surprise, a nuclear power plant. Nukes simply havenβt been around long enough for the place to look this worn. Then again, Mert has never actually visited a nuclear power plant.
And yet, the security perimeter is modern and intact. The chainlink fence is a little mist-eaten, but whole and topped with concertina wire. But Mert doesnβt loiter for long. Not far away, there is a guard in a little hut, and at least one bulky closed-circuit television camera mounted high on a post.
Mert affects a touristβs bewilderment, enters his car, and continues driving down the road. It descends and curves just enough to put most of the plant out of view, steam from the cooling towers poking just above the tree line. The road ends in a barred forest entrance, crossbar lowered, locked, and sealed behind more chainlink fencing, giving the entrance a sense of finality.
The last bit of paved road ends in a round bulb-shape to aid larger vehicles in turning around. Mert parks along the edge and exits his vehicle.
This was once an entrance to the forest, a gravel road curving away into the pine. It probably leads to a small parking lot. The crossbar is closed and locked, easy enough to hop over, but behind it rises a tall fence, same kind as before, topped in razor wire. It marches downhill to the left, uphill to the right. Warning signs declare the entrance closed, danger, no entry, violators prosecuted, references to county ordinances.
Unlike the power plant, thereβs no guard present, no CCTV camera, but at this hour and with his current equipment, just as impenetrable.
A vehicle, in worse shape than his own, approaches, and Mert holds back the urge to cringe and slink.