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Chapter 3
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
2:55 P.M.
Downtown Pasadena

The walk sign came on, and Alan started across Walnut Street. Checking his watch, he noted that he was going to be about five minutes late. 'Well, that was annoying,' he thought. It had only been a thirty minute walk to City Hall when he worked there. Either he was walking more slowly, or City Hall had gotten farther away. At any rate, the traffic lights wouldn't let him walk any faster now, so Ron Northrop would just have to wait.

He turned the corner, impressed as always by the commanding presence that was Pasadena's City Hall. In some ways, he had always thought it was even more impressive than the state capitol building. That was just an imitation of the Capitol in Washington, DC. This building, on the other hand, was a unique mix of the Spanish-style architecture found throughout the area and a more classical theme. There was a tall, red-tiled dome with a copper cupola on top that made it just as tall as the modern office buildings on the surrounding blocks. The building stretched the width of the block, but because of the height of the dome relative to the rest of the building, the mass was not overwhelming. He wondered if it had anything to do with that golden ratio Charlie was so fond of talking about.

As he crossed the broad plaza to the building's entrance, the thought crossed his mind of how strange it was to be there. Since retiring nearly two years ago, he had only been back one time to meet an old friend for lunch. He had certainly kept in touch with other former colleagues, but they had usually met somewhere outside the building. After that first return visit, he had felt so awkward and unneeded standing in the doorway of his old office that hereafter he had always suggested meeting at a restaurant down the street, so that Jack or Sam or Linda could take a break and get out of the office. If they knew what he was doing, they never let on.

But this wasn't a social call. After meeting with Stan the other night, he had business here with his replacement, the man who had moved up from being an assistant city planner upon Alan's retirement. He needed to ask for some information as a professional courtesy, and hope that his former role in city government would be enough to get him past some doors that seemed to be blocked to the public.

He entered the building, and started walking towards the planning department. Then a deep voice stopped him. "Excuse me, sir, can I help you?"

Alan turned to see a security guard seated behind a desk in the hallway. "I'm here to see someone in the planning department," he said. "It's all right, I know my way."

"You'll have to sign in and take a visitor's pass," the man said, tapping a clipboard that rested under his beefy hand.

He stopped in surprise. "Since when?"

The man shrugged. "It's the policy."

Sighing, Alan took two steps back and reached out for the clipboard. The man didn't move his hand. "I'll need to see some ID."

"Look, I worked in this building for 25 years. I don't think I'm much of a security risk." When the man's face didn't change expression, Alan grumbled and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. "There," he said as he handed over his driver's license. "Happy?"

The guard looked it over, looked at him, and then handed back the license. "Extremely," he said dryly.

Alan signed the clipboard without further protest. When the man handed him a visitor's pass, he rolled his eyes, but took it and clipped it to his shirt pocket. "Have a nice day," he said with only the slightest touch of sarcasm in his voice as he walked away.

The planning department didn't look any different. There were a few new faces, but many of the same old ones, and it took him at least five minutes to say hello to everyone who greeted him. When he finally knocked on the door of his old office, it was ten after three.

"Come in," came the voice from inside.

Alan opened the door and stepped inside, quietly shutting it behind him when he saw the office's occupant was on the phone. He waited by the door, surreptitiously looking around to see what had changed. Surprisingly, it looked very similar to when he had occupied it. The collection of books was newer, but many of the titles were the same as those that were now sitting on the bookshelf in his living room. Charlie's living room, he reminded himself.

Ron Northrop gestured for him to take a seat, holding up a finger to indicate that he would be done with his conversation soon. Although from what Alan could hear, it wasn't much of a conversation, more like Ron listening to whomever was on the other end of the line. But in another minute or so, the blond man had wrapped up the discussion and hung up the phone. Then he stood and extended his hand across the desk piled high with papers. "Alan," he said, firmly shaking his hand. "How are you? It looks like retirement agrees with you."

"I can't complain," he said, releasing his hand and sitting back down. "I see you haven't run out of the building screaming yet."

The corner of the other man's mouth turned up. "No, but there has been a small amount of screaming involved at times. Mostly behind closed doors, or at least after hours. I don't know how you kept that calm demeanor of yours working in this madhouse all those years."

"Don't let the mayor hear you say things like that, or he'll think you're talking about him."

"No, it's not the city. It's every time I go to a public meeting and find the same seven or eight people whining about whatever it is that we're trying to accomplish. Sometimes I think they just consider it a sport."

Alan chuckled. "Now, now, for some of them I think it's the only entertainment they get. Just try not to take it personally, and you'll be fine."

"That's the voice of experience talking? I seem to recall having to talk you down after one or two bad meetings."

Alan gave him a pointed look. "I told you I was enjoying retirement, didn't I?"

The other man chuckled and leaned back in his chair. Not the old leather swivel chair that Alan had had, but a modern, sophisticated office chair with a high back and no arms. "So what brings you back here then? You said on the phone that it was a professional matter. If you're trying to come back, I hate to tell you, but I'm not giving up my office."

"Have no fear of that." He spread his hands wide. "I am doing the occasional consulting job, though, and I was hoping to get your help."

"If I can," Ron replied. "What's the project?"

Alan settled back in the chair. "You know that there've been more some problems with the city water supply lately. The wells they had to shut down again over by JPL."

"Yeah, that was just starting to explode when you retired, wasn't it? The second time, that is." In the early 1990s, the city had closed two wells until NASA figured out how to treat them for the volatile organic compounds that had been detected in amounts exceeding safety standards. Not long after the turn of the millennium, the discovery in the water supply of perchlorate, one of the components of rocket fuel, had led to those same two wells being closed again.

"Well, it had pretty much become NASA's responsibility at that point. Anyway, the point is, this little project I'm working on involves studying that plume of perchlorate and seeing how far it might spread in other circumstances."

"I didn't know you had training in groundwater hydrology, Alan. Have you been taking up new hobbies?"

"Let's just say my sons are rubbing off on me." Charlie's insatiable thirst for knowledge had always amazed him, and he and Margaret never could figure out which side of the family it had come from. Now that he had some time on his hands, Larry and Charlie had recommended some good introductory science texts that had him, if not understanding what the two academics were talking about, at least willing to ask them questions. Maybe that curiosity was an Eppes trait after all.

Besides, he figured that if all else failed, he could get Charlie to do some of the analysis for him.

Ron was rolling a pencil back and forth between his fingers. "So, what exactly is it you want from me?"

"I seem to recall the city was hiring a hydrologist to do a more complete study of the groundwater in the area. I was hoping to get a copy of that study, and maybe the data that he used."

Ron was shaking his head with a regretful expression. "I'm sorry, Alan, but I can't do that."

Alan cocked his head slightly to the side. "Why not? Isn't that public information?"

"It used to be." At Alan's raised eyebrows, he asked, "Why do you want this information?"

"I told you, I was hired by someone who's concerned about the perchlorate. They don't have the money to hire their own hydrologist, and I figured since the study has already been done..."

"Hired by whom?"

"Why does that matter?" When the blond man stared back at him without answering, he went on, "Okay, it's an environmental group that's working on restoring the Los Angeles River. They're concerned about potential contamination of the river and of drinking water supplies. He thought, and I thought so too, that I had contacts here that could help. Were we wrong?"

Ron sighed. "I really wish I could help you, Alan, but the truth is, that isn't public information anymore. We have to keep some things behind closed doors that we didn't before."

"Why? I mean, I understand that you can't just hand out information on the city water supplies to anyone who comes knocking on your door, but surely you can trust an old colleague."

"Of course I trust you, Alan. It's not that. But this group that hired you: how do you know that they're legit?"

"Because I trust Stan," Alan said automatically. Then he stopped and thought about it. Yes, he trusted Stan. But then he thought about what Don would say about this situation. Probably something like, "Come on, Dad, you don't know who those guys are. They might be just an environmental group, but unless you've actually met them, all you have to go by is what Stan said."

Ron must have seen the metaphorical light bulb go on over his head, because he said, "I hope you understand, Alan. I suppose it's partially a matter of liability, but more importantly, it's a question of public safety. Times have gotten more dangerous, and there's certain information that shouldn't be too easily accessible to the public."

"But what about the safety of the public who might be drinking contaminated water?" Alan leaned slightly forward in his chair.

"You always did have a little of an activist streak in you, didn't you? Look, like I said, I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

"Ron…"

They argued back and forth for a few more minutes, until it became apparent that Alan wasn't going to get what he had come there for. Trying to end the conversation on a positive note, he changed the subject to some of the projects he had handed off to Ron when he retired, and was pleased to hear that most of them were going through as he had planned.

As Ron showed him out, all the way to the desk where he turned in his pass and signed the clipboard again, the wheels in his head were already turning, wondering what other contacts he might have that could get him this information. Maybe Charlie or Larry knew someone through CalSci, since JPL was closely affiliated with the university. He understood Ron's reluctance to turn over potentially sensitive data, but now he was determined to get a hold of it, not just for their clients, but because it was becoming a bit of a challenge.

Margaret had always insisted that it was from him that the boys got their stubborn streak. On that, he knew she was right.