Pyramid Lake by Paul Draker Page A

a tank.”
    “What’s this thing weigh?” I asked. “Three tons? Four?”
    “More.”
    “Five? Six?”
    “More.” Roger’s grin turned sly.
    The Beast’s doors did seem ridiculously heavy whenever I opened them, like the doors to a safe. I tilted my head back and stared at the Beast’s ceiling. I could guess what kind of armor plating he had added inside the frame, doors, and undercarriage—probably even to the front-hinged hood.
    “You dumb son of a bitch,” I said. “I’m riding around in this thing? I might as well be climbing inside a microwave.”
    “DU’s perfectly safe, man. I keep telling you.”
    “Thank god I already have a kid.”
    “Uranium’s a naturally occurring element. It’s one hundred percent green, Trev.” Roger pointed north out his window, where the flat valley rose into the slope of a nearby mountain. “Look, man. Tule Peak. You know why those rocks are so colorful? Nature’s bounty. Lots of mining claims up there. I used to spend every weekend exploring, checking out old mines.”
    “Hoping to find some leftover gold or silver?” I snickered. “That’s pretty sad, Roger.”
    “Forget gold and silver. Dudes used to mine uranium up there, man—that’s what I’m talking about. And tungsten. And manganese. This whole area’s honeycombed with interesting mines. You know that old concrete shack next to Highway Four-forty-six, at the bottom of the lake?”
    I nodded. “Greenish, no roof, old wood doors under a rock arch in the hill behind it?”
    “Guanomi molybdenum mine. You alloy DU with molybdenum, it’s even harder than titanium.” He pulled a face. “Corrodes quick, though.”
    The reservation boundary lay just ahead of us.
    “Hell, Trev, there’s mines all around here nobody knows about anymore.” Roger reached past my shoulder to point south into an empty valley that sloped up toward Moses Rock. “When the United Nations troops come hunting…” He glanced at me and dropped his arm, looking forward again. “Anyway, you need to get yourself a three-o-eight.”

CHAPTER 19
    “S chool was boring today,” Amy said. “Miss Dubrow can be very patronizing.”
    I let my refrigerator swing shut and cracked a Red Bull, smiling at my daughter’s voice.
    “Humor her,” I said. “She’s a teacher, so patronizing is part of her job description.”
    “Jen says—”
    “ Mom says,” I said. “ Mom . It’s weird to call your mother by her first name when you’re seven years old.”
    “Fine.” I could picture Amy rolling her eyes. “ Mom says teachers can tell when you’re humoring them. It makes them mad.”
    Dropping onto the couch, I adjusted the volume on my earbud headphones. “Well, you were just saying how you were bored, so that ought to liven the class up a bit.”
    Amy giggled—a kid’s happy, high-pitched trill—and I relaxed. She was growing up fast, but she was still my little girl.
    “I had soccer practice after school,” she said. “I scored two goals.”
    “I wish I could have been there to see you.” I tilted my head back, stared at the featureless white ceiling, and felt my throat tighten.
    “Me, too, Dad.” Amy was quiet for a moment. “I miss you.”
    “I miss you too, honey.”
    “Dan took me and Mom out for ice cream afterward, to celebrate.”
    I closed my eyes. Opened them again. “Did you get my present?” I asked. “I sent it last week.”
    “The iPhone. Yeah.” Something in her voice made me sit up straight. “Jen wants to talk to you about that.”
    The Red Bull can gave a sudden loud creak in my hand. I put it down.
    “Okay. I’ll talk to your mom when we’re done,” I said, thinking of the two Cirque du Soleil tickets, now crumpled in a wastebasket at my lab. The show in nearby Reno had been a special event. I didn’t know when they would be back to do another. “There’s something else she and I need to talk about, too.”
    “Are you all right, Dad? You don’t sound real good right now.”
    “I’m