Thursday, April 03, 2003
Copyright © Las Vegas Mercury

Cover story: Ingredients of terror

Efforts to secure area chemical plants lack focus, coordination

By Heidi Walters

On Feb. 3, 33-year-old Stacey Kaplan, a postal worker, was found dead inside a sand-storage building on the highly secured grounds of the Titanium Metals Corp. (Timet) plant on West Lake Mead Boulevard near Henderson. Metro Police determined she'd fallen from a 25-foot catwalk and, according to Clark County Coroner Ron Flud's report, died from injuries consistent with landing on concrete. Metro officially ruled it an accident and, on Feb. 6, declared the case closed.

But the case is far from closed for Kaplan's friends, family and co-workers. They're still trying to figure out why her life spiraled out of control on Feb. 1, when she became agitated at work, was arrested and was briefly incarcerated at Las Vegas City Jail. They want to know how, after she was released, she ended up dead two days later and 15 miles away at Timet. They want her case reopened.

It is a case compelling enough to warrant more inquiry than the curiously uncurious Metro has deemed necessary. But there is yet another, farther-reaching question Kaplan's sad story has illuminated: If she could get inside Timet, a compound housing highly toxic chemicals and protected by security checkpoints, guards, surveillance cameras and an eight-foot fence topped with razor wire, then couldn't anyone? And in this age of terrorism-comes-to-America, shouldn't we all be just a little bit nervous about the security at Timet and other toxics-containing facilities in the valley?

* * *

Local attorney Chuck Gardner, who's a friend of Kaplan's family, has been pondering that security question ever since Kaplan's dad, Chris Halford, asked him to help investigate his daughter's death. Gardner researched court files detailing a multitude of problems at Timet and other facilities over the past couple of decades--the 1988 PEPCON explosion, a fire at Timet, an accidental employee death by argon gas poisoning at Timet, a 1991 major chlorine gas release at Pioneer Chlor-Alkali, air pollution violations, Kerr-McGee's perchlorate leaks into Lake Mead, lawsuits and more.

On March 12, he packaged what he'd uncovered, wrote a letter and sent copies to the U.S. Department of Justice's Environmental and Natural Resource Division in Washington, D.C., U.S. Attorney Daniel Bogden in Las Vegas, and Wayne Nastri, Region 9 administrator for the Environmental Protection Agency, in San Francisco.

"[Stacey Kaplan] never attended an Al-Qaeda training camp," Gardner wrote. "The theory that, with neither training nor motivation, she entered the Timet compound voluntarily, unescorted and undetected, would mean that anyone could have done it, or could do it today. We don't believe that this is what happened, but if [it is], this community and nation are in greater danger from the Timet operation than any other scenario might suggest."

Gardner's still waiting for a response--the last he heard his letters were probably sitting in an Ohio postal facility waiting to be irradiated.

"So, because of one chemical problem we cannot solve another one," says Gardner. "It's bizarre."

But the really strange thing is how a Mercury inquiry into Kaplan's death, followed by the "what if she'd been a terrorist" line of questioning, led us onto a tangled, circular path of unsatisfactory responses. It was not heartening. It left a distinct feeling of unease.

Perhaps most disturbing of all, hardly anyone here has heard of New Jersey Sen. Jon Corzine's proposed Chemical Security Act, which once again is before Congress. The act, which has been in and out of Congress since 1999, would mandate that certain chemical facilities assess their vulnerability to terrorist attacks and take action to secure them. It would pertain to facilities with large enough quantities of extremely hazardous chemicals that, if released all at once under certain conditions, would endanger thousands and sometimes millions of people. These facilities would be required, where possible, to begin using less toxic chemicals, or to store their toxic chemicals off site or more safely on site. The act was originally part of the Homeland Security Department Act of last year, but was excised from the final bill after heavy lobbying from the chemical industry.

* * *

On March 1, the Homeland Security Department swung into official action. So a call to Jerry Bussell, Nevada's homeland security adviser to the governor, seemed a good place to start. He hadn't heard about the incident at Timet. The chemical security act, he said, sounded vaguely familiar. But, he said, "Clark County and Washoe County, they call me every day now with a thumbnail briefing. If [Kaplan's death inside Timet] happened today, I can't imagine I wouldn't be told about it." Bussell said the state is "taking a look at any industry that has hazardous materials."

Bussell agreed that terrorism, and "this thing going on in Iran--and Iraq and everything," definitely merits a closer look at the risks at home. He said he'd call back with more information.

Perhaps Clark County's Office of Emergency Management would know more. The department serves as a liaison for local, state and federal agencies during any big emergency, whether a flood, an earthquake, an explosion at an industrial plant or, say, a deadly suicide-by-ricin incident. The county emergency plan has a section on "hazardous materials" that contains details about the types and amounts of chemicals at more than 50 facilities in the county, and the hazard-zone radius within which suddenly released chemicals could travel under the "worst-case scenario" (as defined in risk management plans that the facilities were required to compile under an amendment to the federal Clean Air Act).

A department spokeswoman said to call the fire department.

At the Clark County Fire Department, spokesman Bob Leinbach had little information. At the Las Vegas Fire Department, spokesman Tim Szymanski admonished that publishing information about the vulnerability of industrial plants provides "a blueprint for terrorists." "It's not a matter of public information," he said, but of security. "That's what terrorists do, they buy newspapers" and find out what the targets are.

Later, the city fire department's emergency management coordinator, Tim McAndrews, left a message: "All questions relating to security, to security at chemical plants, to the security breach at Timet--all of these are law enforcement issues. Call Metro's public information officer, Lt. Vincent Cannito."

Lt. Cannito wasn't interested in talking about terrorism at chemical facilities, however, or about what the facilities are doing to shore up security. He laughed when he was told he just joined the crowd, and said, "It sounds like a bunch of people who don't want to talk." He added, "You have to talk to the chemical companies."

Well, then, what about the woman who got inside Timet (and died)? "I'm not going to talk about this caper, because it's a Henderson caper," Cannito said.

Note: Timet is in unincorporated Clark County, which falls under Metro's jurisdiction. Although Cannito said Henderson Police responded to the Kaplan case and that Metro simply assisted, the Henderson Police Department has no record of Kaplan in its files, said a clerk in the investigations department. And the final police report was filed by Metro and signed by Lt. M. Monett. So, apparently, it was a Metro caper.

Back to chemical security: Cannito said to call the county's emergency management department. Which is where we started.

Meanwhile, Bussell--homeland security adviser to Gov. Kenny Guinn--left a message: "I followed up on the question you asked about the young lady who committed suicide at Timet," he said. (Note: Police have officially ruled Kaplan's death an accident). "I ran a check through my intelligence sources, and it was determined to be a suicide, and, there was no breach of security."

What? And, what?

* * *

Finally, a call back from Timet's western regional safety manager, Chris Wilkinson. He's heard of the chemical security act, and he has an opinion on it, and, yes, Timet is beefing up security in these times of terrorism. Cannito was right--you have to talk to the companies. Except, Wilkinson had very little news on Kaplan.

"We are sympathetic to the family," he said. "But we are as lost as you are as to understanding why she ended up at Timet."

But she did manage somehow to get into the secured compound--how does Timet respond to that?

"We respond to it from the fact that banks are secure and they get robbed," Wilkinson said. "You know, you try to make it as secure as possible, but..." As for how she got in, Wilkinson said: "We suspect we know. We went back and looked at everything, and it made us very comfortable with what we had, with one exception. It was a secured area, with a little weakness in it. And we have tightened that up. But we're not completely satisfied--that's why we're doing an analysis. We're always trying to move one step ahead of everything--as techniques improve, as cameras improve--"

Oh, was there a surveillance camera in the building where Kaplan died?

"She was not in an area with surveillance cameras," Wilkinson said. She also was nowhere near any chemical tanks, he said. "Where she was was sand, beach sand, and it's of the nature that kids could play in it. It's harmless."

Wilkinson said Timet plans to implement a program developed by the EPA and the chemical industry that examines security and vulnerabilities. And he says he doesn't think Timet has a big enough hazard zone--a 1.2-mile radius under a worst-case scenario release of chlorine--to put it on the list of sites that the chemical security act would regulate.

Besides, Wilkinson says, Timet "can do a better job" at voluntarily assessing and improving its security than the federal government could.

Timet, as with about 40 other facilities that use large quantities of extremely hazardous substances in Nevada, has to comply not only with the EPA risk management program but with a state program called Nevada CAPP--Chemical Accident Prevention Program. CAPP came about as a result of the 1988 PEPCON explosion and other major mishaps, says Allen Biaggi, director of the Nevada Department of Environmental Protection. It looks at the processes at plants to ensure safe practices. Neither the EPA program nor the state program, however, looks at changing operations to reduce impacts from terrorist attacks. That is left up to the individual companies.

* * *

In Henderson, far east on Lake Mead Boulevard, the Good Humor-Breyers plant churns out creamy delicious ice cream. It's said that there's nothing like going on a tour and getting a fresh taste. But according to one source, some people in the area refer to the vicinity around it as "the mile of death."

That's because it uses anhydrous ammonia in its refrigeration process. And, worst-case scenario, if all 99,000 pounds of this anhydrous ammonia were released at once, it would travel less than a quarter mile but still "could prove harmful or possibly lethal to individuals," wrote NDEP's Biaggi in a letter to the city of Henderson in January. Biaggi wanted to warn the city about the potential hazards of allowing more homes to go up in the area near the plant. The Calico Ridge development is already there. The long-planned Tuscany Hills golf course community is under construction. And now Holden Development Co. was asking that the city rezone about 20 acres near the plant from industrial to residential.

On March 18, the Henderson City Council denied Holden's request.

The ice cream plant isn't the only such facility in the valley. There's Las Vegas Ice & Cold Storage in downtown Las Vegas, near a park, the Sweetheart Cup Co. in North Las Vegas, and many others. Back in the Henderson area, there's Timet, of course, and next to it Kerr-McGee and Pioneer and Saguaro Power Co., all in the Basic Management Inc. industrial complex. The complex is close to homes on Water Street and, a bit farther east in the generally downwind direction, St. Rose Dominican Hospital. Kerr-McGee has enough hydrogen sulfide on site to, if released all at once in a worst-case scenario, spread over a 9.3-mile radius and endanger 200,000 people. Pioneer has enough chlorine to cover an 18-mile radius.

Just a quick jog west of Timet on Lake Mead Boulevard, just past U.S. 95, lies a compact collection of different-sized tanks owned by Thatcher Company of Nevada LLC. It's got all kinds of chemicals, because it's a chemical wholesaler, but the chemical of concern, according to Dan Geary, of the nonprofit National Environmental Trust, is chlorine. And Thatcher has enough chlorine stored on site that, if released all at once in a worst-case event, could put a population of 700,000 people at risk.

Geary insists the only way to make these plants secure against attacks is under the mandates of the proposed Chemical Security Act (Senate Bill 157 in its latest incarnation).

"The absolute surefire way to prevent the catastrophic release of a toxic chemical is to substitute it with a nontoxic chemical," Geary says. "And if it can't be substituted, then it should be stored away from the community or underground."

In 1999, Geary says, a study that looked at two communities in the United States--Kanahwa Valley, W.Va., and Las Vegas--found that security at their chemical sites ranged from "poor to fair." The study, by the federal Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry, also found practically nonexistent security around railroad cars containing everything from liquid pesticides to chlorine, and it noted chemical sites right next to parks, schools and hospitals. The agency also reported that terrorists have targeted chemical storage and manufacturing facilities in other countries.

Right after the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, says Geary, "under cover of darkness, workers at the Blue Plains Sewage Treatment Plant--across the Potomac River from Washington, D.C.--removed 10 rail cars filled with liquid chlorine and replace the chemicals with safe alternatives. The facility had planned a conversion over a 10-year period, but the urgency brought on by 9/11 brought that conversion about in weeks. Well, what about the rest of us? What's good enough for the District of Columbia is good enough for the citizens of Las Vegas."

On Oct. 28, 2001, the Palm Beach Post reported that a Tennessee car dealer said he'd had a conversation with a man he believes was suspected 9/11 ringleader Mohammed Atta. The man asked the car dealer extensive questions about a nearby chemical facility, insisting on knowing what was in the tanks.

Finally, on March 18, a report came out of the General Accounting Office that officially confirms what Corzine has been saying all along: Chemical facilities make for attractive terrorist targets, and many such facilities exist in areas where, under a worst-case scenario, they could endanger thousands and even millions of people. The GAO urges federal legislation to reduce the risk of terrorism impacts at chemical sites. "EPA, the Department of Homeland Security, and the Department of Justice have taken preliminary steps to assist the industry in its preparedness efforts," the GAO wrote," but no agency monitors or documents the extent to which chemical facilities have implemented security measures."

Geary says the chemical industry's response all along has been, "We can police ourselves."

"But they're not," he says. An industry organization has devised a six-page plan of action, but Geary says it's mostly all about "making people feel better, reassuring them that they're safe, rather than actually implementing plans to physically secure their facilities." He recalls how he and a TV reporter drove into the Thatcher complex--a damned easy thing to do--last year and asked an employee, "'What would you do if I said this truck we're in is full of explosives?' And he said, 'I'd tell you to turn around and park it in front of the Bellagio.' And I thought, this is their disaster emergency plan?"

* * *

Driving around Henderson one morning, it did seem rather easy to approach loaded tanks of chemicals at some sites. Not at Kerr-McGee, however--we drove into the back of the complex, and before long a security guard arrived in a blue truck and asked, "You're not taking photographs, are you?" Why, yes, we said, we are. He told us to follow him to the main office where visitors are supposed to check in. There, we were given spokeswoman Debbie Schramm's phone number at corporate headquarters in Oklahoma. Schramm, later, said Kerr-McGee places "top priority on security." She did not know anything about the chemical security act. But she said that after 9/11, Kerr-McGee "did heighten security even further."

Back at the BMI complex, this time at Timet, security guards said we couldn't take photos. So we left--and stumbled upon a group of homeless guys hanging out by a row of blue sani-huts in a city park inside Timet's property. Timet leases the park to Henderson. Metro Lt. Tom Monahan had said he'd been told that Stacey Kaplan "was pretty well-known in the Henderson area...by the homeless community," so we asked the guys about her. They said they hadn't heard about her.

"Joey" complained that the police "always blame their downfall on the homeless."

Kevin Hayes said, "If a girl was in there and that happened in there, then somebody took her in there. You don't just end up in a building in Timet. We camp all around here, but nobody goes in there to camp."

Joe "Blow" said, "You don't mess with them, with the security--they arrest you in no time." Hayes added, "The security guards, they're pretty strange. They keep taking my stuff."

Oddly, these sounded like endorsements of the high level of security the facilities say they have. And, to be fair, says Michael Cyphers, the city of Henderson's emergency management coordinator, some local facilities have changed their practices. "The Alfred Murrah Federal Building bombing in Oklahoma City really awakened local governments across the United States," Cyphers says.

He says the water authority's new River Mountains water treatment plant "has no gaseous or liquid chlorine stored there" but uses a safer alternative. "Nationwide, we're moving away from toxic chemicals. But Pioneer--it can't change over, because it makes a product, chlorine, that people need."

Kerr-McGee is one of two plants locally that manufactured ammonium perchlorate, a rocket fuel ingredient. The other was PEPCON, which blew up in 1988. It moved to a site near Cedar City, Utah. Kerr-McGee moved its storage to Apex then eventually got out of the ammonium perchlorate business, Cyphers says. It still has other toxic chemicals, though. Incidentally, after the PEPCON explosion, a governor's blue-ribbon commission recommended that all of these dangerous facilities be relocated out of the valley to Apex, 15 miles north of Las Vegas. Only the Kerr-McGee storage facility ended up moving.

The 20-year-old Good Humor-Breyers ice cream plant--there long before the city allowed housing developments next door--can't change over to a safer chemical yet, says Cyphers, because the ammonia refrigeration system is still the coldest.

And Thatcher--the biggest, baddest of the valley's worst-case scenario sites--is a chemical wholesaler. However, there is a silver lining where Thatcher is concerned.

"Thatcher's getting moved because of the new freeway interchange," Cyphers says.

He seems relieved.

And so should we all be. Although it'd be nice if we didn't have to wait for serendipity to take charge of our chemical security.