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They stared.
“Really! The old guy took it—Neuma
The two men exchanged unreadable glances.
“So why don’t you go after him? Do us both a favor.” Denton put his hands back on his hips in an angry gesture, but those hands were shaking.
“I think we should look into this together,” Mr. Edwards suggested. He took Denton’s arm. “We’d hate to see you get cheated, Mr. Wyle. And of course, we’d all benefit from a discussion about the manuscript.”
“But…”
Mr. Edwards had a relentless grip. He was pulling Denton without real violence yet inexorably toward their sedan. “It won’t take long—an hour at the most.” Edwards’s sincerity stank like rotten meat.
This, bizarrely, was really happening. Denton shot a panicked look at the farmhouse. The Krolls, who were peeking out the kitchen window again, disappeared at his glance. They wouldn’t help. These thugs could burn him alive in the driveway and the Krolls would probably come out with marshmallows on sticks and Hefeweizen.
“Come on! Neuma
Mr. Smith opened the front passenger door of the sedan and stood there waiting, like a chauffeur. Mr. Edwards, Denton in tow, paused at the door and put out his palm. “Mr. Smith will need your keys, Mr. Wyle.”
It was all too fast. Denton wanted to stop it, but he didn’t know how. He looked at the interior of that car and drew back hard, like a man resisting his coffin.
“Why can’t I drive my own car, you guys? Come on! What is this?”
The smile on Mr. Edwards’s face slipped away. “Mr. Wyle, get in the car. Now. We only want to talk to you. You have my word.”
Denton looked from Mr. Edwards to Mr. Smith, standing implacably a few feet away.
“We only want to talk,” Mr. Smith agreed, in a warmer tone. Denton gave him the keys.
As he settled into his seat, Denton turned to them, eyes tearing up. “You guys are from the Jewish League, aren’t you?”
Mr. Edwards and Mr. Smith looked at each other and laughed out loud.
“That’s right, Mr. Wyle,” said Mr. Edwards. “We’re from the Jewish League.”
8
The universe has two tendencies: a reality which is making itself in a reality which is unmaking itself. The one is life. The other is matter which is opposed to life.
8.1. Calder Farris
The black Lincoln Towncar slid smoothly through military security at the gate and pulled up in front of the main entrance. The driver got out and opened the rear door for Calder Farris. Calder stood still for a moment, his uniform crisping in the chill. It was a clear day in Alaska, but he could smell snow in the air the way he could smell war, even when it was dozens of miles away. He breathed in the scent, his senses on full alert.
A private emerged from the main building. He saluted. “Lieutenant Farris?”
Calder gave a single nod of confirmation. “Take me to it, Private.”
Calder was led through the building and out the back, speaking to no one. He had seen the ante
Calder had read through the specifications on his flight. Now his eyes focused narrowly on the scene, trying to find the salient…
There. As they walked closer to the gated array, Calder began to see them, brown lumps on the gravel ground. His gaze swept along the scene. There were more dark shapes here and there in the grass outside the fence’s perimeter. And now he could see a few of the bodies skewered on the tops of ante
“Who’s in charge here?”
“Colonel Ingram, sir. He’s the site supervisor.”
They passed through the open gate and into the array. There were a dozen or so men standing around, most of them civilian. They had softer faces and the occasional beard or glasses. Their dress was pure Northern Exposure: jeans, fla
The private made the introductions. Colonel Ingram was Air Force. He looked at Calder’s ID carefully. This particular ID had his name and Department of Defense, United States on it, the DoD seal, and nothing else; did not, for example, give a job title or branch. Ingram shook Calder’s hand after a moment’s hesitation. “I was told you were coming, Lieutenant Farris, but I’m not sure why you’re here. Perhaps you can fill me in.”
“I’m here to observe, Colonel. Just that.”
Ingram seemed to be debating the wisdom of probing more deeply. He clearly was the kind of man who liked to know everything, and he did outrank Calder. But the DoD owned this land, not to mention Ingram. And he would have been telephoned by someone mysteriously high up in DARPA. Ingram decided against further questions.
“As you can see, we’ve had a little problem with a flock of migrating birds.”
“When did it begin?”
“In the night. It was first noticed at about oh five hundred this morning.”
“You were told not to touch them. Have you?”
“No, sir,” Ingram said coolly.
“How many birds are there?”
“We’re not sure. There’re a lot of ’em out in those fields.” Ingram waved his hand beyond the confines of the fence where tall wild grasses awaited the first snowfall of the year. “There are about four dozen within the array itself.”
Calder felt a flash of irritation. Sloppy, very sloppy. “I want you to send perso
Ingram’s mouth tightened. “If you think the situation warrants it.”
Calder didn’t bother to answer that. He changed his tone. “Any theories on the cause?”
“No. This is a HAARP facility. We don’t work with gas or chemical weapons of any kind. There’s nothing like that within a hundred miles. There were no accidents in Gakona, Guikana, or Chistochina, nothing. We’ve swept the area for radiation; it’s clean. We checked with civilian and military flight command: there was no traffic through this airspace last night except for a few small civilian craft, none of them carrying any kind of chemicals or reporting anything usual. There’s been some mild stomach upset among our perso
Calder nodded, deciding Ingram wasn’t a slouch after all. He wasn’t surprised by anything Ingram said. If it had been a matter of gas or radiation, he wouldn’t be here. They wouldn’t discover anything farther up the line, either. A flock of birds wouldn’t fly a hundred miles while poisoned before all collapsing simultaneously… at a HAARP facility.