He kicked a pinecone. Well, no. He’d need something to focus on besides the scenery or he’d be climbing the camper’s walls in two days. And it didn’t look like writing a book was going to provide that focus – or an income.
He looked back at his camper, its windows aglow in the gathering darkness. In what way was this unexpected invitation not a gift? It seemed to be tailor-made to fill the inconvenient void created by his lack of writing success.
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
George clapped him on the back. “That’s great. I’ll go tell Len. Judging by those thunderheads, we’d better beat it back to home base unless you want company for the night.”
Five minutes later, the whine of the helicopter’s engine was receding in the distance. Frank felt his spirits lift as he watched the blinking navigation lights fade. To his surprise, he was happy to be back in the game.
* * *
3
Shelter from the Storm
Not long after the helicopter’s departure, Frank was on the move, driving carefully down the jeep track through wind-whipped, driving rain, periodically blinded by vivid flashes of lightning. This wasn’t the usual late summer southwestern thunderstorm, where only a few raindrops survive the long descent through dry desert air without evaporating. This was the product of a full monsoon front sweeping up and across from the Gulf of Mexico, the kind ranchers relied on to refill stock ponds and green up the grass again for their cattle.
Now that he had signed on with whoever it was Butcher worked for, Frank was anxious to get started, and he wanted a change of scenery to go along with his new objective. It hadn’t taken long to pack up, but by then the storm was breaking over him.
The jeep track down the mountain was now a cascading sluice of storm runoff, forcing him to allow the heavy truck to ease itself down the steep grade in first gear. The going was different but no better when he reached level ground, where the deep, red clay dust of the jeep track had dissolved into a sludge the texture and color of borscht. He alternated gunning the engine to avoid getting stuck with hitting the brakes to avoid fishtailing off the track.
The racket of the rain hammering on the roof of the camper was still distracting as he pulled into Silverlode, mud-splattered up to the sills of his windows. The trip to town had kept him on the edge of his seat, and now he was hungry.
He opted for a saloon-themed restaurant next to the town’s restored, late 19th century Opera House, which looked like the most hopeful option among Silverlode’s meager epicurean offerings. Inside he found a dimly lit dining room and bar populated by a sprinkling of tourists and locals. He took a table and examined the menu he found standing between inverted bottles of ketchup, mustard and barbecue sauce.
He was trying to decide whether an emu burger was a local attraction not to be missed or a stupid premise to be actively avoided when someone appeared at his elbow. Expecting a waitress, he found a very wet and bedraggled Josette instead.
“Please, may I sit down?”
“Of course.” He stood up, flustered.
“The wind blew my tent apart,” she said. “It is in rags. So I came to town.”
He took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “That’s terrible. You must be chilled to the bone.”
She gave him a brave smile and nodded. “I thought this was the desert. So much wind – and rain! Who would have expected?”
Frank tried to catch the attention of a server.
“Let’s get you something warm to drink.”
The middle aged waitress that appeared promptly adopted Josette, returning almost immediately with a steaming mug of tea and a clean dish towel. Josette accepted both with gratitude and mopped her face and hair.
“I am so cold and hungry! I could not cook my dinner in all the wind and rain.”
“Then we need to get you something to eat!” He handed her his menu, and she studied it intently.
“Tell me, please, what is ‘pork barbeque?’”
“Shredded meat soaked in a spicy sauce. It’s served on a hamburger roll.”
She wrinkled her nose and opted for a grilled chicken salad served in a taco shell.
The waitress saw to it that their food arrived quickly, and Josette began to brighten. She smiled at Frank, and he smiled back.
They chatted about this and that while they ate, and gradually he became more comfortable. Then she asked, “How is your book?” and his smile faded.
“Oh, I’m still doing research. I’ll have to do lots of research before I can start writing.”
“Ah! You must be very patient.”
He cleared his throat. “Were you able to get your bike fixed?”
“Yes, yes! My new wheel arrived at the post office this morning, thank goodness. Otherwise I would have had to walk to town in the rain.”
“Will you be moving on to the festival now?”
“Oh!” She looked downcast. “It took so long for the wheel to arrive. I have lost much time. Today is Saturday, and the festival begins on Monday.” Then she brightened. “But I can still, how you say, ‘hitch a ride,’ yes?”
Frank frowned. Hadn’t this young woman seen any American movies? He was still convinced she would be picked up by some sort of crazy person before she made it halfway across the state.
Josette covered her mouth and laughed. “You are still worried for me! Don’t be! It is not so dangerous as you suppose.”
His ears burned. He was too out of practice to be having a conversation like this. Besides, she was young, attractive, and vibrant, and he was old, crotchety and self-conscious. It felt like his first date all over again, but without the excuse that it was a date. He waved to the waitress and made check-signing motions in the air.
She realized she had embarrassed him and changed the subject.
“So – do you stay in Silverlode for long?”
“No. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Really? And where do you go now?”
“Why, I… I’m not exactly sure. You see, I don’t have to be any one place at any particular time. I’m just touring – driving where my fancy takes me. I arrive somewhere, stay a few days, and then move on.”
She put her hand on his. “Frank! I have an extra ticket – you must come and see the Burning Man! You will love it! They say there is nothing like it anywhere!”
Under cover of encountering a sudden desire to consume a French fry he retrieved his hand. “Oh, no, I mean, I can’t do that! Really.”
She gave him a sly look. “Ah! You are afraid of me! It is my gun, yes? Don’t be!”
She reached into her bag, and pressed an almost weightless object in his hand.
He stared down at what was now obviously a toy plastic gun, and stammered, “No!” more loudly than he intended. Then, more quietly, “No, it isn’t that at all. It’s just that I’ve got work to do – I can’t afford to be distracted – it’s too hard to stop and start. I’ve got to maintain my concentration.”
The waitress brought the check promptly and he paid it immediately. He stood up, and escorted Josette to the door, which he held for her. They stepped out onto a weathered wooden sidewalk sheltered by an old fashioned tin roof.
He was angry at his awkwardness and anxious to escape. But it was dark, and a boisterous rain was splattering noisily on the roof overhead and the street beyond, presenting him with a new problem. Now what?
“Let me drop you off at the motel.”
She looked down, and then up into his eyes. “Every place in town is full. I have already checked. They say it has something to do with, how you say, a ‘rodeo.’”
He opened his mouth half way, and then shut it again. Then where could she stay? He could scarcely offer to drop her back by the side of the road, in the rain, with her shredded tent. And it must be obvious that there were at least two beds in a camper as large as his. Damn!
Silence.
“I guess you could, I mean, I have two beds in my camper. Would you like to stay there tonigh
t?”
Her shining eyes offered a “my hero!” look and his heart skipped a beat. “Oh, Frank, you are so kind!”
She looked down again before glancing up again, serious now. “I do not want to be a bother… but what else can I do?”
Frank found himself once again strapping Josette’s bike on the back of his camper as Josette clambered up into the passenger seat, pannier bags slung over her shoulder. She chattered happily as they drove out of town, often placing her hand on his arm to emphasize a point. Behind them, the scattered lights of Silverlode glistened wetly in the night – the yellow and orange rectangle of the Shell sign, the upward-cast, white lights that illuminated the letters that spelled “Opera House,” and in front of the motel, the small, red neon sign that read “Vacancy.”
* * *
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Table of Contents
Prologue
1 Meet Frank
2 The Plot Thickens
3 I just HATE it when that Happens
4 Beware of Greeks bearing Trapdoors
5 So How do Ya like them iBalls?
6 The Perils of Profiles
7 What a Difference a Day (and a Decision Tree) Makes
8 Face Off with Fearless Fosdick
9 You’ve Got Mail!
10 Good Boy, Carl!
11 Have I got an App for You!
12 Now You See Me (and Now You Don’t!)
13 Welcome to Las Vegas!
14 Desperately Seeking Adversego
15 The Alexandria Project Makes the Evening News
16 You Want Aliens With That?
17 A Geek Grows in Brooklyn
18 May the Force be with You
19 More than One Can Play that Game
20 The iBalls Shall Rise Again
21 Does the Beloved Father have a Rocket in his Pocket, or is he Just Happy to See Us?
22 What a Difference a Dong Makes!
23 Fancy Meeting You Here!
24 Sarin? You Thought I Said Sarin?
25 The Bacon and Eggs will get you Every Time
26 Just a Simple Walk in the Woods
27 Is this the Person to Whom I am Speaking?
28 Here’s to the Company!
29 A Car Chase is the Sincerest Form of Flattery
30 The Death Defying, Incredibly Exciting, Final Chapter!
Epilogue
THE LAFAYETTE CAMPAIGN
1 Hi Ho Adversego!
2 Fancy Meeting you Here
3 Shelter from the Storm
The Alexandria Project: A Tale of Treachery and Technology (Frank Adversego Thrillers Book 1) Page 33