And then the realization that a live hydrogen bomb might go off at any moment hit her. And she began sweating even more.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Eliminate the impossible. Then if nothing remains, some part of the "impossible" must be possible.
——ANTHONY BOUCHER
FROM ROCKET TO THE MORGUE
2:50 P.M. JUNE 24.
PORTLAND, OREGON
It had now been twenty minutes since Earhart had left to talk to the vice president. McCallum had spent most of the time watching as the two men studied the hydrogen bomb in the suitcase. So far they hadn't actually touched the suitcase, and Albert Hancer had yet to take his gaze from it. The more McCallum studied the situation, the more uneasy he got with the entire thing. Earhart had ruled out medical help for Albert until they took care of the bomb, and McCallum had agreed that was a sound idea. It almost seemed as if the old guy was guarding the bomb.
Over the last hour in the room McCallum had somehow gotten used to the smell, or at least his nose had gone dead on him. And the heat had been reduced when Henry went out and propped the front door of the hotel open downstairs, and opened a window leading into the alley at the end of the hall upstairs. A good breeze now swirled through, taking the heat, and maybe some of the smell, with it.
Henry had come back laughing. "There's about a hundred men in suits scattered up and down the street outside," he said. "Not too obvious or what?"
Henry went to the foot of the bed and began talking with Dr. Cornell. The two technicians brought in by FBI Regional Director Earhart continued to study the bomb. And Neda Foster paced in and out of the room, making arrangements to have Albert Hancer transported north.
McCallum thought the time went by in a strangely normal way, considering that they all might die at any moment. And they wouldn't even know what hit them.
Finally McCallum couldn't contain his uneasiness about the bomb situation. He stopped Neda Foster on one of her trips into the room. "I would suggest that you have Albert, there, in securely tied bonds before you touch that suitcase."
Neda looked from Albert to the suitcase and back again. "I've been worried about that," she said. "Good idea. I'll get the rope."
McCallum's stomach still didn't settle. "You also might try moving them together, never letting Albert's gaze off the suitcase."
"We need to get this bomb out of the city fast," Neda said. "We're airlifting it off the roof here in about five minutes, as soon as Earhart gets back, flying it straight out over the ocean to a Navy research ship."
"I'd be real careful," McCallum said. "If that really is some sort of thing, as your Dr. Cornell seems to think, it most likely is programmed to defend the suitcase. And since you haven't told me who did this, I have no idea what sort of defense it might have available to it."
"Trust me," Neda said. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"I can believe a lot of things," McCallum said.
Neda Foster laughed, a short choppy laugh that ended almost in a disgusted snort. "Yeah," she said. "Tell you what I will do. If we make it out of this alive, you come up to my facility in Bellingham tomorrow and I'll do my best to convince you."
McCallum was about to agree to her invitation when Earhart entered the room. Behind him was a tall man dressed in a suit. The guy looked familiar to McCallum, but it took a few moments before it dawned on him that it was the vice president of the entire damn country. And he was walking right into a room with a bomb.
Henry's face went white, and McCallum knew he had almost as shocked a look on his face. What the hell was the vice president doing walking into a room with a live hydrogen bomb? What exactly was going on here?
The vice president put his hand over his nose and closed his eyes at the first sight of Albert Hancer. "That's the clone?" he asked.
"Not really a clone, sir," Dr. Cornell said. "More of a growth of a mass of organic tissue that looks and pretends to be human."
"Has it moved?" the vice president asked.
"Except for the breathing motion, that is only cosmetic," Dr. Cornell said, "it has not."
"And that's the bomb?" he asked, pointing to the suitcase standing between two equipment cases.
"That's it, sir," Earhart said. "We're going to airlift it out over the ocean as soon as you are clear of the city."
"You're not going to wait one more minute," the vice president said. "I'll not have you risking one more life just because I'm stupid enough to come in here. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," Earhart said. He moved to the door and spoke to a man standing out in the hallway. "Signal for the chopper to come in."
"You need to restrain Albert there," McCallum said, making his tone very insistent. "Don't let them touch that bomb without having him under total control."
"Agreed," Neda said.
Earhart nodded and turned to the man out in the hall again. "Rope, handcuffs, and a large blanket. Quickly."
The vice president turned to McCallum. "I assume you're the man who found this?"
McCallum nodded and stuck out his hand. "Richard McCallum, sir. I'm having a hard time believing that you're in here with this thing."
The vice president laughed. "Actually, so am I. But I was in the neighborhood."
McCallum laughed. "Not a very good neighborhood, sir."
"I'll agree with that," the vice president said. "Has Neda brought you up to speed on what all this is about?"
"I'm afraid not," McCallum said. "She's promised me a briefing if I go up to Bellingham tomorrow."
"Go," the vice president said. "We're going to need all the good people we can get on this."
A man in a suit appeared with a rope, handcuffs, and a blanket and handed them to Earhart.
"Let me have the rope," Henry said, and the regional director of the FBI handed it to him as if he were a traffic cop being ordered around.
Henry quickly tied one end of the rope into a large slipknot, then, nodding to McCallum, dropped it quickly over Albert's head.
There was no reaction.
Henry quickly pulled the rope tight, then with quick motions wound the rope around and around Albert, trapping his arms against his sides.
"I'll see if I can get those handcuffs on his wrists now," Henry said.
"Use gloves," Dr. Cornell almost screamed, jumping in close to the bed. "The skin material may be acid."
"Thanks for warning me before now, Doc," Henry said, giving Cornell one of his nastiest looks.
The doctor half grinned at Henry as he handed him a pair of thin gloves from his pocket. "I just thought of it."
Henry put the gloves on, then slowly eased Albert's wrists behind his back until the handcuffs were in place.
"God, his skin feels like a slug," Henry said, standing back and holding his gloved hands away from his body after he was finished. "Slimy. And almost loose. I'm going to have nightmares about this for weeks."
"We all are," the vice president said.
McCallum could see that where Henry had touched Albert's skin there were clear marks where the skin had just slipped off, or was pushed back. Red drops of blood were welling up, but he wasn't really bleeding like a cut would bleed.
The doctor held out a plastic bag for the gloves. "Drop them in here."
Somehow Henry managed to get the gloves off without touching the outsides of them, and the doctor had the bag sealed and labeled in a flash.
"Help me with this," Henry said, glancing at McCallum.
McCallum moved up and grabbed an end of the blanket.
"On the count of three," Henry said, "we put it over him and wrap it to the right."
"When we put the blanket over him," McCallum said, "is when we're going to have the problem, if we're going to have one. The blanket will block his view of the suitcase. If he's guarding the thing he's going to fight."
Henry nodded and with that said, "One. Two. Three!"
They pulled the blanket over Albert's head and then down hard. Then, as if in one motion, th
ey wrapped the blanket to the right, making a cocoon around Albert, twisting him back so he was laid out on the bed.
For a moment there was a thrashing under the blanket, but nothing like McCallum had handled dozens of times with drugged-up crooks. He and Henry had no problem holding Albert.
Then the form they were holding suddenly went limp.
There was a loud hissing sound from under the blanket. Both Henry and McCallum jumped back, letting go, as if a snake was about to come out of there.
Then, where there had been the shape of a man, there was suddenly nothing.
The blanket sort of sunk in on itself.
"I was afraid that might happen," Dr. Cornell said.
"What might happen?" Henry screamed at the doctor.
"This," Cornell said. He moved up and pulled back a corner of the blanket. Arthur's clothes were still there, soaked in a pool of slimy white liquid.
"My God," the vice president said. "I don't think I really believed all this was true until this very moment."
"Get that bomb out of here!" Earhart said. "And fast!"
That was the first time McCallum had heard Earhart sound more than bored. Now there was a panicked look in the cold eyes of the regional director.
The two technicians simply picked up the suitcase between them and, following Earhart, headed down the hall at a fast walk toward the stairs to the roof.
Now only Henry, Cornell, the vice president, and Neda Foster remained in the hot, stinking room with McCallum. He couldn't believe what he had just seen happen. He would have bet any amount of money that had been a real person sitting on the bed. A very sick person, but a real one. But Cornell had been right. It had been something else.
None of this was possible.
Henry glanced down at the pool of white slime on the bed and then back up at Neda Foster. "Someone want to tell me what exactly just happened?"
"Come up to my lab in Bellingham tomorrow and I'll do my best to explain it all," Neda Foster said.
"And Detective, that was a fine job," the vice president said.
"Thank you, sir," Henry said. "But I've never had one melt on me before."
The vice president half laughed, then grew serious. "Remember to keep this quiet. This never happened. Understand?"
Henry nodded.
The vice president turned to McCallum. "And you?"
McCallum. forced a strained laugh out of his throat. "Who would believe me if I told them?"
Chapter Twenty-Three
Fear is a tyrant and despot, more terrible than the rack, more potent than the snake.
—-EDGAR WALLACE
FROM THE CLUE OF THE TWISTED CANDLE
7:00 P.M. JUNE 24.
LOCATION UNKNOWN
Tina Harris's counting was interrupted as the newcomer to the caves staggered past her and sat down hard against the cave wall, three paces away.
The heat was finally starting to subside and she had somehow managed to make it through another, day. The light coming in from the crack above was starting to dull. It was evening now outside. She still wasn't sure why she was fighting so hard to stay alive when so many others around her had died.
But she was.
She moved to stretch her cramped legs and arms, a moan escaping from her dried throat as she did so. She was so caked with dirt that it cracked and flaked off as she moved.
The newcomer had been dumped in earlier in the day and had woken up a few hours back, loudly demanding to know what was going on. An older man near the door had explained it the best he could, just loud enough so that most of the rest of them in the cave could hear. As far as Tina was concerned, he hadn't missed a thing.
Tina stared at the new man. He was naked, as they all were, but somewhat cleaner. He seemed about her age, from what she could tell. He sat against the wall, one hand covering his crotch with the other pressed over his eyes. She had a faint memory, from five or so days ago, that she too had been concerned about being naked in front of others. She hadn't thought about it now in days. It seemed like such a small detail when compared to finding a way to stay alive.
"You all right?" she said, her voice oddly harsh and raspy in her throat.
The guy nodded and pulled his hand away from his eyes. "This is a nightmare. I fell climbing down into the canyon, hit my head, and am having a nightmare. That has to be it. And any moment now I'm going to wake up in a hospital."
"If so," Tina said, "I wish you'd hurry and wake up. I don't know how many more days of this I can take."
For the first time the guy actually seemed to look at her. Then he nodded. "I'll do my best."
After a moment of quiet he said, "My name's Cobb. I live on a ranch near here."
"Tina," she said. Then it dawned on her what he had said. "How do you know where we are?"
Cobb laughed, a half bitter, half crying laugh. "I was coming to these caves to explore with a friend. I don't know what those creatures—aliens—whatever they are, did with him. I grew up exploring these caves."
"You're kidding," Tina said. "Where are we?"
Cobb indicated the cave around them. "This is a small side tunnel off the main Sheepeater Cave. We're in eastern Oregon near Hells Canyon."
"High desert," Tina said to herself. "That explains why it's so damn hot."
"It's a bunch hotter outside than in here," Cobb said.
"So, is there a back way out of here?" Tina asked. She knew the answer, but for some reason it felt good to ask. As if asking was convincing herself that she was working to escape.
Cobb laughed. "If there is, it's right about where we're both sitting."
She looked at him hard, her mind clearing by the moment. "How do you know that?"
He pointed at the roof of the cave. "See how this is longer than it is wider, running from the front to here?"
She glanced back at the area that the aliens had blocked off. He was right. It was almost more of a tunnel than a cave. She had paid no attention before.
"These caves were formed when molten lava in tubes running underground cooled, leaving air bubbles. Sometimes these lava tubes can go for miles. Other times they end like this."
"So there is no back way out," she asked.
He looked around where he was sitting. "If there is, it's buried under this dirt." He patted the ground. "I suppose, given a little time, we might be able to move a little to see. My brothers and I dug out the ends of a few caves and found more tunnels beyond. But if we did find something, there would be no telling where it would lead."
She looked at him for a moment, then shifted forward and pulled out one of her bottles of water from where she'd hidden it near the rock. She flipped it to him. "Take a very small drink. They've given us water and food every day, but you never know."
For a moment Cobb looked as if he might cry, then nodded to her. "Thanks." He took a very small drink and handed it back.
She placed the bottle under her and then slowly, while there was still some light, began studying the end of the cave, looking for the most likely place to dig.
Three paces from her, Cobb did the same thing.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The worst is so often true,
——DAME AGATHA CHRISTIE
FROM THEY DO IT WITH MIRRORS
7: 30 P.M. JUNE 24.
PORTLAND, OREGON
Neda Foster sat on a leather couch in Air Force Two at the Portland International Airport. Across from her the vice president sat in a large, overstuffed leather chair. It was clearly a chair designed for him and he looked comfortable in it. Finishing out the group was Regional Director of the FBI Earhart, sitting in a chair facing Alan Wallace, talking softly on a phone.
When they'd first boarded the plane she had washed up and Alan had the air-conditioning turned up. Alan also had his staff bring in a light dinner and coffee. The three of them had managed to go the few minutes it took to eat without talking about the day's events.
Earhart clicked his phone off and smiled at Alan. "They
disarmed the bomb."
Neda felt a huge wave of relief sweep over her. They had gotten lucky this time. Very, very lucky. Now they needed to keep moving and see if they could stop the Klar. Then she remembered why they had gone to Portland and the relief quickly left her.
"Great!" the vice president said. "Did they find out anything about it?"
Earhart nodded. "Totally alien construction, yet made with materials from right here on Earth. It packed pretty much the power of one of ours, but was designed to emit an extra-high level of EMP."
The vice president nodded. "To destroy the center of the city and make all electronic equipment useless for hundreds of miles around. That would have ground everything to a halt here in Oregon quite fast."
"Exactly," Earhart said. "It was lucky we found the thing when we did.".
The relief that Neda had felt a moment before was now flipped into total despair. When she had talked to the vice president this morning and called in his help, she had only told him that they had a lead on a possible alien plot to destroy Portland. She hadn't told him everything.
The plane around her seemed to spin as she fought to catch a breath. The aliens were going to destroy the entire world and it was going to happen at any moment. And there didn't seem to be anything she could do about it, even though she now knew how they were planning to do it.
Her face must have shown her dismay. Alan sat up straight and leaned toward her. "Neda? Are you all right?"
She shook her head no. Somehow she had to stop her head from spinning and tell him the entire truth. Somehow.
"It's over for the moment, Neda," Alan said. "We got a jump on them."
"No," she managed to say, her voice shaky-sounding to her ears. She took a deep breath and the inside of the plane seemed to slow some. Another deep breath and she had her control back. "No, Mr. Vice President, we didn't."
"I'm not following you," he said.
"We disarmed the bomb," Earhart said. "What more could there be?"
Neda glanced at the regional director, then faced the vice president. "I didn't tell you this morning, but the reason we knew to look in Portland for an elderly man was because there have been elderly people abducted by the Klar near every major city in the world over the last six days. Portland was just close and small enough to search quickly."
Abductors Conspiracy Page 9