Kirsch sighed, stepping aside to be a little bit out of earshot. "He was shot by a firing squad in 1815. Mr. Pelley wants to talk with him."
"What could some guy who's been dead that long know that would be of any use to Mr. Pelley now?" Stasi asked.
"It's not what he knows now. It's who he is now," Kirsch said. "Look, this is getting into some complicated stuff. Let's just say that the guy has played a pivotal role in some pretty big events over and over again. Mr. Pelley wants to find out who he is now and talk him around."
"By compelling him by his bones." That sounded like one of the worst ideas Stasi had ever heard. Not to mention that it was a shade of ethical that was courting trouble.
"If necessary," Kirsch said. "The world is changing, Judi. You're either for us or against us."
"I don't think it matters much what I'm for or against," Stasi said grimly.
"No, but it matters what this guy is for or against. Mr. Pelley wants to make sure he's on the right side." Kirsch took a long draw from his cigarette.
"Him and some other guys," Stasi guessed.
Kirsch took a final draw and tossed the cigarette in the gutter. "Yeah, there's a list."
"And if he doesn't play ball?" she asked.
"He's for us or against us," Kirsch said. "If that's the way he wants to play it, we know what to do with traitors. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been unreliable. The world's grown up, Judy. We haven't got time for men who are going to sit around dithering instead of getting the job done."
"On a tight deadline?" Stasi asked lightly.
To her surprise, Kirsch grinned. "You could say that. Nostradamus did a pretty good job of pinpointing the date, and the clock is running, baby."
"Well, tell Mr. Pelley I'm interested," Stasi said. "And you need any help with what you're doing in town?"
"I'll tell him," Kirsch said. "And thanks but no thanks. My boys will handle it."
"Suit yourself." Stasi gave him a smiling shrug. "I'll be around. Just give me a ring if Mr. Pelley wants to talk, and I'll fly out to LA and get it done for him."
"Sure thing, toots." Kirsch tipped his hat to her and strode off down the street.
Stasi stood for a long moment, undecided. He'd come out of the hardware store. That was the best place to start. Before she could change her mind she hurried back up the street and plunged in.
It was dim after the bright street, an all-male enclave smelling of woodshavings and pipe tobacco, walls hung with strange tools no doubt Alma knew what to do with. "Oh Mr. Peoples!" she gushed, heading straight for the owner at the front counter. "Just who I needed!"
"If you're looking for Mrs. Segura's hacksaw, it's not in yet," he said. "Told her I'd call when it was."
"No, I'm not looking for that," Stasi said. "Though it sounds rather alarming. I wonder what she intends to hack? But anyway, that's not it at all. That man who just came in -- what did he buy? I'm afraid he's a competitor." She dropped her voice. "Wanting to steal all our trade secrets. Everyone does since the race." Which was maybe a teensy bit true.
Peoples' old face hardened. Everyone in Colorado Springs was very proud of Gilchrist Aviation's win. You'd think they'd done something to win themselves. "I hope not. All he bought was some rope and an insulated wire clipper. You know, the kind the telephone linesmen used," he added as she looked blank. "He said he was taking apart some old mining equipment for salvage."
"I see." Stasi's voice scaled up, her mind whirling. "Did he say what he was salvaging?"
"He asked directions up to the old Silver Bullet Mine," Peoples said. "That was afore your time, Miss Rostov. There ain't nothing up there now. I suppose the state is giving out salvage contracts, but you'd think they wouldn't be worth much."
"I suppose every penny counts these days," Stasi said. Surely he wasn't going up there today. Surely he was waiting on his boys. He'd want to do it in daylight, bad as the roads were, and if people thought he had a salvage contract from the state nobody would give him any trouble. Surely he wouldn't be doing it tonight, not messing with the Death Ray. Not with Mitch and Lewis inbound from Santa Fe.
"Reckon so," Peoples said. He stuck a wad of chewing tobacco in his jaw. "But I don't think he means Mrs. Segura any ill. Nor Mr. Sorley either."
"Probably not," Stasi said. "I just worry, you know. It's just like a woman to worry." She let a thoroughly pathetic note creep into her voice.
Surely not this afternoon, with them inbound. And they'd stay clear of the airspace near the mine, surely. Surely.
Peoples frowned. "Miss Rostov, I just gotta say…. I've known him around town near ten years, but he ain't done right by you. That's what I say."
Stasi blinked. "That man who was just in here?" Why in the world would anyone in Colorado Springs have known Albert Kirsch for ten years?
"Dr. Ballard," Peoples said. "I saw it in that Winchell's column. 'Baching it up in New York!' That ain't right. 'Does the lovely Countess know she's been left at the altar?' It ain't right of him to drop you like that. I've known him a long time, but he shouldn't have done that."
Stasi blinked again. "Yes. It's shocking. I was shocked."
"I mean, he got that job in New York, and that's as it has to be I reckon. A man's got to go where the work is, even if it means leaving his sweetheart behind for a little bit. It weren't his fault that the school here couldn't afford to keep him on, and he had to have work. But he oughtn't have dropped you like that, not when you was here waiting for him." His frown deepened. "And I shouldn't have said a word about Winchell, I reckon. Salt in the wound. Bad enough being treated that way without knowing he's made a spectacle of himself!"
"It's terrible," Stasi said. She felt like she was gathering up too many strands at once. Countess Pancetta. Miss Rostov. Judi Denisov.
Peoples leaned on the counter, his voice sympathetic. "I know a broken heart is a powerful painful thing. But you got to buck up, Miss Rostov. A fine looking woman like you will find another man. And I bet he'll be a better one than Dr. Ballard! I would have thought better of him, I would, than that he'd toy with a young woman like yourself!"
"Yes," Stasi said, trying to find some tears to blink back. "He toyed with my heart." She gave Peoples what she hope was a brave smile rather than an utterly distracted one. "But I will survive, Mr. Peoples! I know my heart will heal in time. I know that somewhere out there is a man who will truly love me."
"I'm sure there is," Peoples said seriously. "And good luck to you."
"Thank you," Stasi said and hurried out. For whatever she needed good luck with. The first thing was calling the airport in Santa Fe.
The moment she dashed in the office she grabbed Alma's directory of airfields, hunting until she found the right one. 1:53 pm. Mitch and Lewis had taken off at 1:30.
Alma stood at the window of the passenger lounge looking out at the snow falling. She heard the step and drag on the linoleum floor behind her, Jerry coming to stand next to her at the window. "We're not getting out of here this afternoon, are we?" Jerry asked quietly.
Alma shook her head. "It's not looking like it." She glanced back over her shoulder. "What's Dr. Tesla doing?"
"Working on some kind of sketch in his portfolio," Jerry said. In the corner by the radiator, Tesla had a brown Morocco case open and was scribbling madly with a mechanical pencil. "I think it's a weather control device. That would be useful."
Alma snorted. "Only if he can build it this afternoon."
"That bad?" Jerry asked.
Alma looked out at the falling snow. "This isn't going to let up until evening. And then they have to plow the runways. I truly don't think we're leaving today." She sighed. The desire to be home was overwhelming, suddenly. She wanted her house and to sleep in her own bed, to have Lewis next to her and to wake up in the snowlight to the popping of her own radiators. It made her choke up unexpectedly.
"Al, are you all right?" Jerry asked quietly. He bent toward her. "You've been looking a little off."
"Have I?"
"Yes." There was nothing but concern in his voice, and suddenly it was too much to carry alone, suddenly after all this time.
She took a quick breath. "That's because I'm expecting."
"Expecting what?" She saw his face change. "Oh. Oh, Al."
"I'm fine," she said. "I feel fine, Jerry."
"Not like before." He'd been there, of course. He'd been there for the whole thing.
She and Gil had been married not quite four years, and Jerry had been with them in Colorado for not quite three. He'd been there for the wild elation and the bitter end, both. He'd learned to walk again, and Gil hadn't been sick yet. Otherwise it had been a good year.
"Are you sure?" Jerry asked quietly. "Al, if there's anything you need…"
"I'm fine." She smiled at him. "I feel good. I'm on top of it. And yes, I can fly, before you ask. I'm pregnant, not an invalid."
"I wasn't going to ask," Jerry said. He put his head to the side. "Congratulations, then. I know how much you've wanted this and for how long."
"Oh yes. I have."
She'd hoped to conceive, but it hadn't seemed like it would happen. When it finally did they'd toasted it together, three glasses of forbidden wine raised to their future and their good fortune. "We're all in this together," Gil had said, and his smile was infectious as he touched his glass to hers and Jerry's at the same time.
"All for one and one for all," Jerry said, looking for a moment young and carefree, and she had thought how lovely his eyes were, clever and sharp and kind. She wouldn't mind if….
And a thought struck Alma suddenly, bittersweet and strange. "Before," she said quietly. "That was after one of those times."
"Yes." He didn't need to ask what she meant. One of those times. Once in a while, perhaps ten times in the eight years she and Gil had been married, they had shared a bed together, all three of them. Once in a while, a secret between them, precious and golden.
That time it had been Gil's idea, and he'd drawn them together with a smile, reaching for Jerry and drawing him down to her. He'd lain against her shoulder while Jerry was inside her, whispering in her ear as she savored the difference. She'd never had another man besides Gil, not that way, and it was fascinating, the differences and the similarities, the way he moved and the way he felt. And that it was Jerry, who had probably never been with a woman besides her….
"Gil thought it was him," Alma said. "The reason I didn't conceive. I thought it was me."
"Obviously it isn't," Jerry said, and she saw the thought strike him at the same time. "Al."
"He set it up on purpose," she said quietly. "He set it up so that it might happen."
"And we would never know," Jerry said. "Not for certain."
"No, not for certain. We could always assume." She could always assume Gil was the child's father, and he'd never breathe a word that he might not be. They could have the child they craved, and if it was Jerry's seed instead, no one would ever be the wiser. It would be loved and cared for, Mom and Dad and Uncle Jerry.
Jerry's mouth opened and closed, as though he were for once speechless. "Gil," he said.
"Gil." There was nothing Gil wouldn't do, nothing he wouldn't dare. They'd both loved him for that.
"He wouldn't have been jealous," Jerry said slowly. "Not Gil."
"No," she said. "No more than I ever was."
"You truly weren't," Jerry said. "Were you?"
Alma blinked, shaking her head and looking out the window at the snow. "No, truly not. Jerry, you know I'm strange to the bone. All these magazine articles -- How To Tell If He's Straying and Twenty Ways To Keep Your Man -- I just don't understand them. Women seem so angry, so hurt and so jealous if their husband as much as looks at another woman, much less actually has a lover! And I truly have never felt that. I just don't have the right feeling, somewhere inside." She paused, looking for the words. Tesla was the nearest person, over by the radiator, and surely he was hard of hearing at his age. No one else could overhear. "When I watched you and Gil together, I thought it was beautiful."
Jerry looked down, a smile crossing his face.
"I did. I thought it was beautiful, you and Gil together. The way you touched each other, the way you kissed. You can never watch someone kiss you, not even with a mirror. It was so beautiful. How could I be angry when Gil was so happy? I didn't feel all these dark, horrible things that other women say are normal. I felt…."
"Aroused?" Jerry said quietly.
"Well, that too." Alma grinned. "That too. But mostly content. I was happy that Gil was happy, the same way I felt when I watched him fly. I liked watching him do things that made him happy, because I loved him. And I realize that I'm supposed to feel all this anger and fury and hurt, but I just don't. I never did. There's something wrong with me that way."
"I'm not sure there's something wrong with you if you don't feel angry and hurt," Jerry said. "I'm not sure it's ideal to feel a killing rage."
"But that's what women do," Alma said. "They feel a killing rage if their husband talks to a pretty woman. They feel miserable and angry if he wants someone else, even if it's with rather than instead. And I just never have. I've never felt the right thing."
"Nor have I," Jerry said. He looked out at the snow-covered runway, the glare glinting off his glasses. "I was never jealous of you, either. But maybe you're just better than most. I told Gil that. I told him you were one of a kind and he'd better not let you get away."
"That was very kind of you," Alma said.
Jerry shook his head, a rueful expression on his face. "I could never give Gil so many of the things he wanted. He wanted to settle down and start a business, to stop moving around from post to post. He wanted a home. And I thought I'd be on digs all over the world. I might be home a few months a year. I couldn't take him with me, and he would be miserable if I did. It seemed like it made sense the way we set it up, with you and Gil making a life together somewhere, and me dropping in when the wind blew that way. It made sense, even if it didn't work out that way."
"But you're working again now," Alma said. "This job at the Met…."
"It's not a field job, but it might lead to one. I've got to get out in the field again, Al."
"You can," she said. "And you will."
"And you have Lewis now." Jerry smiled. "And the baby."
"I hope," she said. "I hope."
"It'll work out," Jerry said. "I think this time it will. And I will always be there when you need me. I promise."
Lewis landed the Terrier neatly, turning at the far end of the field to taxi toward Gilchrist's hangar.
"That's not good," Mitch said, looking ahead as Lewis turned. Stasi was standing by the hangar door, nearly bouncing up and down on her feet, frowning.
The moment Lewis cut the engines she hurried out, opening the cabin door and climbing in. "I'm glad you're in one piece," she said.
Lewis looked perplexed. "Why wouldn't we be? The weather was fine."
"Albert Kirsch is going after Silver Bullet."
"Who's Albert Kirsch?" Lewis asked.
Stasi stilled her hand on the back of Mitch's seat. "Pelley's man. Pelley's goons are going after Silver Bullet. Oh don't look at me that way, darling! I didn't tell them. But they know about Silver Bullet and they've told people they have a salvage permit and they're going up there first thing in the morning to take it apart because it's late today and Kirsch is waiting on his boys from LA to bring a truck."
"Crap," Mitch said.
"That's not good," Lewis said.
"Of course it's not good!" Stasi said. "Can you imagine the amount of mischief they could make with Silver Bullet?"
"With a machine that downs aircraft?" Mitch said. The possibilities were fairly appalling.
"Yes, with Silver Bullet," Stasi said, looking at him like was being incredibly slow. "That's a bad thing and we have to stop them."
"They can't just walk in there and take it," Lewis said. "Right?"
Mitch thought about it. "I don't k
now who would notice or care. It's state land and it's the middle of the winter. Nobody goes up there except maybe hunters or sport fishermen, but they're not going in the middle of winter." A thought struck him. "Maybe it was Pelley's men who turned it on in the first place. Maybe they were messing around up there and turned it on and that's why the crashes have happened."
"Or maybe Rayburn tripped it with his radio test," Lewis said. "But it doesn't matter which it was. Stasi's right. We have to stop them." He looked at Mitch. "We could go to the sheriff and tell him that these guys from LA plan to rob the Silver Bullet Mine."
"Two problems with that," Mitch said. "First, it's not our mine. It belongs to the state, and everybody knows there's nothing worth anything up there. The sheriff isn't going to send a bunch of guys up to guard an abandoned mine because we say that somebody plans to steal something. And getting into a Death Ray story with the sheriff isn't going to fly, I can tell you that. Second, if he did believe us, he'd wait until business hours tomorrow and call the Colorado Department of Mines to see if they've got a salvage permit. If they jumped right on it, which they won't, they'd hunt around for a few hours trying to find a permit and probably get back to the sheriff on the next business day or two and tell him there's no permit."
"And by then it's gone," Stasi said, her hands on her hips. "Once Kirsch gets it taken apart and put on that truck, we'll never find it."
"We have to stop them," Lewis said. He twisted around in his seat. "It's up to us."
Mitch frowned, his hands still moving over the Terrier's instruments in the post-flight. "I could call Colonel Sampson," he said. "He believed me when I said there's a navigation hazard. I could try telling him the whole story. Or at least the part where somebody wants to steal Dr. Tesla's machine." That part was plausible at least. Tesla was well enough known that you could buy that somebody wanted to steal a Tesla invention. Mitch took a deep breath. "I could ask Colonel Sampson to send a Guard unit up. Those guys who were there for the last crash -- they'd believe there's something peculiar going on."
Lewis nodded slowly. "That makes sense. He trusts you."
Order of the Air Omnibus: Books 1-3 Page 97