Saucer s-1

by Stephen Coonts

  She did feel somewhat relieved. Perhaps neither of those bombs were Hedrick's, she thought as she sat listening to dear, earnest Bernice chatter away.

  Now, sitting in the library watching Hedrick, she realized that he had paid ten thousand dollars so she would relax, not try to escape, so she would agree to fly the saucer for the successful bidders, and die with the Russians.

  Ten thousand dollars was chump change to Roger Hedrick. Bernice spent that much every half hour she shopped.

  This afternoon Bernice and another secretary did the necessary paper shuffling and legwork. There were several people sitting near Hedrick whom Charley didn't know, so she asked Bernice at one point. One of the balding gentlemen was with the Australian tax ministry. Another was from the prime minister's office.

  Anyone who didn't think Roger Hedrick had connections, think again!

  Each of the bidding parties had already prepared their first bids, so the first round went quickly. All four parties bid the minimum, ten billion dollars. As they were preparing their bids for the second round, Bernice wandered over to where Charley was sitting beside the safe.

  Charley asked her about Siberia.

  'I think Roger made some agreement with the Russians,' Bernice whispered, 'but I don't know what. He doesn't like it when I ask him about business matters.'

  'I see.'

  'If he doesn't want me to know anything, then why does he want me to help out with these business things?' Bernice asked. 'I think he sees me as cheap secretarial help.' She smiled when she said that. Actually, Charley thought, Roger wanted Bernice around so she would think he liked her. That was his hold on her.

  The thought that she was overthinking this whole thing irritated Charley. Maybe Hedrick really did like Bernice. What the hell did it matter?

  Then again… she was acutely conscious of the heft of the bombs in her coat pockets.

  The Japanese and Europeans both bid twenty billion in the second round. The Chinese were next at thirteen billion, the Russians bid eleven billion, the minimum.

  After the second round, each group wanted to make telephone calls, so that took some time.

  The third round took even more time. This time the bids were in the mid-thirties.

  After the fifth round, the high bid was fifty-eight billion and all the players were still in. They were sweating now. Ties were loosened, coats were on the backs of chairs, even Roger Hedrick was feeling a bit of the tension. He had loosened his tie and was watching each group with eyes that didn't miss a thing.

  At this point Charley thought the Russians were the least likely group to buy the saucer. The Japanese exuded confidence, but Charley knew of the bomb one of the engineers had planted, so she thought they had a firm top figure that the Japanese government had refused to exceed. The only question in Charley's mind was how close to the limit they had come.

  One more round, or two?

  The Chinese seemed to be most in control. The senior man was as calm as if he had been playing mah-jong for matchsticks. He was the only man in the room who was still wearing his suit jacket. If he had a limit that he could not exceed, his demeanor certainly gave no hint of it.

  That thought seemed to trouble the Japanese, who kept eyeing the Chinese warily.

  The Europeans were arguing among themselves. They would whisper vehemently together, then leave the room, come back and whisper some more, then leave again.

  It was getting along toward five o'clock and the bids for the sixth round had yet to be filled out when Bernice came over to Charley. 'Roger says this will be the last round today. Would you care to freshen up for dinner?'

  'I'd like that,' Charley Pine said and picked up her flight jacket from the floor beside her chair. It felt lighter with only one bomb in the pocket.

  She smiled to herself as she walked for the door.

  At dinner Charley Pine learned how the sixth round of bidding had turned out. All four parties were still in the game, high bid $62.6 billion by the Japanese.

  Charley was wearing one of Bernice's French frocks. Ivan the Russian Romeo was too busy conferring in low tones with his colleagues to pay attention, but Pieraut found the time to give her a very pleasant smile. Ah, those Frenchmen!

  That little smile warmed her.

  Charley wondered if Rip Cantrell would like the way she looked, then spent the next hour feeling vaguely guilty. After all, the kid was eight years younger than she was.

  Well, at least she had ten thousand bucks in her jeans. When, if, she got back to the States, she would call that guy at Lockheed Martin, see if that test-pilot job offer was still open. After the saucer flap maybe they wouldn't want her. If they didn't, hell, there were always the commuters. If she couldn't talk her way into the cockpit of a Beech 1900, she would tear up her pilot's license.

  Thinking these thoughts, she attacked her steak.

  Rip Cantrell was also eating steak. Amazingly, the delivery driver was still on his feet in the bar when Rip returned the van. He had apparently been drinking beer all day.

  'Here, mate,' the driver said. 'Sit and I'll buy you one.'

  Rip insisted on buying the driver dinner after he returned the van to the market's parking lot. Now the two of them were eating kangaroo steak.

  'Lucky day for me when you came along,' the driver said. He had graduated from beer to whiskey.

  'Are you married?'

  'Oh, yeah. Little woman at home.'

  'Want to call her? Ask her to come down and I'll buy her dinner too.'

  'Here? In here? Oooh, no, mate. This is no place for her.'

  'Looks respectable enough.'

  'It's me reputation, mate. Me reputation. The mates would never let me live it down. Oh, no. The little woman stays at home. I provide for her and she takes care o' me, and that's the way it should be between men and women.' He wiggled a finger solemnly. 'You Americans are far too friendly with your women. That makes it hard for everyone, you see.'

  'You're a philosopher, Fred. I can see that.'

  'I like you, kid.'

  'How about letting me ride along with you tomorrow when you go to Hedrick's?'

  'Oh, can't do that, laddie. Against company rules. No passengers, they say. Firing offense.'

  'It's worth five hundred American.'

  'How much is that in Australian?'

  'About eight hundred.'

  'Sometimes exceptions can be made, mate.'

  'The high bid in the sixth and final round of the first day of bidding was sixty-two point six billion dollars,' the aide told the sleepy president over the telephone.

  'Who?'

  'The Japanese.'

  'Anyone drop out?'

  'No, sir. All four parties are still in it.'

  The president looked at the illuminated hands of the clock on his bedstand. 4:54 a.m. 'When is the hypersonic plane going to do its photo flyby?'

  'A few minutes after true sunrise in Australia, sir, about two this afternoon here.'

  'And the radar images?'

  'Those are coming in now, sir.'

  'Have General De Laurio and the national security adviser come to the White House for breakfast. We'll look at the images then.' 'Yes, sir.'

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rip Cantrell was amazed when he saw what the soldiers had accomplished at Hedrick's station overnight. Foxholes and bunkers had appeared everywhere, as if a giant groundhog were in a digging frenzy. A half dozen tanks were arranged around the main station building complex.

  'I haven't seen this many soldiers since I got out of the army,' the delivery driver said.

  'Looks like an army base, doesn't it?'

  'What In the world are these people doing here?'

  'Maybe Hedrick is entertaining some foreign big shot.'

  'Yeah. Maybe so.'

  The driver backed in to the kitchen loading dock. 'How about helping me unload.'

  'Sure,' Rip said. 'But remember, this is a one-way trip for me. Just drive out of here innocent as all get-out and go
on back to town. No one will be the wiser.'

  'Man, I don't like this. All these soldiers…"

  'You want to give me my money back?'

  'It's your ass, kid. Not mine.'

  With that the driver opened his door and stepped down. Rip got out on his side of the vehicle. Inside the kitchen the cook and head housekeeper were nowhere in sight, although two members of the kitchen staff were busy making tea.

  Rip made a couple of trips into the food locker carrying bags of groceries while two waiters went back and forth to the main dining room carrying pots of tea. When the kitchen workers turned away and the waiters bustled out, Rip looked through the door glass into the dining room. About twenty people were still eating breakfast. Charley was at one of the tables with her back to the kitchen door: He would recognize that ponytail anywhere. And, of course, there was the Air Force flight suit.

  He helped the driver carry one more load into the food locker, then jumped down from the loading dock and walked along the side of the house to a servants' entrance he had spotted the previous day. He tried the door.

  Unlocked.

  He slipped inside and pulled the door shut behind him.

  The hallway where he found himself was long and narrow, a passageway designed to keep the domestic staff out of the main portion of the house. No telling when he was going to meet someone, so he hurried along the passage.

  On his left was a door. He opened it a few inches and looked into the kitchen, then let the door close.

  Another passage ran off to the right. He took it. Fifty feet ahead was a stairway. At the foot of the stairs were two doors. He opened one: the laundry. The other was the furnace room, and it was empty. Rip slipped in and closed the door behind him.

  Two windows high up in the wall allowed daylight to filter in here. He would have had a view of the yard and hangar if the windows had clear glass in them instead of the frosted kind.

  Rip went across the hall into the laundry. Sure enough, he found green trousers and a shirt that could only belong to a gardener. The knees of the trousers were faded from kneeling on damp earth.

  He skinned out of his clothes and pulled on the trousers. The waist was a bit large, but not too much so.

  The shirt was okay as long as he left the sleeves unbuttoned. He put his jacket back on, left it unzipped.

  In the furnace room he found a toolbox containing a meager assortment of hand tools. These would have to do.

  When Hedrick came into the dining room for breakfast, two of the bidding parties approached him. They wanted more time in the saucer. Charley Pine was sipping on a cup of coffee at the next table. She half turned in her chair to watch the discussion.

  Hedrick eyed the Chinese and European team leaders without enthusiasm. 'Everyone has had ample opportunity to examine the saucer. Further examination will merely delay the resumption of bidding, which by mutual consent is scheduled to resume at eleven o'clock…" Hedrick consulted his watch. 'Twenty-seven minutes from now.'

  Pieraut spoke first. 'My government has raised questions, Mr. Hedrick, that I must attempt to answer. I merely serve my nation.'

  The Chinese delegation leader echoed Pieraut. He also had no choice, he said.

  Hedrick had to agree to their request and did so without further argument. He asked Charley Pine to escort the bidders, and she agreed.

  On the way to the hangar she passed someone kneeling on the sidewalk working on a junction box. She and her male companions paid the workman no attention. After she passed him, however, he watched her and the four men she was with until they disappeared into the hangar. Then Rip Cantrell went back to messing with the junction box.

  Rigby was standing beside the saucer when the little party entered the hangar. He stood watching as the party went through the saucer's hatch one by one, then he climbed aboard too.

  Charley spent a dull hour in one of the passenger seats watching the engineers inspect, photograph, and measure. Roger Hedrick had absolutely forbidden any disassembly.

  Rigby sat in the pilot's seat watching Charley Pine like a cat watches a mouse. Roger Hedrick was apparently taking no chances. Charley had been paid and promised more, but he wasn't about to take the chance that she would fly away with the saucer before he had collected a mountain of money from someone.

  Is Charley going to fly the saucer? When will she come out of the hangar? Rip was toying with these questions as he inspected outdoor lighting junction boxes. He eyed the house. Maybe he should go inside. But where?

  Soldiers came and went, presumably on military errands, and a backhoe lumbered by the hangar. Apparently it was being used to dig foxholes.

  There were some armed civilians around too, but none of them seemed to give Rip more than a glance.

  He couldn't keep opening junction boxes and dicking around inside them for too long, however, without attracting attention he didn't want. He had to go somewhere, do something, until a chance to get away with Charley came along.

  But what?

  'Well, as I live and breathe, if it ain't the ol' tapeworm kid himself.' An American voice.

  Rip looked up, straight into the face of Bill Taggart. Standing beside Taggart was the tall Aussie from the Sahara, Red Sharkey. Behind Sharkey were two other men, both carrying rifles.

  Rip got to his feet, wiped his hands on his trousers. 'What are you doing here, Taggart?'

  'Becoming a millionaire, kid.' From his shirt pocket Taggart produced a check. He fluttered it in the air. 'O'l Hedrick pays his debts, I'll say that for him. I told him about the saucer. Made myself some serious money.'

  Rip was infuriated. 'You had no right to do that.'

  'All the right in the world, kid. That saucer belongs to me as much as it does to you. I figured out a way to make a dollar on the damned thing, and by God I did.'

  'Enough jawing,' Red Sharkey said and laid a heavy hand on Rip's shoulder. Rip shrugged it off and swung at Taggart, who took the punch on his neck and went down like a stunned ox.

  Sharkey and his men grabbed Rip's arms.

  'I thought I'd seen the last of you when you stole the saucer in the desert, boy,' Sharkey said. 'Left us to the tender mercies of Qaddafi's camel jockeys, so you did. You owe me.'

  Red Sharkey drew back and drove a fist at Rip's chin. Rip managed to take most of the impact on his shoulder and the side of his face, but the blow staggered him.

  One of the men spoke up. 'You'll get us fired, Sharkey, scuffling on the lawn.'

  'This little bastard deserves it,' Taggart snarled, rubbing his neck. He got slowly to his feet, looking sour as hell.

  Red Sharkey twisted Rip's arm up behind his back. 'Come along like a gentleman or I'll twist your arm right out of the shoulder socket.'

  Sharkey marched Rip into the house. Taggart stood on the sidewalk watching them go.

  They took Rip to a small room with several chairs. 'Watch him,' Sharkey told the two who were with him and left them there.

  Rip fell into a chair. He sat there flexing his arm, trying to work out the soreness.

  In less than two minutes Sharkey was back with Hedrick in tow.

  'Mr. Cantrell, it is you. This is quite unexpected,' Hedrick said, smiling. 'Welcome to Australia.'

  Rip didn't reply.

  Hedrick's smile faded. 'How did this man get here?' Hedrick asked Sharkey.

  'I don't know, sir. We found him outside, playing with lawn lighting junction boxes.'

  'Take him down to the hangar, show him to Ms. Pine. Then lock him up somewhere. And leave someone to guard him.'

  Rip's legs almost failed him when he saw the saucer sitting in the middle of the hangar. So close and yet so far.

  Sharkey called to Charley through the hatch. She came out, stood there looking at Rip, who was flanked by Sharkey's hired muscle.

  'Mr. Hedrick said to show him to you. Now you've seen him.'

  Rip jammed his hands into his pockets so no one would see them tremble.

  Charley looked so beautiful.
<
br />   She walked over to him, reached for his cheek.

  'That's enough romance,' Red Sharkey said sourly. 'I'm getting all choked up.'

  They turned Rip around and led him away.

  Charley stood rooted, staring at Rip's back. Sharkey paused beside her. 'Hedrick said to make it crystal clear: Any funny business and he gets it.'

  Charley Pine climbed back into the saucer.

  The engineers announced themselves satisfied a few minutes after twelve o'clock and lowered themselves through the open hatch. Charley went through the hatch after them.

  Rigby stayed in the saucer. The engineers wandered toward the main personnel door and left the building.

  What is Rigby doing in there?

  She stretched, did several deep knee bends, bent over and touched the toes of her steel-toed leather flight boots.

  No one else in the hangar.

  Where have they taken Rip?

  She should fly the saucer out of here. Fly it right through the door, light the rockets and be gone.

  Hedrick wouldn't hurt Rip. The man would have to let him go-Even as she thought it, she didn't believe it. She was standing there, forlorn, tired, and dejected, when Rigby dropped through the saucer's hatch. Bent over, he walked toward her.

  He was just clearing the leading edge of the saucer and coming erect when she leaped clear of the floor and kicked with her right foot. She was aiming for Rigby's larynx and missed; her flight boot smashed into his mouth.

  His head slammed back against the leading edge of the saucer, then he went to his hands and knees, blood gushing from his mouth. Rigby spit teeth, shook his head, trying to get it together.

  His head came up and his eyes found her. His lips twisted. He coiled himself to rise.

  She kicked him again with everything she had, with all her weight moving forward into the kick. Her foot caught Rigby square in the nose with a sickening thunk, ripping the bandage off. The impact threw Rigby backward onto the concrete, where he hit with a splat. He lay there totally relaxed.

  Unconscious. Blood flowed freely from his mouth and the misshapen lump of flesh that had been his nose.