Saucer s-1

by Stephen Coonts

  Steeling herself, Charley Pine bent down and checked under Rigby's armpits. Nothing. She half rolled him and felt the small of his back. A holster.

  She pulled out the pistol, a nice little Walther.380, loaded, with a full magazine. She put it in the pocket of her flight suit and climbed into the saucer.

  In the cabin she stood erect, trying to get her breathing under control, looking around, trying to think.

  If those engineers hid a bomb in here, where would they put it? They must have known that the saucer might be inspected again. Or two or three times.

  She started in the equipment bay.

  Ten minutes later she was back in the main cabin.

  One of the Chinese had looked under the floor panels.

  She pried up the panels he had opened. And found a bomb with her fingertips. It was wedged as far forward as one could reach, in a cranny impossible to inspect with the naked eye. She gingerly pulled it from its hiding place and inserted it in a pocket of her flight jacket.

  Did the German engineer also look in there? She couldn't remember.

  She hunted for another ten minutes, looking everywhere that she had seen any of the engineers look. Nothing.

  Rigby was lying on the floor of the hangar exactly as she had left him. He hadn't moved.

  Perhaps he was dead.

  Maybe she should check to see if he was breathing.

  Naw…

  Outside on the mat were four large jets. Two of them were Grumman Gulfstream V's, one was a Russian airliner, another was a Boeing 737. One of the Gulf-streams sported the Hedrick family coat of arms on the tail; Charley Pine walked over for a look.

  The soldiers in front of the hangar made no move to follow. They were guarding the hangar, not the airliners.

  Charley Pine put one of the bombs in the right main gear well of the Gulfstream wearing the Hedrick coat of arms. The Chinese bomb went in a gear well of the Boeing, which carried the insignia of the Chinese national airline.

  When she walked away from the airliners, heading toward the house, the soldiers were talking among themselves, paying no attention.

  Lunch was a harried affair. The members of the delegations were tense and preoccupied and said little. They ate quickly and rushed from the room to confer with their groups and make last-minute overseas telephone calls.

  Charley was dawdling over a full plate, abandoned by her luncheon companions and unable to eat, when Bernice came bouncing in wearing a wide grin.

  'It'll be over soon, Roger says. Somebody will get the saucer this afternoon.' Bernice giggled. 'Roger is so excited! He's going to be the richest man on earth.'

  'I'm happy for him,' Charley Pine said.

  'Oh, I am too,' Bernice gushed. 'He's worked so hard for this.'

  'Right.'

  'Just think, we're watching history being made! I can positively feel the electricity in the air.'

  She strode away, off to the library, probably, leaving Charley to her uneaten lunch.

  Charley filled her coffee cup and took it across the hallway to a television room. She settled into one of the overstuffed chairs and began surfing channels.

  She stopped when she glimpsed Professor Soldi's tanned mug.

  '… Of course, we have no evidence to prove my theories, but archaeologists have none to disprove them, either.'

  'But your thesis that Homo sapiens came to earth in the saucer would necessarily mean that the fossil record of hominid development here on earth was wrong.'

  Soldi shook his head. 'No, sir; Not wrong. The record is fragmentary at best, and some of it may have been misinterpreted. The fact is that the earliest archaeological evidence we have for Homo sapiens — modern man — is only one hundred thousand years old. Before that we find Neanderthal man and Homo erectus.'

  'Could the saucer people have displaced the hominids that evolved on earth?'

  'Displaced, killed, or simply survived while the natives perished. We don't know enough even to guess.'

  'Professor, you have admitted that your theory is based on the assumption that evolution followed a similar course elsewhere. Could you comment on that?'

  'I think evolution follows similiar courses when similar conditions exist,' Professor Soldi explained. 'All things being equal, the evolutionary pressures will also be equal. A statistician might note that while all things are rarely equal, on occasion they may be essentially so. For example, if a star similar in size to our sun had a planet of about the right size, at about the right distance, then we can expect the laws of chemistry and physics to operate to make the planet very similiar to earth. People seem to forget, there are at least a hundred billion stars in the Milky Way, our galaxy. There are billions of galaxies.

  'There are not one or two planets similar to earth in the universe,' Soldi said with narrowed eyes. 'There are hundreds. Thousands. Perhaps hundreds of thousands. Could any of those hundreds of thousands of worlds similar to ours contain creatures similar to us? I submit that it would be astounding if they didn't.'

  'So we are not alone in the universe?' the interviewer prompted.

  'Of course not. Ask anyone who has seen the saucer. Ask what he or she thinks.'

  Charley Pine reached for the remote control. After she turned the television off, a male voice behind her said, 'I think the damned thing was made in Brazil.'

  She turned. Sharkey.

  Charley Pine got up and walked down the hall to the library. The door was closed and there was an armed man sitting on a stool. He didn't say anything. Charley opened the door and went inside.

  Rip Cantrell was sitting in an empty horse stall in the barn. There was no door on the stall. In front of the stall on the far side of the barn sat a guard on a stool with a rifle across his knees.

  Above Rip a shaft of sunlight shown in through a small glassless window. He sat in the hay trying to think. He wasn't tied up or chained. The only thing keeping him here was the guard's implicit threat to shoot him if he tried to leave.

  The guard was maybe forty, slightly above medium height, with a modest spare tire around his middle. The butt of an automatic pistol protruded from a holster under his left armpit. He kept his rifle, some kind of army assault weapon, pointed in Rip's general direction. His right hand rested on the trigger assembly.

  'Hi,' Rip said conversationally.

  The guard didn't even blink.

  Rip moved around a bit, trying to get comfortable.

  He still had a screwdriver in his pocket. Sharkey had forgotten to search him. He could feel the screwdriver against his arm as it rested on his lap. About four inches long, the screwdriver had a standard bit.

  Without moving, he mentally took inventory of his pockets. He still had his wallet, a key to the borrowed car, a hotel room key, American and Australian coins, some paper money, a paper clip, a ballpoint pen, and a small piece of newsprint that he had torn out of a paper a few days ago at Egg's house, a story about compulsive eaters.

  Taggart… he had never even suspected. Well, it was his own fault for trusting him.

  He wondered about Dutch Haagen. Did Dutch double-cross him too?

  Well, he was good and stuck. until that clown with a gun went to sleep or left, he was going nowhere.

  Rip sighed, leaned back against the wall behind him, and tried to relax. After a bit he closed his eyes, tried to sleep.

  Charley Pine… he touched his cheek where she had touched him, and shivered.

  Charley sat in her usual seat by the safe in the library. The tension in the room was palpable. Of all the bidders, only the Europeans looked halfway relaxed. Roger Hedrick was all business, his emotions buried behind a mask of studied calm. still, Charley thought that she caught occasional glimpses of the man who lived in there, a man who knew that he was holding a royal flush.

  Pieraut finished writing on his bid sheet, signed it with a flourish, and put it in an envelope. He handed the envelope to Bernice.

  That was the last one. Bernice handed all four envelopes to Hedrick an
d took her seat with the Australian deputy prime minister and the tax man, who were here again today.

  Hedrick opened the envelopes, arranged the bids on the desk in front of him, moved one from right to left, looked up deadpan.

  'Gentlemen, we have bids for seventy-six billion, eighty-two billion, eighty-six billion, and one hundred and fifty billion.'

  The Chinese, Japanese, and Russians sat stunned, staring at the other bidding parties. Pieraut beamed genially.

  The leader of the Chinese team stood and stuffed his papers in his briefcase. His colleagues did likewise. When they were packed, they marched from the room without a word to anyone.

  The Japanese slowly picked up their papers. One by one, the members of the delegation bowed to Hedrick, bowed to the remaining bidders, then filed out.

  'I must consult with my government,' the senior Russian, Krasnoyarsk, said.

  'Please do,' Hedrick said genially. 'We will reconvene here in twenty minutes.'

  The Russian left the room.

  Pieraut lit a cigarette and savored the smoke. 'If no one else chooses to bid in the next round, I presume we are the winners?'

  'Under the rules,' Hedrick acknowledged, 'that is indeed the case.'

  'Where do you want the money wired? If we win the auction.'

  Hedrick handed a sheet of paper to Bernice, who delivered it to Pieraut. 'Those are the banks,' he said. 'If you win the auction, wire the money. When the banks confirm that they have received the money, the saucer is yours.'

  'You expected to sell the saucer for such a large sum?'

  'I try to avoid idle speculation. As always with rare and precious things, the price depends on how much the object is desired.'

  'Oüi,' said Pieraut and smoked the rest of his cigarette in silence. He looked self-satisfied, Charley thought, as did the two German engineers and the Italian.

  She decided she had had enough. She got up and walked from the room.

  In the foyer, Krasnoyarsk was grunting into a telephone. The news he was hearing was written on his face.

  Charley was sitting on a stool in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee when Bernice came charging through the door. 'The Russians excused themselves from the next round! The Europeans have won!'

  'Roger is now the world's richest man?'

  'He's so close. In just a few hours. I am so happy for him.'

  'He doesn't deserve you, Bernice. Why don't you dump him and find yourself a decent fella?'

  Bernice was horrified. She whirled and marched from the kitchen without another word.

  It takes all kinds to make a world, Charley decided, and poured herself another cup of Java.

  The head cook came over to see if she liked the coffee.

  'You got any peanut butter?' Charley asked. 'I could do with a sandwich.'

  Chapter Eighteen

  'Mr. President, the Japanese delegation just informed their government via satellite telephone that the Europeans got the saucer for one hundred and fifty billion.'

  P.J. O'Reilly whistled softly. 'That's sixty billion above the maximum amount the Japanese government was willing to pay,' he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  The president took the note from the aide, then nodded, dismissing him. He stared at the note for a moment, wadded it up, and tossed it in the out-basket.

  'That tears it,' he said to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, who was sitting on the Oval Office couch beside Bombing Joe De Laurio. 'Let's get on with it.'

  The chairman, an army four-star, looked as if he had been sucking a persimmon. 'I want to go on record as opposing this.'

  'You're on record,' said the president, who hated people who wanted their objections formally noted. When events proved them correct they were insufferable; when events proved them wrong they conveniently forgot their bad advice.

  'I wish we could have flown that thing to Area Fifty-one,' Bombing Joe said wistfully, 'but I guess it wasn't to be. I don't see that we have a choice in this matter now.'

  The president eyed the general without affection. Bombing Joe wasn't the man to share a lifeboat with — the pit bulls in Congress would eat him alive.

  'I should have gone into the hardware business with Dad,' the president muttered.

  'I want to see Rip,' Charley Pine said to the guard in the barn.

  'What's on the tray?' the guard asked suspiciously.

  Charley lifted the cover on the main dish, revealing a heaping, steaming hot plate of beef, boiled potatoes, and vegetables.

  'I've got my orders,' the guard says. 'Any funny business, I shoot him.'

  Charley replaced the dish cover.

  'I'll do it, too. If you think I won't, you're making a big mistake.'

  'You look like the type who would kill an unarmed man.'

  'Listen, lady… '

  She bent down and placed the tray on the floor, then straightened. If she could just get the man off guard, just for an instant, she could take him out with a karate kick or elbow to the neck, whatever opportunity offered.

  The Aussie was too suspicious. He kept his finger on the trigger of the rifle and the muzzle pointed right at her belly. Shooting him with the Walther would be suicidal.

  'No closer,' the guard said. 'I seen Rigby after you kicked him.'

  She took a tentative step toward him, shifted her weight.

  'Don't, Charley!'

  That was Rip.

  The guard had his left hand on the forearm of the rifle, the muzzle dead center in her stomach. His face was white, drawn.

  'Don't try it, Charley,' Rip whispered. 'Thanks for the grub.'

  'They want me to fly the saucer out of here,' she said, her eyes never leaving the guard's. The man was stupid and scared, a dangerous combination.

  'Maybe Hedrick will let me go after you leave,' Rip said softly.

  'Maybe.'

  'Sorry it worked out like this.'

  'I'll see you back in the States, Rip.'

  'Yeah.' His voice was husky.

  She backed away from the guard, then turned and walked out of the barn.

  Hedrick was in the library seated at his desk while he waited for his European banks to call. The European bidders and two Australian politicians sat around the desk smoking Cuban cigars and drinking whiskey. Pieraut looked to be in an especially good mood.

  Charley stood in the doorway. Hedrick excused himself and walked over to where she was standing.

  'You owe me some money,' she said.

  He reached in a jacket pocket and extracted a bundle of hundreds. 'I believe we said three thousand for each day you were here, plus three grand to ride the Concorde home from Paris. Here's twenty.'

  'They want to go to Paris?'

  'Yes.'

  Charley took about a third of the bills and pulled them out of the bundle. 'I don't take tips,' she said and handed back the excess bills. She put the rest in a chest pocket of her flight suit. Then she put her hands in the pockets of her jacket. She used her right hand to get a firm grip on Rigby's Walther.

  Hedrick's eyebrows went up. Apparently he wasn't used to people refusing money.

  'I expect you to let Rip go when the saucer arrives in Paris.'

  'And I expect you to fly the saucer to Paris and leave it with Pieraut and company.'

  'Uh-huh.'

  'If you ever want to see Rip alive again.'

  Charley Pine's eyes narrowed. She was sorely tempted to haul out the Walther and shoot this son of a bitch then and there. She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then said, 'If Rip doesn't come home hale and hearty, all in one piece, I'll kill you someday, Roger. Sure as shootin'.'

  Hedrick seemed to be measuring her. 'You know, I think you mean that. I think you'd try.'

  She pulled the Walther from her pocket and pushed it against his stomach. 'This is how close you are to the next life, Roger. I could send you on your way right now. You hurt Rip, you'll be the richest dead man on this planet.'

  Hedrick had balls, you had to give him that. He glan
ced down at the pistol, then smiled genially. 'We understand each other, Ms. Pine. That's rare in human affairs, but it's good. Misunderstandings can be quite messy.'

  She put the pistol back in her pocket and kept her hand on it.

  'By the way, where is Rigby?'

  'I wouldn't know. Have you lost him?'

  'Never mind.'

  'When do I leave?'

  Hedrick glanced again at his watch. 'The banks in Europe don't open for another hour. The transfer will be made then.'

  He went back to the men sitting around his desk.

  Charley removed her hands from her jacket pockets and dropped into the nearest chair.

  The American nuclear-powered attack submarine rose slowly to periscope depth. For an hour the technicians had been carefully searching the sea with passive sonar. There were no ships within fifty miles of the submarine.

  When the boat was stabilized at periscope depth, the skipper ordered the scope raised. All he could see was empty ocean and sky. The electronic signal detectors (ESM) on the scope remained silent. He lowered the scope back into the well.

  'We have green lights on tubes one and two,' the OOD reported. 'Roger.'

  The commanding officer looked at the digital clock ticking down on the fire-control computer. Forty-four seconds, forty-three… 'Commit,' he said.

  'Commit to fire automatically,' replied the weapons officer.

  Twenty-six hours ago the sub had raised its antenna above the waves and received a data dump from a computer in Washington, an encrypted signal that had been retransmitted by a satellite. Then the sub had run submerged at thirty knots for the next twenty-five hours, racing for this position. An hour ago, while the submarine was five hundred feet deep, it slowed to three knots and began the passive search. Ten minutes later the boat's com gear picked up a very-low-frequency radio signal that had traveled completely around the planet. This signal was the fire order. Now the time had arrived.

  The skipper stared at the screen of the fire-control computer. Who would have thought the president of the United States would ever order live missiles fired into Australia? The world just kept getting weirder.