Rip nodded. 'Uncle Egg is supposed to call in a couple of weeks. He wants me to stay out of sight until then. You can tell the guys I'm here if you make them promise not to tell anyone else.'
'They might tell, Rip. They like to drink beer on Saturday nights and they've got girlfriends.'
'If they suspect I'm here and we didn't tell them, we'll have problems. Ask them not to tell. That's all we can do.'
'Okay.'
'The saucer is hidden where no one can find it. I thought maybe after dark tonight I'd take some clothes and grub and walk up to the lake. I could stay in the cabin up there, fish a little, read some of those books I never seem to have time for.'
'People fish that lake, Rip. It's open to the public.'
'Anybody in a boat will be too far out to see who I am.'
'Reporters have called here two or three dozen times this past week, pestering me something fierce. I'm surprised the phone hasn't rung this morning.'
'When Uncle Egg calls in a couple of weeks, you could drive up to the lake and get me.'
'If that's what you want.'
'If no one finds out I'm here, this whole thing will blow over. The press will write about something else tomorrow. The politicians will want another tax, one of the president's old girlfriends will tell all, there will be another scandal du jour in Hollywood… something. The papers are full of something every day.'
'Is that a prediction?'
'It's a prayer. I can't live like this for very long.'
'How serious are you about this Charley woman?'
'Mom!'
'That's a fair question.'
'Who said I was serious?'
'I wasn't born yesterday. You didn't go all the way to Australia to rescue a piece of machinery.'
'I like her. All right? Is there anything wrong with that?'
'Well, I don't know. You never tell me anything. Exactly how old is she, anyway?'
'I don't know exactly. I didn't ask to see her driver's license.'
'She sounds pretty old to me. A test pilot, retired from the Air Force — '
'She is not retired! She resigned.'
'I never thought of you with an older woman. It's… upsetting, somehow…'
'I'm going upstairs and lie down, Mom. Okay? I didn't get any sleep last night.'
'If she calls, should I wake you up?'
'Oh, Mom!'
As Rip climbed the stairs, she called after him, 'Has Charley been married before?'
His room looked like he remembered it: kid stuff stuck all over, a couple of pinups, a football he had scored a winning touchdown with his senior year, a movie poster, souvenirs from baseball games in Chicago… It was time to throw most of this junk away.
His father's old Winchester was in the closet under the eaves. Rip got it out and worked the lever several times. He dug through the closet until he found a box of ammo for the thing. The stuff was five or six years old but it would have to do.
He loaded the rifle, made sure the hammer was down, and set it beside the bed within easy reach. Only then did he take off his shoes and lie down.
Rip got to the cabin a little after midnight. Jet lag still had him in its grip, so he got the broom and swept out the place, put his knapsack of canned goods on the shelf. Mice had eaten a few holes in the sheets and blankets. He shook them out, put them on the bed anyway.
Rip's father built the cabin two or three years before he died. Rip remembered coming here several times with his father that first summer, then his father's health began failing.
During his high school years Rip spent a few nights here with his pals, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes they weren't supposed to have and generally acting stupid.
The cabin was just a place in his life, a place without a lot of memories good or bad.
The kerosene lamp didn't really give enough light to read by. Rip sat on the porch in the darkness listening to the night sounds of frogs and insects. The mosquitoes weren't ravenous, they just nibbled now and then.
Toward dawn he found himself nodding off, so he went to bed.
The days settled into a routine. He slept when he was sleepy, ate when he was hungry, fished when he wasn't reading. The fish he caught he ate. The third day he was there rain fell for several hours.
He had been at the cabin a week when one of the hired men brought him two bags of groceries. 'Your mom sent the food. Me and Otis chipped in for the six-pack.'
'Thanks, Sherman. 'Preciate it.'
'Me and Otis won't tell a soul you're here, Rip. Honest.'
'I believe you.'
'We've really been asked, that's for darn sure. Reporter outta Los Angeles offered me a hundred bucks to tell him what I know. Mainly he wanted to know about you when you were a kid. I turned him down cold, of course. I wouldn't run my mouth against my friends for any amount of money. You know me.'
'Right.'
'Everybody in town is dying to ask you all about that saucer, where it is, how'd you learn to fly it, all that stuff.'
'Uh-huh.'
'Sorta curious my own self too, you understand.'
'Soon as I'm able, I'll tell you all about it.'
'Me and Otis won't tell a soul, Rip. Honest.'
'It's good to have friends like you guys.'
'You know, I never even seen a flying saucer. Not a one. In this day and age, can you believe it?'
'They're kinda rare.'
'Maybe you can give us a ride too, huh?'
'Well
'My girlfriend Arlene, she is so excited. She's really into aliens and parallel universes, reads a lot of books. Knows all about saucers. She'd think I was the hottest thing in jeans if you gave her a ride too.'
I'll try to do that for you, Sherman. Thanks for coming up.'
'Yeah, Rip. Me and Otis won't tell a soul. Honest.'
Sherman and Otis would talk, and Rip knew it. In fact, he would bet a hundred to one that Arlene and all her friends knew the saucer was somewhere nearby.
As Rip watched Sherman drive away, it came to him that someone would soon come to get the saucer. He had been assuming that because the saucer was hidden, no one would know where he was. Ha!
The question was who would arrive first, government agents or Roger Hedrick's thugs. Or some third party. The saucer was too valuable. $150 billion, Charley said. Having that much money would be like owning California.
He had been a fool, sitting here dumb and happy reading books and fishing, confident that Hedrick was beaten and the government was stupid. The miracle was that they hadn't already arrived. So what should he do? Take the saucer and skedaddle? Leave the saucer hidden and boogie for a week or so, giving Egg and Olie time to litigate? Or stay right here?
He took the groceries inside, opened a couple cans of chili, and put the contents in a saucepan to heat on the wood stove.
The thing to do was get the hell out of Dodge. The only place the saucer was absolutely safe was in orbit. Where it was now was second best, but better than sitting beside a Canadian river or on an ice floe in the Antarctic. He needed to eat and sleep and go to the bathroom on a regular basis.
He ate the chili and cleaned up, then packed his knapsack. After dark he would walk out.
He put the Winchester on the table in front of him, checked that the hammer was on half cock. They might be out there this very minute, watching…Watching for what?
Watching to see if he would lead them to the saucer.
Okay, he would leave the saucer where it was. What he needed to do was hide himself. Get in motion and stay that way. Sleep in a different place every night, never go to the same place twice.
He walked out on the pier, looked around the lake. Two men were fishing from a boat anchored fifty yards offshore, maybe six hundred yards east along the shoreline, but they were in the only boat in sight.
That struck him now as unusual. This time of year there were normally six or eight boats somewhere on the lake. After all, the woods around the lake held dozens of cabins.<
br />
There had been five boats out there yesterday.
Where were all the people?
A wave of disgust washed over him. He was being paranoid. Just because bighearted, bigmouthed Sherman Hockett delivered two bags of grub wasn't any reason to go to battle stations. Rip had been in the cabin seven days… no, eight.
Ample time if Hedrick wanted to make another grab for the gold. Ample time for the government, too, if they were interested.
Rip pursed his lips, tried to whistle. Nothing came out. He walked off the pier and up the bank to the cabin consciously trying to look as relaxed as he had every day for the past week.
An hour before sunset.
After dark, he was out of here.
He went into the cabin and sat down in the kitchen chair facing the door. He sat with the rifle in his lap.
When the night was as dark as it was going to get, Rip Cantrell stood the rifle in a corner, put on his knapsack, and locked the door behind him. He left the kerosene lamp burning. It would run out of fuel tomorrow some time and go out of its own accord. With a little luck, he would be in Canada then.
The gravel road ran for a half mile through the woods to the highway. Rip had been walking about five minutes when he heard the sound of a car engine. He turned off the road and felt his way into the woods. The car was coming closer.
He almost fell over a fallen tree trunk, so he lay down behind it and listened.
The car crept along the road without lights. Behind it came another… And a third. All without headlights.
Holy…!
At least he was out of the cabin, and just in time. Somebody up there was looking out for the Ripper.
These people wouldn't find him in the woods at night. When the sun came up tomorrow, perhaps, but if he played it right he would be two counties north by then.
Which crowd is this?
Didn't matter, he told himself. They wanted the saucer and they had to go through him to get it.
When the sounds of the cars had faded, he got to his feet and adjusted the knapsack on his back.
He could see a little. Not much, but the night wasn't totally dark and his eyes had adjusted to what light there was.
He began walking slowly, feeling his way through the trees and brush, toward the highway. Once on the highway he could walk toward town, which was four miles away. Tomorrow morning he could rent a car from Honest Ed White, the used-car dealer, and by midafter-noon he would be in Canada.
About once a minute he paused and listened carefully. Nothing.
He fell several times and got scratched up a bit from " unseen limbs. still, he was making good progress toward the highway when he heard voices.
He stopped, stood stock-still.
Male voices, at least three, but he couldn't make out the words. The men were ahead of him. Perhaps on the road, perhaps in the woods.
If he could hear them talk, they might be able to hear him thrashing through the brush, if they hadn't already. He sat down right where he was. The voices were coming closer. No flashlights, though. Rip laid facedown, as quietly as he could. Closed his eyes, covered his exposed neck and ears with his arms, kept his face in the leaves and debris of the forest floor. '… over this way, Tony.' 'Watch that log.'
'Goddamn Daniel Boone, out here hiking through the goddamn woods in the middle of the goddamn night…' They were tramping along, not trying to be quiet, getting closer and closer. Rip lay absolutely motionless. They walked right to him. 'Get up, Daniel Boone. We ain't going to sleep out in the woods tonight.'
Rip rolled over. Someone shone a flashlight in his face.
He stood.
'It's him, all right. Shine your light over here so I can see this radio.'
Someone put a flashlight on the man's hands. He fiddled with a small radio, lifted it to his mouth. Rip got a glimpse of goggles. Infrared or night-vision goggles. These men could see him as plain as day.
'This is Tony. We got him. He was Injuning through the woods.'
Rip heard the reply over the radio's speaker. 'Bring him to the cabin.'
'Turn around, kid. Dinky, take that knapsack and carry it. We'll search it later. Fats, put a tie around his wrists.'
Someone jerked his wrists together in front of him and pulled a plastic tie tight. The tie cut into his flesh.
'Okay, kid, start hiking. Fats, you go in front of him and he can hold on to your belt. Let Dinky carry your weapon.'
Six cars sat in the parking area beside the cabin. Three of them were arranged in a semicircle with their headlights on. Rip's captors led him into the lights, turned him around, then the man they called Tony hit him.
He didn't see it coming. It was a jab out of nowhere right on the button and knocked him sprawling in the dirt. Half knocked out, he was jerked to his feet by a man on each arm. Tony was in his late thirties, maybe, with short hair and bulging biceps. He hit Rip again. This time Rip rolled with the punch, but down he went. Hot liquid ran into his mouth when they jerked him erect.
He tried to block the next shot with his hands, but Tony was cat-quick. Rip took it in the left eye.
He was trying to anticipate where the next punch might be coming from when someone said, 'That's enough for now.
A man stepped into the light, reached for his face, and turned it so that he could see the bloody nose.
'You cost me a great deal of money, Mr. Cantrell, and a great deal of aggravation.'
Roger Hedrick!
Rip said nothing. His mouth had blood in it, so he spit the coppery-tasting stuff out on the ground.
'Where is it?'
Instinctively Rip knew that as soon as he started to talk, Hedrick had the upper hand.
'We have all evening, Mr. Cantrell. All evening to cause you pain. Believe me, these men can administer more pain than you can stand.'
Rip tried to wipe the blood from his nose on his arm. He almost missed Hedrick's nod to Tony, who was sinfully quick. Rip just had time to let his head go with the punch.
They left him lying on the ground. Hedrick stood just beyond reach of his feet.
'No one is going to ride to your rescue,' Hedrick said. 'I have almost thirty men surrounding this whole area. We've sealed it off. You couldn't get away even if we cut your hands loose and gave you an hour's head start.'
He stood there measuring Rip, sizing him up. 'Break his leg,' he said to Tony.
'How'd you know I was here?' Rip asked. His voice was hoarse, a croak.
Hedrick's hand stayed Tony. 'I had your mother's house bugged and her telephone tapped forty-eight hours after I knew who had taken the saucer from the desert. We waited for you to call, futilely of course. Then, finally, you showed up on her doorstep. You can't get away, Cantrell. The world is too small. I can raise an army in an hour anywhere on this planet.'
Rip heard one of the onlookers say, 'Is it raining? Is that rain I hear?'
Hedrick glanced around at the speaker. Rip spoke to Hedrick: 'You get the saucer, how you gonna get it out of here?'
'I want you to meet Herr Zwerneman,' Hedrick said, 'Europe's finest test pilot.' Zwerneman stepped into the headlights. 'If you can fly the saucer, Cantrell, he can. He can fly anything with wings or rotor blades.'
'Some people will do anything for money, I guess,' Rip said, because he had to say something.
'That is so true Cantrell. Oh so true. I am one of them. I will do whatever it takes to get that saucer. I will buy it from you here and now, torture you, have your mother raped, whatever.'
'Leave my mother out of this.'
'Whatever it takes.'
His face hurt like hell.
'You said you'd buy it. How much?'
'One million dollars.'
'That's rich. You're going to sell it for a hundred and fifty billionl'
'There will be a markup, of course. I intend to make a profit as the middleman. One million dollars to you, that's your profit. Take it, or I will take one hundred and fifty billion dollars out of your hide.'
/> 'My hide isn't worth that much.'
'Taggart!' Hedrick called the name like he was summoning a butler. Bill Taggart stepped into the headlights where Rip could see him.
'Tell him how much I paid you, Taggart.'
'He paid me a million, Rip. Cash. Paid me another hundred thousand to come with him tonight. Give him the saucer and you and I can both retire, never work another day in our lives.'
Rip looked at Hedrick, looked at Taggart, spit blood down the front of his shirt.
'You're a dirtbag, Taggart.'
'Be that as it may, a million dollars is a million dollars. And when you're dead, you're dead.'
'If I'm dead, Roger Hedrick will never get the saucer.'
'Enough of this,' Hedrick snapped. 'We've wasted enough time. You know I can't kill you. What I can do is kill your mother. If you don't answer my questions I'm going to send some men to get her now. Let's start with an easy one: Who flew the saucer out of my hangar in Australia?'
'What?'
Rip had taken several brutal punches, so at first he didn't understand.
'Who flew it from my hangar to the atrium to pick up you and Pine?'
'You really don't know?'
Hedrick took a deep breath. 'I am fast losing my patience with you, kid. For the last time, where is the saucer?'
Rip put his head down, wiped his bloody nose on his shoulder. He didn't see Tony's punch coming. It exploded against his cheekbone.
He wound up on his face with dirt in his mouth. He rolled over, tried to focus on Hedrick.
Hedrick was talking to Taggart and Zwerneman, who were one or two feet closer to the lake. They were standing facing Hedrick, then they were rising into the air. Bits of leaves and twigs and dirt rose with them.
Taggart screamed. Zwerneman shouted something in German, a curse probably.
Hedrick stepped back quickly, looked up at the rising men and the black shape above them, darker than the night.
'Oh, Jesus,' someone said and pointed with his flashlight. The flashlights and the glare of the automobile headlights reflected from the glistening wet belly of the saucer, suspended in the air above the rising men.
Taggart and Zwerneman rose halfway to the saucer, screaming, then were crushed.
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