The House Next Door

by James Patterson

  My stressed-out ex-wife appears in the entryway. Her hair is a frizzy mess. She’s wearing a stained, oversized Caltech sweatshirt with not a stitch of makeup.

  Yet to me, she looks as beautiful as the day we first met.

  “Daddy’s not a stranger!” Claire exclaims, overcome with a fit of giggles as if that’s the funniest idea she’s ever heard.

  Marty frowns, not amused one bit.

  “No. He’s not. It just feels that way sometimes. Go back inside, baby. I’ll make you breakfast in a minute.”

  With an adorable nod, Claire scurries off.

  Then Marty levels a withering stare at me.

  “Not exactly a great time, Rob.”

  “I know. But it’s an emergency. This may sound crazy, but…I was right all along! I…I intercepted something. This morning. A message. Finally. From space!”

  Marty scowls and reaches for the doorknob.

  “Wait!” I plead. “Marty, please. Just listen to me.”

  Knowing I have about ten seconds, tops, before she slams the door in my face—maybe forever—I breathlessly explain as much as I can. The crude supercomputer I built in my apartment. The satellites I’d been tapping into. The alert signal that woke me before dawn. The streams of patterned cosmic data I glimpsed with my own eyes that finally confirmed my lifelong theory. The freaking armed federal agents I saw breaking into my apartment!

  After I make my case—and beg for her help and expertise—I wait. Marty is silent. She’s always had the best poker face I’ve ever seen. I forgot how much I hated it.

  After what feels like an eternity, she speaks.

  “Jesus fuck, Rob! Are you serious? Jesus fuck!”

  My ex-wife is a brilliant astrophysicist and consummate professional. If that’s her first reaction to what I’ve told her…I think she just might be on my side.

  I can see there’s still some major doubt inside her. But I can tell she understands this is too good, too big, too important not to take seriously.

  Marty turns back and hollers into the house: “Girls, put your shoes on! No school today, we’re taking a road trip! Hurry!”

  Almost instantaneously, Claire and Ellie, my oldest, eight, scamper down the steps, hyper with excitement.

  Marty and I quickly buckle them into the back seat of my Jeep and shut the doors.

  “You should know, Rob,” she says to me, “that I’m hoping you’re wrong.”

  “Huh? Why?” I ask. “This is the moment I’ve been waiting for my entire life! It could literally be the biggest discovery in the history of humankind!”

  “Exactly,” she replies, lowering her voice. “If you’re right…you’re a dead man.”

  Chapter 10

  “You still remember how to get there?” Marty asks.

  I nod. Of course I do.

  When we were married, we used to drive the forty minutes to her folks’ place in Glendora almost every other weekend. And while she and her mom watched Claire and Ellie frolic in the pool, I’d crack open a beer and talk shop with her old man. In addition to being my Jeep’s original owner, Dr. John Garrison is an accomplished scientist in his own right, with plenty of connections to both the public and private aerospace worlds.

  If anyone can point me in the right direction, it’s him.

  “Get ready, girls,” I say, glancing back at my happy, innocent children. “We’re going to Nana and Pop-Pop’s.”

  The girls cheer with joy as I start the engine and peel out. Soon I’m merging onto the 134, which, thankfully, is mostly clear now. So I really step on it. No time to waste.

  Marty and I don’t speak for the first few minutes of our ride, so the air is thick with tension. It’s broken by the peal of her phone. I glance over but can’t make out the name on the caller ID. With a frown, Marty answers.

  “Debbie, hi, how are…wait…there’s…there’s what?”

  My ex-wife’s voice has grown loud and alarmed. Even the girls stop what they’re doing and look up.

  “Where am I?” Marty says nervously to this mysterious caller. “I, uh…I just stepped out to run some errands. Dry cleaning, post office, I should be back soon. My phone’s about to die so if they try to call me—right. Okay. Thanks, Debbie. Bye.”

  Marty hangs up, shuts off her cell, and looks white as a sheet.

  And I have a god-awful feeling I know why.

  “That was my neighbor,” she says to me. “Three black cars just pulled up outside the house. Guys in dark suits. Earpieces. Guns. What the hell, Rob?”

  “Mar, I…I didn’t…I…”

  I can only stutter. At a complete loss for words.

  “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” she snaps. “Had to keep chasing your crackpot theories. Keep ticking people off every step of the way. Caltech. The Air Force. The government. And now you’ve dragged us into it.”

  Of course, I understand how she’s feeling. I feel sorry, and debate whether to say so. Then again, Marty could have easily shut that door on me. Could have kicked me right to the curb. But she didn’t. Even knowing the dangers, she agreed to help—and brought the girls along, too. That tells me she’s intrigued by what I found. And concerned. Maybe she doesn’t still love me, but on some level, I know she still cares.

  I’m about to respond to her—when I hear a siren. And in my rearview mirror I see the flashing red and blue lights of a California Highway Patrol car.

  Shit! How did the feds find us so fast? License plate–scanning cameras? Drones? Or were they following me this whole time? What the hell do I do?

  “Daddy, it’s the police, you have to stop,” Ellie says.

  “She’s right, Rob,” Marty adds sternly. “Don’t be stupid.”

  For a moment I consider flooring it. But obviously that’s insane. Right?

  “Okay, okay,” I say nervously. I pull the Jeep over. “Everybody just be cool.”

  About ten seconds later, an olive-skinned, barrel-chested patrolman is sidling up to my open window. Maybe it’s my nerves, but the dude looks giant. Six foot six at least. Even stranger, he’s got a beard, jet-black and stringy. And in place of the typical Smokey the Bear hat, he’s wearing a dark-green turban.

  I’ve been pulled over plenty of times in my day, but never by a cop who looked like this. It must be a religious thing. The Smith & Wesson sidearm on his hip sure looks department-issued.

  “Good morning, Officer…Singh,” I say, squinting in the sunlight to read the name tag above his glistening badge, an attempt to be friendly. “What seems to be—”

  “License and registration,” he says gruffly.

  Damnit. As soon as he runs my info through his system, an alert is going to chime in every FBI and DHS field office from here to Chicago! I’ll be detained. Arrested in front of my family. Carted off to some CIA black site. But what choice do I have?

  “Not a problem, sir,” I answer.

  I open the cluttered glove box and start rummaging through it. A small avalanche of candy wrappers and unpaid parking tickets tumbles out.

  “Do you know how fast you were going back there?” he asks. “I clocked you at ninety in a sixty-five. You in some kind of hurry?”

  “Uh…no, sir. I mean, I am. In a hurry. We’re taking the kids to, um, spend a day with their grandparents.”

  The patrolman grunts. What I told him was the truth—at least part of it. He can see my two girls whispering and giggling in the back seat. But will he buy it?

  I find the Jeep’s registration. Think of something, Rob! But I can’t. And I’m all out of time. Knowing I’m sealing my fate, I hand it over, along with my license.

  The officer turns to head back to his car, when little Claire points to him and blurts out, “Hey, mister, did anyone ever tell you you look like Chewbacca?”

  The patrolman stops in his tracks. And looks deeply offended.

  Just when this couldn’t get any worse!

  Claire and Ellie buckle over in hysterics, but Marty and I are mortified.
>
  “Girls!” Marty snaps. “Don’t be rude. Tell the officer you don’t mean that.”

  “But he does, Mommy, look!” Ellie says, pointing to the image of the character printed on her little sister’s Star Wars coloring book. “He’s so tall, and big, and his beard!”

  “Officer, I’m sorry,” I stammer, trying to smooth things over, “they’re just being silly.”

  “Oh, are they?” the officer asks, his face still tight.

  But then, a huge smile spreads across his face. “Do I sound like him, too?”

  Incredibly, the cop lets loose a deep, nasally roar—a darn good Chewbacca impression, if I do say so myself.

  Ellie and Claire go nuts. The officer beams. He does it again, even louder.

  A highway patrolman doing voices during a traffic stop? Seriously? And here I thought discovering alien life would be the strangest thing that happened to me today.

  “I’ve got two of my own about the same age,” he says to me, leaning into my window, dad to dad. “Look, I know you can’t wait to hand ’em off to Grandma and Grandpa and have some alone time. But slow down and drive safe. Okay?”

  I can barely hide my absolute shock as the patrolman hands my license and registration back to me.

  “Yes, sir!” I say, a little too enthusiastically. “Absolutely. Thank you!”

  “You all have a good day.”

  I watch the officer get back into his squad car and drive away. No arrest, no ticket, no feds swooping in, nothing. Marty and I share a look of shock. And relief.

  Maybe the universe is even crazier than I thought.

  Chapter 11

  “Initiating gravitational booster sequence.”

  “Roger,” Mission Control responds. “Epsilon Eridani, you are clear to proceed.”

  The commander turns to the flight engineer—who is rapidly executing a string of mind-numbingly complex calculations on her holographic touchscreen control panel—and asks: “Current orbital positioning?”

  “We’re looking good, ma’am,” the flight engineer responds. “I’m finishing the final telemetry projections now. Then we’ll be ready to separate.”

  “Very well.”

  Next, the commander’s attention turns to the pilot.

  “Heading and flight vector?”

  “Modifying to two-six-niner-five, Commander. Fly-by-wire coming offline.”

  “Aye,” the commander responds, as the gloved fingers of the pilot’s left hand dance across his translucent panel, while his right hand gently tilts the control stick.

  On both the outer port and starboard sides of the spacecraft, rows of tiny thrusters make a series of minute adjustments to the ship’s flight path. Currently, the Epsilon Eridani is in low orbit. But that’s about to change in a very big way.

  By firing, then jettisoning, their booster rockets at the right moment, the crew intends to harness the power of Earth’s gravity to slingshot their craft more efficiently and thus deeper into space than they could otherwise travel. It’s a tried-and-true technique, but one that requires extraordinary planning and the utmost precision.

  It’s also the crew’s point of no return.

  Once they leave orbit, there will be no second chances.

  No room for error.

  No turning back.

  If the commander is going to be fully honest with her team, if she is going to reveal what she and she alone knows about their mission, if she is going to offer her crew members the opportunity to back out…now is her absolute final opportunity.

  To abort the mission at this junction would be incredibly costly. It would also be career-ending, perhaps for everyone on board. Yet it would be doable.

  After booster separation, it becomes all but impossible.

  Only now does the weight of this dilemma fully sink in for the commander—when she and her crew are literally weightless. Her face remains calm and professional, but inside, her mind is on fire.

  Then she gets an idea.

  A cowardly one, but still.

  Perhaps she can find a minuscule mechanical problem, a technical excuse to abort the mission, without anyone being the wiser. Unlikely, but worth a shot.

  “Full life support and eco-stasis check?” the commander asks. “Is there anything—anything at all—out of the ordinary?”

  The mission specialist swivels his seat around to face her. He is immediately concerned. This request is not part of the standard pre-separation protocol. At all.

  “Can you please repeat that, Commander?”

  “Before we’re flung into deep space, is it so wrong to want to review the systems that will be keeping us alive?” she asks, rhetorically.

  “Of course not, ma’am,” the mission specialist replies, still a bit rattled. But he obeys, and runs a complete ship-wide diagnosis.

  “Life support and eco-stasis fully operational,” he says. “O-2 filters, rehydrators, nitrate converters, primary and redundant plutonium generators. All running optimally.”

  Normally this would be comforting news. But to the commander, it’s the opposite. If this mission is going to be halted, it is now completely in her hands.

  “Commander,” the flight engineer interjects, “we’re entering our optimal launch window. We’re ready for your command.”

  Glancing down at the photo wedged into her console of her children and husband, the commander suddenly feels an overwhelming pang of self-doubt. She begins to question every major life decision that’s brought her to this point. Where did her belief in this mission come from? Will her family ever fully understand why she accepted it? Is it truly the right thing to do? How will history judge them? Whose history, anyway?

  “We are awaiting your order for booster combustion and separation,” the pilot repeats. “We’re nearing our window’s termination, Commander.”

  When the commander remains silent, the pilot adds sternly: “Ma’am?”

  The mood on the bridge is growing tense. What’s going on? the crew wonders.

  The commander has mere seconds left to make up her mind.

  At last, just as the sun is beginning to rise above the planetary horizon, she does.

  Her mouth dry and scratchy, the commander whispers: “Boosters…engage.”

  The pilot and flight engineer snap into action, executing the command.

  The ship’s rear rockets instantly erupt with thousands of tons of propulsion.

  The Epsilon Eridani groans and shudders as it leaves orbit, hurtling higher, higher, higher into space.

  Once the boosters’ fuel is fully expended, the flames snuff out. Next, the empty rockets separate from the craft and start to float back down like errant feathers from the wing of a flying bird.

  With the boosters now gone, the payload that has been fitted to the underside of the spacecraft is fully revealed.

  It is the most powerful nuclear-armed warhead in existence.

  Capable of vaporizing an entire planet.

  Chapter 12

  I make the final turn onto my former in-laws’ winding, private road and their quaint, Spanish-style cottage comes into view. It’s been years since I’ve visited, but it feels like I was here only yesterday.

  Claire and Ellie clap and cheer in anticipation. And it’s no wonder. Marty’s parents are both so warm and loving toward their granddaughters, always spoiling them rotten. What kids don’t like getting to skip school to frolic in a swimming pool, play with a cute dog, and eat ice cream sandwiches?

  I drive through the property’s wide-open iron gate. (I’d told Marty’s father a thousand times to keep it locked, but he always ignored my advice, chalking up my concerns to paranoia.) I pull the Jeep up in front of the house and toot the horn.

  As Marty and I get out and start unloading the girls, Karen and John, trailed by Newton, their yappy schnauzer, emerge from the front door to greet us—with a mixture of joy and confusion. They’re delighted to see their daughter and grandkids, but are clearly not so thrilled to see their former son-in-law, the
guy who basically abandoned the family years ago to drink and chase a cosmic fantasy.

  “What a wonderful surprise!” Karen exclaims, wrapping Claire and Ellie in a tight embrace. She seems to sense my and Marty’s unease immediately. “How about we get you girls inside and into your swimsuits,” she says. “Come.”

  When the three of us are alone, John moves to Marty and gives her a long hug. “It’s wonderful to see you,” he says, “but don’t the girls have school? What are you doing here?”

  “It’s a long story, Dad,” my ex says. Then she gestures to yours truly.

  I start to go in for a man-hug, but John extends a chilly hand instead. I don’t exactly blame him. It’s actually more than I deserve. Humbly, I shake it.

  “Hello, Rob,” he says. “It’s been…quite a while.”

  “I know,” I reply. “It’s good to see you, John. Considering the circumstances.”

  “And what would those circumstances be, exactly?”

  “Why don’t we, um…head inside,” I suggest. “I need to talk to you. I need your help. With something important. Something that could change our entire understanding of the universe as we know it.”

  John shakes his head in disgust. “Son, you listen to me. If this is another of your ramblings about sending aliens photos, about intergalactic radio transmissions, you—”

  “Please, Dad,” Marty interjects. “Just hear him out. For me?”

  God, what a woman! How did I ever let her slip away?

  John is clearly still unhappy about the situation, but he can’t say no to his little girl. With a huff, he turns and heads back into the house.

  I give Marty’s shoulder a grateful squeeze and the two of us follow him inside.

  But before I shut the door, I hear a faint whirring noise high overhead. It’s distant, but getting closer. It starts growing louder and louder. Before long, it’s nearly deafening.

  I look up…and gasp.

  A helicopter—police? government? military?—is soaring high in the sky above.

  It flies directly over the house, then keeps going, finally disappearing behind the crest of a nearby hill.