“Where is Martin Chittenden?”
“He had to step out. Who are you?”
“Check the men’s room,” the man said to his partner. “I’m Special Agent Paulis of the United States Secret Service.” He presented his credentials. “Where did Mr. Chittenden say he was going?”
When she didn’t answer, he repeated the question.
“I don’t know.”
The second agent reappeared, shook his head.
“Ms. Denton? I would strongly suggest that you answer my question.”
“He got suspicious and left,” she said, standing up. “Looks like he had good reason too.”
Paulis took out his Nextel and pressed a button. “Looks like Chittenden smelled a rat and took off,” he announced. “He’s probably still on campus… Creasey says he’s wearing jeans and a green shirt with short sleeves… and he’s got rust-colored hair.”
He put the phone back into his pocket. “Ms. Denton, I’m afraid I must ask you to come with us.”
“Under whose authority?”
“The President of the United States,” he said. “It’s a matter of national security.”
“I want to speak to Linda Creasey.”
“In due time, but for now you’ll have to come with us.”
“This is unconstitutional!” she said louder than necessary as they walked her past the ladies’ room door. “Martin’s done nothing wrong.”
Barely breathing, Marty waited until he was sure they were gone, then quickly fled the building. He was threading his way through the lot to his rental car when he noticed two men in suits coming toward him. He bolted for the car and jumped in, but by the time he got it running, both agents were there.
“Get out of the car, Chittenden!” Paulis ordered, moving around to the driver side door, his partner remaining behind the car to prevent Marty from backing out.
Marty ignored the man’s increasingly strident orders and slowly eased the car back out of the space. He knew he was taking a huge risk, but what the hell, the world was doomed anyhow.
Paulis produced a collapsible baton, used it to smash out Marty’s window and lunged for the ignition key. Marty panicked and jabbed his finger into the man’s eye. The agent swore and pulled back as Marty stomped on the accelerator. The car jumped back, and a pair of electrodes, fired from the second agent’s Taser, bounced off the windshield. Marty hit the brakes, cut the wheel, shifted into drive and sped off.
Several minutes later, as he joined the traffic moving west, he had regained his composure and was mentally running through a list of astronomers he could call to help him, though now he wasn’t entirely sure that was the best course of action. Was there any point in taking what he knew to the public? It would throw the nation into chaos, and in the end, there wasn’t much most people could do to save themselves. By the time he reached the highway, however, he had made a decision. Freedom could be a dangerous thing, but the United States was still a democracy, and Americans reserved the right to control their own destiny to the very end.
As he pondered his next move, he knew he couldn’t go back to his home or to Mesa Station. The airport was equally out of the question. The only thing he could think to do was ditch this car and rent another one along the way, buying himself some much needed time to get out of California. He knew of a retired, very sharp astronomer living in Idaho who would likely find this asteroid of particular interest, but she was up in her years and he had never actually made her acquaintance.
He thought about the agent then, and wondered if he had done any real damage to the man’s eye. He hoped not, but he had broken no laws and was perfectly within his rights to defend himself. Just the same, he hoped he would never cross paths with the guy again.
Three
Forrest swung his green surplus Humvee into the truck stop and drove straight up to the fuel pumps. After he’d stuck the nozzle into the fuel port, he went inside to pick up some chips and beer for the guys back at the silo. They had all been working like mules turning the old military installation into an acceptable living environment. There was a lot of cleaning and painting left to do yet, but if worse came to worst, much of that could be done after they’d sealed themselves inside.
The most critical elements had to be dealt with first. They still needed to fill the old rocket propellant tanks with diesel oil to run the generators, and there was a lot of food yet to be bought and transported to the site. The ventilation intakes still had to be hardened against sabotage, and the lift elevator had jammed the night before. These repairs and supplies were going to be expensive and time-consuming, and Forrest expected to work up to the very last couple of days. All five of the men had taken out second mortgages on their homes and were in the process of maxing out the many credit cards they had picked up lately. They laughed about the huge amount of debt they would all have hanging over their heads if, by some miracle, NASA did manage to stop the asteroid. They knew this was the largest part of why the government had chosen to keep the rock a secret—if everyone took the measures they themselves were taking, the economy would almost certainly implode and total chaos would reign.
Forrest pondered this, along with many other grim realities, as he tugged a case of beer from the bottom shelf of the cooler. When he turned around he was abruptly shaken from these dreary reveries by the sight of a particularly beautiful woman standing in the potato chip aisle. She was slender, with bedroom eyes and long auburn hair full of lazy, natural curls. Wearing a brown halter top, shorts, and sandals, she had a fresh, lithe look about her.
“These are pretty good,” he said, reaching to grab two bags of kettle-cooked potato chips.
She stole a glance at him. “Too much trans fat.”
“You know, that’s what I keep telling those guys,” he said. “Way too much trans fat.” He was looking directly at her now and smiling, the chips the furthest thing from his mind. “I’m Jack.”
A slightly bemused smile spread across her face. “Does this often work for you, Jack?”
He chuckled. “Truthfully, I’m a little out of practice.”
“I can see that,” she said dryly.
“Okay,” he said, feeling silly. “Safe travels.”
“You too,” she said, returning her attention to the task at hand. She heard him muttering to himself as he walked away—My kingdom for some time!—and couldn’t help chuckling.
He stepped up to the counter and allowed the clerk to ring up the chips and beer. “How much do I owe you on pump nine?”
“It shut off at a dollar twelve,” the clerk said. “You pretty much gotta hold the handle the whole time with those pumps. They’re touchy.”
“All right,” Forrest said. “I’ll pay for this stuff and come back after I fill up.”
He was still waiting for the tank to fill when the woman came out with a bag in her hand and walked across the lot toward her car. He watched her for a moment then trotted off after her, unable to help himself.
“Excuse me! Miss?”
She turned as she was about to put her key into the door, looking annoyed. “I’ve got a boyfriend.”
“Never doubted it for a second,” he said, more businesslike now, taking a pen from this pocket and writing his cell number down on the potato chip receipt. “Keep this number for a few months. I know this sounds like another stupid line,” he admitted, “but you may hear something in the news soon, something that frightens you. If you do, I might be able to help.”
She looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “I knew there was something odd about you. What am I supposed to hear that’ll frighten me into calling a total stranger?”