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"He . . . He said he was going after you."

"When? Where?"

"When you landed. Said he was going to get you."

"Is he armed?"

"He's got a knife . . ."

Jesus. And Ford was probably watching them right now. Keeping the gun to Abbey's cheek, he kept her body close to his. Damn, it was getting bright. He raised the barrel of the gun and fired into the night sky. The sound of the shot echoed and rolled across the island.

"Ford!" he cried. "I know you're out there! I'm going to count to ten, and if you aren't standing in front of me with your arms up, I'm going to put a bullet into her head. You hear me?" He fired into the air again and placed the hot muzzle against Abbey's cheek. "You hear me, Ford? One . . . two . . . three . . ."

"Maybe he can't hear you," Abbey cried. "He's on the other side of the island."

"--four . . . five . . . six--"

"Wait! I lied! He's not on the island!"

"--seven . . . eight . . . nine--"

"Listen to me! He's not on the island! Don't!"

"Ten!"

A long silence, and then Burr lowered the gun. "I guess he isn't." He released her and then, as she stumbled back, he struck her across the face, sending her sprawling. "That's for lying." He grabbed her and hauled her back to her feet. "Where'd he go?"

A choking sound. "I dropped him on the mainland. He went . . . back to Washington."

"Where in Washington?"

"I don't know."

"Who's the other person? I saw another person on the boat."

She swallowed. He pushed the gun in harder. "Answer."

"Nobody. I'm alone."

"Liar."

"You must've seen my slicker hanging on a hook in the pilothouse, next to the window. It's got a big round rain hood--"

"Shut up." He thought fast. She must be telling the truth; nobody could have gone through the count and not broken down to tell everything. Fact was, he hadn't seen either figure well in the dusk across half a mile of water.

"Where's the hard drive?"

"He took it with him."

Son of a bitch. He felt a trembling rage. The job was a bust. Without the hard drive he wouldn't get paid.

There still might be a way to catch up to Ford. But first, he had to clean up--kill the girl, return to his boat, do the father, and get his ass back to the mainland. Then he could pursue Ford to Washington. No use wasting more time here. He shoved Abbey to the ground and, so as not to dirty himself, backed up a step.

She sprawled among the rocks, trying to rise.

"Move and you're dead."

She stopped trying to move. Bracing himself, his legs apart and the Glock Desert Eagle in both hands, he aimed at Abbey's head and squeezed the trigger.

73

Ford found what he was looking for in Topsham, Maine--a small strip mall open late. He pulled up to an electronics store, went in, and bought a nondescript hard drive. At the Kinko's next door he printed out the suite of images from the deimos machine file, after carefully removing any references to Deimos itself, and shoved them in his briefcase. Using their computers, he burned four DVDs with the relevant suite of images from the deimos machine file. From a department store he bought nail polish remover, white enamel paint, a roll of paint-masking tape, a black Magic Marker, a box, brown parcel paper, and bubble wrap.

Back at his car, using the nail polish remover, he stripped all the identifying labels, logos, and serial numbers from the new hard drive. He masked out a square area on the side with the tape, painted it with white enamel, and put it under the car's floor heater, cranking it full blast.

While that was drying, he fetched shipping materials from the FedEx dropoff. He wrote a note:

The password is FuckNPF1. Look at all the images in the DEIMOS MACHINE file and the series of radar images R-2756-2760. THESE ARE REAL IMAGES, NO ALTERATION. They depict an alien weapon at the bottom of Voltaire crater on Deimos, one of the moons of Mars. This weapon fired on the Earth on April 14 and then on the Moon tonight--you've seen the results. This is the biggest science story ever. Just look at the images and you'll understand. Publish right away or you'll be slapped with an injunction as this is highly classified information.

He sealed it in an envelope and taped it to the side of the original hard drive, wrapped the drive in several layers of bubble wrap and brown paper, and wrote on the outside:

IMPORTANT! PROPERTY OF MARTIN KOLODY, SCIENCE EDITOR, WASHINGTON POST. IF LOST, PLEASE RETURN ASAP, ALL EXPENSES WILL BE REIMBURSED.

He thought for a moment and then added: $500 REWARD FOR SAFE RETURN, GUARANTEED.

He then filled out a FedEx mailing label. For recipient he put down a completely fictitious name and address. For sender he put down a fake name but the real address of a well-run boutique hotel in D.C. not far from the Post's editorial offices.

Putting the four DVDs into plain mailers, he addressed them to the science editor of The New York Times, the editor of Scientific American, the president of the National Association for the Advancement of Science, and the president of the National Academy of Sciences. He wrote a brief of the situation to include in each package and placed media mail stickers on them, with the requisite postage.

He slid the FedEx packages in the drop box. The original drive would take three to four days to reach Kolody: one day for the FedEx to realize the address wasn't good, one or two days to return it to the hotel, and one day for the hotel to deliver it to the Post's editorial offices. The package's confusing chain of consignment while in transit would make it difficult to trace or intercept, and Kolody's name would not be in any FedEx database. The drive would be the proof; the DVDs were backup, as it were, insurance, in case the original drive was seized by the feds. Media mail wasn't traceable and would also take at least three to four days to arrive at their destinations.

He went to an ATM and withdrew five hundred dollars, wrapped it well, and placed it in another FedEx envelope, this time addressing it directly to Kolody. He included a simple note:

THIS WILL PAY FOR WHAT YOU WILL SOON RECEIVE.

That would guarantee his attention. In four days the truth would be on the front page of the Washington Post and the world would finally know what was going on.

He hoped to God it wouldn't be too late.

He walked back to his car after mailing the envelope. The parking lot was bathed in an eerie yellowish green light from the Moon. Ford paused a moment to look at the evolving spectacle. The jet of material had started to go into orbit around the Moon, curving into a scimitarlike shape. The entire Moon was now surrounded by a bright, diffuse halo. Even as he watched, swift dark clouds passed over the Moon, one after another, drawing shadows over the world. The air was heavy. A bolt of lightning cut the distant sky, the distant rumble coming half a minute later, the air smelling of humidity and ozone. A fast-moving summer storm was bearing down.

Back at his car, Ford checked the new hard drive and found the enamel dry. Taking out the Magic Marker, he block-printed the same information that had been on the original drive:

#785A56H6T 160Tb

CLASSIFIED: DO NOT DUPLICATE

Property of NPF

California Institute of Technology

National Aeronautics and Space Administration