“Something like that. The freedom’s priceless. I’ve sworn off Washington. But, of course, you’d know that.”
“I heard.”
“How’s Back Bay?”
“Crumbling. Water table rose and the townhouse is sinking. Literally. It’s cost me more in repairs than what my parents paid for it.” She paused. “I found a phone number for you, but no address.”
“Got six of them — apartments. Two don’t even have any furniture, but they’re scattered conveniently all over the country. What I really want is to own a car. You know I’ve never really had my own. Pretty incredible for a man of my advanced years.”
T.C. sipped some of the wine, and the goblet trembled in her hand. Blaine grasped her other one in his.
“What’s wrong, T.C.?”
“I hate asking you for something, after so long I mean.”
“Favors for friends, remember?”
She placed the wine goblet on the table. “It’s my grandfather. He’s … in danger.”
“Cotter Hayes? You’re kidding.”
“Not Cotter Hayes. My grandfather on my mother’s side.” She paused. “Erich Earnst.”
“Hmmmmmm, not your average Boston yankee name.”
“Anything but. German Jewish. World War II specifically. An escapee from Sobibor.”
“If the gossip columnists could hear you now….”
“It’s one of Boston’s best-kept secrets, I assure you.” Another piano rendition by Dave McKenna ended, and T.C. waited for the applause to die down before continuing. “That Rawley Hayes would consent to marry a woman of Jewish persuasion … well, fortunately the truth never came out. Might have ruined him if it had.” A sad smile crossed her lips. “Truth was, though, that Grandpa Erich was always infinitely more fun and interesting than Grandpa Cotter, especially when I grew old enough to appreciate him and all he’d been through.”
“But now you’re saying he’s in danger.”
“Because he says so. And I believe him. It’s all very recent. The police don’t buy it — nothing to go on. I … didn’t know where else to turn.”
McCracken swirled his wine some more. “I need to hear the specifics.”
“There aren’t many, Blaine; that’s the problem. He’s certain he’s being followed. He should know, after all he’s been through.” Her mind strayed. “My mother’s not really Jewish. Grandpa Erich found her wandering the streets of Poland and brought her to America with him and his wife. Never forced their religion on her because they didn’t want her subjected to the persecution they had undergone. But, in addition to bringing my mother over, he also brought along a sack of diamonds the size of a tote bag. His gem parlor is still one of the best in Manhattan. The money made his daughter enough of a somebody for my father to take notice of her.”
“You sound bitter.”
“I hate pretenses; you know that.”
“All too well. And that’s why if you believe your grandfather, I believe you.” The relief on her face was obvious. Her need for the wine seemed to evaporate, and she too, began swirling her glass.
“Trouble is I’m not exactly sure what I can do about it, T.C. This isn’t exactly the kind of work I specialize in.”
“You could talk to him.”
“Which I’m sure you’ve done already. You’re a sensible person. Is there anything he says I can make use of?”
“You’ll ask the right questions. You always do.”
“Except once. Might have saved you the bother of that divorce otherwise.”
She shook her head sadly. “It would have happened anyway, Blaine, probably well before the three years were out, and that day would have been a bad one instead of a good one.”
“In a twisted sense, I suppose that’s a compliment.”
“Not so twisted.”
Blaine put his hand over hers. “Call your grandfather. Tell him I’m coming to talk to him.”
She smiled. “I already did. He’s expecting you tomorrow morning at his gem parlor in the diamond district.”
“You know me too well, T.C.”
“Some things don’t change.”
“Did you also mean to leave us the night?”
She hedged. “The morning was his idea, not mine.”
“Then I suppose—”
“Dinner, Blaine. Some more of this wine probably; I’ll drink while you swirl. That’ll be as far as it goes, but it’ll be plenty far for me because just having you here means enough. I don’t want to spoil it. I want to hold it just the way it is.”
“I love it when you talk dirty.”
Chapter 4
“Is your report ready, Mr. Sundowner?”
When the scientist answered, his voice was hoarse with fatigue. In the past eighteen hours there had been time only for a quick change of clothes. Once again, the Tomb felt large and devastatingly empty to him. As he spoke, he was distracted by the echo of his own words.
“I’m not sure it will ever be totally complete, sir,” he told the President, “at least not in the foreseeable future. To be honest, I know no more than I did yesterday; I’ve just confirmed my original feelings.”
The other men in the room — Kappel, Stamp, Mercheson, and Lyman Scott himself — stared at him with laymen’s confusion and disdain.
“Then get on with it,” urged the President.
Sundowner didn’t know where to start. Or rather, he did — and that was the problem.
“It all comes down to the symmetry of the destroyed radius. I’ll spare you the explanatory details. Suffice it to say that the town of Hope Valley was destroyed by a hostile action in the form of a particle-beam weapon fired from between ten to twenty thousand feet above the Earth’s surface.”
“Beam weapon?” raised Secretary of Defense George Kappel. “You mean like a laser?”
“Not at all. Lasers fire focused beams of energy. A particle beam fires matter, subatomic particles accelerated to the speed of light. The mass of these particles increases with speed, and the energy produced goes up by the square.”
“In English please, Ryan,” requested the President.
Sundowner sighed. “An ordinary television set is actually a particle-beam generator which utilizes a gun to shoot particles in the form of electrons through two magnets. Presto! You’ve got a picture, the density of which is directly related to the concentration of particles fired from the set’s gun. If it was too dense, the beam would obliterate the screen and everything in front of it. Now picture that on a much larger scale with a gun firing particles other than electrons. On the subatomic level almost anything is possible.”
“As yesterday would seem to attest to,” advanced Secretary of State Edmund Mercheson. “But how could this beam we’re facing leave no trace whatsoever of people’s remains, wood, plants, trees, grass, even rubber and cloth?”
“Organic matter,” Sundowner stated flatly, rotating his stare from one to the other. “The subatomic particles break up organic matter.”
“Speak plainly,” ordered Lyman Scott.
Sundowner swallowed some air hoping the dull fear rising in him would slide down with it. “All life on Earth is based on the carbon atom. The subatomic particles composing the Hope Valley beam have the capacity to destroy the glue which holds that atom together. It breaks down the carbon chains into their basic elements. Separates the oxygen from the hydrogen on a molecular level which reduces organic matter to black carbon dust.”
“The cloud,” realized the President.
Sundowner nodded. “I had my suspicions after viewing the tape the very first time. But I wanted to put off my report until I had time to examine the evidence further — what did survive, as well as what didn’t. Steel, brick, and all other forms of inorganic matter in the town were themselves unaffected by the beam. Buildings composed of these materials collapsed, but only because the bonds holding the inorganic materials in place were carbon-based.”