Lightning flashed, showing Brent the last of the crowd hurrying desperately through the rain toward their cars. Several limped or held themselves in pain.
“I wish we could get a shot of that.”
“I’m not sending any camera operator out in that lightning,” the producer said. “The storm’s predicted to last several hours. Nothing else is going to happen here tonight. It’s time to get some sleep.”
“Who needs sleep when there’s a story this big?”
“And who needs a reporter who passes out from exhaustion?”
“Where’s Sharon?” Brent asked with suspicion.
“Back at the motel. She’s resting so she can anchor the morning broadcast from here.”
“No way. I’ll coanchor with her.”
“Not unless you get some rest. I know you want to show viewers how hard you’re working, but you’re starting to look scary.”
When the truck started, making the floor unsteady, Brent sat next to Anita and fastened his seat belt. “Are you hurt?”
“Bruised.”
“You did good work today.”
“And last night,” Anita emphasized. Something flashed in her dark eyes.
“And last night,” Brent acknowledged. “Tomorrow morning, are you ready to do more?”
“My car still needs repairs.” Anita’s face was pinched with fatigue. She peered up from under her baseball cap toward the producer. “Am I still getting overtime?”
“You bet. CNN is underwriting our expenses.”
The truck bumped as the driver steered onto the road.
“But I don’t know what else is left in the story,” the producer said. “After what happened tonight, the police say they’re shutting down the viewing area. Nobody’ll be allowed there tomorrow night. Maybe not for a long time to come.”
“The police can try, but after what we transmitted just now, there’ll be plenty more curiosity seekers here tomorrow,” Brent said. “It’ll be Saturday. People will make a weekend of it. They won’t like coming a long way and not getting a chance to see the lights. Cops, barricades, an angry crowd-all that makes for great television.”
“Tomorrow night,” the producer agreed. “But what about in the meantime?”
“Lots of angles. I need to track down the woman who killed the shooter. Also, somebody told me there’s a radio observatory around here. I bet I can tie that in somehow-extraterrestrials or whatever. And I want to find out more about that airbase from World War II. Maybe we can get a shot of where that kid got himself blown up back in 1980.”
“Johnny,” Hamilton murmured.
“What?”
“His name was Johnny.”
“Right.”
The producer said, “Brent, if you start wandering around that air- field, you’re liable to get blown up, too.” He looked thoughtful. “You know, that would make a great story.”
42
Raleigh heard the faint rumble of thunder, but apart from some water trickling down a wall, the area beneath the abandoned airbase remained secure. In the cold glare of the overhead lights, he watched his men finish unpacking the last of the wooden crates.
“Sergeant Lockhart, reassemble the team.”
“Yes, sir.”
Within seconds, they again stood before him in a line.
“Gentlemen, through the door behind you, you’ll find latrines and your sleeping quarters, although you won’t spend much time in the latter. There’s a kitchen, but it isn’t stocked. For now, you’ll need to make do with the field rations you unpacked. When the next Black Hawk arrives at the observatory, it’ll bring steaks.
“Part of the reason you were chosen for this assignment is that you’re experts in electronics. Behind the door to your right, you’ll find a monitoring station. It was state-of-the-art three years ago. The equipment we brought will bring it up to speed. But before you install it, I want you to take the closed-circuit cameras you unpacked and mount them on overhead corners in every room and corridor. I want every inch of this facility-including the latrines-to be visible on surveillance screens and every second of what happens down here to be recorded. If we’re going to make history, it needs to be documented.
“Each of you will wear your sidearm at all times. You’ll also make sure that one of the M4s you unpacked is close to you wherever you go. In addition, you’ll wear shooter’s earplugs.”
Raleigh noted the puzzled look Lockhart gave him.
“Sergeant, do you have a question?”
“Sir, are you expecting us to come under attack?”
“Just taking precautions, given the instability we’ve seen outside. As far as the earplugs are concerned, there are certain audio characteristics to this project that can have… let’s call them damaging effects.”
A door opened behind Raleigh. He turned to see one of the team members bringing in the dog trainer and the German shepherd. They’d come down via a stairwell-its electronically controlled hatch was concealed among the hangar’s piles of wreckage. All three were soaked.
“Any problems up there?” Raleigh asked.
“No, sir,” the dog trainer responded. “Nobody came near this area. The crowd was too distracted by what was happening at the viewing area down the road. Things got crazy there. Then the storm started, and everybody left.”
“Through that door, you’ll find dry clothes.”
“Thank you, sir.”
As the trainer and the German shepherd left the area, Raleigh motioned for Lockhart to come over.
Raleigh kept his voice low. “If the dog acts strangely in any way, no matter how slight…”
“Yes, sir?”
“Shoot it.”
43
The Saturn’s windshield wipers flapped heavily in the strengthening downpour that pounded the roof and obscured the headlights. Shivering, Tori almost missed the motel’s entrance. She turned, drove through rain-churned puddles, and stopped at unit 11. After she and Page ran to the door, Page unlocked it and held it open for her with- out entering.
“Go ahead, take a bath,” he said. “Put on some warm clothes. I’ll drive back to the Rib Palace and get some hot coffee for us.”
“But you’re as cold as I am. Why should I go first? That isn’t fair.”
“The last thing you need is to get sick before your surgery. How about hot soup? You want some?”
Tori barely hesitated. “Yes. That would be great.”
Page hurried back through the drenching rain and got into the car, turning up the heater.
Fifteen minutes later, he returned, setting Styrofoam containers of coffee and soup on the unit’s small table. The bathroom door was closed. Hearing the splash of water in the tub, he quickly took off his dripping clothes. The room didn’t have a closet, but it did have hangers on a rod. He hung his clothes there and dried himself with a blanket he found on a shelf. Even with the blanket draped around him, he couldn’t stop shaking.
He hadn’t packed a lot of clothes and was forced to put on the jeans and shirt he’d worn the night before. They still had the odor of smoke, but at least they were dry.
When Tori came out of the bathroom, she found him huddled under the covers of his bed, trying to keep his fingers steady while he used both hands to grip his container of coffee.
She wore her usual T-shirt and boxer shorts. Her towel-dried hair was combed back. “Your turn.”
“Somehow the idea of getting wet again doesn’t appeal to me. I think I’ll wait until I’m a little warmer.”
“I still feel shaky. What kind of soup did you get?”
“In a place like the Rib Palace, they had only one choice-they call it Fiery Beef.”
“Sounds like exactly what I need.”
She pulled a blanket off her bed, wrapped it around her, and sat at the table, opening the container of soup. Watching her, Page sipped his coffee and felt the hot liquid against his bruised lip. She didn’t say anything all the while she ate, spooning the soup quickly. Then she opened the coffee, and while she drank it, she remained silent. Finally she turned to him, her features strained with confusion. “If it hadn’t been for the storm, I’d have walked forever to try to reach the lights.”