"Johnny, what else is happening? Fill me in.
"The governor has about half the state patrol funneling in on Lone Pine. Closing off all the roads. He's put the National Guard on alert and standby. No one as yet has any idea of what is going on. Idea seems to be that this really is a ship from space, but no one can say for sure."
"If Jerry does call, you'll explain to him.
"Sure will," said Garrison.
"I'll phone you," said Kathy. "Wait a minute. I have a hunch the phone lines into this place will be jammed. Why don't you have someone use the WATS line to get in here by nine thirty or so. Keep trying if they can't get through. You have this number?"
"That's right. Will you have someone who can answer there and hold the line for you?"
"I'll get someone," said Kathy. "How much can I pay them? How's the budget on this operation?"
"As little as you can," said Garrison. "As much as you have to."
"All right, then," said Kathy. "I'll be in touch."
As she hung up the phone, Norton came in the door. "Jimmy is on his way," he said, "with the films. He got one of his pals to take over the station."
"That didn't take long," said Chet.
"I was lucky," said Norton. "Found Jimmy right away and there was this pal of his loafing around the station."
"We'll need one thing more," said Kathy. "Johnny will be calling back nine thirty or so. We'll need someone to hold the line for us until I get back here. The lines may be jammed, hard to get through."
"I think I have the man for you," said Norton. "I saw him just up the street. Old codger, name of Stuffy Grant. He'll do anything to get the price of a drink."
"Reliable?"
"If there's a drink in it."
"How much should I pay him?"
"Couple of bucks."
"Tell him I'll give him five. Impress on him he's not to give up the phone to anyone at all. For no reason, whatsoever."
"You can rely on him. He's got a single track mind. Sober now. He'll understand."
"I don't know what we'd have done without you," said Kathy. "That's all right," said Norton. "Johnny and I have been friends for a long time. Went to school together."
"There was a ear crushed under the thing that fell," said Chet. "Is it still there?"
"Far as I know," said Norton. "Patrolman is guarding it. Orders not to move it until someone shows up.
"Who's going to show up?"
"I don't know," said Norton.
"Let's get going, then," said Kathy. "I want a look at that car. Take some pictures of it."
"Go straight down the street," said Norton. "Follow the road down to the river. Not far. There's a police car with red lights. That's where you'll find it. I'll get hold of Stuffy and put him to work. See you later on."
At the end of the first block, they spotted the flashing red lights of the patrol car. When they reached the car, a patrolman stepped out of the shadows to meet them.
"Newspaper people," Kathy told him. "The Minneapolis Tribune."
"Could I see identification, please?"
Kathy took her wallet out of her bag, handed him her press card. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket, directed a beam of light on it.
"Katherine Foster," he said. "I have seen your byline."
"The man with me is Chet White. He's our photographer."
"Okay," said the officer. "Not much to see here. The thing, whatever it is, is across the river."
"How about the car?" asked Chet.
"It's still here."
"How about taking some pictures?"
The patrolman hesitated. Then he said, "I guess that would be all right. Don't touch it, though. The FBI has asked us to leave it as it is."
"What has the FBI to do with it?" asked Kathy.
"Ma'am, I wouldn't know," said the officer. "But that's the word I got. Some of them are headed up here."
They went around the patrol car and walked a short distance down the road. The crushed car lay at the end of the bridge—or rather, at the end of where the bridge had been. The bridge was gone. The ear was flattened out, as if it had been put through a rolling mill.
"Is there anyone in it?" asked Kathy.
"We don't think so, Ma'am."
Chet was taking pictures, walking around the flattened machine, the camera's light mechanism winking.
"Any identification?" asked Kathy. "A license plate, perhaps?" The officer shrugged. "I suppose there is, but not visible. It's Chevrolet. Several years old. Can't be sure of the model."
"No idea of who was in it? What might have happened to them?"
"Probably someone stopped to fish the pool under the bridge. Supposed to be some big trout in there. People often do that, I am told."
"But if that's the case," said Kathy, "wouldn't you think whoever it was would have showed up by now to tell about his big adventure?"
"That does seem strange," said the patrolman. "He might be in the river, though. The bridge collapsed when it hit. A timber might have hit him."
"Someone must have made an effort to find him." "I suppose," the patrolman said. "I don't know about that." "Did you see the thing that fell?" asked Kathy.
"Briefly. Before dark closed in. It had already crossed the river before I got here. It was there across the river. A few hundred feet beyond the river. Just sitting there. And big."
"It still was on the road?"
"On it, but extending over it on each side. Many times wider than the road. It had knocked down a few small trees."
"It's still sitting there, right now?"
"I'm almost certain it is. If it moved, it would knock down more trees. There'd be some noise. It's been quiet over there ever since I arrived."
"What's up ahead? Up the road, I mean?"
"Ma'am, that is a primitive forest area over there across the river. A stand of primeval pines. Big trees. Some of them hundreds of years old. The thing, whatever it is, is trapped, I tell you. It won't be able to get through the trees. It has no place to go."
"Any signs of life in it?"
"Not that I saw. Just a huge black box. Like a huge, awkward army tank. Except it seemed to have no treads. I can't imagine how it moves."
"And that was your impression of it? A big army tank?"