“Fishing?” Another laugh. Esther had a point; gone fishing was a weak excuse when you’re living at the edge of the desert.
“Or something, I dunno.” Henry shoved his shirttails into his trousers. He briefly considered going to his bedroom to grab a necktie but decided against it. No one out here put on a tie unless he was going into town for dinner and a movie. If their visitors didn’t like the informality of Mescalero Ranch, they could go back to Washington. “We’ll tell ’em we needed milk, and he went in search of the nearest cow.” Or rattlesnake, he silently added. If these guys are from the Pentagon, they might actually believe that.
Esther still hadn’t gotten up from her seat when Henry swung the screen door open and stepped out onto the porch. After the coolness of the ranch house’s adobe walls, the dry warmth of a Southwestern winter day was almost enough to make him start sweating. As they watched the car rattle across the cattle guard at the front gate, Esther crossed her legs beneath her short summer skirt and tipped her straw sun hat forward a bit to shade her eyes. When she made no effort to rise, Henry knew it was his job to greet their guests and shoo them away if necessary.
The car was a four-door Pontiac sedan, khaki brown with a serial number stenciled across the driver-side door. Probably from the motor pool at Albuquerque Army Air Base, where their visitors had flown in earlier this morning. The Army was currently building another airfield in Alamogordo, much closer to Roswell, but its runways hadn’t been finished yet. The Pontiac came to a stop beneath the cottonwood out front, and Henry waited until the two men inside climbed out before he ambled down the steps to meet them.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” he asked.
Both men wore Army uniforms. Although they’d had the good sense to take off their jackets and loosen their ties, Henry wondered why anyone wanting to keep a low profile would wear uniforms in a place where dressing up meant putting on a clean shirt. The corporal driving the car didn’t look old enough to buy a beer in the enlisted men’s club, but his companion—the silver eagles pinned to his collar told Henry that he was a colonel—was almost Bob’s age, with a small pot at his belly and dark brown hair turning grey at the temples.
“Yes, sir… I mean, I hope you can.” The corporal squinted at him, his stammer betraying uncertainty about his location. “We’re looking for… um…”
“We’re trying to find someone who lives around here,” the colonel said. “Professor Robert H. Goddard, from Clark University in Massachusetts.” His gaze flitted to the renovated adobe house. “Is he present?”
“And who might you be?” Henry absently scuffed a toe of his work boots against the driveway sand.
The colonel’s mouth pursed slightly. He obviously wasn’t accustomed to being questioned. He looked past Henry to the woman casually seated in a rocking chair on the front porch. “Mrs. Goddard, I presume?”
“Perhaps.” Esther coolly studied him from behind her rimless spectacles, not giving him an inch. Henry suppressed a smile. Esther was a woman who knew Charles Lindbergh as “Slim” and called one of the richest men in the country “Harry”; she was not easily impressed by a bird colonel. “You still haven’t told us who you are.”
“Colonel Omar Bliss, of the U.S. Army command in Washington, D.C. This is my aide, Corporal Max Hillman.”
“Hello, ma’am.” Hillman gave her a polite nod. Henry noted that his eyes were traveling up and down Esther, taking her in, probably believing that she was ten years younger than her actual age. She affected every guy that way when they met her for the first time; even at forty, she’d managed to hold on to her looks, elegant and sublimely sensual. If you think her legs are swell, Henry thought, just wait till you get to her brains.
“Hello to you, too,” Esther replied, favoring the kid with a smile that probably stopped his heart for a moment. “Yes, this is Dr. Goddard’s place,” she continued, standing up from her chair and sauntering down the steps. “And yes, we’ve been expecting you. Thanks for calling in advance. We’re not crazy about having people show up unannounced.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am.” Bliss was still being patient, but only barely. Esther didn’t faze him in the slightest. “Now, if I could see your husband…?”
“Dr. Goddard is busy at the moment. He’s gone fishing.” Esther didn’t care about the absurdity of her lie. “If you could tell me why you’re here, I…”
“Sorry, ma’am, but that’s official business. I’m not at liberty to discuss it with anyone but him.”
“Really? Oh, well, then…” Esther nodded toward the gate. “Quickest way back is to head down Mescalero Road until you get to town. Turn right at Route 285, then…”
“Esther?” A voice came from the screen door. It creaked open, slammed shut. “Who’s here?”
Everyone looked toward Robert Goddard as he stepped out onto the porch. Even for Mescalero Ranch, his appearance was sloppy: baggy trousers with loose suspenders, dirty undershirt, worn-out loafers with no socks. Oil stains on his hands showed that he’d just come from the workshop; Henry guessed that he’d come in through the back door. His question was most likely a ruse; he’d probably been standing just inside the house for a little while, eavesdropping on the conversation.
“These men have come to see you, Doctor G,” Esther said, using her favorite nickname for him. “Colonel Bliss says it’s about something so important that he can’t discuss it with anyone but you.”
“Oh, really?” Tucking his hands in his pockets, Goddard ambled down the porch steps. “Well, now… did the Army finally change its mind about that shoulder-fired rocket I offered them?”
Henry grinned. Everyone who worked with Bob was familiar with the story. During the last war, Goddard had developed a prototype for a portable solid-fuel artillery rocket that an individual soldier could carry onto the battlefield for use as a tactical weapon. The rocket had worked well during field demonstrations, yet the Army had given it a pass. With the “war to end all wars” coming to an end, many in the War Department believed that the coming armistice would make new weapons unnecessary.
In the end, several years of research and development had been wasted, and Bob had come away empty-handed. He’d been skeptical about working for the military ever since. Not that he needed War Department funds anymore. Clark University and the Smithsonian had underwritten his research during the twenties, and for the last twelve years he’d been the beneficiary of a sizable private grant from the Guggenheim family. So he didn’t need to go fishing; in fact, he could tell Colonel Bliss to go jump in a lake.
“No, sir, this is something different.” Bliss looked him straight in the eye. “I’ve been sent here to consult with you about a project of the highest priority… one which we believe you are uniquely qualified to handle.”
“Oh?” Goddard raised an eyebrow. “And who is ‘we’? Besides yourself, I mean.”
Bliss didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he reached into a pocket and pulled out an envelope. Without a word, he handed it to Goddard. Curious, Henry glanced over Bob’s shoulder. The envelope itself was blank, but when Goddard pulled out the typewritten letter inside and unfolded it, Henry caught a glimpse of the letterhead. It was from the White House.
Stepping aside, Goddard read the letter. For a few seconds, he said nothing, until at last he slowly let out his breath and looked up at the colonel again. “I see,” he said softly as he handed the letter to Esther. “This changes everything.”
“I thought you might say that.” Bliss turned to Hillman. “Corporal, would you please get the report? Dr. Goddard, it may be easier if you simply read what we’ve brought you. It’ll explain things a bit better than I could.”