Something's up?'
'Something.' MacGregor snorted teasingly as he reached for a bottle concealed out of sight. He poured and downed half a shot glass neat, offered the same to Chester. The major accepted and duplicated the general's efforts-to ward off the weather, he insisted to himself.
'I should have taken that job National Avionics offered me in Washington,' the general told empty air. Just as easily, he cocked a querulous eye at the standing officer and asked, 'Joe, do you believe m flying saucers, UFOs, that sort of thing?'
Chester had thought himself as well prepared as possible for one summoned unexpectedly to a meeting with his base commander at nearly two in the morning during a near blizzard. So the speed with which he lost his composure was unsettling.
A host of conflicting thoughts fought for attention. The Ruskies were trying something . . . no, if that were so, he'd have been called to his plane, not the general's office. We're being invaded . . . but if that were the case, he'd hardly be alone here.
He finally decided that something very important was going on that higher-ups wanted as few people as possible to know about. His last thought before replying was that he probably wouldn't have a chance to telephone Charlene to tell her he wouldn't be able to attend MaryEllen's ballet performance at the school today.
'No, sir, I don't, but then, I don't disbelieve, either.'
'The little green men's agnostic, is that it?' essayed MacGregor. He added irritably, without giving the major a chance to comment, 'Oh, for heaven's sake, at ease, Joe!' Chester relaxed as the general pushed the bottle forward on the desk.
'Like another? A cigar, maybe? Havana.'
'No thank you, sir.'
MacGregor sighed, folded his hands on the desk. 'Why don't you believe in UFOs?'
Chester considered the answer as seriously as the question was being asked. It was a question that every pilot had been forced to contemplate at one time or another during his flying career.
'Not enough evidence, not enough facts to support their existence,' he eventually stated.
'The saucer advocates say they have sufficient facts and evidence,' countered MacGregor.
'They have yet to convince me, sir.'
The general sat back, apparently satisfied. 'Good. That's what I wanted to hear.' He rolled his chair across the acrylic carpet protector and pulled down a wall map of Texas. Rising, he hunted around on the map for a bit, then tapped something near its middle.
'Come around here, Joe.' Chester did so, fighting hard to keep a growing list of questions from overpowering him.
'Know this area?' the general inquired, tapping the map again. Chester studied the region in question.
'I've been clean across the state on Interstate 20, sir.'
The finger froze. 'This is a town called Cisco.'
Chester shrugged apologetically. 'Never been there, sir. '
'Neither have I,' confessed MacGregor. 'They claim to have the world's largest man-made swimming pool there. We think they may have acquired a new attraction.' He put his finger in the metal ring at the bottom of the map, pulled, and then let the plastic sheet slide shut without a snap.
Chester took it as a signal for him to return to his former position in front of the general's desk. 'You've been over to the Manned Space Center?'
'Numerous times, sir,' Chester admitted. 'There's one thing, sir,' he asked hesitantly. 'May I be permitted to telephone my wife? She's expecting me home by five.'
'Go ahead. No reason you can't, though of course you won't be allowed to say anything about your missionwhere you're going or how long you'll be there.' At Chester's distraught look of resignation the general added, 'You may tell her that you're not going out of the country this time.'
Chester looked happy. 'That'll satisfy her, sir. Thanks. Where am I going?'
'To Cisco and the surrounding countryside. But first you're to proceed to Houston to pick up three people at the Space Center.' Exploring his desk, he located a notepad filled with scribblings. 'Couple of fellows named Calumet and Tut.'
'Perham 71st?' wondered Chester. MacGregor appeared mildly surprised.
'You know him?'
'Only by reputation, sir, and through a couple of articles. It's not a name you read and quickly forget. I don't know this Calumet.'
'Jean Calumet,' MacGregor elaborated, studying the note. 'And a Sarah Goldberg.'
'That's another name I know.' Sometimes Chester wished the general would begin his puzzles with the border instead of loose pieces. 'She and Tut are both associated with all aspects of the search for extraterrestrial life. They both worked on the directional programming for Pioneers sixteen and seventeen. I guess Calumet's in a related field of study, if not the same.'
'You'll have a driver,' the general continued. 'All five of you will proceed from Houston to Cisco. '
MacGregor's expression turned solemn. 'We have evidence,' he began slowly, 'unconfirmed but pretty impressive, that a small object that may be of extrasolar construction survived entry into the Earth's atmosphere earlier this morning and came down in one piece somewhere in a circular region of 120 kilometers with Cisco at its center.
'You understand,' he went on, both hands twirling a pencil back and forth, 'the reason for total secrecy and for informing no one of this information.'
'What about local sightings?' Chester asked.
'The same rotten weather that caused us to lose this thing over New Mexico has apparently helped us, too. We've been monitoring everything from fifty-thousand-watt radio stations down to personal CBs in the area. No one's reported seeing or hearing anything unusual.
'That might also mean that the damn thing's gone and burned up during final descent. In fact, the experts tell me that's probably what happened. ' He glanced up from the pencil, and his eyes were cold. 'Naturally, we can't take that chance.
'Given the suspected small size of the object, the weather, and the fact that people live pretty far apart from each other up in that part of the country, it's just possible something could have set down intact without anyone noticing it, even if it made a good-sized bang on impact.
'You'll take an unmarked station wagon from the Space Center. It'll hold the five of you and the minimum amount of equipment the three scientists are being allowed.'
'Not much room for instrumentation in the back of a wagon,' Chester observed.
The general smiled. 'From what I hear, this Goldberg and her friends would like about six two-and-a-halfs packed with all kinds of gadgetry. Obviously we can't have the kind .of attention a convoy would attract in that area. '
'Obviously,' Chester echoed.
'We want to try and hide our interest without hiding it,' MacGregor explained. 'Nothing seems to attract attention like people trying not to attract attention. So you and the driver will wear uniforms, and the three scientists, of course, will be in whatever they want.
'If this isn't someone's idea of a bad joke, and if the object really exists, and if it's come down in recognizable chunks, then we'll move in with larger forces.'
'Does that mean I can get whatever I need if I need it?'
'Use your own judgment,' the general instructed him. 'Keep in mind that we want this kept as quiet as possible but that m addition to the Air Force, you're serving as representative for all the armed forces. Special units at Fort Hood have been placed on emergency standby. On your word, they can reach the Cisco area by copter inside an hour.
'Also keep in mind that I, General Hartford at Fort Hood, and a few others here and at the Space Center are in constant touch with NORAD and Washington.
'Again, there's a walloping good chance you'll find nothing but cold beef on the hoof and a lot of mud. On second thought-' The general grinned thinly. '-you may be spared the mud. I understand the high up that way's been well below freezing lately. Better have your woolens.'
