The Bachman Books

'Do you think he will?'

A crescent smile in the darkness. 'My friend, I think there's gonna be a big boom. '

Minus 024 and COUNTING

The earth had dropped away below them.

Richards stared out wonderingly, unable to drink his fill; he had slept through the other flight as if in wait for this one. The sky had deepened to a shade that hung on the borderline between royal velvet and black. Stars poked through with hesitant brilliance. On the western horizon, the only remnant of the sun was a bitter orange line that illuminated the dark earth below not at all. There was a nestle of lights below he took to be Derry.

'Mr. Richards?'

'Yes.' He jumped in his seat as if he had been poked.

'We are in a holding pattern right now. That means we are describing a large circle above the Voigt Jetport. Instructions?'

Richards thought carefully. It wouldn't do to give too much away.

'What's the absolute lowest you can fly this thing?'

There was a long pause for consultation. 'We could get away with two thousand feet,' Holloway said cautiously. 'It's against N.S.A. regs, but-'

'Never mind that,' Richards said. 'I have to put myself in your hands to a certain extent, Mr. Holloway. I know very little of flying and I'm sure you've been briefed on that. But please remember that the people who are full of bright ideas about how to bamboozle me are all on the ground and out of danger. If you lie to me about anything and I find out-'

'Nobody up here is going to do any lying,' Holloway said. 'We're only interested in getting this thing back down the way it went up. '

'Okay. Good.' He gave himself time to think. Amelia Williams sat rigidly beside him, her hands folded in her lap.

'Go due west,' he said abruptly. 'Two thousand feet. Point out the sights as we go along, please. '

'The sights?'

'What we're going over,' Richards said. 'I've only flown once before.-

'Oh. ' Holloway sounded relieved.

The plane banked beneath their feet and the dark sunset line outside the window tilted on its ear. Richards watched, fascinated. Now it gleamed aslant the thick window, making odd, fugitive sungleams just beyond the glass. We're chasing the sun, he thought. Isn't that amazing?

It was thirty-five minutes after six.

Minus 023 and COUNTING

The back of the seat in front of Richards was a revelation in itself. There was a pocket with a safety handbook in it. In case of air turbulence, fasten your belt. If the cabin loses pressure, pull down the air mask directly over your head. In case of engine trouble, the stewardess will give you further instructions. In case of sudden explosive death, hope you have enough dental fillings to insure identification.

There was a small Free-Vee set into the seat panel at eye level. A metal card below it reminded the viewer that channels would come and go with a fair degree of speed. A touch-control channel selector was provided for the hungry viewer.

Below and to the right of the Free-Vee was a pad of airline stationery and a GA stylus on a chain. Richards pulled out a sheet and wrote clumsily on his knee:

'Odds are 99 out of 100 that you're bugged, shoe mike or hair mike, maybe mesh transmitter on your sleeve. McCone listening and waiting for you to drop the other shoe, I bet. In a minute have a hysterical outburst and beg me not to pull the ring. It'll make our chances better. You game?'

She nodded and Richards hesitated, then wrote again:

'Why did you lie about it?'

She plucked the stylus out of his hand and held it over the paper on his knee for a moment and then wrote: 'Don't know. You made me feel like a murderer. Wife. And you seemed so'-the stylus paused, wavered and then scrawled-'pitiful. '

Richards raised his eyebrows and grinned a little-it hurt. He offered her the stylus but she shook her head mutely. He wrote: 'Go into your act in about 5 minutes.'

She nodded and Richards crumpled the paper and stuffed it into the ashtray embedded in the armrest. He lit the paper. It puffed into flame and blazed brightly for a moment, kindling a tiny reflective glow in the window. Then it collapsed into ashes which Richards poked thoughtfully.

About five minutes later Amelia Williams began to moan. It sounded so real that for a moment Richards was startled. Then it flashed across his mind that it probably was real.

'Please don't,' she said. 'Please don't make that man . . . have to try you. I never did anything to you. I want to go home to my husband. We have a daughter, too. She's six. She'll wonder where her mommy is.'

Richards felt his eyebrow rise and fall twice in an involuntary tic. He didn't want her to be that good. Not that good.