Impact

'Looks like we've got a welcoming committee.'

Inside the harbor, she throttled down and glanced over at Jackie. She looked terrible, her damp hair hanging down limp and dirty, dark circles under her eyes, her hands, face, and clothes covered with mud.

'What do we tell them?' Jackie asked.

'Everything except the meteorite. We were looking for Dixie Bull's treasure. Just like they think.'

'Um, why not tell them about the meteorite?'

'There still may be a way to make money on this.'

'How?'

'I don't know. Gimme time to work it out.'

A long silence. 'Maybe they can raise my father's boat,' said Abbey, 'and get it running again.'

'Of course they'll raise it,' Jackie said. 'It's a crime scene and there's a body on board. But it's totaled, Abbey. It sank in a hundred feet of water. I'm sorry.'

Abbey glanced at her friend and saw she was crying. 'Hey, Jackie. Hey . . . You tried your best to save it.' She put her arm around her. 'God, I'm sorry I dragged you out on this wild-goose chase. It's like all the other crazy things I've gotten you into. I don't know why you stay my friend.'

'I don't either,' said Jackie.

'I love you, Jackie. You saved my life.'

'And you saved mine and I love you, too.'

Abbey wiped away a tear herself. 'Aw, fuck it, we'll get through this.'

As the docks loomed into view, Abbey could see at least a dozen cop cars had converged in the parking lot, parked willy-nilly, their light bars going. And behind them, on the lawn of the Anchor Inn, it seemed like half the town had turned out to watch them come in. Along with news crews and television cameras.

'Oh my God, will you look at all those people?' said Jackie, wiping her face and blowing her nose. 'I look like shit.'

'Get ready for your fifteen minutes of fame.'

She could now hear the hubbub coming over the water, the murmuring crowd, the shouting cops, the hiss of police radios. Even the volunteer fire department was there, Samoset No. 1, with their brand-new fire truck. They were all decked out in slickers and carrying Pulaskis. Everyone was having a grand old time.

'RBM Fitch to Old Salt, come in,' the officious voice hissed over the VHF.

'Old Salt here.' It made Abbey almost sick to even speak the name of Worth's shit-can of a boat.

'Old Salt, the state police have requested you berth in position one at the commercial dock and immediately leave the boat, taking nothing. Don't shut off the engine or tie up. Law enforcement will board and take over.'

'Got it.'

'RBM Fitch over.'

The Fitch eased up to the public dock, the Coast Guard fellows hopping out in their crisp uniforms and tying up with drill-like efficiency. Abbey brought the Old Salt up behind it. The state police were swarming the dock and they immediately hopped aboard, securing the boat. Abbey stepped off, Jackie by her side. An officer came up, holding a clipboard. 'Miss Abbey Straw and Miss Jacqueline Spann?'

'That's us.'

Abbey glanced across the parking lot. It seemed like the entire town was staring down at her from behind a cordon of police. And to one side, cameras were rolling. She heard a shout, a struggle. 'That's my daughter, you idiot! Abbey! Abbey!'

It was her father. Home early.

'Let go of me!'

He came running down the grassy hill, checked shirt untucked, beard flapping, pounded down the wooden stairs, past the bait shed, and down the pier. He got to the top of the ramp and, gripping both rails, came charging down at her, hair wild.

'Dad--'

The officer stepped back as he ran to her. He wrapped her in his arms, a big sob wrenched from his broad chest. 'Abbey! They say he tried to kill you!'

'Dad . . .' She wiggled a little but he wasn't letting go. He hugged her again, and then again, while she stood there, feeling awkward, mortified. What a show in front of the whole town.

He held her by her shoulders and stood back. 'I was so worried. Look--your tooth! And your lip is cut. Did that scumbag--?'

'Dad . . . Forget the tooth . . . Your boat sank.'

He stared at her, thunderstruck.

She hung her head and began to cry. 'I'm sorry.'

A long silence, and then he swallowed, or at least tried to, his Adam's apple bobbing. After a moment he put his arms around her again. 'Ah, well. A boat's just a boat.'

A ragged cheer went up from the town.

PART 2

37

Ford entered the office to find Lockwood seated at his desk. A brigadier general with grizzled hair in a rumpled field uniform stood next to him, whom Ford recognized as the Pentagon liaison to the Office of Science and Technology Policy.

'Wyman,' Lockwood said rising, 'you know Lieutenant General Jack Mickelson, USAF, deputy director of the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency. He's in charge of all GEOINT.'

Ford extended his hand to the general, who rose as well. 'Good to see you again, sir,' he said, with a certain amount of coldness.

'Very good to see you, too, Mr. Ford.'

He shook the general's hand, which was soft, not the usual rock-hard grip of the military man forever seeking to prove his manhood. Ford remembered liking that about Mickelson. He wasn't so sure he liked the man now.

Lockwood came around his desk and gestured toward the sitting area of his office. 'Shall we?'

Ford sat down; the general took the seat opposite and Lockwood took the sofa.

'I asked General Mickelson to join us because I know you respect him, Wyman, and I was hoping we could resolve these issues quickly.'

'Good. Then let's cut to the chase,' said Ford, facing Lockwood. 'You lied to me, Stanton. You sent me on a dangerous mission, you misled me as to the purpose of that mission, and you withheld information.'

'What we're about to discuss is classified,' said Lockwood.