Saucer

Hedrick opened the envelopes, arranged the bids on the desk in front of him, moved one from right to left, looked up deadpan.

'Gentlemen, we have bids for seventy-six billion, eighty-two billion, eighty-six billion, and one hundred and fifty billion.'

The Chinese, Japanese, and Russians sat stunned, staring at the other bidding parties. Pieraut beamed genially.

The leader of the Chinese team stood and stuffed his papers in his briefcase. His colleagues did likewise. When they were packed, they marched from the room without a word to anyone.

The Japanese slowly picked up their papers. One by one, the members of the delegation bowed to Hedrick, bowed to the remaining bidders, then filed out.

'I must consult with my government,' the senior Russian, Krasnoyarsk, said.

'Please do,' Hedrick said genially. 'We will reconvene here in twenty minutes.'

The Russian left the room.

Pieraut lit a cigarette and savored the smoke. 'If no one else chooses to bid in the next round, I presume we are the winners?'

'Under the rules,' Hedrick acknowledged, 'that is indeed the case.'

'Where do you want the money wired? If we win the auction.'

Hedrick handed a sheet of paper to Bernice, who delivered it to Pieraut. 'Those are the banks,' he said. 'If you win the auction, wire the money. When the banks confirm that they have received the money, the saucer is yours.'

'You expected to sell the saucer for such a large sum?'

'I try to avoid idle speculation. As always with rare and precious things, the price depends on how much the object is desired.'

'Oui,' said Pieraut and smoked the rest of his cigarette in silence. He looked self- satisfied, Charley thought, as did the two German engineers and the Italian.

She decided she had had enough. She got up and walked from the room.

In the foyer, Krasnoyarsk was grunting into a telephone. The news he was hearing was written on his face.

Charley was sitting on a stool in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee when Bernice came charging through the door. 'The Russians excused themselves from the next round! The Europeans have won!'

'Roger is now the world's richest man?'

'He's so close. In just a few hours. I am so happy for him.'

'He doesn't deserve you, Bernice. Why don't you dump him and find yourself a decent fella?'

Bernice was horrified. She whirled and marched from the kitchen without another word.

It takes all kinds to make a world, Charley decided, and poured herself another cup of Java.

The head cook came over to see if she liked the coffee.

'You got any peanut butter?' Charley asked. 'I could do with a sandwich.'

Chapter Eighteen

'Mr. President, the Japanese delegation just informed their government via satellite telephone that the Europeans got the saucer for one hundred and fifty billion.'

P.J. O'Reilly whistled softly. 'That's sixty billion above the maximum amount the Japanese government was willing to pay,' he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

The president took the note from the aide, then nodded, dismissing him. He stared at the note for a moment, wadded it up, and tossed it in the out-basket.

'That tears it,' he said to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, who was sitting on the Oval Office couch beside Bombing Joe De Laurio. 'Let's get on with it.'

The chairman, an army four-star, looked as if he had been sucking a persimmon. 'I want to go on record as opposing this.'

'You're on record,' said the president, who hated people who wanted their objections formally noted. When events proved them correct they were insufferable; when events proved them wrong they conveniently forgot their bad advice.

'I wish we could have flown that thing to Area Fifty-one,' Bombing Joe said wistfully, 'but I guess it wasn't to be. I don't see that we have a choice in this matter now.'

The president eyed the general without affection. Bombing Joe wasn't the man to share a lifeboat with — the pit bulls in Congress would eat him alive.

'I should have gone into the hardware business with Dad,' the president muttered.

'I want to see Rip,' Charley Pine said to the guard in the barn.

'What's on the tray?' the guard asked suspiciously.

Charley lifted the cover on the main dish, revealing a heaping, steaming hot plate of beef, boiled potatoes, and vegetables.

'I've got my orders,' the guard says. 'Any funny business, I shoot him.'

Charley replaced the dish cover.

'I'll do it, too. If you think I won't, you're making a big mistake.'

'You look like the type who would kill an unarmed man.'

'Listen, lady… '

She bent down and placed the tray on the floor, then straightened. If she could just get the man off guard, just for an instant, she could take him out with a karate kick or elbow to the neck, whatever opportunity offered.

The Aussie was too suspicious. He kept his finger on the trigger of the rifle and the muzzle pointed right at her belly. Shooting him with the Walther would be suicidal.

'No closer,' the guard said. 'I seen Rigby after you kicked him.'

She took a tentative step toward him, shifted her weight.

'Don't, Charley!'

That was Rip.

The guard had his left hand on the forearm of the rifle, the muzzle dead center in her stomach. His face was white, drawn.

'Don't try it, Charley,' Rip whispered. 'Thanks for the grub.'

'They want me to fly the saucer out of here,' she said, her eyes never leaving the guard's. The man was stupid and scared, a dangerous combination.

'Maybe Hedrick will let me go after you leave,' Rip said softly.

'Maybe.'

'Sorry it worked out like this.'

'I'll see you back in the States, Rip.'

'Yeah.' His voice was husky.

She backed away from the guard, then turned and walked out of the barn.

Hedrick was in the library seated at his desk while he waited for his European banks to call. The European bidders and two Australian politicians sat around the desk smoking Cuban cigars and drinking whiskey. Pieraut looked to be in an especially good mood.

Charley stood in the doorway. Hedrick excused himself and walked over to where she was standing.

'You owe me some money,' she said.

He reached in a jacket pocket and extracted a bundle of hundreds. 'I believe we said three thousand for each day you were here, plus three grand to ride the Concorde home from Paris. Here's twenty.'

'They want to go to Paris?'