Saucer: The Conquest

'I saw them go by. Get this tape off me, will ya?'

As Rip jerked tape, Pingley said, 'I heard gunshots. And the plane. What was that all about?'

'Guy opened up on me with a pistol. Shot a couple holes in the plane. He and one of his pals are dead.'

'You want me to call the law?'

'Yeah.'

Rip walked back toward the house as Pingley made the call from the guard shack. They must want the saucer's computer, he thought. Or money. At least there were two of them who would never see another dime.

He was halfway to the house when the cell phone in his pocket vibrated.

'Hello.'

'Rip, it's Charley.'

Rip was stunned. 'The French said you went off your nut. It's been on every television news show on earth. Where are you?'

'I'm a hundred miles above you in orbit. Won't be able to talk long.'

'Four French dudes with guns kidnapped Egg. Two of them are dead, but the other two snatched him and drove away about five minutes ago. They probably wanted me too, but I was flying the Extra.'

Charley said a cuss word. 'I need your help, Rip. Let me tell you what's going down.' And she did. After three minutes of nonstop talking, she said, 'I'm going to lose you any second. Call you back on the next orbit, in about eighty minutes.'

The phone went dead.

He stumbled along, trying to think. Thirty minutes ago he was strapping into the airplane, with Egg watching. Now there were two dead men lying near the hangar, and Egg was gone.

Pierre Artois!

Charley Pine had forty minutes to stew in the cock-pit of Jeanne d 'Arc before the moon came over earth's horizon. Joe Bob Hooker was sitting in the right seat, where he had listened as she used Pierre's cell phone.

'Want to tell me about it?' he asked finally.

'Pierre sent some thugs to kidnap my boyfriend's uncle. Probably my boyfriend too. Two of the thugs are dead, but they managed to grab Uncle Egg. Pierre is sending me a message. Don't make waves, or else.'

'How do you know it was Pierre?'

'The gunmen were French. They came to Egg's farm in Missouri. They snatched him. You figure it out.'

'Oooh boy!'

'Yeah.'

'So where you gonna land this thing?'

'I dunno.'

'DFW would be nice. I'll take a cab home.' DFW was Dallas-Fort Worth International.

'Hold that thought.' The moon was coming over the curvature of the Earth, so she reached for the radio, flipped it on and dialed in the primary lunar base frequency. This was also the freq that Mission Control used to talk to the base.

'Hey, Pierre, this is Charley.'

She waited.

'Jeanne d'Arc, Mission Control.' It was a male voice, one she didn't recognize. He paused for a moment to give her time to respond. When she didn't, he began spouting questions in French anyway.

When Mission Control paused for air, Charley repeated her transmission in English. 'Pierre, this is Charley, over.'

This time she heard his voice. 'I'm listening, Charley.'

'Some French thugs just kidnapped my boyfriend's uncle in Missouri. You want to tell me about it?'

'You stole a spaceplane, and you ask me about a crime in Missouri?'

'So what's the deal here, Pierre? I assume you want to threaten me. Mission Control and probably half the news networks on the planet are listening, so go ahead.'

'Mademoiselle Pine. I know nothing about Missouri. I do know that you stole our spaceplane. I suggest you land it at the spaceport in France as soon as possible.'

'Or?'

'We'll get you the medical help you need. That I can promise.'

Charley took a deep breath, then said, 'I already have medical insurance, although I appreciate the offer. Since you are so kind, I'll tell you how it went up there before I boogied. Courbet showed me the beam generator and told me your plans.'

A long silence ensued while Artois decided how to respond. Obviously he wasn't yet ready to turn on his beam generator and make demands.

She keyed her mike. 'How much longer are you going to wait, Pierre, before you give them the bad news?'

'Mademoiselle, I don't know what you are talking about.'

'Soon, I think,' she said, and flipped the radio off before Pierre or Mission Control could reply.

* * *

'Was that wise?' Joe Bob Hooker asked, his voice deadly calm.

'So you think I'm crazy too.'

'Charley, I don't know what to think. Frankly, I find it hard to believe that the man running a huge French expedition to the moon — the biggest space program in history — is off his rocker. All I have is your word for it.'

She riveted her eyes on him. 'Can you fly this thing?'

'Uh, no.'

'Then I suggest you fix us some goo for dinner and stay out of my way. If I'm crazy, there's no telling what I might do.'

Joe Bob opened and closed his mouth several times but decided that he didn't want to say anything. He removed his headset and unfastened his seat belt. He floated up and out of his chair and used the back of the copilot's seat as a launching pad.

In Mission Control, the French space minister Listened to a replay of Charley's conversation with Pierre Artois. He didn't understand what they were discussing, and it was obvious they did not intend that he should. It was a private conversation with the whole world listening.

'//ow much longer are you going to wait, Pierre, before you give them the bad newsY* What did that mean? What bad news? Certainly not the fact that Pine took the spaceplane — she knew that everyone knew about that. And what the devil was a beam generator?

The minister picked up the secure telephone and called the premier.

And was two minutes too late. The premier had heard the entire conversation on CNN.

'What is a beam generator?' the premier asked the minister.

'I do not know, sir.'

'You are the man who is supposed to know. Find out and call me back.'

The president of the United States was having a quiet afternoon in front of his television, sipping Diet Coke and munching barbecue potato chips. The White House pooch was asleep on the floor. The president had asked his staff to jiggle the schedule around so he could concentrate on the French crisis — he had told the press secretary to use precisely that phrase when talking to the working press: 'the French crisis.' You must admit, the phrase had a wonderful ring.

The president had his shoes and tie off when the television network began playing its tape of Charley and Artois' conversation.

When it was over he sat staring at the idiot box. He picked up the telephone. One of the secretaries answered it. 'Get O'Reilly, the secretary of state, the director of the CIA, and the national security adviser. As soon as possible in my office.'

'Yes, sir.'