at the bottom of the crater was a black, irregularly shaped object about the size of a dead Cadillac. A couple of silver-suited airmen stood atop it. One of them was hefting something but Shermin’s view was blocked by his companion. Hoses and thick cables coiled around the feet of both men and ran up the crater wall, then down the outside and off to parts unseen.
They started down, Shermin moving carefully and studying the carbonized soil as he descended. A loud noise suddenly filled the excavation. Shermin identified it instantly. Now he knew what the first airman was holding. It was a drill, and a big one.
He gaped at the airmen, then turned angrily to Bell. “What’s going on here? What the hell are they doing?”
“I told you: diamonds. Besides, nobody’s told us what not to do, and I’ve been getting damn tired standing around watching my men picking dead birds and squirrels out of the underbrush.” He nodded toward the two men. “They’re trying to see what’s in there.”
“No one authorized that.”
“Like I said, no one forbade it. Besides, we checked it out with probe poles and the damn thing sounded hollow to me. We walked all over it when we started checking it for radiation. I’m not the only one who thought it sounded hollow.”
“That’s idiotic, major. There’s no such thing as a hollow . . .”
His words were washed out by the noise of the drill as they began to approach the object. Suddenly one of the men stumbled forward, nearly fell. His buddy steadied him as the drill broke through the object’s exterior. A thin jet of nearly colorless vapor hissed skyward. The volume diminished rapidly and there was no noticeable odor.
Shermin froze, his eyes wide. Bell broke out in a shit-eating grin but forebore from saying anything—for about ten seconds.
“You were about to say?”
“Jesus H. Christ.” Shermin looked paralyzed, finally shook himself. “Nothing. I wasn’t going to say anything.” He was staring in fascination at the object lying at the bottom of the crater. His thoughts were going eighty miles a minute. The two airmen had put the drill aside and were bending over, peering intently at the spot on the surface where they’d been working. They were muttering to one another but not loudly enough for Shermin to hear what they were saying.
A couple of raindrops pelted his face. They were followed by a deluge. The storm seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. Moments earlier the sky had been clear and bright, with only a few isolated cumulus in sight. Now it was like the monsoon season. Shermin and Bell tried to shield themselves from the torrential and unseasonable downpour with their helmets.
“What now?” Bell asked him.
Shermin nodded toward the object. “Let’s get this thing out of here.”
Three
The music helped. The man didn’t seem to object to her listening, or to her changing the stations whenever the mood suited her. Each time the news came on she quickly switched to fresh music, and he didn’t seem to mind that either.
What had been a lovely morning turned suddenly sour with the appearance of raindrops on the windshield. It matched her mood.
“Rain,” she said conversationally. It produced the usual response from her passenger, which was to say, nothing at all. He just stared blankly at her as if waiting to see what she might say next. He wasn’t completely indifferent to her, however. He still kept one hand securely on the handle of the automatic.
“Windshield wipers.” She indicated the rain, which was beginning to streak the glass and blur the view ahead. “I have to turn on the windshield wipers.”
“Windshield wipers,” he repeated. He said it perfectly. He only had to say something once to get it right.
She reached down and flipped them on. The road ahead reemerged from the moisture. The steady swish-swish of the blades was relaxing, like the music. Another sign of normalcy in a world that had suddenly gone topsy-turvy on her.
They started down, Shermin moving carefully and studying the carbonized soil as he descended. A loud noise suddenly filled the excavation. Shermin identified it instantly. Now he knew what the first airman was holding. It was a drill, and a big one.
He gaped at the airmen, then turned angrily to Bell. “What’s going on here? What the hell are they doing?”
“I told you: diamonds. Besides, nobody’s told us what not to do, and I’ve been getting damn tired standing around watching my men picking dead birds and squirrels out of the underbrush.” He nodded toward the two men. “They’re trying to see what’s in there.”
“No one authorized that.”
“Like I said, no one forbade it. Besides, we checked it out with probe poles and the damn thing sounded hollow to me. We walked all over it when we started checking it for radiation. I’m not the only one who thought it sounded hollow.”
“That’s idiotic, major. There’s no such thing as a hollow . . .”
His words were washed out by the noise of the drill as they began to approach the object. Suddenly one of the men stumbled forward, nearly fell. His buddy steadied him as the drill broke through the object’s exterior. A thin jet of nearly colorless vapor hissed skyward. The volume diminished rapidly and there was no noticeable odor.
Shermin froze, his eyes wide. Bell broke out in a shit-eating grin but forebore from saying anything—for about ten seconds.
“You were about to say?”
“Jesus H. Christ.” Shermin looked paralyzed, finally shook himself. “Nothing. I wasn’t going to say anything.” He was staring in fascination at the object lying at the bottom of the crater. His thoughts were going eighty miles a minute. The two airmen had put the drill aside and were bending over, peering intently at the spot on the surface where they’d been working. They were muttering to one another but not loudly enough for Shermin to hear what they were saying.
A couple of raindrops pelted his face. They were followed by a deluge. The storm seemed to have materialized out of nowhere. Moments earlier the sky had been clear and bright, with only a few isolated cumulus in sight. Now it was like the monsoon season. Shermin and Bell tried to shield themselves from the torrential and unseasonable downpour with their helmets.
“What now?” Bell asked him.
Shermin nodded toward the object. “Let’s get this thing out of here.”
Three
The music helped. The man didn’t seem to object to her listening, or to her changing the stations whenever the mood suited her. Each time the news came on she quickly switched to fresh music, and he didn’t seem to mind that either.
What had been a lovely morning turned suddenly sour with the appearance of raindrops on the windshield. It matched her mood.
“Rain,” she said conversationally. It produced the usual response from her passenger, which was to say, nothing at all. He just stared blankly at her as if waiting to see what she might say next. He wasn’t completely indifferent to her, however. He still kept one hand securely on the handle of the automatic.
“Windshield wipers.” She indicated the rain, which was beginning to streak the glass and blur the view ahead. “I have to turn on the windshield wipers.”
“Windshield wipers,” he repeated. He said it perfectly. He only had to say something once to get it right.
She reached down and flipped them on. The road ahead reemerged from the moisture. The steady swish-swish of the blades was relaxing, like the music. Another sign of normalcy in a world that had suddenly gone topsy-turvy on her.
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