mreilly.icestation-第26节

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nd　emerge　from　a　cupboard　set　into　the　wall。　There　seemed　to　be　another　body　in　the　cupboard　behind　Rebound。　Rebound　pressed　bis　finger　against　his　lips　and　led　Schofield　and　the　others　down　the　tunnel　toward　the　drilling　room　door。　
　〃It's　a　trap；〃　Rebound　mouthed　as　they　reached　the　door。　
　Rebound　pushed　open　the　door。　It　creaked　loudly　as　it　swung　open　in　front　of　them。　
　The　door　swung　wide　and　the　Marines　saw　the　last　Frenchman　standing　over　on　the　far　side　of　the　drilling　room。　
　It　was　Jean　Petard。　He　looked　forlornly　at　them。　He　was　caught　in　a　dead　end；　and　he　knew　it。　He　was　trapped。　
　〃I　。　。　。　I　surrender；〃　he　said　meekly。　
　Schofield　just　stared　at　Petard。　Then　he　turned　to　Rebound　and　the　others；　as　if　calling　for　advice。　
　Then　he　stepped　forward　into　the　drilling　room。　
　Petard　seemed　to　smile；　relieved。　
　At　that　moment；　Rebound　suddenly　stuck　his　arm　out　in　front　of　Schofield's　chest；　stopping　him。　Rebound　had　never　taken　his　eyes　off　the　Frenchman。　
　Petard　frowned。　
　Rebound　stared　at　him　and　said；　〃Le　piège　est　tendu。〃　
　Petard　cocked　his　head；　surprised。　
　〃The　trap　is　set；〃　Rebound　said　in　English。　
　And　then　Petard　suddenly　averted　his　gaze　and　looked　at　something　else；　something　on　the　floor　in　front　of　him；　and　his　smile　went　flat。　He　looked　up　at　Rebound；　horrified。　
　Rebound　knew　what　Petard　had　seen。　
　He　had　seen　five　French　words；　and　as　soon　as　he　had　seen　them；　Petard　knew　that　his　fight　was　over。　
　Those　five　words　were：　BRAQUEZ　CE　C？Té　SUR　L'ENEMMI。　
　Rebound　stepped　forward　and　Petard　yelled；　〃No！〃　but　it　was　too　late。　Rebound　stepped　through　the　trip　wire　in　front　of　the　door；　and　the　two　concave　mines　in　the　drilling　room　exploded　with　all　their　terrifying　force。　
　
　
　THIRD　INCURSION　
　16　June　1130　hours　
　
　The　highway　stretched　away　into　the　desert。　
　A　thin；　unbroken　strip　of　black　overlaying　the　golden…brown　floor　of　the　New　Mexico　landscape。　Not　a　single　cloud　appeared　in　the　sky。　
　A　lone　car　raced　along　the　desert　highway。　
　Pete　Cameron　drove；　sweating　in　the　heat。　The　air　conditioner　in　his　rented　Toyota　had　long　since　given　up　the　fight　for　life；　and　now　the　car　was　little　more　than　an　oven　on　wheels。　It　was　probably　ten　degrees　hotter　inside　the　car　than　it　was　outside。　
　Cameron　was　a　reporter　for　the　Washington　Post；　had　been　for　three　years　now。　Before　that；　he　had　made　a　name　for　himself　doing　features　for　the　respected　investigative…reporting　journal　Mother　Jones。　
　Cameron　had　fitted　in　well　at　Mother　Jones。　The　journal　has　one　all…enpassing　goal：　to　expose　misleading　government　reports。　Cover…ups。　And　to　a　large　extent；　it　had　been　successful　in　achieving　this　goal。　Pete　Cameron　loved　it；　thrived　on　it。　In　his　last　year　at　Mother　Jones；　he　had　won　an　award　for　an　article　he　had　written　on　the　loss　of　five　nuclear　warheads　from　a　crashed　B…2　stealth　bomber。　The　bomber　had　crashed　into　the　Atlantic　Ocean　just　off　the　coast　of　Brazil　and　the　U。S。　Government　had　issued　a　press　release　saying　that　all　five　warheads　had　been　recovered；　safely　and　intact。　Cameron　had　investigated　the　story；　had　queried　the　methods　used　to　find　the　missing　nukes。　
　The　truth　soon　emerged。　The　rescue　mission　had　not　been　about　the　recovery　of　the　warheads　at　all。　It　had　been　about　recovering　all　evidence　of　the　bomber。　The　nuclear　warheads　had　been　a　secondary　priority；　and　they　had　never　been　found。　
　It　was　that　article　and　the　award　ftiat　followed　it　that　had　brought　Cameron　to　the　attention　of　the　Washington　Post。　They　offered　him　a　job；　and　he　took　it　with　both　hands。　
　Cameron　was　thirty　years　old　and　tall；　really　tall…six…feet…five。　He　had　messy　sandy…brown　hair　and　wireframe　glasses。　His　car　looked　like　a　bomb　had　hit　it…empty　Coke　cans　were　strewn　about　the　floor；　intermingled　with　crumpled　cheeseburger　wrappers；　pads　and　pens　and　scraps　of　paper　stuck　out　from　every　partment。　A　pad　of　Post…its　rested　in　the　ashtray。　Those　that　had　been　used　were　stuck　to　the　dashboard。　
　Cameron　drove　through　the　desert。　
　His　cellular　rang。　It　was　his　wife；　Alison。　
　Pete　and　Alison　Cameron　were　something　of　celebrities　among　the　Washington　press　munity；　the　famous…or　infamous…husband…and…wife　team　of　the　Washington　Post。　When　Pete　Cameron　had　arrived　at　the　Post　from　Mother　Jones　three　years　ago；　he　had　been　assigned　to　work　with　a　young　reporter　named　Alison　Greenberg。　The　chemistry　between　them　had　ignited　immediately。　It　was　electric。　In　one　week；　they　were　in　bed　together。　In　twelve　months；　they　were　married。　
　〃Are　you　there　yet？〃　Alison's　voice　said　over　the　speaker　phone。　Alison　was　twenty…nine　and　had　shoulder…length　auburn　hair；　enormous　sky　blue　eyes；　and　a　beaming　smile　that　made　her　face　glow。　Pete　loved　it。　Alison　wasn't　conventionally　beautiful；　but　she　could　stop　traffic　with　that　smile。　At　the　moment；　she　was　working　out　of　the　paper's　D。C。　office。　
　〃I'm　almost　there；〃　he　replied。　
　He　was　on　his　way　to　an　observatory　out　in　the　middle　of　the　New　Mexico　desert。　Some　technician　at　the　SETI　Institute　there　had　called　the　paper　earlier　that　day　claiming　to　have　detected　some　chatter　over　an　old　spy　satellite　network。　Cameron　had　been　sent　to　investigate。　
　It　was　nothing　new。　The　Search　for　Extraterrestrial　Intelligence　Institute；　or　SETI；　picked　up　stuff　all　the　time。　Their　radio　satellite　array　was　very　powerful　and　extraordinarily　sensitive。　It　wasn't　unmon　for　a　SETI　technician；　in　his　search　for　extraterrestrial　transmissions；　to　〃cross　beams〃　with　a　stray　spr　satellite　and　pick　up　a　few　garbled　words　from　a　restricted　military　transmission。　
　Those　pickups　were　disparagingly　labeled　〃SETI　sightings〃　by　the　reporters　at　the　Washington　Post。　Usually　they　amounted　to　nothing…just　inprehensible　one…word　transmissions…but　the　theory　was　that　maybe；　one　day；　one　of　those　garbled　messages　would　provide　the　starting　point　for　a　story。　The　kind　of　story　that　ended　in　the　word　Pulitzer。　
　Alison　said；　〃Well；　call　me　as　soon　as　you're　done　at　the　institute。〃　She　put　on　a　mock…sexy　voice。　〃I　have　a　thing　for　SETI　sightings。〃　
　Cameron　smiled。　〃Very　provocative。　Do　you　do　house　calls？〃　
　〃You　never　know　your　luck　in　the　big　city。〃　
　〃You　know；〃　Cameron　said；　〃in　some　states；　that　could　qualify　as　sexual　harassment。〃　
　〃Honey；　being　married　to　you　is　sexual　harassment；〃　Alison　said。　
　Cameron　laughed。　〃I'll　call　you　when　I'm　done；〃　he　said　before　hanging　up。　
　
　An　hour　later；　Cameron's　Toyota　pulled　into　the　dusty　parking　lot　of　the　SETI　Institute。　There　were　three　other　cars　parked　in　the　lot。　
　A　squat　two…story　office　building　stood　adjacent　to　the　parking　lot；　nestled　in　the　shadow　of　a　three…hundred…foot…tall　radio　telescope。　Cameron　counted　twenty…seven　other　identical　satellite　dishes　stretching　away　from　him　into　the　desert。　
　Inside；　he　was　met　by　a　geeky　little　man　wearing　a　white　lab　coat　and　a　plastic　pocket　protector。　He　said　his　name　was　Emmett　Somerville　and　that　it　was　he　who　had　picked　up　the　signal。　
　Somerville　led　Cameron　down　some　stairs　to　a　wide　underground　room。　Cameron　followed　him　silently　as　they　negotiated　their　way　through　a　maze　of　electronic　radio　equipment。　Two　massive　Cray　XMP　superputers　took　up　an　entire　wall　of　the　enormous　subterranean　room。　
　Somerville　spoke　as　he　walked。　〃I　picked　it　up　at　around　two…thirty　this　morning。　It　was　in　English；　so　I　knew　it　couldn't　be　alien。〃　
　〃Good　thinking；〃　Cameron　said；　deadpan。　
　〃But　the　accent　was　definitely　American；　and　considering　the　content；　I　called　the　Pentagon　right　away。〃　He　turned　to　look　at　Cameron　as　he　walked。　〃We　have　a　direct　number。〃　
　He　said　it　with　nerdy　pride：　The　government　thinks　we're　so　important　that　they　gave　us　a　direct　line。　Cameron　figured　that　the　number　Somerville　had　was　probably　the　number　for　the　Pentagon's　PR　desk；　a　number　that　SETI　could　have　found　by　looking　up　the　Department　of　Defense　in　the　phone　book。　Cameron　had　it　on　his　speed…dial。　
　〃Anyway；〃　Somerville　said；　〃when　they　said　that　it　wasn't　one　of　their　transmissions；　I　figured　it　was　OK　to　give　you　guys　at　the　paper　a　call。〃　
　〃We　appreciate　it；〃　Cameron　said。　
　The　two　men　arrived　at　a　corner　console。　It　consisted　of　two　screens　mounted　above　a　keyboard。　Next　to　the　screens　was　a　broadcast…quality　reel…to…reel　recording　machine。　
　〃Wanna　hear　it？〃　Somerville　asked；　his　finger　poised　above　the　PLAY　button　on　the　reel…to…reel　machine。　
　〃Shoot。〃　
　Emmett　Somerville　hit　the　switch。　The　reels　began　to　rotate。　
　At　first　Cameron　heard　nothing；　then　static。　He　looked　expectantly　at　Emmett　the　Geek。　
　〃It's　ing；〃　Somerville　said。　
　There　was　a　wash　of　some　more　static　and　then；　suddenly；　voices。　
　〃…copy；　one…three…four…six…two…five…　〃　
　〃…contact　lost　due　to　ionospheric　disturbance…〃　
　〃forward　team…〃　
　〃…Scarecrow…　〃　
　〃…minus　sixty…six　point　five…　〃　
　〃…solar　flare　disrupting　radio…〃　
　〃…one…fifteen；　twenty　minutes；　twelve　seconds　east…〃　
　〃…how；〃　static；　〃get　there　so…〃　
　〃…secondary　team　en　route…〃　
　Pete　Cameron　slowly　shut　his　eyes。　It　was　another　bum　steer。　Just　more　indecipherable　military　gobbledygook。　
　The　transmission　ended　and　he　turned　and　saw　that　Somerville　was　watching　him