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From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Pandora's New Box (MF extremely-violent) {Kellis} [2/3]
Date: Thu, 20 Jul 2000 03:10:04 -0400
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Pandora's New Box
a Story by Kellis
July, 2000
Part 2 of 3
"It's about to get exciting, Tessy. They've started up the hill
and I'm going out to confront them. You better head for the
cellar."
Del turned away from the window and took up his britches from
their resting place on the floor. The woman got out of bed and
padded naked toward the window. He noted with approval that she
did not press close to it.
She asked, "Do you have to?"
"Oh, yes. If you want to maintain your rights with those people,
you have to speak up."
"Maybe so. I always thought it was best to stay out of sight."
"Did you!"
"Sticking my head up -- actually my tongue in -- is what got me
in trouble."
"Sounds interesting. You'll have to tell me about it. Right
now, to keep you company in the basement -- have you read my
latest, *Run from the Crowd*? It's on that shelf just to your
left. Take it down there with you. The light switch is just
beside the ladder and I've verified that the cellar is light
tight."
"I noticed the switch. Mind if I stay here and watch you out the
window? If they come close, I'll hide."
"Well, you know what'll happen to both of us if they see you."
Fully clothed, he took up his rifle, went to the door and turned
around for a last glance at her. Her eyes were huge. She asked
incredulously, "Are you planning a shoot-out?"
He laughed. "I stand a good chance, don't I? What they've got
makes my gun look like a BB."
She was buttoning the shirt. She shook her head. "Men and their
posturing!"
He grinned, threw her a kiss and slipped out the door.
Holding the rifle loosely under his arm, he started down the hill
toward the largest knot of green clad men. Though his own
experience was many years in the past, they looked to be all in
full battle dress, armed with M-16s slung on their backs -- all
but two, he saw as he drew nearer, who wore holstered pistols.
He made his way toward one of the latter and stopped about 30
feet away.
"Hold on!" he called. "What are you men doing? This hill is
private property."
At least no one unslung his weapon. One of the pistol bearers
marched unhesitatingly to face Del and stood with hands on hips.
This one wore a major's oak leaves -- high rank to be commanding
what seemed a mere platoon of troops.
"You are Mr. Forrest?" he inquired in a gravely voice.
"I am and I have title to this entire hill."
"I am Major Kelland of the two-oh-nine Special Forces Battalion.
For your information, the president has established martial law
in this region. Now, I respect private property as much as you
do, Mr. Forrest, and though I don't need to, I ask your
permission to search this hill."
"For what?"
"A federal fugitive. Perhaps you can help us. Have you seen any
stranger hereabouts today?"
"Loads of them!"
"Eh? I mean, other than members of the armed forces."
"No, I have not. All this for *one* man?"
The major almost responded, but bit his lip and asked instead,
"Do we have your permission to search?"
"Except for my dwelling. I don't want you stomping through
that."
"We don't need to do that. Thank you, Mr. Forrest." He looked
away and raised his voice. "Lieutenant, take half your forces
around to the back. I'll meet you at the top."
Del stayed close to the major as the group of men spread out and
worked its way up the hillside. He commented, "This rocky soil
doesn't leave tracks, but it provides damn little in the way of
cover, either."
"Except for ravines and boulders to hide behind," the man pointed
out. "We found a couple of caves on the other side of the site,
one of them pretty deep. Last I heard a squad was still
exploring it."
"Yeah, Indian Hideout, they call it, for good reason. It's
probably the best place to hide in 30 miles."
"You know this country, do you, Mr. Forrest?"
"I've lived here about three years and looked over a lot of it.
That's how the fenders got so beat up on my truck."
"That's a four-by?"
"Yeah. You won't get far off the road around here on two-wheel
drive."
The major took a small radio from his belt and spoke into it,
"Charlie One, this is Charlie Five."
It squawked, "Go ahead, Charlie Five."
"Local informant states that the cave we found, which he calls
'Indian Hideout,' is the best place to hide in 30 miles."
"Standby."
A moment later the radio rattled again. "The colonel asks if
that's from Delbert Forrest."
"That's affirmative."
After another moment the radio responded, "The colonel says,
quote, 'I have read his books. Don't believe him any further
than you can throw him.'"
"Please thank the colonel. Charlie Five out."
Returning radio to belt, the major said coldly, "Mr. Forrest,
would you please wait in your dwelling until we finish here?"
Del strolled away unhurriedly and settled into the chair on his
porch, leaning the rifle against the wall. He watched with
interest as soldiers inspected his truck, opening a door to
examine the cab, even checking among his tools, but failing to
right the overturned box. Apparently its odorous contents had
not yet soaked through the cardboard.
The major and several others approached the porch. The officer
stopped before Del. "I find that I was mistaken, Mr. Forrest. I
shall inspect your dwelling. I'll do it alone, however."
Without another word he stepped up onto the porch, drew his
pistol, opened the door and entered the main room. Del followed
immediately behind him. The major looked around, opened the
closet and pushed the hanging clothes aside, then peered behind
the desk and under the bunk.
He marched into the kitchen. Tessy's hair towel was now folded
neatly on the sink drain. The earlier evidence of her presence
had been removed. The major looked under the sink, bent to look
into both sides of the pantry and having pushed the toilet
curtain aside, raised the seat and looked down into the pit.
He opened the back door and turned to Del. "Is this all of it?"
"Yes," Del admitted, glowering. "Two rooms."
"How about an attic?"
"No. That's a flat roof."
"Basement?"
"It's built on solid rock, Major."
The officer cocked an eyebrow. "I understand Hollywood bought
the rights to your last book."
"So?"
He gestured around them. "Hell of a way for a successful author
to live!"
Del drew a breath but clamped his mouth shut. The major sneered
and stepped out behind the cabin, where he reholstered his weapon
and started up the remainder of the hill, calling his men to him.
Over his shoulder he informed Del, "I want to look into your
cistern."
"Please don't kick dirt in it."
"Then show us how to open it."
Two husky soldiers heaved on the cover when Del pointed to the
handles. The major looked down into the shallow water. "Not
much left. How much does it hold?"
"4,000 gallons."
At the man's gesture the soldiers lowered the cover. "Mr.
Forrest," he said, "I apologize for this invasion of your
privacy, but our colonel is a thorough man." The major grinned
slightly. "He thought perhaps someone was holding your laptop
hostage."
Del was still glowering. "You saw it on the desk."
"Yes." The man straightened. "That will be all, Mr. Forrest.
Thank you for your cooperation."
Del bit his tongue and leaned against one of the power unit
braces, watching the soldiers proceed to the very top of the
hill. He said nothing even when they stepped out on one of the
mylar sheets intended to trap rainwater. The major ordered them
to walk around it, however. When they had all vanished over the
summit, Del turned and re-entered the back door of the cabin --
to find Tessy sitting in his shirt at the kitchen table.
"Are they gone?" she asked.
He closed the door. "Yes. My god, these people are serious,
Tessy! You think all this is for *you*?"
She nodded solemnly. "Little old me."
"But why? What could you possibly know that deserves all that?"
"If I tell you, you'll know, too. Then they'll come after you."
He sat down in front of her and studied her face. "If they come
after you, they're coming after me."
Her eyebrows rose. "What a thing to say!"
He dropped his eyes. "I guess it does sound a bit presumptive."
He sighed. "You're the first woman who ... that I've had in a
long time who wanted me, too. I guess I'm thinking of you as
*my* woman."
Her hand came out to cover his. "That cuts both ways."
He took a deep breath. "So you might as well tell me."
She stared at him. "Are you sure, Del?"
"I'm sure."
"You could never claim ignorance now anyway." She sighed, then
raised her chin. "Did you ever hear of cold fusion?"
"Yeah. They proved it's crap."
She sniffed. "No, they didn't. Craig investigated it, found
that in principle it wasn't impossible, but that to be reliable
it needed a catalyst, a nuclear catalyst."
"A what? Catalysts work in *chemical* reactions."
"Right. No one has ever found, or for that matter even imagined,
a *nuclear* catalyst. Until Craig."
"You're saying ..."
"My husband discovered one. It's a *combination* of isotopes!
And they're common to every household in America."
"Well, then ... Why are they trying to shut you up? Wouldn't
that be a great boon to the world? Don't tell me it's another
100 mile-per-gallon carburetor!"
She stared at him. "You don't understand. With three things
present in every household --" she looked around her with a laugh
"-- except maybe this one, I can make a nuclear bomb."
"A ... a *what*?"
"It's very easy, Del. That's how Craig died. I was in LA for a
meeting. He was talking to me on the phone. He said, 'I just
realized how easy this would be to test. They've got everything
right here in the kitchen. Hold the phone, Tessy, and let's see
if it at least gets hot.'"
"'Hot?'"
"You remember about three years ago when that lab blew up in the
Nevada desert? Two things they didn't tell the papers about
that: it was a nuclear explosion centered on a guest house, not
the lab, and the fallout was very strange. No heavy metal
isotopes. That's the signature of the catalyzed fusion of light
elements."
She sighed. "Craig was like a little boy, so excited! He didn't
have a mean bone in his body, and yet ... I guess I have to
agree with the government about it in principle." She grinned
mirthlessly. "Devkrit wanted to rename me 'Pandora.'"
"How did he learn you knew anything?"
"That's what I mean about sticking my tongue in. I told the NSA
about the call to Craig."
"Your civic duty, eh?"
"No. To get them to tell me what happened to him. I pretty much
knew, but I wanted them to confirm it."
"And now you're dead, too -- supposedly. Which means you need a
new name. How about 'Fannie,' short for 'Phantom?'"
She sniffed disdainfully.
"Wait a minute!" He stared at her fixedly. "That explosion on
the coast of Georgia last week ..."
"Right." She nodded. "They blamed it on the nuclear power plant
nearby, but I bet the power plant being there was just
coincidental. The boys in Washington wanted to ask me again who
I'd ever talked to, which means it had the catalytic signature.
And that's why I'm sitting here right now. If those soldiers
find me, Del, I'm sure they've got orders to shoot me down dead.
And now you, too. I'm sorry." She smiled crookedly. "At least
you got laid one more time."
"Yeah. At least!"
She ignored his sarcasm to add wistfully, "And you might even
manage another."
"Tessy, over 7,000 people died on the Georgia coast."
"Well, *I* didn't do it!"
"No, you didn't. At the time you were in a maximum security
prison on the *west* coast, right?" His eyes held a strange
light. "What a terrible remote weapon this could be!" He
straightened up. "Three ingredients, you say? What are they?"
She studied him and shrugged. "Why not? They won't believe I
never told you. All right. Take a hunk of sharp cheddar, wrap
it in several turns of perforated newsprint and drop it in a
bucket of chlorine bleach. It takes about five minutes. At
least, that's how long it took for Craig."
He shook his head. "Cheese, newsprint and ... bleach?"
She emitted a peal of laughter. "That's exactly what John Arnold
said. Also the way he said it." She sobered. "Which is the
main reason I lived to enjoy this plane crash."
"As you say, Tessy, they're in practically every house in
America. I can't believe it wouldn't happen accidentally many
times."
"It's the newsprint, Del. That's a great piece of irony. The
environmentalists made the government order printers to use a
special ink. It contains something, a rare earth, Craig said,
that helps degrade the paper in landfills. And now the
government can't find an acceptable reason to make them switch
back. When the bleach dissolves that ink along with something
that's common in cheddar cheese, ka-wham! Scratch one city. Or
one small town on the Georgia coast. I've thought about it. I
bet somebody was pouring bleach on his sailboat sails -- and on
his newspaper-wrapped cheese sandwich."
Del's expression showed wonder. "I guess you don't often put
those three things together, do you? Nowadays everyone uses
plastic bags for cheese sandwiches. Good god! Except the
fast-food places. The environmentalists have made them go back
to a paper wrapper. With advertising printed on it. He probably
just spilled bleach on his happy meal. What a disaster waiting
to happen!"
She cocked her head and chuckled. "Are you starting to believe
me, Del? Want to test it?"
He grinned. "We can't: no cheese, no newsprint and no bleach."
"For which no doubt we should be very grateful," she said dryly.
He sat back in his chair, deep in thought. She went to the
refrigerator and brought each of them a bottle of beer. "I saw
more beer in the basement. Want me to bring it up?"
"Later. Tessy, I think I've figured something out: why we
humans seem to be alone in the universe."
"Hey, hey!" she called in humorous awe. "A deep thinker!"
He shook his head doggedly. "As old as this galaxy is, as many
stars as it holds, some of which have to harbor intelligent life --
maybe the reason we haven't heard from anybody out there isn't
nuclear war smashing them back to the dark ages, exactly.
H-bombs are very expensive and tricky to make. But *this* ...
This catalyst of your husband's is cheap as dirt. Good god!
Every time a civilization climbs high enough to discover it, it's
bye-bye, birdie."
"You may be right," she agreed, taking a swig of beer then
holding up the bottle and grinning. "They only get to have cold
beer for a hundred years."
"Yeah. And if one man can discover it, so can another. But here
it's just a matter of letting the word get out."
"You think anybody would believe it, Del?"
"Not many at first. But somebody will try it out. Somebody
always does. And you can't hide a nuclear explosion. If the
word gets published and there's a couple of explosions the next
day, you know what will happen next."
She set her bottle down. "That's what Devkrit claimed. But why
would it, Del? Wouldn't people be smart enough to believe it
then? If they believed it, they wouldn't also be dumb enough to
*make* one, would they?"
He nodded. "A few would. One out of a thousand. Hate filled,
suicidal types, all too common among us humans. The Moslems
don't have any trouble recruiting them. We've got them in our
cities, too. We don't see them because here their targets are
generally too spread out. But look at that Oklahoma City
government building. The only difference in that case was that
its bombers were smart enough to get away briefly."
He drank his beer, bending over the table, brow furrowed in
thought. "It would disrupt the hell out of everything.
Washington, all the cities, would be gone. The head would be cut
off the governments, all except the most local. The military
would remain but it would be leaderless, at first."
He looked up. "America would be returned to what it used to be:
a lot of small towns, farms and the simple life."
"And a *lot* less people, Del."
He nodded. "That's true. What do you think? Half as many? Two
thirds?"
"Maybe less than half."
"Would that be a disadvantage?"
She grunted. "Definitely for the ones that didn't make it." Her
eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute! Doing away with the governments
is what anarchists want first."
"That's right," he agreed without the trace of a smile.
She stared at him. "Which would do away with the people who put
me in solitary confinement just because of what I know."
"And the bastards who steal half my income."
Her eyes were bright. "Are you planning something, Del?"
He laughed. "What makes you think I'm planning anything?"
She smiled wryly. "When a woman knows her man like I do, she
knows what he's thinking. You mean to put this in your current
book, don't you?"
"If I did that, I'd find myself guilty of tax fraud, too, eh?"
"I don't think so, Del. I think they'd just shoot you."
"Maybe. It might be a race, whether the government lasted longer
than I."
"When's your book supposed to be finished?"
"The first of the year. Another 80 days or so."
She looked away pensively, taking another pull of beer. "I hope
I can make it another 80 days."
"We'll make it together."
She smiled. "That's sweet of you, Del." She hitched her chair
against his and laid her head on his shoulder. Her hand stroked
his arm through the long-sleeved shirt. "You are a very sweet
man, Del, but I can't believe you."
He chuckled. "You can't believe *me*?"
She grinned. "Not that way. What I can't believe is that you
were *here* just when I needed you! -- a man who would feel that
I was just what he needed... Del, the light blinded me when you
opened that lavatory door, but I could still see your expression
change. What did you think when you saw me?"
"That I had to help you."
"Why? You're no ignorant backwoodsman. You know it's against
the law to help a fugitive. And you saw I was one or you
wouldn't have been in such a hurry. Why did you take that risk
for someone you'd never seen before? Heck, why are you *still*
taking it?"
He answered gruffly, "You know why, Tessy."
"Do I?"
"Well, I guess you don't know all of it. When I saw a pretty
woman under all that yuck, I wanted her. In a split second I
realized how lonely I'd been. Now, a writer needs loneliness.
He can't write when he's talking to someone. But I was tired of
it. I wanted you for awhile, at least. I figured I'd enjoy your
gratitude while we waited for the hullabaloo to die down, then go
buy you some clothes and put you on a plane for somewhere to
start your new life. A pleasant interlude for me." He grinned
wryly. "I never imagined I was rescuing the FBI's historically
most wanted person."
"Not because I'm a mass murderer --"
"Not yet," he interrupted.
"Or even because I defrauded the IRS. I'm not a *bad* person,
Delbert!"
"No. I know you aren't. You're just unlucky."
"You believe in luck?"
"Sometimes."
"Then maybe you're unlucky, too. Suppose I had been a mass
murderer. You didn't know *what* you'd find behind that lavatory
door."
He grinned. "I thought the plane was full of women... I never
heard of a female mass murderer, as best I can remember -- well,
that woman they executed in some southern state because she
poisoned a series of husbands. But I heard they all died happy."
"If I was that kind, I'd tie you up and steal your rifle and your
truck." She chuckled. "But knowing you, I bet I could make you
happy about it, if I gave you a lot of tender attention first."
Her smile faded. "Instead I've put you in mortal danger. I'm
sorry, Del."
"You *have* made me happy! And you can attend to me tenderly any
time you're ready."
"Can I?" Her hand cupped what it found in the front of his
britches. "This thing owes me."
He grunted. "You can be certain it'll pay!" His hand touched
her cheek. "Don't give up, sweetie. We can get out of this
yet."
She withdrew her hand and sighed. "They don't believe I'm dead,
do they, Del?"
"Maybe not. If they come back here to search my place a third
time, we can be sure of it."
"You think they'll find me then?"
"I think they'll take the place apart."
"How long do you think we have?"
"I don't know."
"Hmm." She raised her head thoughtfully. "Maybe we can find
out."
"TV? I have a card in the computer that gets it on the monitor."
"We can start with that."
"All right. The news is at six, but right now it's coming up on
supper time. You hungry?"
"Can you cook?"
"I can warm a can of beans."
She grinned. "Let me try. I can do better than that."
* * * *
She mixed a can of franks with his can of beans, plus a dash of
the spices in his cupboard and concocted a supper dish that his
Coors washed down with great satisfaction. He patted his belly
after they had licked the cook pot clean and declared, "It's
always a pleasure to deal with anyone who knows what she's
doing!"
She tossed her head. "A bean dish is nothing when you can cook
up a nuclear bomb."
He kissed her lingeringly, but when his hand dropped to her
breast, she smiled wryly at him and said, "You want to skip the
news?"
"No," he sighed, then brightened. "If we sit on the bunk, I can
have my news and tit, too."
While the computer was booting, he went outside and walked around
the cabin, scanning the countryside in all directions. The sun
had just set behind the hills to the west, leaving a fast-fading
splash of bright color in the sky. Returning inside, he went to
each window in the front room and pulled the shade snug to the
sill, then shook his head at the woman. "You'll have to be
careful when you go into the kitchen. Neither shades nor
curtains on those windows."
"They haven't left, then."
"No. They're camping near the tail piece: generators, lights
and command tents. Their choppers are drawn up nice and neat,
except for a couple in the air, probably planning an infrared
search. I'd hate to be a goat down there tonight. The army will
still be with us tomorrow morning, for sure."
She thought it over. "What time is it?"
"Almost six." He flipped on the desk lamp to provide dim general
illumination. "See that flashlight? Use it when you go to the
john."
"You have a chemical john in your basement. Maybe I should stay
down there."
He shook his head with a twinkle. "I can't stay with you."
She smiled and said no more.
At the desktop machine with its large monitor, he brought up the
television application but snapped his fingers at the first
channel shown, a station in Chicago. "Hold on! Tonight we want
the local station."
"*The* local station?" she asked.
"Yeah. Channel seven in Antonville." He fetched up a pair of
rabbit ears from behind the desk and plugged its balun into the
computer in place of the video cable connector.
The top news story was already playing, something about a
mysterious epidemic on an Indian reservation. He sat beside the
woman and slipped his hand high under her shirt. She turned
slightly to ease his access to the nipple, which hardened
immediately under finger and thumb.
She asked, "Are you *sure* you want a local station?"
"If they don't mention it, that will also say something."
But they did mention it, barely. About ten minutes into the
show, after the second commercial break, the announcer read from
the teleprompter, "According to a U. S. Air Force release, this
morning a government-owned transport aircraft exploded and
crashed in the desert about 50 miles north of Cayman. Six
people, all crew members, died. Next of kin are being notified.
An eyewitness stated that the craft was in flames after the
explosion, which according to experts suggests that the cause was
leaking fuel. Three other aircraft of this type have exploded
similarly in the past 20 years. An investigation is underway."
His eyes shifted. "In other news, the county commissioners --"
Del clicked the sound away and grinned sourly. "So that type of
plane is the one that's best for assassination."
She grinned back. "And you're a cynic, too."
He grunted. "I wonder how many other crashes they've declared
martial law for."
"What *declared*? Who told you that?"
"The major that stomped through here this afternoon. Hmm. I
believe he actually said, 'Established.' They can't impose
*secret* martial law, can they?"
She laughed bitterly. "They can do anything they want to, when
they have the guts."
He sighed. "Do you think there's any point in watching the
national news?"
"Probably not. Del, what have you really got here? Can you by
any chance get to the Internet?"
"No. Not by chance. By very careful design."
"What do you mean?"
"I subscribe to what they call a 'hybrid' system. I transmit to
my ISP over a 56 kilobit microwave phone link to Cayman, but
receive from it on the downlink from a synchronous satellite at
400 kilobits. It's not quite as fast as the megabit services in
the city, but it's more than enough for communicating with fans
and publisher."
She stared at him. "That's right. You said you were an
electrical engineer."
He shrugged. "Actually just about anybody could do it."
"Well, I think it's wonderful, Del." She kissed his chin. "If
you'll let go of my boob and log in to your ISP, I'll show you
the *real* news of my plane crash."
"Always a catch!" he groused.
She smiled fondly. "You mean my boob?"
"Having to let go of it." He regarded her quizzically. "You
think the Internet news services will have more poop?"
Her eyes twinkled. "I think the NSA will have a *lot* more!"
"The NSA? Tessy, what happened to the girl who wants to keep her
head down? We don't want to lead them right back here."
"I was one of their top programmers, Del. I can't believe
they've even *begun* to find all my backdoors!"
"Ha!" he snorted, leering.
She sniffed. "*They* didn't find that one either!" Her
expression softened. "It's a shame we have to concentrate on
anything but fun, isn't it, sweet man?"
He nodded, getting to his feet. "A *damned* shame!"
He fetched a second chair from the dark kitchen, sat down with
her and logged in at his Internet Service Provider, then shoved
keyboard and mouse to her.
She asked, "Do you have a better telnet than DOS?"
"Don't use it."
"How about an X-Windows server?"
"A what? I don't use UNIX, Tessy."
"But the NSA does. It's all right. We'll download one later if
we need it. Okay." She clasped her hands in a washing motion.
"Let's see if old triple-X works."
In a DOS window she typed, *telnet 007.nsa.usgov.org*. Shortly a
new window appeared, displaying *007 login:*, to which she
responded, *tripleXXX*, followed by a password that Del couldn't
see. Instantly the distant server posed a question: *How do
ostriches run?*
Tessy laughed in delight. "They didn't even find the first one!"
She typed something that again was not reflected on the screen.
Del was curious. "What was the answer, *fast*?"
"No. Double-oh-seven thinks the answer is *sideways*."
What had appeared as she spoke was a simple pound sign, #,
against the left margin of the window. Del said in awe, "I know
a little about UNIX. That's a command prompt, isn't it? It
means you're *in*!"
She chuckled deep in her throat. "It means more than that.
That's the superuser prompt. I'm in as *root* on what is
probably the biggest and fastest computer in the world."
As she spoke she was typing, *coverup*. "What that does is mask
my log in. Now anyone else, even another superuser, can't see
any of my tasks running on the machine or my port to the
network." She typed *pico /etc/passwd*. "Let's see who else has
access to good old Double-oh-seven these days."
"'Double-oh-seven!'" he repeated ironically.
She grinned distractedly as her eye scanned the response. "We
admired James Bond, too, you know... Aha! Mr. Arnold is still
here."
"How do you know?"
"There's his ID: jarno. Okay. Let's see what he's got in his
mailbox... Hoo-ha, look at that. Must be a couple hundred
messages. This is going to be real news." She typed a complex
line that began with, *grep*, and contained the words, *Grable*
and *Cayman*. A shorter list, cryptic but interesting, appeared.
"That's some of his messages about the crash. Let me add ..."
She recalled the previous command and typed more after it. Now
the list reappeared, accompanied by time stamps.
"Here's the latest one, filed about ten minutes ago. Let's start
with that." Another command produced the first page of a report.
Skipping the headers, Del read,
MOST SECRET
Findings at 2000, Cayman Crash
"2000 is the time of day," explained Tessy, "eight P. M. in
Virginia."
"Six here," he observed.
The fate of subject female, Theresa S. Grable, is not yet
determined. Exploration of the cave known as "Indian Hideout"
continues in progress with a full platoon committed. It is a
more complex system than was previously known and is still judged
the most likely prospect for discovery. The carbon-dioxide
sniffer reports traces in the cave consistent with recent animal
use.
Fingerprint and DNA results confirm vomit and feces in the rear
lavatory derived from the subject female.
"Good god!" exclaimed Del.
"But look!" the woman added after scrolling the report up.
A fingerprint found on the inside of the lavatory door handle was
confirmed that of the middle finger of one Delbert M. Forrest,
whose fingerprints are on file from military service. Forrest
almost certainly looked into the lavatory. He has not yet been
questioned as to what he saw there, though according to verbal
reports from Capt. Robert V. Jameson, Air Force CID, and Maj.
Hugh G. Kelland of my command, both of whom spoke to Forrest and
inspected the interior of his dwelling, he denies meeting any
strange person today other than members of the armed forces.
This denial is not judged to be reliable.
The vomit and feces suggest that the subject female rode the
falling empennage to earth. The absence of her body suggests she
survived the impact. This is consistent with the otherwise
undamaged state of the lavatory. It is possible Forrest arrived
at the scene after she departed. The search of Indian Hideout is
proceeding on that thesis. In addition when darkness has
completely fallen, an aerial infrared search will be conducted
throughout a ten-mile radius from the empennage.
Another thesis consistent with known facts as opposed to hearsay
is that Forrest removed the subject female and is hiding her from
the search. He is a novelist, judged a lonely romantic, and she
is said to be young and attractive. This thesis can be evaluated
by subjecting Forrest to intensive interrogation. Yet
interrogators should be aware that if he is guilty of aiding the
fugitive, it is almost inconceivable that she has not divulged
the supercritical secret to him. Also be aware that Forrest is a
published novelist with a certain following and known suspicion
of government. Some comprehension of his attitude may be
obtained from his novel, "Last Man Standing." His disposal, if
undertaken, must be handled most competently.
"'Disposal!'" Del muttered.
"I'm sorry," Tessy responded in a small voice.
"Those bastards!"
The third possibility is that the subject female died in the
crash, that the vomit and feces were deposited in the lavatory
before the explosion. Both substances are undergoing exhaustive
analysis to determine the presence of biological or chemical
agents that might have caused illness. The fact that all human
remains at the main crash site were completely consumed allows
that possibility.
The nude body found about 9,000 feet from the empennage along the
line between the two sites is definitely male, probably that of
Chief Marshal Michael Holland. Conclusive identification will be
difficult since the head and forearms were missing.
Status: Casualties zero, consumables nominal
The next report will appear at 2100, sooner if events warrant.
(signed) Journald Davin, Col. USA 209th SF Commanding
"'Most Secret,'" Del mused. "I can't believe something with that
classification wasn't encrypted."
"Oh, I'm sure it was. But it's been decrypted by the time it
winds up in Jarno's mailbox." She grinned. "I told him many
times internal security at the NSA sucks, but he never listened."
Suddenly Del's eyes widened upon her.
Her eyebrows rose. "What are you thinking?"
"Would he be smart enough to co-op your backdoors and set a trap
for you?"
Her eyes widened, too. "God, you are paranoid!" But she
hurriedly typed, *exit*. Briefly the response, *Logout 2028*,
appeared on the screen, then the telnet window closed.
He nodded. "You do think he's smart enough."
"Not him. But some of my coworkers were, and one of them hated
me."
He thought a moment. "But that report was real. Those officers'
names were right and a colonel does command the two-oh-nine
Special Forces here."
She sighed and said with a note of finality, "Del, they know I'm
alive!"
"Almost." He shook his head. "They'll never get to the bottom
of Indian Hideout, and they've got to realize no one would dare
go far into it without lights. That would be dangerous as hell."
He sighed. "When their IR search doesn't find you, they'll come
here again."
"When do you think that will happen?"
"Huh! When do cops always prefer to show up? At four in the
morning."
"Del ... This may be our last night on earth."
Her eyes were huge. He returned her stare grimly. "We could run
for it in the truck."
"No. They'd be on that like hawks on a dove."
"I could hide you in the cistern, on the *Purloined Letter*
principle, but they'd see us crawling out there. You can be sure
they're watching this place in the infrared, too."
She pressed herself against him, arms around his neck. "Del,
make love to me. Let's forget them all for as long as we can."
His eyes brightened. "This time maybe that can be longer than
ten minutes."
With only a shirt to remove, she waited for him lying on her back
atop the bunk. This time he undressed deliberately, hanging each
piece of clothing on a chair, studying her body as he proceeded.
"Draw your legs up," he ordered.
She obeyed, a moment later opening them wide. Her labia gaped
only slightly but their crimson interior was evident in the light
from the desk lamp.
"You have never born a child, have you, Tessy?"
"No. That was Craig's only shortcoming."
"Do you want any?"
She sniffed. "A woman who knows what I know would have to be
crazy to want one. But yes, I'd like to have one to love, to
hold to my breast. Can you make me one, Del?
He shrugged. "I'm given the credit for two."
She frowned. "Is there some doubt?"
"Not really. One of them *looks* too much like me and the other
*behaves* too much like me."
"Which do you love the most?"
He grimaced. "The one who acts like me fights with me on every
issue, but I'll admit -- to you -- that she's my favorite."
"Both are grown?"
"Yeah. The older has made me a grandpa."
She smiled. "Congratulations."
He stood over her. "You think starting one would be crazy?"
"Isn't it?"
"Take the longer view, Tessy. With what's facing us, it may be
the only right thing to do."
He knelt on the foot of the bed, looking down at her body open
before him. "God, Tessy, you are a lovely, lovely woman!"
"Hair and all, you think?"
"My unlamented wife was appalled by the very idea of body hair on
a woman. She even shaved her pubes. You're showing me what I
always suspected: it's damn sexy. Before we're through here
tonight I want to smell your underarms. Will that offend you?"
She said simply, "I'm all yours, Del."
"Thank you," he responded gravely. "Your legs tickled my ass
before. Now I want them to tickle my back."
"You want *what*?"
But he made his desire obvious by bending his face to her vulva
and guiding her feet over his shoulders.
"Oh, Del!" she breathed in delight at the touch of his tongue.
"Ooo, your beard feels so prickly and *cool*! How can it do
that?"
Within a minute her thighs closed on his head, her hips began to
rotate back and forth and her breathing became a series of
whimpers. When her body stiffened with a loud groan, he withdrew
his tongue, rocked back on his heels and wiped his beard on the
bedsheet.
She opened her eyes to find him grinning down at her. "Oh, god,
Del! What are you waiting for?"
He chuckled and crawled between the legs that had opened so wide
the hipbones creaked. He entered her easily, precipitating a
moan and a shudder. Again her legs enwrapped his hips. Her arms
encircled his neck and pulled him down to kiss her. Both tongues
joined. Nostrils flared in heavy breathing and soprano moans.
He drove into her again and again as her hips rolled to compress
her sensitive flesh. The earlier tongue work had elevated her to
that level of arousal unique to the female, affording orgasm
after orgasm so long as the top of the thrusting penis continues
to meet the clitoris on each downward rotation of her hips. He
found her responsiveness fascinating, delightful and irresistibly
stimulating. Soon his groans harmonized with hers and his body
delivered the proof of his passion. She screamed when she felt
it. Her arms and legs opened limply.
He raised himself off her. "Tessy?"
She was panting. Her eyes fluttered open. "Oh, my god, Del!"
"Are you okay?" He sagged beside her, propping his head up with
an elbow.
Slowly she smiled. "Oh, yes, Del. I saw stars at the last."
"Different colors?"
"Yes!" She cut her eyes around at him. "Do you think it's
funny?"
"But it is! And wonderful. I'm glad for you, Tessy."
He rose up, caught the blanket at the foot of the bed and pulled
it up over them both. When he lay back, she snuggled against
him, throwing a leg over his thighs, pressing a full breast into
his side, her head settling on his shoulder. He cuddled her back
in his arm, a hand stroking her hip and buttock cheek.
The smooth skin inside her knee stroked his still erect organ.
"That's a lovely bit of gristle, Del."
"Not as lovely as yours," he responded with a chuckle. "But
thanks."
Her knee slid down, making room for her hand. She caressed him,
working the loose skin, feeling gently for the lumps in his
scrotum. "Del, I want to get to know you, everything about you.
Do you mind?"
"No, my dear, of course not."
"It will take a long time, you know."
"To know me? I'm not so complicated, Tessy." He yawned audibly
and added, "You'll find I'm a man of very simple tastes." His
hand crept from her hip up to her breast. "This is one of them."
"Then you like me a little bit?"
"You know I do, Tessy: a lot more than a little bit."
"I like you, too, Del... Now, why did *that* make your mister
lose half its starch?"
He didn't answer her. When the process only continued, she
withdrew her hand, smiled and kissed the warm, man-smelling skin
of his shoulder. She snuggled a bit closer to him and sighed
with momentary contentment, listening to the slow rhythm of his
breathing as it became regular.
[End Part 2 of 3]
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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