"Lieutenant Brice," Cartwell said, "your boss seemed to think that you'd be the best man to help us set up our plan of operation. We've already contacted the Civil Air Patrol and the National Guard outfit here. We have an air search under way and for the meanwhile that's all we can do.

We were hoping that you could help us get in touch with all the ground observing corps' branches; we'll use this office as a headquarters for operations."

Nolan blinked, "What's up? An Air Force test plane down?"

Cartwell shook his head. "We got a UFO report..."

"A flying saucer?" Nolan was stunned.

Cartwell chuckled and his partner grinned. "An Unidentified Flying Object does not necessarily const.i.tute a s.p.a.ce craft, Brice. But something was spotted off the Grand Banks, early this morning, going like h.e.l.l and apparently out of control. We got our last sighting over Auburn, New York. We checked the observation posts around Everett and found that nothing was seen. We also checked Binghamton and Elmira, with a negative report. Since the object was on a southerly heading, when spotted near Auburn, we can only a.s.sume that it went down in the area between Everett and Auburn, and Binghamton and Elmira."

Nolan gave a long low whistle. "Not one of ours, huh?"

"No."

"Canadian?"

"Not at that speed."

"That leaves the big one, then. Russian?"

Cartwell shrugged. "Could be. If it is, we want the wreckage. No matter what it is, or whose it is, we are very interested in any aircraft that travels at speeds of fifteen to nineteen thousand miles per hour."

Nolan whistled again. "That's rolling," he grinned.

"Yeah," mused Sam Morgan, "and we'd kind of like to know what makes it roll like that."

"Okay. Let's go into a huddle," Nolan said. "But I can tell you this. If the thing went down in north central Pennsylvania, it's in some pretty rugged country."

"Great," Cartwell snarled.

CHAPTER THREE

The dream was of a woman.

He was lying on a strangely made bed, the warm breezes of evening rolling in off the crashing sea and the woman stood in the ornate doorway that entered the bedroom. About him lay all manner of bright silks and strange colored cloths. The woman smiled and his eyes caressed her.

Her hair was as gold as the noon sun and her eyes, lifting slightly at the outer corners, were as blue as the sea. Her lips petaled back over the white strength of her teeth and her fingers did strange things to make the flimsy robe drop from the rounded softness of her shoulders. He watched her walk, upon curvaceous legs, to the edge of the bed. For just a second, she smiled down at him.

"Father is sleeping like a baby," she whispered.

He felt himself talk: "Good." Then his fingers curled about the curve of her thigh. His fingers tightened and the crimson smile broadened; he pulled and felt her resist him with maidenly demureness, but in the end she came to him.

He felt the yielding firmness of her body pressing down into his on the bed and his arms furled about the softness that she offered. The warm cones of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s worked on the hardness of his chest and his mouth fused against hers in a pa.s.sionate kiss.

"Lors, Lors, darling. You've been gone so long." Her voice was a kitten purr in his ear, warm and gentle.

"I'm back, Jela," he smiled, his hands caressing the lithe length of her body, folding her against him tightly.

She moved away from him, rolling, tugging at him to respond, but he needed no encouragement. His body rolled with her, his arms pinning her to him tightly so that she could move nothing ... nothing but her legs, but then there was little need to move anything else...

The dream faded and he cursed, and tried to get back to sleep and the beautiful woman who awaited him. Sleep came, but the dream was gone.

Andy, shaking his shoulder, woke him about sundown and Nick swung his legs off the cot and stood up. Still sleepy, he fingered the heavy stubble on his face and looked at the old man.

"Y'kin use my razor t'chop off that beard, son," he said. "C'mon, get around now. Got soup and sandwiches ready an' some famous Hoc.u.m coffee."

Nick straightened his wrinkled clothing, shaking the last remnants of weary fog from his brain. Andy went on talking to him and said something that woke Nick Danson up completely.

"Yer buddies was here, couple o' hours ago, son."

"What?" It was almost impossible to keep the surprise out of his face and voice. Andy didn't seem to notice anything wrong.

"Th' fellers y'got drunk with. Wanted t'know if I'd seen any strangers on th' road. I said I hadn't, 'cause I figgered they might want t'slap y'around again."

"Thanks, Andy."

Who could possibly know about the plane crash? If the wreck _had_ been found, it would be the police asking questions, not two strangers.

Somebody, somewhere, was searching for him. Who? And what did they want?

Fingers of fear and worry flittered along his spine.

When they had finished eating, Nick shaved, cleaned himself up and followed Andy out to where his car was parked. He found that he liked the old man, but under the circ.u.mstances conversation was difficult. The plane crash, for one thing, was a bit on the odd side. The burning wreckage, he recalled, had shown no signs of ever having had wings or a tail a.s.sembly. But that was probably minor; the wings could have been ripped off by the trees when the plane came down. The important thing was that someone knew he was here. As they drove toward the town of Everett, the old man began talking about the strangers that had inquired after Nick earlier in the day.

"... Nope, I says to the big feller, ain't seen a soul on foot all day, 'ceptin' o'course, Jimmy Dilson, goin' down t'Willer Creek, t'fish. That seemed t'satisfy them so they lit out."

"Notice what kind of car they drove, Andy?" Nick asked.

"Yep. Gave 'em gas. They was drivin' a Chevrolet. Looked to be a '56 or a '57; black, it was. Blacker'n th' inside of a coal bin, with th'

shiniest chrome y'ever saw."

"Sounds like them," Nick told him, enlarging the lie. "One of them short and the other medium?"

"Not exactly. The one did all the talkin' had a funny accent. Anyways, he was about six feet, three or four, and heavy. Goodlookin', with blond hair. The other guy was about your build, with sandy hair. Never talked, that guy."

"They're the ones," Nick lied and shook a cigarette from a half empty pack. "Thanks for not giving me away."

Andy nodded, lapsing into silence, while Nick concentrated on coming home to a strange woman, and the two men who had been asking after him.

For some reason, he got the feeling that Beth Danson was his wife and he accepted it that way. She couldn't be his sister ... besides, a man his age would be married, in all likelihood. He wondered vaguely how she would welcome him, but cast the thought aside. He'd know soon enough.

As they approached Everett, in the gathering twilight, Andy turned to him.

"Where d'ye want off, son?"