CHAPTER TWO
Detective Lieutenant Nolan Brice braked the Fairlane at 2312 WeismanDrive and got out quickly. For a moment, he wasn't sure whether BethDanson would be awake, but it was a long drive into headquarters and hedidn't want to go back to a dismal office, or even a lonely bachelorapartment. He glanced at his watch. 9:30. He shrugged and decided to tryit.
She answered his knock almost at once, smiling him into the front room.For a moment, he allowed his eyes to finger her body, letting them spearthrough the wrap around robe and the flimsy nightgown to where warmflesh ebbed and flowed against the sigh of silk. Her brown hair wasbed-tangled and most of the makeup was gone from her face, but BethDanson was a woman who had the unconscious ability to look beautifulunder any circumstances. Nolan felt a thunder in his veins as he tossedhis hat on the sofa.
"Coffee, Nolan?" she asked.
He nodded and they went into the kitchen. "We found the Peters' kid, sothat ends another case." He dropped to a chair and watched her fixingthe coffee. "You're up early, Beth."
A shadow crossed her face momentarily. "I had a dream, Nolan. A baddream."
"About Nick?"
She nodded and set a cup of coffee before him. The tears were closeagain, but Brice hadn't seen them fall over Nick for a long while. Itwas ridiculous the way she mooned over the guy, but there was nounderstanding women.
"You ought to stop dwelling on him, honey," Nolan told her. "It doesn'tdo any good."
"He's alive," she said, softly.
"You know better than that. If he was alive, we'd have found him. Menjust do not drop out of sight in the Twentieth Century."
Beth lifted a hand to brush her hair into place and sat down to sip ather coffee. Nolan studied her. She actually believed that her husbandwas alive and that he would return to her. He hoped not. It was aselfish thing to think about, but he was in love with her; he'd have hadher long ago if it wouldn't have been for Nick and his dark good looks.He mouthed a swallow of coffee and settled the cup in its saucer. Shewas looking at him.
"Is there any news, Nolan?"
"About Nick? No." He touched her arm. "They've given up ... and soshould you. Honey, you're young, beautiful. Hell, another woman wouldhave gone out and had a ball.
"Listen, there's a lousy show on down in Everett. Want to go?"
She smiled. "Thanks, but you're probably tired from hunting for thePeters' kid..."
"I feel fine."
She shook her head. "Nolan, I know how you feel about me. I'm veryflattered. But ... but I have to accustom to his loss in my own way. I'msorry."
Nolan forced a smile. "That's the way the mop flops," he mused. "I'll bearound, when you are." He finished his coffee in silence. "Well, I haveto get moving, make out a report and all. Thanks for the coffee, Beth."
She nodded, but remained staring into her cup. Nolan went into the frontroom, picked up his hat and went out into the morning to climb into hiscar. When he had started it and headed back toward Everett, he foundhimself struggling with the feeling that he was being cheated.
After all, he reasoned with himself, why should a guy have to playsecond fiddle to a man who was probably dead. If Nick Danson were alive,it'd be different; but dead, and that was an almost sure thing, he feltcheated. Beth could learn to love him. She could forget. Hell, a lot ofwomen lost their men for some reason or another, but they accustomed,they altered their lives. If a man dropped the reins, some other guyshould pick them up. It was only natural.
He shut off the thoughts of Beth as he reached the busy section of townand concentrated on his driving. He could wait, he decided in closingoff the thoughts. Sooner or later she would be ready to accept thetruth, and he would be right there waiting. He maneuvered the Fordaround several other cars parked in the lot of the City Hall and foundthe berth that bore his name. He killed the engine, got out and wentinside to his office.
When he opened the door and saw the two men and the Chief sitting in hisoffice, he knew it was something big. After awhile, it was so you couldspot a Fed a mile away. Especially when they were sitting in youroffice. Chief Daniels looked grouchy at him, but his tone was cordial.
"You finish with Peters?"
"Yes."
Daniels nodded, his florid, moon face looking lumpy and important."Lieutenant Brice. This is John Cartwell and Sam Morgan. Secret Service.I've promised to give them assistance in an important matter. They'llbrief you." He nodded an important good-by and left the three of themalone.
"What's the problem, gentlemen," Nolan said and settled behind his desk.
Cartwell, a stocky looking thirty year old, with wavy blond hair, didthe talking, while his dark complected friend puffed placidly on acigar.
"Lieutenant Brice," Cartwell said, "your boss seemed to think that you'dbe the best man to help us set up our plan of operation. We've alreadycontacted the Civil Air Patrol and the National Guard outfit here. Wehave 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 groundobserving corps' branches; we'll use this office as a headquarters foroperations."
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 FlyingObject does not necessarily constitute a space craft, Brice. Butsomething was spotted off the Grand Banks, early this morning, goinglike hell and apparently out of control. We got our last sighting overAuburn, New York. We checked the observation posts around Everett andfound that nothing was seen. We also checked Binghamton and Elmira, witha negative report. Since the object was on a southerly heading, whenspotted near Auburn, we can only assume that it went down in the areabetween 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 matterwhat it is, or whose it is, we are very interested in any aircraft thattravels 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 itroll like that."
"Okay. Let's go into a huddle," Nolan said. "But I can tell you this. Ifthe thing went down in north central Pennsylvania, it's in some prettyrugged country."
"Great," Cartwell snarled.