Anders stared at his blushing, intense lover, startled at her ardency. "You've really thought about this."
"A lot. I… I love you, Mike." She fixed her eyes on his chest, afraid to look at him as she made her admission; he had heard her utter those words before, but never like this, never so fervent.
A silent Anders continued to gaze at her, thoughtful. Finally, Cayleigh dared to look up, meeting his eyes. At his lack of expression, her own eyes filled with tears.
"You… you're not interested." A tear spilled over, trickling down her still-flushed cheek.
That galvanized Anders into a response. "No, love, no, that isn't it. Not at all. I'm just… stunned. I…" Tender fingers brushed a strand of blonde from her eyes. "Do you want to get married?"
"Are you proposing?"
"I'm… not sure." He gazed at her, face honest and open, if confused.
Cayleigh shrugged, diffident. "I'd like to. But, but, as long as we can be together, I'll be happy."
Anders' expression melted into a tender smile. "You know, I rather like that idea, myself," he considered. "In fact, the more I think on it, the better I like it. I'd been noticing anyway, these long nights at the telescope are telling on me a little more than they used to, when I was younger. Maybe it really is time to settle down, act more like normal blokes."
Cayleigh smiled, hopeful at his response, eyes still glistening. "You want to, then?"
"Yes, I do. I love you too, darling. ‘S why we've stayed together all these years. You're my… my other half, I suppose. At the risk of sounding softer than marshmallow fluff, you know the old saying, ‘Home is where the heart is?'" Anders asked, face growing hot. "Well, you're… home, Cayleigh. My home. There's never been anyone else but you. I already think of you in that way, so I suppose we ought to go ahead and make it official. But I can't do it just yet, Cayleigh," he informed her. "I have the stint at the VLA, and I have to check out this thing for the DSTO. But that'll only take a few months, and then I promise I'll come straight back here. While I'm gone, why don't you go ahead and send my appy into the AAO office for me, and let Sherman know I'll help you run the planetarium into the bargain?"
Cayleigh seemed to light up from inside, almost taking his breath away with her beauty. "Oh, Mike." She hugged him tight. "I'm so happy."
"Wait a minute." He sat up, pulling her up with him, then he eased out of bed, dropping to a kneeling position, and positioning her to sit on the edge of the bed. When she saw his classic pose, she giggled happily, and he glanced up. "Now, hang on there, I'm not ready yet."
"I just don't think I've ever heard of it being done in the nude before," she giggled again.
Anders knelt on one knee before her, grinning impishly, shifting his posture a bit to ensure that his male assets were totally exposed to her gaze. "How's that?" he teased, taking her hand in his.
"Perfect," she snickered, sapphire eyes sparkling in devilish delight. "Marvelous view."
"Good. Glad you like it. Cayleigh Anne Monteith, will you marry me?"
"Michael Charles Anders, nothing would make me happier."
"Then that's taken care of," he said, lunging up and forward, tackling her and taking her back down into the fluffy scarlet bedclothes. "We'll get the ring tomorrow before I have to go to the airport."
"That's fine," she lilted. "Now somebody needs to get some sleep. And I don't mean me," Cayleigh pointed out. "You observed all last night, then drove all day today, and you have that long flight tomorrow."
"In a bit," he grinned, playfully rolling on top of her. "I'm not done here yet. After all, I have a fiancée now. I can always sleep on the plane."
Cayleigh's giggles grew muffled as Anders' mouth came down on hers.
* * * *
First thing the next morning, a private phone rang in the headquarters office of a certain Australian bank. A balding executive in a conservative pinstriped suit answered it. "Hodges here."
"Piggybank, Hotdog," came a gruff voice on the other end.
"Ah, yes, how may I help you, sir?" Hodges cloaked his surprise.
"I need you to freeze some accounts."
Hodges' hazel eyes darted around the marble office. "Certainly. May I have the account numbers?"
"Two credit cards. One, card number 405025678133. Private code 0260."
"I have it, sir. And the second?" Hodges entered the information into his computer.
"Card number 9715 3264 1455, code 6510."
"These are personal accounts," Hodges noted, reviewing the information on his screen.
"Right."
Hodges entered several commands. "Very well. Both accounts are from this bank; both are now frozen. May I be of further assistance?"
"Yeah," Hotdog answered. "Freeze the following checking account: 7025683."
"The name on the account?"
"Michael C. Anders."
"I… will need paperwork," Hodges hesitated. "Then it will take approximately two weeks."
A long string of cursing was heard. "Paperwork in progress," Hotdog snapped, then hung up.
* * * *
Jones came into Brown's office in Canberra, latching the door behind himself. "Heads up, mate," he murmured, gesturing toward his own breast pocket.
Brown took the hint, extracting his palm computer and initiating the anti-surveillance mode. "What's up?" he asked his partner.
"Johnson wants to know how last night went. We're to be in his office in ten minutes. I think he also has a bit of news for us, too."
"Names?" Brown asked curiously, tucking the Blackberry into his jacket and standing.
"Maybe," Jones shrugged. "I think he also might have some info about the little incident in the outback, as well."
"Let's go, then," Brown said, headed for the door.
* * * *
"I like this one," Anders noted, as he and Cayleigh bent over a selection of diamond solitaire rings at the jeweller's shop. The shop's huge plate glass front window framed a near-postcard view of the Sydney skyline, laid out before them.
"Oh, darling, that's much too big," Cayleigh protested, gazing in awe at the crystalline fire set in platinum against which Anders' finger rested. "I don't need anything that big and expensive."
"Maybe you don't need it, but I still want to get it for you." He smiled into her eyes.
"Can you… I mean, it's very expensive, love…" Cayleigh gazed at him, troubled.
"I'm not rich, Cayleigh, but I can afford this. Trust me," he offered, gazing down at her, eyes serious. "It isn't like I've had a lot to spend my salary on. The only thing I really own is the RV in the States, and I bought that second-hand. No car, no house. Just you. Let me do this." He took her hands in his.
Cayleigh smiled her understanding. "All right, then, love," she agreed, nodding. "This is the one, then."
Anders smiled in return, and waved the shop assistant over. "We'll take this one." He extracted a credit card from his wallet, and handed it to the clerk.
The clerk returned the smile, taking the card, and went over to the cash register. Mike and Cayleigh turned to each other, hugging and kissing. "I'm so excited," Cayleigh murmured, azure eyes sparkling, matching the diamonds about them.
"Excuse me, sir," the clerk interrupted, returning. "There seems to be a problem with your card. It's being rejected."
"Oh," Anders remarked blankly, coming up for air. "Huh. It should be okay. I just paid it off a couple of weeks ago. Oh well, try this one." He fished out another and handed it over.
The shop assistant swiped it, frowned in thought, then shook her head.
"What the hell?" Anders wondered, mystified.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Cayleigh asked, concerned.
"My damn credit cards don't work," Anders informed her.
Cayleigh's eyes got big. "Why?"
"Don't know."
"Sir, do you have an eelskin wallet?" the clerk asked. "Sometimes those generate enough static electricity to affect the magnetic stripes on cards."
&
nbsp; "That's old wives' tale bullshit," Anders protested in annoyance.
"Well, sir, no offense, but what else could be the explanation?" the clerk asked reasonably.
Anders started to say something, then shut his mouth, looking thoughtful. "Well…" He considered for a moment. "Hell. I'll write a check."
"That's acceptable, sir," the clerk agreed, taking his identification to verify the check. "Congratulations to you and your fiancée."
"Thank you," Cayleigh smiled, as Anders signed the check.
* * * *
In their superior's closed office, Brown and Jones sat in front of the desk, as Johnson saved the report he was writing on his computer and turned to greet them. "Well, gentlemen," he said congenially, "how are things going?"
"Pretty good, boss," Jones answered as Brown extracted the Blackberry and laid it on the corner of the desk, so that they all could see the display. It was clear.
"Excellent," Johnson murmured. "Down to business. How did last night go?"
"Quite well, I thought," Brown answered. "He seemed very interested, if a bit skeptical."
"Don't blame him there," Johnson agreed. "If I didn't have some of the information I have, I'd probably be skeptical, too. Will he follow through?"
"We think so," Jones informed his boss. "All indications are that he is a thorough and trustworthy researcher. International reputation and all that. And we definitely grabbed his attention."
"Good. The Main Office wants to know what the hell is going on, so keep me posted."
"The Main Office?" Brown gasped, shocked. "You don't mean…"
"I do mean," Johnson said, deadly serious. "Too many good people have gone missing. And some of them have turned up later, dead. The Boss wants to know why. And he's getting stonewalled by some other offices in our organisation. One even had the unmitigated gall to tell him that no mere elected official had a need to know."
"So he came to us," Jones realized.
"So he came to us," Johnson confirmed. "Be very, very careful about this, gentlemen. I cannot emphasize this enough: The situation is very delicate. Here's an encrypted list of the offices he's contacted, with specific points of contact, that have either been evasive or denied any knowledge of the matter." He handed the pair a data stick. "Assume that these offices have been corrupted by whatever the hell is going on, and further assume that the specific personnel listed are double agents."
"Double agents? We have a mole?" Jones stared in shock.
"We have moles, plural, Jones," Johnson informed him. "At least, we have to go on that assumption at the moment."
"Shit."
"Indeed. And very deep. In particular, be especially careful of the higher echelons of the Air Force," Johnson added in a tone of warning. "My intel indicates something very disturbing there."
"Stands to reason, I suppose," Brown shrugged. "Disappointing, but not exactly unexpected."
"Agreed," Johnson said. "Keep me posted on Dr. Anders' work, if you please."
"Of course," Jones murmured deferentially. "Have you heard any more on the situation in the outback?"
"Not much," Johnson admitted to them. "There seems to be some sort of impromptu gathering scheduled to take place in a month or so; I don't have an exact date or location yet. I'm trying to get one of my people infiltrated into the group, but it's proving difficult."
"Why?" Brown wondered.
"Between the ethnicity and the particular… attributes, I'm having a hard time finding a good match," Johnson conceded. "So far it's been next to impossible to get someone convincing on the inside."
"Mmm," Jones considered. "Have you tried Joe?"
"There's a thought," Johnson said, brightening. "Good idea."
"Anything else, boss?" Jones asked.
"Not at the moment," Johnson allowed. "Keep a close eye on Anders. He's not experienced at this, and I don't want him to go missing, too. Give him anything--ANYthing--he needs."
"On it," Brown said.
"Good. You two get back to it, then," Johnson said, turning back to his computer as the two rose. Brown retrieved his palm computer, and the pair left their supervisor's office, headed back to their own, there to review the information on the data stick secreted in Jones' trousers pocket.
* * * *
Blake was in his flat, asleep in his bedroom, when his cell phone rang. One hand reached out from under the covers, groping blindly in the dark room until it contacted the cell phone on the bedside table. He flipped it open and brought it to his ear. "Blake," he slurred through a sleep-induced haze.
"Stargazer, Hotdog." The voice on the other end was harsh, grating.
Blake sat up, awake immediately. He glanced at the alarm clock. "Damn, Hotdog, it's 10:00 am local. Couldn't you have--"
"No. Listen up. The skeet shooters got the clay pigeon."
"Damn," Blake breathed. "Fuel line didn't work, eh?"
"Negative," the voice on the other end answered. "Nor the trash compactor."
"Trash compactor?!" Blake exclaimed. "You ordered a--"
"You have a problem with that, Stargazer?" the voice became silky-soft. Dangerously soft, Blake thought with a shudder.
"Uh… uh… no," Blake denied uncomfortably. "It's just… he's an old mate, man. We did school together…" Blake brainstormed. "Maybe we could recruit him. I can go to Sydney…"
"Too late," Hotdog retorted. "He should already be en route to the airport, to catch a flight to Honolulu. Once he gets State-side, he'll analyze that data and it'll be too late to recruit."
"Oh."
"Be on Qantas flight 1480 out of Sydney at 2:42 p.m.," Hotdog ordered. "E-ticket's on your computer now. We have… issues."
"But I haven't finished my observing--"
"You have now," Hotdog grew harsh. "Get your ass on that plane. Or would you like to be… an example?"
"I'll be there," Blake acquiesced, trying not to cringe.
"Good." The connection terminated. Blake closed the cell phone and stared at it.
"Son of a bitch," he said bitterly.
* * * *
After they left the jeweller's, Cayleigh turned to Anders. "Mike," she began shyly, "can we go by my office for a few minutes? I'd like to share the news with my friends."
"Sure," Anders grinned, aiming the car for her office.
Soon after, the couple stood in the center of a gushing group of astronomers and other assorted scientists, the happy recipients of congratulations from all sides. "Let me see, Cayleigh," Harold Waters, a short, rotund, balding man, and Cayleigh's friendly museum liaison, remarked, reaching for her hand. "I want to see this bauble." He looked at the ring with wide eyes, then grinned at her. "Wow. Some rock. You finally snagged this one. I'm glad to see you both settling down at last."
"Isn't that the truth?" Margaret Singer, the office administrative assistant, agreed. "We all knew you two were made and meant for each other, but we were beginning to wonder if you'd ever slow down long enough to realize it."
The entire group laughed, and Cayleigh and Anders both flushed, sheepish. "Well, at least I didn't let her get away," Anders managed the lame comment.
"That's true," Margaret agreed with a smirk. Then, glancing at her watch, "Speaking of which--you two had better get moving! Mike will miss his flight."
"Oh, dear," Cayleigh worried, turning to Anders. "I wanted to tell Brian, but it'll have to wait. Let's go, love."
"Don't worry," Waters called reassuringly after the retreating couple, "I'll make sure the museum board hears about it! And I'll start lining up the applications for Mike, too."
"You're a dear," Cayleigh called back with a smile. "I'll be back soon…"
* * * *
Cayleigh accompanied him to Sydney Airport to see him off. At the security checkpoint, they paused. Anders bent his head to hers, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her. It didn't take long before the kiss turned intensely passionate, and amused travelers smiled their tolerance as they passed, observing the glittering bauble of a di
amond on Cayleigh's left ring finger.
At last, the security guard cleared his throat, grinning, and the couple broke apart.
"Hurry, Mike," Cayleigh whispered, urgent. "I'm counting the seconds."
"I know, love. Me, too," Anders admitted. "It won't be long, I swear."
"I love you, Mike."
"I love you too, Cayleigh."
Reluctantly, he turned and shoved his carry-on luggage into the x-ray machine and pushed deeper into the airport. He refused to look back, not certain he could continue if he did.
Fifteen minutes later, he boarded a plane for the long flight to the United States.
Chapter 5
Crash followed the flight ops recorder back over to the high bay, where he supervised removal of the magnetic tape inside. From there, he took possession of the tape and headed over to building 4663, the Huntsville Operations Support Center, or HOSC, where the Payload Control center was housed.
"Hey, Brian," Crash greeted the HOSC manager as he entered the office.
"Crash Murphy!" Brian Christiansen exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing here?" He stood to shake Crash's hand.
Crash held up the battered mag tape in one hand, Flight Data File documents in the other. "Guess," he said.
"Oh…" Christiansen drew back his hand, stunned.
"I need a little help playing this back," Crash told him. "Got anybody that can help me out?"
"Sure, Crash," Brian replied, returning to his usual amiable self. "I'll do it. Let's go downstairs to the computer room and we'll see what we can do."
* * * *
Some time later, Christiansen turned to the independent investigator. "All right, Crash, it's ready to go. We'll play it back for you on the SOPG loop. That's a restricted loop, so if you go on into the Science Ops Planning Group room you can close the door and punch it up."
"Thanks, Brian. I… appreciate the… privacy."
"Aside from the investigation, I figured… listening to the flight deck audio during the descent… when everything started to… to burn… well… I'm glad it's your job, Crash." Christiansen shrugged, looking a bit pale.
Crash pulled a wry face. "…Thanks, Brian. Where's this… SOPG room?"