“You're right,” he said, without turning around. “That would account for him leaving his chute. Attacking Sergeant Hays. Running away.”
“It would,” Ward agreed.
Howell turned back to the two men. “We'll have to get to him. Fast.” He looked directly at Paul. “As fast as possible. Captain Jarman, are you settled in enough to take command?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Howell nodded. “I know of your ties to Major Darby.” He looked straight at Paul. “It'll be your baby. You will be in charge of the search-and-rescue operations in the field.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Major Ward, the medical responsibilities will be yours.”
“Of course, sir.”
“We'll start for the area at 0400 tomorrow,” Paul said, “That'll put us there as soon as it's light.”
Howell looked at him seriously. “Captain Jarman,” he said, “Tom obviously needs help. But apart from all humanitarian reasons, we must find him — and bring him back here.”
He picked up a paper from his desk.
“The report from the crash-investigation team states that the plane exploded and burned on impact. It is a total loss. Total. Everything.” He looked closely at the two men, troubled. “The telemetering transmissions were cut off completely during the critical period. There are no reports — no information at all. Tom is the only man alive who knows what went wrong up there. He has the only answers.” He paused. He scowled. “We've got to know. Or we can start from scratch.”
Paul nodded. He understood what Howell was saying, but it was difficult to think of anything except getting Tom safely back. “I'll organize a maximum search-and-rescue effort. I'll get out the Emergency Service Teams, and—”
“Captain,” Howell interrupted sharply, “you will mount a minimum operation. I do not want to advertise what's happened. I don't want the press to blow this thing up to a major media event. Understood?”
Paul looked at his superior, uncertain. “Sir?”
“I don't want to alert every Tom, Dick and Ivan to the fact that we have a mentally deranged test pilot with his head crammed full of top-secret information running loose in the area.” Howell looked soberly at Paul. “And, more importantly, I don't want the damned place filled with curiosity-seekers,” he said quietly. “If they got to him before we did — in his condition — they could harm him greatly.” He looked at Ward.
Ward nodded. “That is certainly possible,” he said.
Howell turned to Paul. “I want this handled as — routine, Captain,” he said. “You should have no trouble finding him.”
Paul nodded. “I understand.”
The telephone on Howell's desk rang. He picked it up.
“Colonel Howell… Yes.” He looked startled. “Where?… I see.” He glanced at the two men watching him intently. “Yes. Get a complete report… Right.” He hung up. “Well,” he said crisply, “your job's been made easier for you.”
He strode to a big wall map of the Southern California area taking in the Mojave Desert with its large military installations, the Naval Weapons Center at China Lake, Fort Irwin Military Reservation and, of course, Edwards Air Force Base; the Sequoia National Park; Death Valley National Monument and the Sierra Nevada mountain range. “That was a report from an Inyo National Forest Ranger station,” he said. “Tom has been seen — halfway up the highest mountain in the continental states.”
Shaken, Ward exclaimed. “Mount Whitney!”
“They didn't get a good look at him in the dark, but he was spotted at Whitney Portal—” he jabbed a finger on the map—“here — about an hour ago.”
The three men stared at the map.
Paul nodded thoughtfully.
“Taking to the high ground,” he said. “Like a wounded animal.”
Day Two
1
He had spent the night curled up in the hollow he'd scooped out in a thick layer of pine needles under a stand of evergreens. He had slept the sleep of deep exhaustion…
When he had fled from the frightening things that pursued him, screaming unintelligible sounds at him, he had taken refuge, making his way ever higher up the rocky mountainside. When everything had grown darker and darker, he had been terrified. It had been but one of the countless terrors that had assailed him in this world made up entirely of unknown terrors and threats.
Finally he had curled up under the trees. He gave no thought to who — or what — he was. He just — was… He had no recollection or inkling of any existence before. He had no comprehension of the new experiences that crowded in on him. He only knew that most of them frightened him. There was only one existence. His. Now.
His first memory was that of finding himself entangled in a web of cruel restraints and enveloped in billows of suffocating softness. With the strength of panic he had struggled and had managed to free himself from the grip of the straps and from the cloying flimsiness…
When he awoke, he was instantly alert. He lay still in his little burrow, listening, breathing the musty scent of the pine needles. The forest around him was awakening. A soft breeze coming down from the majestic mountain peak towering above the forest whispered in the trees; there were small, intimate rustling noises all around him, and he could hear the peaceful gurgling of a creek cascading down the steep mountainside a little distance away, its white water calming and winding its way through the big trees.
He was aware that the brilliant disk of warmth and light, so strong that it hurt to look at it, was back high above him, and once more he could see clearly. He stirred cautiously. He felt stiff and it bothered him to move. The spot on his head that felt thickened and hurt when he touched it, ached. His mouth was dry. Instinct attracted him to the water nearby. Slowly, warily, he left his lair.
The crystal-clear water rushing along looked cool and inviting as the creek wound its way between boulders and rocks through a small green clearing. Tom stopped at the edge of the thicket. He watched uncertainly.
Suddenly he started. Instantly he crouched down, hiding among the shrubs. A small sound from the thicket not far away had alerted him. From the trees a deer came slowly to the edge of the bushes. Tom watched it, wary, immobile. The deer stopped at the edge of the clearing and looked around, ears alert, turning toward every little sound. It was a doe. Reassured, she walked daintily down to the creek and began to drink.
Tom watched. Instinctively he dismissed the deer as a menace. He stood up. Slowly he began to walk down to the stream. At once the doe looked up, alert to danger. Tom stopped. For a moment the two of them stood watching each other in silent appraisal, then the deer returned to drinking. Tom continued to the stream, crouched down and, plunging his face into the cool water, greedily began to drink.
The sudden roar of a motor being gunned in the distance, beyond the woods on the far brink of the creek, made the doe look up in alarm. Both she and Tom stared insistently in the direction from which the sound came. Again the motor noises shattered the silence. The doe turned, bounded off and disappeared into the thicket.
Immediately Tom followed.
He was moving through the forest at a half-run. He was acutely aware of a deep, growling rumble somewhere behind him. He did not know it for what it was — the sound of several vehicles laboring up an incline — but it made him uneasy. He kept running.
Ahead of him the forest thinned. He could see several large rocks and a big, smooth, shiny area. As he came closer, he realized it was water; not alive and splashing over the rocks like the water of the creek, but quiet and calm. It was a little lake. On the level dirt area nearby stood rows of flat wooden boards on legs of different heights. The place was deserted. It was too early in the day for picnickers.