Again he broke off. Growing impatience darkened his face. “She must be with him,” he said. “Why else would she be missing? And she's not been in her cabin all night. Tom's trail led from the corral to the Outdoor Museum. Randi's cabin is just across. She probably took a shortcut through there last night. And there were signs of a struggle.”
Again he listened. He controlled his mounting anger only with difficulty. “All right, sir. I will take the responsibility. But I must also insist on getting the manpower and the equipment to conduct a full-scale search. There is no—”
He stopped. For a brief moment he listened. “Of course I realize nothing must happen,” he snapped. “To either of them.” He listened again. “In one hour?… Right.” He slammed the receiver down. “Damn his hide,” he swore. “He must have a conscience like a duck's ass!”
“What did he say?” Ward asked.
“He's sending half a dozen choppers. They'll be here within the hour.”
“That's something, at least.”
“Yeah. Something. But far from enough, dammit!” Paul couldn't shake his frustrated anger. “They'll quarter the valley. Try to spot them for us in a low altitude search. If. If they're out in the open.” He walked over to the wall map. “He's also going to arrange for a photo mission. An SR-71 overflight. Ryan has to get Pentagon clearance.”
Trafford looked interested. “The SR-71,” he said. “That's that new high-altitude Strategic Reconnaissance plane?”
Paul nodded. “They'll make a run over the valley. Give us an overview of the entire area. From 80,000 feet.”
Stark looked startled. “That's — that's twenty miles up,” he said. “They're going to try to spot Tom from twenty miles?”
“Why not?” Paul shrugged. “We've got hardware in orbit that'll read the license plate on your car from a hundred miles up.” He stood up. “The SR-71 flies out of Beale Air Force Base near Sacramento. It's a helluva plane. It has the capacity to relay overflight photos back to Base for real-time analysis. They could spot Tom.”
“You know what beats me?” Ward said. “How does Tom keep evading all the top technology we can throw at him? One lone guy.”
Paul looked at him. “He's got one hell of an ally,” he said quietly.
“Ally?”
“Death Valley.”
“Let's hope someone spots him,” Ward said soberly, “We are running out of time. It's a miracle Tom has survived this long. Expending the energy he is — with an aggravated skull fracture.”
“Perhaps the fracture itself isn't as traumatic as we thought,” Trafford said. He sounded hopeful. “Perhaps it's not a depressed fracture that's causing the pressure on Tom's brain.” He frowned in thought. “It could be a subdural hematoma—” he turned to Paul—“a blood clot, Paul, which has stabilized.”
“That condition and the concussion might easily produce the same effect,” Ward agreed.
Trafford nodded. “The contrecoup effect,” he said. “The entire cerebrum would be traumatized, of course.”
If what you're saying gives Tom a better chance,” Paul said fervently, “I hope to God you're right.”
“It might tend to explain his stamina,” Trafford said. “But there are still enormous dangers. The hematoma could progress — that is, enlarge from more bleeding. Tom could lapse into unconsciousness.”
Paul looked at him, his face grim. “We've got to pick up their trail,” he said. “Pretty damned soon.” With a sudden thought he turned to Stark. “Any word about Adams?”
Stark shook, his bead. He looked deeply concerned. “No,” he answered. “We found his truck. Flat tire. And he'd gone out without a jack.”
“Any idea where he could be?”
“None. He must have gone for help and…” Stark shrugged helplessly. “I don't know what could have gotten into him. His truck was found way off his assigned sector.” He frowned at Paul. “He should have known better. Dammit! — he did know better. We have our own ten commandments on how to survive out there. The last one is: ‘If your car breaks down, stay with it. Do not attempt to walk for help.’… Adams himself posted warnings all through the valley.”
Paul looked disturbed. “What the hell is going on out there?” he asked of no one in particular.
Ward looked at him. “Paul,” he said uncertainly. “You don't think he — he could have run into Tom?”
Troubled, Paul shook his head. “I — don't know, Quent, I don't know… Dammit! — this thing keeps getting more complicated all the time. First Tom. Then Adams. And now — Randi.” He turned to Trafford.
“What's she up against?” he asked. “What's likely to happen between her and Tom?”
Trafford slowly shook his head. “It's impossible to predict,” he said. “Only one thing is certain: the situation will be dangerous for her.”
They looked at him sharply.
“Remember, Tom Darby is not really her husband at this moment,” Trafford explained. “He's more like a hunted, frightened animal.” He sighed with regret. “No one can foretell what he might do.”
“Could she have gone with him voluntarily?” Ward asked. “In an effort to — help?”
Paul shook his head. “No,” he said emphatically. “I'm certain she didn't. Remember, I read the signs myself. There was a struggle.” He turned to Trafford. “What if — if she did not go with him of her own free will?” he asked. “Why would Tom take her along?”
Trafford spoke deliberately as he gathered his thoughts. “He — eh, probably does not know who or what she is,” he said slowly. “But he may be — eh, attracted to her — as a male to a female. Primarily by smell, I'd say.”
“Smell?”
“I would say, almost certainly.” Trafford nodded. “Most insects and animals are guided by pheromones — or scent signals. They mark territory, establish pecking order and send out sexual cues. That sort of thing.” He looked at Paul. “Humans as well. We're just now learning how much in studies and research being done at various universities. Something of very basic importance does occur via the olfactory sense. It has, of course, already been determined that there's a connection between sexuality and odor. I would very much expect that to be a factor here. Smell. And touch. A pure male-female attraction. It — it may give Tom a certain — eh, feeling of security. Something he sorely needs in his present condition.” He looked gravely at Paul. “He's not going to let her go,” he finished.
Paul looked bleak. “Our damned problem has just doubled,” he said, bitterness in his voice. “Hell! I wish we had tried to get close enough to Tom to use a tranquilizer gun. Long ago.”
“Captain,” Trafford said quietly. “You know why we decided against that approach. The risks were too great. Far too great. Risks that exist even for strong, healthy animals. Under controlled conditions. For Tom… ” He let the sentence hang.
“I know,” Paul said. “I know.” He looked at the big wall map showing the vast expanse of the valley.
“If only I knew where the hell to look!”
2
Randi stirred fitfully. She opened her eyes. She felt cramped and stiff. For a moment she puzzled groggily over where she was — then the terrifying events of the night burst upon her. She looked up quickly.