Jo bent over slightly and touched his cheek with her outstretched hand. “But you’ll live a long and peaceful life, won’t you?”
He actually blushed. “I have every intention of doing so,” he said, trying to recover his composure.
They waited as the shower drifted across the island and headed off to the west. The sun came out from behind the scudding clouds, hot and bright. In minutes the beach was dry again.
Markov squinted at the sky. “Our clothes would dry faster if we spread them on the sand.”
Nodding, Jo teased, “Then we could go skinnydipping again.”
“I think I’ve been in the water enough for one afternoon,” Markov said.
Jo thought it over for a few moments. “Maybe we’d just better let the sun dry us off, without stripping.”
With a nod, Markov answered, “The better part of valor.”
Jo smiled at him, then said, “I just hope we can get back to Kwaj before it gets dark.”
It was midnight in Washington.
Despite the tension he felt, Willie Wilson smiled easily and leaned back on the couch. The hotel suite was well furnished; the management had given him its very best, top floor and top prices.
“You’re not from the insurance company?” Willie asked, spreading his arms across the back of the couch.
The young man sitting on the chair facing him smiled. “No, sir, I’m not. I’m with the Department of Justice.”
“Justice?” Willie glanced at his brother, who stood uneasily by the empty, unused bar, an almost scared look on his ruddy face.
“Yes, sir,” said the young man. He was neatly dressed in a conservative gray suit and quiet maroon tie. He looks like a lawyer, Willie thought.
“What do you want with me?” Willie asked him.
“We want to prevent a tragedy from happening,” the young man said.
“We?”
“The Department. The Attorney General. The White House.”
Willie gave a low whistle. “Heavy stuff.”
The young man nodded.
“What tragedy are you worrying about?” Willie asked.
“The panic you’ve been spreading.”
“Panic? I don’t deal in panic. I’m just a simple minister spreading the Word of the Lord.”
“Sir, you are frightening people. What happened at RFK Stadium could have been a colossal tragedy. It was only avoided by the narrowest of margins.”
“By his quick thinking!” Bobby snapped, jabbing a finger toward his brother.
“It was the Lord’s doing, not mine,” Willie said softly, still smiling.
“Reverend Wilson, you are frightening people. It was bad enough when you were just telling them to watch the skies. But now—with these lights in the sky every night…”
“That’s the message we’ve been waiting for,” Willie said.
“People are scared! They think the end of the world is coming.”
“I never said that.”
“But that’s what people believe you’re saying,” the young man said earnestly. “All over the country.”
“I’m just a simple minister of the Lord…”
“You’ve become a powerful national figure, Reverend Wilson. And you’ve got to show some responsibility for that power.”
“What do you mean, responsibility?” Bobby asked.
“You’ve got to cool it.”
“What?”
“You’ve got to stop scaring people. You’ve got to tell them that the lights in the sky have nothing to do with God or the end of the world.”
“I can’t do that,” Willie said flatly.
“You’ll have to.”
“Or else what?” Bobby asked.
The young man turned slightly in his chair to face Bobby. “Or else the federal government will get very tough with you.”
Willie’s smile never faded. He said, “I’ve met with the President, you know.”
“Yes, sir, I know. He sent me here, Reverend. He asked me to remind you of the tremendous responsibility you hold in your hands.”
“The President did?”
“That’s right, sir. He could have sent someone from IRS. Or from FCC.”
Willie’s smile became a shade tighter, just a little forced.
“In other words,” Bobby grumbled, “we play ball or the government shuts us off from television and goes through our books with a hundred auditors.”
“What do you mean, play ball?”
“Where is your next big rally, Reverend Wilson?”
“Anaheim.”
The young man nodded. “Yes. We’ve already been in contact with the stadium management there.”
“What right do you have…?”
“It’s very simple, Reverend. A panic at one of your rallies could kill hundreds of people. Maybe thousands. None of us wants that to happen. Right?”
Willie nodded slowly.
The young man took a deep breath. “Then what you have to tell your followers is that the lights in the sky are completely natural, that they’re caused by the spacecraft that’s approaching us, and that there is no supernatural meaning behind the lights whatsoever. You must disassociate the lights in the sky from the voice of God.”
“But that’s not possible,” Willie said.
“Yes, it is. You’ll have to say it.”
Willie glanced up at his brother, then looked back at the man from the Justice Department. “You’re interfering with the Lord’s work.”
“You work for the Lord, sir. I work for the Attorney General.” He hesitated, then added, “And we all work for the IRS.”
It was sunset before Stoner emerged from his office building. He stood at the entrance for a moment and looked out through the fringe of palms across the street toward the flaming sky. Then he turned and headed for the Post Exchange.
An hour later, showered, dressed in clean slacks and pullover shirt, he walked from the BOQ to the hotel, only to find that Jo wasn’t there. With a shrug, he went to the computer building, then to the Officers’ Club. She wasn’t in either place.
Where the hell could she be? he wondered. The clock behind the club bar showed it was well past seven. She said she was going for a swim; if anything had happened to her the whole island would be buzzing with it.
He made his way past the hardy group of regulars who lined the bar and sat wearily in the same corner booth he and Markov had used before.
She couldn’t have forgotten, he knew. She just decided not to show up. Cold anger seeped through him. She’s probably with McDermott.
No matter where Cavendish walked, no matter how far he decided to go or which direction he decided to go in, his feet kept returning him to the hospital.
It was dusk now, and as he leaned against the bole of a palm across the tennis courts from the hospital’s blocky shape, he could see lights going on in the windows.
I’ve got no will of my own, he whimpered deep within himself. They’re controlling me, making me walk and talk like some bloody animated doll.
He sagged against the tree. The pain wasn’t so bad at the moment, but nothing could make it go away altogether. Only obedience to their commands alleviated the agony.
“Damned clever of them,” he muttered to himself. “If they devoted as much effort to bettering their blasted economy as they do to controlling people’s minds, they wouldn’t need their blasted KGB.”
The pain wasn’t so bad now. Maybe I could get some food down, he thought. Or sleep! He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Sleep. What a luxury that would be.
Cavendish never saw Schmidt raise his window, lean out over its edge and drop the two floors to the sandy soil at the base of the hospital wall. The young man was fully dressed, his eyes glittered wildly, and in his buttoned shirt pocket were only two of the capsules that Cavendish had given him a few hours earlier.