“We’ve got him stashed away,” said Dink, with a feral smile. “I’m told he responds well to pain.”
They were interrupted by the blink of a red light and a hesitant beeping from a metal box by the window.
“There they are,” breathed Briess. “Better late than never.”
McVane was already on his feet beside the machine. “It doesn’t read their signatures,” he said doubtfully. “Too hot for a Wulivery or Fluiquosm, too cool for a Xankatikitiki. Too many for any of ‘em.”
“Where are they?” asked Dink, peering out the window.
“Over to our left, among the trees,” muttered McVane.
Dink picked up his glasses, put on his jacket, and went out onto the rickety porch. From the end of it he had a good view of the trees. McVane and Arthur came out onto the porch behind him as Dink spoke over his shoulder. “Must be the invisible Fluiquosm wearing heated suits!”
A faint yelp came from behind him, and he turned to find himself alone on the porch. He went to the door and looked in to see Briess still hovering over the machine.
He knocked on the door frame. Briess looked up, and not seeing anyone, went out onto the porch himself. Nobody there but him. Very shortly thereafter, nobody there at all.
Benita—WEDNESDAY
Benita had thought there might be a quiet interlude before the large ship arrived, but the morning after her return she received a subpoena, dated several days before and routed through the White House. She was to testify that day before Morse’s committee, this time about her sexual involvement with the ET’s and any current members of government. Even though the president had told her to expect it, it made her furious. It was all part of Morse’s choreography, of course, part of the shit ballet he hoped to stage.
Chad picked her up, as before, and they arrived at the hearing chamber at the time specified to find the inquiry in some disarray because Morse wasn’t there. The vice chairman wasn’t there. Several of Morse’s staffers weren’t there. Eventually, someone was appointed to be chairman pro tern, and Benita swore to tell the truth and was then accused of sexual contact with the ET’s and/or the president, et al.
“Where on earth did you hear such a thing?” she asked, affronted.
“We ask the questions,” muttered the senator, slightly red in the face.
“Well, all I can say is that if you listen to alcoholics like my husband, from whom I am separated, he’ll say anything anyone tells him to say for ten dollars or a drink, whichever is closest.”
“Are you denying these allegations?”
“Of course I’m denying these allegations. They’re ridiculous.”
There was muttering, leaning, whispering. The interrogator, face rather red, leaned into his microphone. “Do you have any knowledge of where your . . . husband is, Mrs. Alvarez?”
She answered honestly. “I couldn’t tell you where he is, sir. He’s been working for Senator Morse for some time, so maybe the senator can tell you.”
More consternation.
“Why do you claim he works for Senator Morse?”
“With the envoys here, it’s almost impossible to do anything secretly, sir. According to the envoys, a Mr. Dinklemier and a Mr. Arthur have been paying Bert Shipton to make up stories about me on instructions from Senator Morse.”
Whispers, covered mikes, people turning redder.
“Perhaps you can tell us about your relationship with the president?”
“We covered this ground previously, gentlemen, but I’ll refresh your memories. I first saw the president in his office on the day after I delivered the envoys’ message to Congressman Martinez. We talked for five or ten minutes, during which time he thanked me for my efforts. The door to the outer office was open during my visit, and General Wallace was standing in the doorway. The second time I met the president, his wife was there, and that was when he asked me to see if the envoys would take me to their planet for a firsthand view. I have just returned from there.”
Consternation. Someone got up hastily and left the room.
“And since then?” asked the man with the gavel, his mouth remaining open as she replied.