“Need,” Page said. “Some people need to help others. Some people need to hate. Some people need to fill their emptiness.”
Page managed not to look at Tori when he said that.
“Another theory,” Medrano said. “But how do you prove it?”
“Tonight I’ll do my best.”
“How?”
“I want to get closer to the lights.” Both Costigan and Medrano looked as if they didn’t like what he was saying. “Don’t worry-I won’t do anything that adds to your problems.”
“We,” Tori interrupted. “We’ll do our best. Whatever you plan to do, I’m going with you.”
51
As they stepped from the hospital, Medrano told Page, “I need to get back to the viewing area. I hope you meant what you promised about not adding to my problems.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t go anywhere near you or the crowd, and I won’t make trouble by trespassing on anybody’s land.”
“I’d love to know what you’ve got in mind.”
“You’ll get a full report tomorrow morning.”
Medrano gave him a penetrating look and went down the steps to- ward his black-and-white Highway Patrol car.
Page and Tori remained on the steps, heat drifting off the concrete.
“Guess what,” she said. “I’m beginning to understand you.”
Page turned toward her, conscious of how the scarlet of the lowering sun emphasized her red hair.
“It took ten years of marriage,” she said.
“I hope this isn’t going to be a bad thing you’re talking about.”
“No, it’s good. Yesterday you said that the way you distract yourself from the pain you see is by concentrating on small details.”
“It’s true.”
“The idea is that the big picture can be overwhelming, but small portions of it can be handled-they become manageable,” she said.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I’m learning from you. Yesterday and today I focused on the little things. Then after a while, what I focused on wasn’t so little. It was you. You’re a really smart guy.”
Page tried to make a joke. “You didn’t already know that?”
“You’re using the lights to distract you from my cancer. You’re treating this like a criminal investigation.”
“Which it is,” he admitted. “Though there’s more to it than that. But it helps me get through the moment and prepare for Tuesday.”
“It’s taking your mind off what we both don’t want to think about. I’m using your investigation in the same way. As long as we’ve got this to do, I think I can be steady.” She considered him. “The way you ask questions. The way you assess people and make them do what you need. Yeah, you’re a really smart guy.”
“I have the feeling you’re using my own tactic. You’re trying to find out something.”
“What are we going to do tonight? How are we going to get closer to the lights?” At once Tori smiled-one of the few times he’d seen her do that recently. “I get it. You said we won’t be near the crowd and we won’t be trespassing.
“We’re going to use your plane.”
52
“What I need is another riot or a shooting to get this story back on track,” Brent said as Anita drove.
“Why not an outbreak of bubonic plague?” she offered with muted sarcasm.
“Look, I know everybody thinks I’m an asshole.” Brent studied the barren landscape as they passed. Cattle were spread out, eating the meager grass. “But you have to admit I got sensational overnight ratings for us. It’s all about the tone. The weird stuff about the lights needs to sound like it’s important-like it’s actually news. If CNN is going to keep paying us to run with this, everything needs to sound believable, even if it’s the weirdest shit I ever came across.”
“Then why are we driving out to the observatory? Last night you said something about extraterrestrials. I hope to God you were joking.”
“Yeah, it was a joke. Look, I’m winging this, okay? I’ll know what I need when I see it. Besides, I don’t understand why you’re complaining. Do you have anything better to do?”
“Aside from earning as much extra money as I can, nope. And I don’t know what gave you the idea I was complaining.”
Anita stopped the van at the side of the road. Dust swirled as Brent studied the sign.
U.S. GOVERNMENT OBSERVATORY
RESTRICTED AREA
TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED
“Friendly,” he said. “Let’s get some shots of me standing next to it.”
Stepping out into the intense sunlight, he walked through the blowing dust and positioned himself beside the sign. Determined to continue his rugged look, he didn’t bother trying to swat any of the dust from his suit. With his tie open and his collar unbuttoned, he raised the handheld microphone to his mouth. The mike had a transmitter that sent audio directly to Anita’s camera, but for the first time since coming to Rostov, he realized that he couldn’t think of anything to say.
She held the heavy camera on her shoulder, focusing on him. It had a so-called shotgun microphone attached to the top. Projecting like a barrel, the microphone could register nearby sounds, but not as clearly as the one Brent held.
After a long moment of silence, she looked out from behind the camera.
“Cat got your tongue?” she asked.
“Sarcasm isn’t welcome.”
“Your fans are waiting.”
“Hell with it, then. Let’s drive up to the observatory and see if any- thing looks interesting. I can come back later and do the intro at the end.”
“Drive up? I don’t think so.” Anita pointed toward a metal gate that stretched across the lane that led to the observatory. The gate was locked.
“I guess we head back to town.” She moved to load the camera back into the truck.
“Maybe not.” Brent walked to the opposite side of the gate.
“What are you doing?”
“Ever been on a farm?”
“I went to a zoo once.”
“My grandfather owned a hundred acres in Ohio. I used to go there for two weeks every summer. I remember the day when he drove his tractor out to a field but a gate got locked by accident, and he didn’t have the key to open it. I’d never heard anybody swear for that long a time.” He smiled at the memory while he examined the gate’s hinges and nodded. “Give me a hand, would you?”
She set down the camera and walked over. “Your grandfather found a way to get through?”
“Grab the gate on this end and help me lift.”
Anita shrugged and got a solid grip on one of the metal poles. They pushed upward. The hinges had metal circles that fitted over small metal posts. It took only a little effort to raise the circles from the posts and push the gate inward. Within minutes, they managed to make just enough room for the van to slip through.
“I guess the government hired somebody local to install the gate. But they forgot to tell the guy that the gate protected an observatory, not a pasture.”
“Maybe you didn’t read that part of the sign where it says trespassers will be prosecuted,” Anita said.
“We’ll just say we found the gate off its hinges and worried that another terrible thing had happened. We decided it was our duty to investigate.” He paused and looked at her. “But don’t let me force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. Do you want to stop?”
“No way,” Anita told him. “Ever heard of a cholla?”
“What’s that?”
“A type of cactus. That was my nickname in high school.”
“Because?”
“If people messed with me, they felt like a thorn got stuck in them and festered.”
Brent considered her. Five feet two inches tall. Maybe a hundred and five pounds. But she hardly looked petite. A long time of holding the twenty-five-pound camera on her shoulder had made her sinewy. And there was something about the str
ength in her dark eyes.
“Hey, believe me, I’m not trying to mess with you,” he said. “If you don’t want to go in there, you don’t need to. You can wait here for me.”
Walking toward the van, Anita replied over her shoulder, “Of course I want to go in there.” Her ponytail swinging at the back of her baseball cap, she lifted the camera as if it weighed nothing and put it into the van. Then she got in and revved the engine.
Brent waited for her to drive through the opening. Then he moved the fence back so the hinges seemed intact. He got into the passenger seat, and she drove down the lane. Dust rose behind them.
“If there’s a guard, the dust’ll warn him we’re coming a long time before we get there,” Anita observed.
“No problem-I just want to get a shot of the place. Maybe I’ll see something that’ll help me connect it to the lights, but now that we’re out here, I can’t imagine what it would be. I hate to admit it, but this story might have played itself out.” He thought for a moment. “Un- less there’s another shooting tonight. We can always hope for that.”
He glanced at her left hand on the steering wheel. “You’re not wearing a wedding ring, so I’m guessing you’re not married. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Hey, I hope you’re not hitting on me.”
Anita reached toward one of the many pockets on her khaki pants. A metal clip was attached to the outside of one of them. She pulled on it and revealed that the clip was attached to a black folding knife. She thumbed it open, revealing the blade.
“Remember what I said about my nickname.” She gestured with the knife.
“Honest to God, I’m just making conversation. I was trying to figure out how… what’s the word you used?… a cholla… sounds like you used to be a biker chick…”
“You got it.”
“… how a cholla became a cameraman.”
“Camerawoman. I had a boyfriend. He flipped his motorcycle, showing off. Got himself killed. Of course it didn’t help that he wasn’t wearing a helmet. A couple of days earlier, he’d dumped me for somebody else. That’s when I realized biker chicks don’t have a future. When I saw an ad for the community college, I went out there, asked what courses they had, and decided that learning how to handle a television camera might be cool.”
“And critics complain that television isn’t a positive influence. Is it as cool as you hoped?’
“Look at the wonderful people I get to work with.”
Brent laughed.
“For a little while longer, at any rate,” Anita added. “Until CNN hires you. That’s what you’re hoping, isn’t it? If that happens and they need a camerawoman, be sure to put in a good word for me.”
“Count on it.”
“Never give your word unless you mean it.”
“I’m telling the truth. If they hire me, I will in fact put in a good word for you. Now you can set down the knife.”
It was Anita’s turn to laugh. “Look at those observatory dishes.” She pointed toward the huge white shapes that seemed to grow from the horizon as she drove closer. “They remind me of the giant robots in a Terminator movie.”
“Not a bad line,” Brent said. “I’ll use it.”
“Be my guest, since we’re going to CNN together. Do you think they have good Mexican food in Atlanta? Chorizo? Lots of jalapeños in chicken enchiladas?”
“Somehow I doubt it.”
“In that case, maybe it’ll be just you going to Atlanta. Yeah, those dishes look like giant robots.”
As they drove closer, Brent was struck by how tall they were. They’ve got to be four or five stories high, he thought. They’re stretched along the equivalent of two or three city blocks. Hell, at least we’ll get some impressive images.
A minute later, he was close enough to be able to count them. Nine. Then he realized that he was wrong. There was a tenth dish, hidden behind the others. It was tilted sideways and seemed to be undergoing repairs.
A chain-link fence came into view, topped with barbed wire.
Not one fence, Brent thought. Three. And the two inside rows look like they’re made entirely from razor wire.
“They really don’t want visitors,” Anita observed.
“Well, I guess they’re afraid the cattle will wander close and bump against the dishes.”
The road led to a ten-foot-high gate, its links so thick that they looked capable of stopping a truck. Signs on the third fence warned:
DANGER
HIGH VOLTAGE
“I suppose the high voltage is designed to stop any cattle that climb the first and second fences,” Anita said.
“Yeah, there does seem to be a little-pardon the expression- overkill in the design of this place,” Brent agreed.
“Maybe kids from town used to vandalize the dishes-spray-painted them or something.”
“In which case, that high-voltage fence will teach those kids how seriously the government disapproves of graffiti.”
An open-backed truck was parked next to a concrete-block shed.
“Let’s get some shots of this place while we have the chance,” Brent decided.
“Wait’ll I turn the van around.”
“So we’ll be ready to make a getaway?”
“Don’t mock a cholla,” she warned.
As the dust settled, they got out and squinted in the bright sun to- ward the towering white dishes.
“This’ll look great.” Anita pulled the camera from the side door of the van and attached a fresh battery pack. “Stand by the gate. I’ll angle up toward the dishes, then pan down toward the ‘high voltage’ signs on the interior fences and finally over to you.”
“Sounds as if you should be a director, not a cameraman.”
“Camerawoman. Have you figured out what you’re going to say this time?”
“The dish that’s tilted sideways…”
“What about it?”
“It seems pointed in the general direction of Rostov.”
“So?”
“Maybe I’ll suggest that it’s aimed at the lights.”
“As if it’s receiving a signal from them? You think CNN’s going to buy that?” But she glanced at the dish as if intrigued by the idea.
“It’s the best I can come up with right now.”
“In that case, I’m not the only one who won’t be going to Atlanta.” But Anita hefted the camera to her shoulder.
“Trust me. As we keep going, I’ll think of something better. Just get some shots of the dish that’s tilted toward Rostov. I can always dub a voiceover later if I need to.”
Abruptly Brent heard a noise behind him. He lowered the micro- phone to his side, turned, and gazed through the three fences toward a door that opened in a concrete-block shed.
A man appeared. Emerging from the darkness inside, he came out backward, bending over, tugging something that Brent couldn’t see. His khaki uniform left no doubt that he was a guard.
The man glanced behind him to make sure of his footing and stopped when he noticed the van. Immediately he set down whatever he was dragging. The darkness beyond the door still concealed it.
He turned and straightened. His hair was extremely short. His features were stern. His chest was muscled, his shoulders broad.
He stepped forward and halted at the front of the truck. “I guess you can’t read.”
“Excuse me?” Brent asked. He kept the microphone down, concealed behind his right leg.
“The sign at the road. How’d you get through the locked gate?”
“It was off its hinges,” Brent replied. “With all the weird things happening, we got suspicious and decided to make sure nothing’s wrong.”
“Everything’s fine. I’ll arrange for the gate to be fixed. Why do you suppose it was off its hinges?”
“Kids maybe.”
“Kids. Of course.”
“My name’s Brent Loft. I’m a television reporter.” Brent used his left hand-the one that wasn’t concealing the microphone-to point
toward the station’s letters on the side of the van.
“Yeah, I saw you on TV, talking about the shootings.”
“Thanks.”
The guard’s sour expression suggested that his comment hadn’t been a compliment. Even so, Brent pressed on. “As long as we’re here, this place looks so fascinating, is there someone I can talk to about doing a feature about it?”
He hoped Anita had the camera rolling. He didn’t know where this conversation was going, but he had a suspicion he’d be able to use footage from it. The guard was too far away for Brent’s microphone to pick up his voice, but Brent was speaking loudly enough that his own portion of the conversation would be recorded.
He expected the guard to say that the person to talk to was gone for the weekend-some sort of polite brush-off.
The guard’s curt “no” caught him by surprise.
“No?”
“Like the sign says, this is government property. If you want to get prosecuted, just hang around while I call the cops. But if you want to end this with no hard feelings, get in that van and drive back to the road. Now.”
Brent’s gaze focused on the open door behind the man. The object he’d been dragging lay in the shadows inside the shed. Part of it was round, resembling a soccer ball.
“Well, maybe I could interview you,” Brent offered. “How does it feel to work here? Is it exciting to be part of a project this big, or, like most jobs, does it get boring after a while?”
The Shimmer Page 21
