The Martian Pendant

by Patrick Taylor

  “This looks like the end. We’ve nothing to defend ourselves against those two.”

  “Mum, I brought the plane’s survival kit with the parachute, and it contains a knife and a flare pistol.”

  Grabbing the olive-colored canvas bag from Bobby, she tore it open. “Keep your head down, lad, but hold this spare flare cartridge ready. I’m going to target the one in the lead. It’s our only chance!”

  Taking careful aim, she waited until the man was almost upon them. When she fired the Very pistol, the flare hit him squarely in the belly, knocking the wind out of him, and causing him to fall into his accomplice, the two of them tumbling down the hill in the snow as far as the railroad tracks.

  “Look, mum! He dropped his rifle. Let's get it!”

  Warily, after loading the second flare, Diana retrieved the weapon, a Soviet bolt-action Kalashnikov. Aiming it at the men just then emerging from the snow, she called out, “Put your hands in the air or I’ll shoot your bloody heads off!”

  They chose instead to dive into the snow on the other side of the tracks, disappearing down the mountain in a head-over-heels plunge. She didn’t have the heart to shoot. She was not prepared to kill a man in front of her young son, but she had to marvel at what he said next.

  “Mum, you let them go. I would have finished them off!”

  “Perhaps I would have too, were you not here. But as you can see, it wasn’t necessary. Now we’re rid of them and we have their handcar to make our way up the line. There must be a town not far from here. Perhaps a ski resort. I understand Colorado features many such establishments.”

  It seemed like hours, but after thirty minutes of laborious uphill pumping, the incline leveled off and they began to descend. At the same time the mist and falling snow thinned, allowing an occasional glimpse into the valley below.

  “Keep your eyes open, Bobby. We don’t want to meet an approaching train or snowplow. But keep pumping. There must be a village in that valley, and that would mean food and shelter.”

  “Food! Oh, mum, that sounds so good. It may be cold outside in the snow, but inside, my stomach is outvoting shelter.”

  Diana had to laugh at that. Just like a teenage boy, she thought, with food foremost, and the more, the better. Before long, they came upon a small railroad station, a tiny, faded yellow clapboard building, with a plain sign heralding their mountain village, “Dillon.”

  “Colorado is a large state, Bobby. This must be right in the middle of it. Let’s pop off this car, and find a pub or café, where we can get something to eat and arrange for a room for the night.”

  “I’m all for that, mum, but what do we do with this car? We can’t leave it on the tracks, can we?”

  “Good thinking, young man. Let’s see if we can get it off the rails. It’s not the heaviest conveyance we’ve used.”

  They tried to lift it, but in the snow a firm footing was impossible, and they had to leave it on the tracks.

  “Drop the rifle and flare pistol into the snow,” she ordered, “Where they’ll not be found until the snow melts. We’ll relay word to the authorities about the handcar obstructing the right-of-way.”

  As they left the deserted station, they could see the red glow of neon lights up the hill, indicating the location of Dillon’s small cluster of businesses. The little town’s only café, the Rocky Mountain Grill, was still open, and they were served a hearty dinner. Diana told the waitress about the handcar, and a quick phone call took care of that. When she returned, she announced, “Seems a couple of planes crashed into the railroad tunnel on the other side of the pass, and no trains will be through here for some time. So, how about dessert? We have the best apple pie west of the Mississippi!”

  Bobby hungrily encouraged that, saying, “Mum, order a portion for yourself, too. I can finish anything you don’t want.” Ordering two slices of pie, she enquired about lodgings.

  “Well ma’am, the only place we have is the ‘Heart of the Rockies Cabins’ just down the hill from here. They’re not much, but they’re at least clean and warm. People have nice places up the road outside that leads to our ski resort, Arapaho Basin, but there’s nothing to rent up that way.”

  At the cabins’ office, the manager eyed them suspiciously, because of their accents and rumpled appearance, not the fact that their flight coveralls resembled the army surplus gear that many still wore on the ski slopes.

  Studying Bobby suspiciously, the manager asked, “Will it be a double bed?”

  Diana was often mistaken for a woman in her early twenties. Realizing that Bobby, taller than she, and looking more mature in his outfit, might be the reason for the question, she laughed and coolly replied, “This is my son. He’s much too old to sleep with his mother, wouldn’t you agree? We’ll need two beds, but just for the night. I’ll pay now, since we’ll be up and away rather early.”

  The café waitress was right. The cabins were definitely not much. Tired as they were, and despite the uncomfortable beds, they did sleep well, although the oil heater kept the one-room cabin much too warm. Early in the morning when they left, the sky was clear and just beginning to take on color with the dawn. Two feet of new snow covered the ground, and burdened the evergreens to the point of their giving off tiny avalanches with the slightest breeze. As they hurried along toward the café, their shoes crunching in the snow, Bobby began to shiver.

  “Isn’t it beautiful, lad? This is indeed Father Christmas country, don’t you agree?”

  “It’s like the North Pole, if that’s what you mean. I’m freezing! Let’s just get to the café for some hot breakfast. I don’t want to hear about Christmas. Besides, it’s April, long past the holidays.”

  “Young man, you have to learn to stop and smell the roses from time to time. Just look at that sunrise! Doesn’t that warm your inner poet?”

  “The only thing that will do that right now is a stomach full of hot breakfast. Poetry can wait.”

  Scraping the snow from their boots, they entered the café. It too, was warmer than necessary, they both agreed, forcing them to remove their torn and scruffy flying suits, leaving them in their street clothes.

  The waitress, showing them to their table, cheerily asked, “What’ll it be this morning?” Not the same woman as the night before, she was young and quite pretty. That quickly started Bobby thinking about his inner poet and more, despite his empty stomach. “Hello,” he said, a little too enthusiastically, “Where were you last night at supper time?”

  The waitress, who couldn’t have been more than eighteen, giggled at his obvious interest, putting him off by responding, “Home with my ski instructor husband and our twins. A girl’s gotta have a life besides waiting tables.”

  Diana laughed, saying, “We both will have breakfast number three, and make that with American bacon, the eggs over easy. Oh, and coffee for me and milk for my son here.”

  Embarrassed, he whispered, “Mum, couldn’t you at least have ordered two coffees? Now she’ll think I’m just a child, drinking milk.”

  “Bobby, you may be bigger and taller than the average thirteen-year-old, but you’re still a child to most people, even though you’ve been quite a man during our current odyssey. Do you think that pretty waitress thinks otherwise? For now, you should confine your attention to girls of your own age.”

  The food arrived just then, taking Bobby's interest elsewhere temporarily, but not until the waitress, her hips swinging teasingly as she walked, disappeared into the kitchen. When Diana had eaten her fill, she called for the check, as Bobby polished off the last of both breakfasts.

  Even before the gratuity changed hands, the waitress smiled and said, “You have a handsome boy there, ma’am. If he was my age, it would be hard to ignore him.”

  Diana thanked her for the compliment, and, after donning their flight coveralls for warmth, she asked about a clothing store and transportation.

  “We don’t have a dry goods store in town. Parkas and ski stuff can be had at Arapaho, but that’s miles up
the road outside. With the railroad tunnel blocked, the only transportation, aside from private cars, is the Greyhound bus between Denver and Grand Junction. That is, if the snowplows have gotten through. Just wait at the drugstore down on the main highway.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Confiscation

  It didn’t take long for the gray, blue, and white bus to arrive from the east, the driver throwing off a bundle of the Denver Post for the pharmacy. Trumpeting the crash of the two planes, the headlines read: “DOGFIGHT OVER FRONT RANGE. RR TUNNEL BLOCKED BY WRECKAGE.” Diana was unable to read anything more except for the subhead, “Parts of one plane bear Soviet markings.”

  When they boarded and Diana handed Bobby money for their fare, the driver seemed focused on their appearance but said nothing, aside from asking their destination. As the bus sped west in the melting snow and bright sunshine, Diana looked at Bobby’s face as he slept. Her emotions a mixture of love and not a little regret, she asked herself, Where had all the years of his childhood gone? Now he was on the cusp of manhood, and she’d missed so much. First, it was her absorption in her studies at Cambridge, and then, her work in America and Africa. She looked at him proudly. Her parents had done a marvelous job with him; he was ready now for higher schooling. She recalled when she and her father had decided on that elite university preparatory school attended by many of Britain’s upper class. Bobby had rebelled then.

  “Mother, grandfather,” he had said, “I realize you want the best for me, but I must tell you that my heart is set on school in the U.S. I’m three-fourths American anyway, you know, and I can live with my father’s family, either in Chicago or Los Angeles. Both cities have excellent universities where I could study for a career.”

  Then her thoughts turned to their driver, and his regarding her somewhat oddly when they had boarded. At first, in her hurry, she had thought the once-over he gave her was merely male behavior. She had always been given appreciative looks by men, and she had learned that her cool beauty would almost always keep them at a distance. That day, her hair was unkempt, and, wearing a rumpled and dirty flight suit, she fancied she looked the part of a vagabond. Reflecting on that, she began to re-examine the driver’s interest in her. He had, after all, delivered the Denver paper to the chemist’s in Dillon, and could easily have connected the news of the two plane crashes with their attire. During the Cold War, anything Soviet or Russian always aroused suspicion.

  It was hard for her to believe that he might be part of her pursuit, with his open American face and crisp Greyhound uniform. But then, as she absently held her pendant, it occurred to her. Somehow the idea that her adversaries would now be Americans began to dominate her every thought. She had learned to heed such cues, experience having shown her intuition seldom to be wrong. That convinced her. An interest by the U.S. was to be expected, a case of supply and demand. What she carried was the only accessible thing of possible military value left of Martian technology!

  “Bobby,” she whispered, “Wake up. We must exit this bus at our first opportunity. I’m now certain that the American authorities themselves are our greatest danger. Be ready when next we stop, probably for dinner. We’ll slip away and rent another car.”

  When the bus pulled into the terminal at Grand Junction, the driver announced a one- hour stop for rest and dinner, with the information that their belongings would be safe, since the bus would be locked. As the other passengers filed down the steps past the driver, Diana took down her case from the overhead under his suspicious eye.

  “Come on, Bobby,” she whispered, taking his arm, “We must get out of here now. After using the facilities, we’ll meet in the coffee shop, and then slip out through the kitchen.”

  After locking the bus, the driver hurried to a nearby telephone booth and made a call. While he waited in front of the coffee shop, they slipped out the back, raising only a giggle from a waitress in the kitchen. Bobby, hungry as usual, had grabbed a dinner roll from her tray. As they passed, she laughed, calling after him, “You want butter with that?”

  They fled down an alley and into the main street a block away. Diana had no idea where an auto rental agency might be, or if Grand Junction even had one. As they headed for the entrance of a hardware store, hoping to obtain directions inside, a police car pulled up alongside, and a burly patrolman got out.

  “Ma’am, stop where you are. I have to take the two of you in for questioning.”

  Diana caught Bobby’s hand, as she sensed he was ready to bolt. “We’ll do as the man says, lad. We haven’t done anything wrong.” And then, turning to their captor, she asked, “On what grounds are we being arrested, officer?”

  “All I have are my orders to take you in. They’ll answer your questions then.” As he said that, he looked at her in surprise. “You sure don’t sound like a Russki, but that’s for the investigators to decide. I imagine it’s some sort of Federal charge, since we have instructions to hold you for the FBI. I’ll take that case now. That may be what they’re after.”

  She objected more vehemently then. “Why, this in fact holds only archaeological material, and is my own private property. Here, I’ll show you,”

  Seizing her hand in a vise-like grip, he ordered firmly, “Don’t open it, ma’am.” With that, he tore it from her grasp. “Into the back seat, both of you, and if there’s any further resistance, I’ll have to cuff you.”

  They would have to wait, according to the desk sergeant, a portly man in his forties. It seems it would take time for the FBI agent to fly in from Denver. When Bobby complained that there had been almost nothing to eat since breakfast, the sergeant chuckled. “I have two teenagers, and they’re always hungry, even with lunch. I’ll see what we can drum up.”

  After stepping into the next room for a couple of minutes, he reappeared with a ham sandwich and two Cokes. “I’m sorry there’s so little to eat. The sandwich people come only twice a week, and this is our refrigerator’s last. We have more Cokes if you want, though.”

  Bobby eagerly took the cold packet, and tore it open. Diana couldn’t help but smile as he offered it to her. “No, love, you take it.” Laughing, she added, “You need it more than I. A Coke would be nice, however.”

  The sergeant handed her an opener with the two cans. When Diana looked at the opener dubiously, it was Bobby’s turn to laugh. “Here, mum, give that to me. This is how you do it.” Deftly punching triangular holes on opposite sides of the top of each can, he handed one to her.

  “Son,” the sergeant told Bobby, “I’ll have that church key. I’d be put on report if I left you with such a weapon.” All three laughed at that.

  They had run out of reading material by the time the FBI man arrived. Wearing a three-piece gray flannel suit, and athletically built, he looked the part of the typical Hollywood detective of the cinema to Diana. His manner, on the contrary, was apologetic, and not just to the sergeant.

  “Weather delayed our takeoff for an hour, can you beat that? Even in April.”

  Then, appraising the two detainees, he turned to the sergeant to show his credentials.

  “I have the official account of the problem here. My task is to interrogate these two, and to confiscate that attaché case and its contents. It seems the Pentagon thinks it contains data valuable to our enemies.”

  Diana stood then, indignantly facing him. “This is a treasure, something like the Rosetta Stone, and while not as yet deciphered, will prove to be of immense value to our civilization. As with the wheel, it could have some military use, but its potential worth is primarily archaeological. And I must strenuously object to our being held here, threatened with what appears to be illegal search and seizure. Doesn’t your Constitution prohibit that?”

  The agent, regarding Diana with new respect, introduced himself as FBI agent William Bates, and then asked her to please sit down. “Be assured, Miss Howard, that these legal documents fulfill the requirements of our Constitution. I’m sure you understand that there’s more than the wheel in there, and
if it were of no military value, why would so many go to such extremes either to possess it or to destroy it?”

  Diana had no response to that, reflecting on the fate of the Ancona, the American Traveler, the hulk in Africa, and the material stolen from Caltech and Buell.

  “I’m sorry, Ma’am, I’m just doing my job.”

  Diana smiled wryly at that, thinking, The refuge of the lower echelons when faced with an unpleasant task. The interrogation took an hour, with the agent recording the details on a small electronic device. He examined her British passport, which included Bobby’s photo, taken a few years prior. Looking at Bobby, he asked if he was English too.

  “I was born in London, but my father was American, as are three of my grandparents. Until now I had intended to become an American citizen. But if this is what it’s like in the land of the free, I may have to change my plans.”

  As his mother looked on proudly, the FBI man replied, “Young fella, these are tough times. Our countries won the war, but winning the peace is still in doubt. Britain is in this with us too. We can’t let our enemies, especially the communist governments, gain from the material your mother here has found. Look at this confiscation as for the good of the free world. And when we finally win the peace, work on this will again be possible.”

  The agent then produced further documents from his breast pocket. One he gave to the sergeant, and the other to Diana. “Ma’am, this is your receipt for your case and its contents. Hang on to it; no telling when it will be released by the Pentagon. Sensitive information from the Second World War is mostly still classified, and will be, for top secrets, for possibly fifty or more years. Your property will be no exception, except that they could lock it away from public scrutiny for a century.”

  The sergeant acknowledged the paper, saying, “It looks to be in order, Agent Bates. Take the case, and let me release these two people. They’ve been detained much too long.” The agent nodded, taking it from him.