HARRISON DOUGLAS BROKE AWAY FROM THE REPORTERS and walked quickly to a waiting limousine. Safely ensconced in his padded-leather sanctuary, he began making calls on the vehicle’s encrypted telephone. He was angry, damned angry. The salvage company was demanding their eight million bucks and threatening to sue if he didn’t pony up, even though they failed to deliver the saucer to the dock in Newark; Solo had played him for a sucker and robbed him; and the whole world was laughing at him.
Well, that thief Solo wouldn’t laugh long, by God! Douglas grew up in Philly, and he still knew some guys. Hadn’t talked to them in years, but they knew him too. These were guys you didn’t screw with. They ate thieving little bastards like Solo for breakfast.
After three telephone calls, Douglas was tired. He lay back in his seat and closed his eyes.
THE NEWS THAT THE ROSWELL SAUCER WAS NO LONGER on the floor of the Atlantic hit the White House like a small bomb. The news that the saucer had been stolen from a deepwater salvage ship and was out there … somewhere … flying around … greatly enhanced the explosion.
A horrified P. J. O’Reilly, the chief of staff, rushed into the presidential bedroom with the news. The presidential pooch hastily bestirred itself and shot into the president’s closet. O’Reilly ignored the dog, as he did all lesser creatures, which was almost everyone. He found the president eating breakfast at a small table. The morning newspapers were piled beside him, apparently as yet unread.
“What’s the matter, O’Reilly? Did the Canadians invade?”
“It’s a lot worse than that. That saucer that went into the Atlantic last month was salvaged, raised from the ocean, and someone stole it.”
The president felt as if he had taken a punch. He seemed to shrink right where he sat. The color leaked from his face.
“It’s out there now, God only knows where,” O’Reilly continued, digging in the knife. He enjoyed giving the president bad news, although he pretended he didn’t. Now he seized the remote control from the breakfast table and clicked on the television.
The president found he had lost his appetite. Perhaps the fact that he had lived through two saucer crises in the last fourteen months had something to do with his bad humor.
At least, he reflected as he watched the talking heads on CNN, Rip Cantrell and Charley Pine weren’t involved in this escapade. Or were they? “Have the FBI find Rip Cantrell and Charlotte Pine,” he growled at O’Reilly. “Just tell me where they are.” O’Reilly rushed off to make the call.
Charley Pine was a real piece of work, a former fighter and test pilot who could fly anything, but Rip Cantrell was the one the president worried about. The kid single-handedly took on the world’s second-richest man, the president and the U.S. government … and beat them all. Just another all-American boy! Ai yi yi!
The president decided not to rule out Rip until he saw a photo of Adam Solo.
He opened his bottle of Rolaids and munched a handful. Then he reached for the waiting newspapers.
ALSO BY STEPHEN COONTS
SAUCER
SAUCER: THE CONQUEST
PIRATE ALLEY
THE DISCIPLE
THE ASSASSIN
THE TRAITOR
LIARS & THIEVES
LIBERTY
AMERICA
HONG KONG
CUBA
FORTUNES OF WAR
THE INTRUDERS
THE RED HORSEMEN
UNDER SIEGE
THE MINOTAUR
FINAL FLIGHT
FLIGHT OF THE INTRUDER
WITH WILLIAM H. KEITH
DEEP BLACK: DEATH WAVE
DEEP BLACK: SEA OF TERROR
DEEP BLACK: ARCTIC GOLD
WITH JIM DeFELICE
DEEP BLACK: CONSPIRACY
DEEP BLACK: JIHAD
DEEP BLACK: PAYBACK
DEEP BLACK: DARK ZONE
DEEP BLACK: BIOWAR
DEEP BLACK
WRITING AS EVE ADAMS
THE GARDEN OF EDEN
NONFICTION
THE CANNIBAL QUEEN
ANTHOLOGIES
THE SEA WITCH
ON GLORIOUS WINGS
VICTORY
COMBAT
WAR IN THE AIR
SAUCER: THE CONQUEST
Copyright © 2004 by Stephen Coonts.
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eISBN 9781429967792
First eBook Edition : July 2011
St. Martin’s Griffin trade paperback edition / September 2004
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / March 2006
Saucer: The Conquest Page 33
