Old Earth

by Gary Grossman

  • • •

  “What do you think?” an anxious Katrina Alpert asked as they left Greene’s house.

  “Wait,” McCauley said. “The hundred foot rule.”

  “The what?”

  “One hundred feet. Sorry, I guess it would be more like thirty meters. Thirty meters before you talk about a house you’re going to buy after you see it. Thirty meters before you discuss a job interview after you’ve left. Breathing room, doctor.”

  “Got it.”

  Their rental car, a Ford Fiesta was parked in front. The short walk gave McCauley only a moment to think. But even that was cut short when he noticed something.

  “Keep walking to the car,” he whispered, “but casually look up the street.” We passed that SUV, the black one, when we got here. The engine was running. It’s still running.”

  She saw it, though couldn’t identify it by make and model. It was just big to her. “So?”

  “So, that’s a long time to be sitting outside on a residential street.”

  “My goodness, is the good doctor showing a paranoid streak?”

  “Not paranoid, observant.”

  In the car, they buckled and slowly rolled forward. When they passed the SUV, which McCauley ID’d as a Lincoln Navigator, he glanced at the driver.

  “Jesus,” he said.

  “Come on,” she replied without concern. “It’s hot, he’s sitting in air conditioning, probably waiting for someone.”

  “Right. Us.”

  “Is he following?”

  McCauley checked his rear view mirror. “No.”

  “Then…”

  “He might have been waiting for us to leave.”

  Alpert didn’t believe it.

  At the first intersection off Greene’s street, Meadowlane Avenue, McCauley began to meander through the suburban neighborhood.

  “Where are you going?” Katrina asked. Your freeway is the other way.”

  “Circling back around. I want to see if the Navigator is gone.”

  “Really, Quinn?”

  He looped around Valley Springs Avenue, onto Mountain View Street and back to Meadowlane. As they drove down the street, McCauley was relieved that the SUV was gone.

  “Okay smarty pants. See, no problem.”

  “You’re right.”

  McCauley pulled a three-point turn at the end and drove by Greene’s house, feeling particularly stupid that he’d been so suspicious.

  At that moment, a near-ear-shattering blast pierced the silence and a shock wave fiercely pitched the Fiesta to the right. McCauley grabbed the wheel with both hands. The back of their rental took the full impact, spinning the car around. The rear window imploded.

  Katrina screamed.

  “Christ!” McCauley slammed on the brakes to look back.

  “What?” she screamed.

  McCauley knew. Fire belched from the ruins of what used to be Robert Greene’s house.

  Thirty-seven

  McCauley was flying through stop signs. Alpert was struggling to hold onto her cell phone and enter a number through the high speed turns and bumps.

  “What are you doing?” he shouted.

  “Calling the police,” Alpert cried.

  “And say what?”

  “A bomb blew up a house where we were, but we didn’t do it. We’re paleontologists visiting…”

  “Good approach Dr. Alpert. And when they ask what the hell’s a paleontologist and then you explain we just popped in on one of the nation’s leading conspiracy quacks…what then?”

  “For God’s sake, Quinn. We can’t just run.”

  “We can and we will until we’re safe. Then we get help.”

  “At least slow down. Okay?”

  McCauley nodded and let up on the gas. One block. Two blocks. It was clear. He took a deep breath. It felt like the first one in minutes.

  “I think”—he glanced over to his passenger side mirror, then to his rear view mirror—“we’re…” He was about to say clear. But they weren’t.

  McCauley hit the accelerator hard. “Shit!”

  Alpert quickly looked around. McCauley flashed his left thumb backwards. “Behind us!”

  “Oh my God!” she exclaimed. She saw the SUV coming up fast in her side mirror.

  “You’re right. Call 911! Now!” he shouted.

  Alpert dialed too quickly, missing the right numbers.

  “…Catching up!”

  They were quickly approaching a stop sign at South Real Road and Alum.

  “Hold on!”

  McCauley avoided the stop, cut the corner across a lawn, and headed left down Alum.

  Katrina dialed again, correctly, and waited for a 911 operator to pick up.

  McCauley made another sharp left onto Sweet Water at almost double the speed limit. The force threw Alpert against her door. She dropped the phone.

  “Dammit!”

  The phone fell between her seat and the door. As she fumbled to find it, McCauley had to speed up even more.

  “Careful!”

  “Got the phone?”

  “Not yet,” she cried out. “What about yours?”

  “In my left front pocket. Can’t get to it. Will try.”

  McCauley checked the mirrors. He lost the SUV on the quick turn. He slowed down which allowed Katrina to lean over. She groped for the phone, extending her fingers under the seat. “It’s down…”

  Suddenly McCauley swerved left, just clearing a school bus that came to a stop ahead of them.

  “Can you please drive straight for a few seconds?”

  “I’ll do my best. This isn’t quite what I’m used to.” He made a slower right onto Rocky Road Avenue, and another onto April Street. He was now lost in the middle of a meandering bedroom community.

  Katrina touched the phone with her index finger, inching it toward her feet.

  “Almost.”

  “Oh fuck!” McCauley declared.

  The SUV crossed an intersection ahead of him.

  “Hold on!”

  McCauley made a sharp U turn and accelerated, once more slamming Alpert into her seat. He turned right past a row of homes, and right again. As he passed single story houses he peered across the lawns. The SUV was barreling down a parallel street. Now it was a race.

  Each vehicle ignored three stop signs as they tore through the neighborhood. Nearly losing control, McCauley careened right, back onto South Real Road. The SUV was in his rear view mirror less than a block behind.

  “Forget the phone. Go to the GPS. Get the map up!”

  The screen was on climate.

  McCauley tried to point but couldn’t take his hand off the steering wheel. “Should be upper left or right, to the side of the screen.”

  She took in the display and pressed the map function. “Got it.”

  The screen changed to a fairly tight view.

  McCauley checked his rear view mirror and floored the car again. “Good. Now find a minus icon.”

  “Where?”

  He quickly turned away. A woman started crossing the street holding a young girl’s hand. McCauley hit the horn, swerved to the left and flew by the mother and child.

  “You might not need to find the phone after all.”

  “Why?”

  “The woman I nearly hit is already calling the cops.”

  He watched as the SUV similarly raced around the pedestrian with even less caution.

  “Did you find the minus sign?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Lower right. It’s usually on the lower right of the screen. On the monitor.”

  “There!” she said.

  “Press it until the view widens enough to show the highway. We need 99. Find us a way fast.”

  She tapped the icon once. Not wide enough. She pressed it again and again, which took the screen from the default five hundred foot view to about a quarter mile.

  “It’s in the other direction!”

  “Get us there!”

  “Okay, sharp lef
t on Planz. Coming up in a block. Wait. No, there’s a dead end first. The next one. Then a right on Akers, another right on…”

  “One at a time.”

  “Okay, okay. Coming up.”

  The black Navigator was closing fast. The only advantage McCauley had was the knowledge of where and when he was going to turn. It might be enough to throw off his pursuer until they could have the protection of more traffic.

  The straightaway on Planz gave Katrina time to re-locate the cellphone under her seat and continue to move it forward.

  “He’s gaining on us.” The SUV was barely six car lengths behind.

  They were silent for a few blocks, not that there was anything to say. Also, Alpert was concentrating on the retrieving the phone.

  Come on, she silently mouthed. Come on.

  The Ford Fiesta hit a pothole. McCauley struggled to control the car. A few inches deeper and he’d have blown out the tire. The SUV careened around it giving McCauley a little more lead. But that disappeared in seconds. McCauley was now honking fiercely before every intersection. It helped him avoid two collisions, but he missed the turn onto Akers.

  “Yes!” Alpert exclaimed. She grabbed the phone, brought it up to her lap and dialed.

  “What’s next? I couldn’t turn.”

  “Go down, no that won’t work…left on Stine Road. Next big left. Up there!”

  The traffic light was with him, not with the SUV. But the pursuer blasted through nonetheless.

  “Next left on White Lane. Another main street ahead.” She repeated the route. “White Lane. Make a left. Then the right on a big cross street, Wible. The freeway is off Wible, but another left turn against traffic.

  “Ok and call the police now!”

  “Willingly!” Connected, she explained, “Hello, please just listen to me, We’re in a blue Ford Fiesta, pursued at high speed by a crazy driver in a black SUV who’s trying to run us off the road.” She’d taken McCauley’s advice and kept it to the basics. “Right now we’re on”—she checked the screen—“Stine. He wants to—”

  At that instant the SUV rammed their car. It took all of McCauley’s wits to maintain control, but the phone flew out of Alpert’s hand and hit the windshield. It bounced back and caught her right cheek.

  “Where’s that turn?” McCauley yelled.

  Alpert ignored the pain. Her eyes view shifted from the screen to the road. Getting her bearings, she shouted, “There!” She pointed straight ahead and to the left.

  “Brace yourself. He’s going to hit us again. Then I’m taking that turn as fast as I can.”

  McCauley was more prepared for the next slam. He held the wheel straight. The impact propelled them ahead again. At the last possible moment, he tapped the brake, slowing just enough to control the car through the turn. It was too fast and too late for the SUV to make the same move and he continued straight across Stine, missing White.

  “Two big blocks,” Alpert called out.

  McCauley’s hands gripped the steering wheel in the most harrowing white knuckle driving of his life. He raced through the orange light at Wible Road and made a fast cut to the on-ramp of 99, entering at sixty-eight mph and speeding up to ninety on the highway.

  “We’re clear.”

  Less than a mile down the road they heard sirens wailing.

  “This might be a good time to slow down,” she said.

  “You think?” He said it like a joke. Katrina laughed nervously.

  A minute later the Bakersfield Police cruiser was signaling them to pull over. Quinn complied. The fact that their rear bumper and trunk were smashed and the window had been blown out should certainly help their case. But they still had a lot to explain.

  Thirty-eight

  Kern County Sheriff’s Department

  Bakersfield, CA

  Now an entirely new problem: the local police.

  The Kern County Sheriff’s Department had 575 authorized deputy sheriffs who patrolled Bakersfield and county streets, held down the substations, detective units and court services and ran the special investigations units. If there was an understanding officer with a sympathetic manner in the ranks, he or she had the day off. Dr. Quinn McCauley and Dr. Katrina Alpert were being questioned by an intimidating pair, Sgt. Buck Todd and Sgt. Judy Tenant. They looked like a real match. Two five-eight blonds. Short hair. Chiseled faces.

  McCauley was surprised they needed separate bodies. They could have been Siamese twins, and saved the department the cost of a uniform, he thought.

  “You heard my call to 911,” Alpert stated.

  “And the calls from the people you just about killed, the cars you nearly hit, and then there’s the school bus,” Todd glowered. He hovered over McCauley and Alpert, seated on an uncomfortable bench in a holding cell. “You’re damned lucky to be alive. Here on out, I’m not so sure.”

  “Didn’t anyone say we were being chased?” Katrina said sharply.

  “Excuse me, Miss Alpert?” Tenant interrupted.

  “It’s Dr. Alpert,” she shot back.

  McCauley tapped her arm, an indication to dial back.

  “May I explain again?” McCauley offered.

  “You can explain,” Sgt. Tenant said, “all the way to the arraignment.”

  “Someone will confirm that an SUV was chasing us. For Christ’s sake, he rammed us! Just look at our car.”

  “Could’ve come that way.” Todd argued weakly.

  McCauley now realized these officers were neither detectives nor skilled investigators. They were the missing link.

  “There’s got to be wreckage along the route. We were driving for our lives. This man had just blown up a house and…”

  This opened the door to a longer conversation, which had started when they’d been arrested on Highway 99.

  “And why where you there, Doc-tor Mac-Cauley,” Tenant said stretching out his name with deliberate disrespect.

  “Shouldn’t we have a lawyer?” Alpert whispered.

  “A lawyer? People claiming innocence need a lawyer?” Todd asked.

  Quinn decided to reply.

  “We were discussing a research project that might have been in his field.”

  “Then you left and minutes later his house blew up.” Tenant continued her sarcastic tone. “A little odd wouldn’t you say?”

  “I can’t say. But that same SUV was there when we arrived and when we left.”

  “And this mysterious vehicle which we haven’t seen. It chased you through the streets of Bakersfield? Do you think we’re idiots?” Todd demanded. “Why would he do that?”

  “Because we could identify his car…and him!”

  “So in full view he tried to run you off the road,” the female officer said incredulously.

  “More than that, Sgt. Tenant,” McCauley said. “He tried to kill us.”

  • • •

  An hour later, Todd returned to the holding cell. “Looks like you both have an angel on your side,” he said unlocking the door. “Follow me.”

  They passed through two secure doors and entered the lobby. There, standing in the corner with the most recent National Enquirer in his hands, was a very much alive…

  "Greene!” McCauley exclaimed.

  “In the flesh.”

  It was too good to be true. Alpert ran over and hugged him. McCauley followed with a good strong handshake. Sgt. Todd held back. Tenant was at the door looking on in disgust.

  “How?” Alpert asked.

  Greene turned his back on the officer and gestured for them to come closer.

  “Let’s just say I have my own early warning systems. After you left, I watched this guy approach the door with a backpack. He left it without ringing the bell. That didn’t require a PhD on my part. I scrambled down my basement stairs and into a bomb shelter I built years ago. The blast-proof room wouldn’t have saved me from a direct nuclear hit, but it did me well a minute later.”

  Now he whispered. “So take your get-out-of-jail card and split town. That
bomb was for me.” He paused, took a breath and continued, “Because of you. You’re onto something. I don’t want to know any more unless we’re live on the radio and I’m surrounded by big fucking bodyguards. Now get.”

  “What about you?” Alpert asked compassionately.

  “I’ve got plans. Hell, I’ll go on the air tonight talking about it from some remote location.”

  “Without…” McCauley didn’t have to finish the question.

  “Without mentioning you. There are enough conspiracies to hang this on.”

  “But all your archives?” Quinn asked.

  “Copies. I’ve got copies of everything. Plus my website is in the cloud.” Greene laughed. “When the insurance settles, I suspect I’ll have some cash for the first time in years. That’ll undoubtedly make me the subject of somebody else’s conspiracy theory which, of course, will lead to more appearances. All of it, great publicity. I’ll just have to roll out a new book to take advantage of it. Maybe I’ll dedicate it to you.”

  “No thanks. But you’re not concerned they’ll come back?” Alpert was seriously concerned.

  “Naw. I’ll start deflecting it with a report of some black op. And that much is true.”

  “What if the insurance doesn’t pony up?” McCauley asked.

  “That’s the best of it. Just let them try. I’ve got some disturbing documents on their business practices after Hurricane Cassandra that they’re not going to want to see on the news. They’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. All I’ll need to mention is New England.”

  McCauley and Alpert both laughed. They hugged their newest and oddest best friend and settled up with the Kern County Sheriffs, neither of whom smiled.

  Thirty-nine

  The hour drive and the alone time provided the opportunity for Quinn and Katrina to talk about their lives and the twists and turns that got them to Interstate 5 heading south to Los Angles.

  “Two siblings,” McCauley answered when asked about his family. “An older sister and a younger brother. Both followed our parent’s careers. Like my dad, Zach’s a school principal, now at Moeller High in Cincinnati. Sasha is a city councillor in Scranton, like my mother was years ago.”