Douglas Preston - Impact

Lockwood rose, a slender manila file folder in his hand. "Mr. President, I regret to say it's more serious than anything you might imagine."

A silence. Everyone was staring at him.

"Some background. On April fourteenth, a meteor streaked over the Maine Coast. At the exact same time, our worldwide seismic system--designed to locate underground nuclear tests--registered an explosive signature in the remote mountains along the Thai-Cambodia border. We located what appeared to be an impact crater, and we sent out a man to investigate. It turns out it wasn't a crater--but an exit hole. Later, our man discovered the entrance hole--on an island off the coast of Maine."

"Wait a minute--are you saying something went through the Earth?"

"Correct."

"Who's this man you sent?"

"An ex-CIA officer named Wyman Ford. We're trying to find him now."

"Go on."

"We've determined the thing that passed through the Earth was probably a small lump of strange matter, also called a strangelet. This exotic form of matter is superdense--the entire Earth, if made of it, would be the size of an orange. It has a very alarming property: it converts normal matter to strange matter on contact."

"So why's the Earth still here?"

"It was a very small piece, perhaps not much larger than an atom, and it was going fast. It blew all the way through the Earth and kept going. If it had been going slower and ended up caught inside the Earth, we'd be gone now."

"My God."

"That's just the beginning. We extrapolated the orbit back and found it originated at Mars."

"Mars?"

"We've no idea yet what the Mars connection is, if anything. As we speak, the military is flying a contingent of senior scientists from the Mars mission at NPF here to join the team, along with the director of NASA."

"Good."

"Here's the bad part, Mr. President. It appears this thing happening to the Moon is identical to what happened to the Earth in April, except a much larger lump of strange matter was involved. It appears to have gone straight through the Moon, producing the spectacular display you see on the screen."

"Is this stuff flying all through space around us? Is the Earth passing through a swarm of this stuff?"

"I don't think so. There are indications that the strike on the Moon might be . . . aimed."

"Aimed? Are you saying some country launched these things?"

"The physicists assure me it's absolutely impossible for any nation on Earth to possess the technology to make strange matter."

"Then what the hell do you mean by aimed ?" The president was out of his seat, his legendary cool rapidly deteriorating.

"Because the shot at the Moon . . ." He paused and drew a breath. "The shot took out Tranquility Base. A direct hit. Tranquility Base is, of course, where humans first landed on the Moon. It has great significance to humankind."

"My God. Are you saying this is an attack of some kind?"

"That would be my guess."

"By who? You just said no one on Earth has the technology to make this strange matter!"

"It isn't anyone on this Earth, Mr. President."

A long, extraordinary silence followed. Nobody said a word. Finally the president spoke, his voice quiet. "Are you suggesting aliens did this?"

"I would not use that word, sir. I would simply say that it appears like a deliberate shot by some entity not of this world. It could also be a coincidence, but I somehow don't think so."

The president smoothed a thin hand over the top of his head, let it drop, tapped a finger on the table, and finally looked up. "Stan, I want you and General Mickelson to chair an ad hoc group. It will include a few of your most trusted associates in the Science and Technology Policy group, as well as some top NPF people, chairman of the Joint Chiefs, NASA chief, DNI, and NSA. Meet now. I want a recommendation--a plan, a strategy--on how to deal with this by seven tomorrow morning. That recommendation should include military options, a diplomatic strategy, and above all a plan to gather more information. You've got seven hours." He turned to leave the room, strode to the door, and paused. "And I want that man, Wyman Ford, found and put on that group."

72

The girl moved cautiously among the rocks, keeping in the shadows, moving stealthily toward the dinghy. She'd pass by him within less than twenty feet. Rather than kill her, he would use her to get the other one. The increasing light from the sky was an annoyance but he was so well hidden that even if it were day she wouldn't see him.

As she came into range, he stepped out of the darkness, gun in hand. "Don't move."

She screamed, jumped back. Burr fired over her head, the massively calibered Desert Eagle roaring like a cannon. "Shut the fuck up and don't move !"

She quieted down pretty quick, standing there, trembling.

"Where's Ford?"

No answer.

He reached over with his left arm and grabbed her around the neck, wrenching her to one side and screwing the Eagle's muzzle in her ear. "You going to answer my question?"

She choked, swallowed. "I don't know."

"Is he on the island ?"

"Um, yes."

"Where? What's he doing?"

"I don't know."

Burr yanked her by the hair, jamming the muzzle against her cheek so hard the sights ripped her skin. "Answer me."

"He . . . He said he was going after you."

"When? Where?"

"When you landed. Said he was going to get you."

"Is he armed?"

"He's got a knife . . ."

Jesus . And Ford was probably watching them right now. Keeping the gun to Abbey's cheek, he kept her body close to his. Damn, it was getting bright. He raised the barrel of the gun and fired into the night sky. The sound of the shot echoed and rolled across the island.

"Ford!" he cried. "I know you're out there! I'm going to count to ten, and if you aren't standing in front of me with your arms up, I'm going to put a bullet into her head. You hear me?" He fired into the air again and placed the hot muzzle against Abbey's cheek. " You hear me, Ford ? One . . . two . . . three . . ."

"Maybe he can't hear you," Abbey cried. "He's on the other side of the island."

"--four . . . five . . . six--"

"Wait! I lied! He's not on the island!"

"--seven . . . eight . . . nine--"

"Listen to me! He's not on the island! Don't!"

"Ten!"

A long silence, and then Burr lowered the gun. "I guess he isn't." He released her and then, as she stumbled back, he struck her across the face, sending her sprawling. "That's for lying." He grabbed her and hauled her back to her feet. "Where'd he go?"

A choking sound. "I dropped him on the mainland. He went . . . back to Washington."

"Where in Washington?"

"I don't know."

"Who's the other person? I saw another person on the boat."

She swallowed. He pushed the gun in harder. "Answer."

"Nobody. I'm alone."

"Liar."

"You must've seen my slicker hanging on a hook in the pilothouse, next to the window. It's got a big round rain hood--"

"Shut up." He thought fast. She must be telling the truth; nobody could have gone through the count and not broken down to tell everything. Fact was, he hadn't seen either figure well in the dusk across half a mile of water.

"Where's the hard drive?"

"He took it with him."

Son of a bitch. He felt a trembling rage. The job was a bust. Without the hard drive he wouldn't get paid.

There still might be a way to catch up to Ford. But first, he had to clean up--kill the girl, return to his boat, do the father, and get his ass back to the mainland. Then he could pursue Ford to Washington. No use wasting more time here. He shoved Abbey to the ground and, so as not to dirty himself, backed up a step.