So safe, so harmless, asleep; but he was the only one who had fought back.

Greatly daring, Alice reached out and touched Wes Dawson’s wrist. Too little pressure would tickle him, too much would wake him.

He stopped breathing, and so did Alice. Then, “I can kill them. They can die,” Wes said. His face relaxed; his lips parted slightly and he was deep asleep.

After a moment Alice curled up beside him.

The helicopter settled onto the parking lot behind an odd gray building, granite base, brick towers at each corner. An elderly man waited with two others, all in tan uniforms. They held umbrellas against the drizzling rain. Jenny and Jack followed them inside.

“I’m Ben Lafferty. Sheriff. This is Deputy Young and Deputy Hargman. Anything you want, just ask them.”

“Actually, we’d expected to see the military intelligence people,” Jenny said.

Lafferty screwed his face into an exaggerated squint and eyed Jenny’s bright new silver oak leaf. “Well, Lieutenant Colonel, I’m a colonel in military intelligence myself. Matter of fact, I’m the senior one here.” His grin faded, and his face lost all traces joviality. “This is my town, lady. The state of Washington never had much need for Washington, D.C., and Bellingham never got much out of the state. We had a nice little university town he until you federal people came.”

Jack Clybourne reached into his pocket. Jenny laid her hand on his arm. “I can sympathize, Sheriff,” she said. “We’re just doing our job.”

“And what’s that? What the hell are you people building down in that harbor? And don’t give me crap about greenhouses. Green houses don’t need big iron things brought in hung under barges.”

“There is a war,” Jack Clybourne said.

“So they tell us.”

“Tell you! If you’d seen that crashed ship—” In a moment Jack Clybourne had calmed himself, but the sheriff had backed away a step. “I brought some films and I can get more. I believe I can persuade you that there’s a war. We’re losing it. We need all the cooperation we can get.”

“Yeah, sure you do.” The sheriff glanced at his watch. “Okay. Hargman and Young will take care of you. I got to go.” He left the office without looking back.

“What was that all about?” Jack Clybourne asked.

Deputy Young looked thoughtful, then lowered his voice. “He has a point. We got along fine until all of a sudden they announced this big greenhouse project. Only it isn’t a greenhouse, is it? I never heard of a greenhouse needing an astronaut general to run it.”

“Air Force,” Jenny said. “He happens to be my brother-in-law.”

“That so? You still didn’t tell me why we need the Air Force to raise groceries. Or why all the security stuff.”

“There is a reason.”

Deputy Hargman snorted. “Sure there is. One good enough to get this town and everybody in it killed by a meteor.”

“Not if they think it’s a greenhouse,” Jenny said. “They’ve never bombed a food storage place.”

“How will they know that’s what this is?”

“Maybe you take your chances,” Jack said. “Just like the rest of the world. Look, one hint gets to the snouts that Bellingham has a secret, and—” He spread his hands.

“No more Bellingham,” Young said. “How would they find out?”

“TV. More likely radio. Police radio. Even CB.”

“Jeez,” Hargman said. “Look, just what is this secret we’re protecting?”

“What do you care?” Jack demanded.

Jenny remembered the gray face of the President. “Hey, look, we’re all on the same side, remember? What’s important is not to let them get the idea there is any secret about Bellingham. Let’s work on that.”

“Round up the CBs,” Hargman muttered. “Won’t be easy — hey, won’t that make the snouts suspicious? No CB chatter here at all?”

Jack’s chin bobbed up and down. “We’ll set up fakes. Lots of chatter, but it will be our people doing it. Thanks.”

“Sure,” Deputy Young said. “But — dammit, I don’t like not knowing what I’m protecting.”

“You don’t want to know,” Jenny said.

General Edmund Gillespie closed the door, and the sound of hammers and riveting guns died away. Jenny could still hear them but they no longer tore at her eardrums. The office was cluttered. Plans and blueprints covered every desk and table, and more hung on the walls.

Jack Clybourne removed his ear protectors with a look of relief.

“Max,” General Gillespie said, “you remember my wife’s kid sister. They promoted her. Lieutenant Colonel.”

A wide grin split Max Rohrs’ face. “Hey, Jenny. Good to see you. That’s great…”

“And this is Jack Clybourne,” Gillespie said. “Max is the chief construction foreman on this job. Max, Jenny and Jack are here as — let me put it right — as personal representatives of the President. They’ll go back and report to him.”

“Okay,” Rohrs said. “I knew we were important…”

“Max, you’re all we have,” Jenny blurted.

“Yeah, I knew that.”

Gillespie waved them to chairs. “Drinks? We have a good local beer. I recommend it.” He opened a refrigerator and produce several bottles. They had no labels, and the bottles were not a alike.

“Sure,” Jenny said.

Jack frowned but accepted a bottle.

“So how are we doing?” Jenny asked.

“Not bad,” Max Rohrs said. “Matter of fact, we’re way ahead of schedule.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, we got that nuclear sub hid out in the harbor. Plenty of electricity. And we’ve got every computer design system on the West Coast. That all helps. Mostly, though, it’s just there’s no paperwork,” Max said. “No telephone lines to Washington. The engineers plan something, the computer people check it out, E and I agree, and it goes in, no conferences and change-approval meetings. We just do it.”

“It helps that everybody busts ass,” Gillespie said.

“That’s for sure. We’re here to get this done, not make money and take coffee breaks.”

It shows, too, Jenny thought. Max doesn’t look as if he’s had a night’s sleep in a month, and Ed looks worse. “So, when can I report she’ll fly?”

Max looked thoughtful. “Supposed to take a year more, but I’ll be surprised if we can’t launch in nine months. Maybe sooner.” He unrolled a sheath of drawings. “Look, the heavy work is the base plate. The barges bring that in pieces, and we have to put it together. Heavy work, but it’s still just welding and riveting. Then there’s the gun that puts the bombs behind the butt plate. If that fouls… well, we’re putting in two separate TBGs.”

“What?”

“Thrust bomb guns.”

“Oh. But there’s all the electronics, and life support, and — don’t I remember they needed nine months just to change toilets on the Shuttle?”

“Sure, NASA style,” Gillespie said. “We just install the damn thing. Of course it helps that we’re not shaving off ounces. We’ve got plenty of lifting power.”

You sure do. “Is everything coming in on schedule?”

“No, but we’re dealing with it,” Gillespie said. “Maybe you’ve noticed, there aren’t many of my Air Police here, just enough to guard the inner fences. I sent the rest over with Colonel Taylor to the Bremerton Navy Yard to put the fear of God into those bastards…”

“Which sped up deliveries something wonderful,” Rohrs said. “Here, let’s have another round.” He fished out more beer bottles.

“We’ve learned a lot of security tricks,” Gillespie said. “From Vietnamese, mostly.”

“Refugees?” Jenny asked.

“Some refugees, but mostly former Viet Cong. They know a lot. Ways to hide convoys. Hollow out logs to transport steel. Tunneling. All the things they did to us.”

“Maybe you should have kept your security troops here,” Jack Clybourne said. “I don’t think your local sheriff is enthusiastic about your project.”