“Yes, sir.”

“Meanwhile, let’s figure on getting back together in two hours.” Coffey turned to the Chief of Staff. “Jim, I think you’d better get the crisis center activated. It looks to be a long day.”

The moving belt came to life. Luggage spewed out of the bowels of Dulles International Airport. Jenny reached for her suitcase, but before she could get it, a fat lady in a yellow-flowered dress shouldered her aside to grab her own. “Excuse me,” the fat woman said. Why should I? Jenny thought. I’m supposed to defend a tub of lard like you? Why? She tried to move past the woman, but that wasn’t going to be possible. It had been a long flight. Jenny’s hair was in strings, and she felt sticky. She drew in a breath to speak, but thought better of it. No point, she told herself. She was resigned to letting her bag go around the carousel when she recognized Ed Gillespie. He reached past the fat woman and caught the suitcase before it could escape. It was big and heavy, but he lifted it effortlessly.

“Good morning,” he said. “Any other luggage?”

“No, sir,” Jenny said. He was wearing a dark blue blazer and gray flannel trousers, and didn’t look military at all. She giggled. “I don’t often get a general for a porter. And an astronaut at that.” Gillespie didn’t say anything, but the look on the fat woman’s face when she said ‘astronaut’ was worth a lot. “I hadn’t expected you,” Jenny said. “I got in from California about an hour ago. Called Rhonda and found out which flight you were on. Seemed reasonable to wait for you.”

Jenny opened her big purse and fished out the clear plastic strap for the suitcase. Gillespie snapped it on and led the way out of the baggage area, up the ramp to the taxi stands. The suitcase followed like a dog on a leash, which was the way Jenny always thought of it, As far as Jenny was concerned, wheels on luggage had done more for women’s liberation than most organizations. She didn’t mind letting a strong alpha male take care of her suitcase. She did have some misgivings about letting General Edmund Gillespie haul her luggage. Still, there was no point in telling her brother-in-law that she could take care of her own suitcase when they were both in civvies. If they’d been in uniform she’d have pulled her own no matter what he said.

They reached street level. Gillespie waved to a waiting taxi. His luggage was already in its trunk. The taxi was new, or nearly so. The driver was Middle Eastern, probably Pakistani, and hardly spoke English. They got into the backseat, and she sank back into the cushions. Then she took a deep breath and let it out.

“Tired?” Gillespie asked.

“Sure. Yesterday afternoon I was in Hawaii.” She looked at her watch. Seven-thirty A.M. “A Navy jet took me to El Tom. They stuffed me in a helicopter and got me to Los Angeles just in time to catch the red-eye.”

“Get any sleep?”

“Not really.”

“Try now,” Gillespie said.

“I’m too keyed up. What’s the schedule?”

“Early appointments,” Gillespie said. “At the White House.” He saw her look of dismay and grinned. “You’ll have time to change.”

“I’d better. I’m a wreck.”

The taxi pulled out of the airport lot and onto the freeway, putting the soaring structure of the terminal building in their view. “My favorite airport,” Jenny said.

Gillespie nodded. “It’s not too bad. I didn’t used to like it, but it grows on you. Except it’s so damned far out.”

“I like the building.”

“So do I, but it ruined the architect’s reputation,” Ed Gillespie said. Jenny frowned. “His name was Eero Saarmnen, and he didn’t build a glass box,” Gillespie said. “So they kicked him out of the architects’ lodge as a heretic.”

The taxi accelerated. A fine mist hung in the air outside, and the freeway was slick. Jenny glanced over the driver’s shoulder at the speedometer. The needle hovered around seventy-five. “I’m glad there’s not much traffic,” she said. “I didn’t know you were interested in architecture.”

“Umm. Tom Wolfe wrote a book about it.”

“Oh.” He didn’t need to explain further. After The Right Stuff, Wolfe had become required reading for the astronauts.

“How’s it feel to create a sensation, Jenny?”

“I’m too tired to feel anything at all. Was it a sensation?”

Gillespie laughed. “That’s right, you’ve been on airplanes.” He reached down into his briefcase and took out a Washington Post.

The headline screamed at her, “ALIEN SPACESHIP DISCOVERED.” Most of the front page was devoted to the story. They didn’t have many facts, but there was a lot of speculation, including a background article by Roger Brooks. Jenny frowned at that, remembering the last time she’d seen Roger. She glanced at Ed. He couldn’t know about Roger and Linda. My sister’s a damn fool, she thought.

There were interviews with famous scientists, and pictures of a Nobel cosmologist smiling approval. There were also pictures of Rick Owen and Mary Alice Mouton. Owen’s smile was broader than the cosmologist’s.

“Looks like Dr. Owen has made himself famous,” Jenny said.

“You’re pretty famous too,” Edmund said. “Your Hawaiian boyfriend took most of the credit, but he did mention your name. Every reporter in the country would like to interview you.”

“Oh, God.”

“Yeah. That’s one reason I waited for you. It’s a wonder the stews didn’t recognize you.”

“Maybe they did,” Jenny said. “I thought one of them was extra attentive. She didn’t say anything, though.”

The taxi wove through the sparse traffic. The freeway to Dulles had few on-ramps. Originally it wasn’t supposed to have any, so it would bear no traffic except airport traffic, but the politicians had managed to add a couple, probably near where they owned property. Wherever there were ramps a cluster of houses and a small industrial park had sprung up.

“What do you think they’ll be like?” Jenny asked.

Gillespie shook his head. “I don’t read much science fiction anymore. I used to when I was a kid.” He stared out the window for a moment, then laughed. “One thing’s sure, it ought to give a boost to the space program! Congress is already talking about buying more shuttles, expanding the Moon Base — to listen to those bastards, you’d think they’d been big space boosters all along.”

“What about Hollingsworth?” Jenny asked.

“He doesn’t seem to be giving interviews.”

“Maybe he does have some shame.” She leaned back in the seat. Senator Barton Hollingsworth, Democrat of South Dakota, had long been an enemy of the space program, and for that matter of every investment in high technology and almost anything else except dairy subsidies. Like his predecessor William Proxmire, the one thing Hollingsworth really hated was SETI, the Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence, which he claimed was a ‘golden fleece’ of the taxpayers. Proxmire had once spent two days trimming one hundred and twelve thousand dollars for SETI research from the NASA budget, at a time when the welfare department was spending a million dollars a minute.

Toward Washington the traffic began to thicken. They came off the Dulles access freeway into a solid wall of red taillights. The driver muttered curses in Pakistani and began to weave through traffic, ignoring angry horns. They drove past a turnoff. A long time before, the sign at that turnoff had said “Bureau of Public Roads Research,” but now it admitted that the CIA building was invisible in the trees at the end of that road. Jenny paid it no attention. She’d been there before.

The aliens are coming, and I’m famous, Jenny thought. “Who are we seeing at the White House?”