Penny went on, “The detonator was stuck would ya believe, between a beam and the floor it was meant to support, no wonder the building shakes!
“Point hammered,” said Richard dryly. “Go on with your story.”
Anne smiled drowsily, and reached under the blanket to comfort Richard, and he grinned back, squeezing her hand. Last night had been marvelous, more than marvelous. Love-making the likes of which had never occurred in the years before, except once or twice when Anne had first moved in. Truly a honeymoon, if brief, she thought, glowing warmly inside.
“Tis this clever young chappy, Lieutenant Starkey. Of course, he says, sure, he says, omigod, he says—no, he shouts. All along, his boss intended to destroy the dome, possibly the commune and your love nest as well.”
“But—but,“ Anne sputtered, “why rush us out of the cottage, then, well, take half an hour telling us all about—“
“Ah-h-h,” said Penny, touching her nose.
“Very good ah-h-h, dollin’. Tell us,” said Clark, squeezing his lady. He had frowned and mooed and finally grinned to his new wife’s Cockney-to-a-Lady and back.
“Not so fast, Pink. Now, all hold yer ears, please.” And with that she stuck her head out the car window, placed first and fourth fingers into her mouth and blew a whistle sharp as a siren.
Lo and behold, the entire dome sprang to daylight. Now could be seen no fewer than fifty corpsmen inside the dome with rifles, at ease. Even more astonishing was—seated alone in the empty space where hours before stood rows of tables laden with food and drink—Colonel Walker, Donald H., himself. And trussed up with duct tape, wrists to the chair arms, and ankles to its legs. His head was on his chest, perhaps asleep.
“Where was he—how’d you--!”
Clark lifted a finger and Richard clammed up. “Penny is a frustrated poet, a Dryden, a Shaw. Loves to weave a tale. Proceed, dollin.”
“Walker, every day off drives to Teterboro Airport and—you know he flies? Oh, yes, does our Donald. Sissna’s, isn’t it?”
“Cessnas,” corrected Clark with a miserable frown.
“Four-seater jobbies. No secret, it’s ‘is ‘obby, he tells one and all, so nobody thinks to worry or check. What’s ‘e been up to? Crossin’ the countryside, poppin’ in and out of small, out of the way strips, some no more than farm fields. That’s as much as he’s admitted, so far.” “Dollin’, take a step back. How did you get him—how’d you find him?”
“Again, second looey Starkey. He remembered about Teterboro, so ‘im and his chums rush up there and find ‘imself snoozing in ‘is cockpit plain as day. No, first they asked about him up in the tower, no, first they left the jeep, don’t want to scare ‘im. So they saunter across the dark field filled with hundreds of the little private mosquitoes, up to ‘is nibs’ own red engine jobby, knock on the door and get a ’45 in their faces. Seein’ they’re his friends, clever Donald pretends he’s waiting for a weather report to take off. They, too, pretend to go along and get him outside to stretch. He does and they arrest him while he’s screaming barracks language and hysterical laughter at how smart he’d been. Oh, he does admit the dome is set to blow sky-high and, what’s worse, he’s happy to go with it. And that’s where we are at this moment, except.”
“My Lord—has anybody talked to him? Clark?”
“’Course not!” said Penny petulantly. “Why do you think I’ve been nattering? He’s up to as much as you–all,” the last said with a nose-wrinkle. “All right, Pink, time you had a hug and a chat with your erstwhile stepson. G’wan.”
The door opened, a blast of night chill entered, Clark got out and began wandering desultorily across the empty lot and up toward the bright dome.
“Except what?” put in Anne, now fully awake and not a little frightened for the dome and the 236 members asleep beneath it.
“Except for our ace in the hole; Missus Walker and the kids.”
“Where are they?” asked Richard.
“No idea exactly. Home they were, outside of D.C. Starkey again, ‘e phones. No response, quick-zip, ‘e calls 911, life and death, innit? Gets next door neighbor’s number and guess what neighbor reports—now, now, not a word. Walker’s wife ‘n kids shot off early this morning for a quick weekend holiday. The nail in the coffin was seein’ herself pack the bloody great wagon with bloody great suitcases and sundry bags and boxes. Weekend holiday? Second looey and I exchange laughs and set our brains into overdrive. Gotta find ‘em, and quick!
“Then we have another laugh. Oh no we don’t. If they know we’ve got the hubby tied up, they might change course. So that’s where we are, our M.P.s at Teeterboro waiting for them, figuring if Walker doesn’t mind losin’ his life, ‘e just might object to killing—“
“To killing his family—great thinking—oops. Sor-ry.”
“That was me punchline. End of story—so far.”
We laughed, we applauded and did Penny not take a blushing nod as a bow.
Tim Walton, shouldering a video-cam, and his sound-man with a boom mike emerge from one of the tents to record the next sequence of events, starting with General May entering the hissing air-doors. The Walton crew, unlike the media people, have been living with the military just inside the dome.
Clark sat directly before the trussed-up soldier. Walker hadn’t moved or indicated his boss’s presence.
“Hello, Don.”
The head lifted and blinked at the general, then turned aside.