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the way events had gone the last couple of days, he wrestled his fatigued form
into his clothes. A check of his watch showed the wrong side of four A.M.-an
insane hour.
Down the main street was a twenty-four-hour cafe fre-quented by off-freeway
truckers. He filled his pockets with the usual paraphernalia without which a
man felt unbalanced: wallet, keys, pocketknife, and small flash-light.
He would, he decided, have a couple of cups of coffee, stretch them out for
as long as possible, read the morning paper from Dallas, and then maybe eat
some breakfast.
Hopefully he could at least prolong things until the sun came up.
He closed the motel-room door behind him, not both-ering to lock it. That was
one of the advantages of living outside a city. Partway through the motel lot
he paused, thinking. This morning his loneliness was particularly strong. A
little company would do him good.
The soft-spoken companionship of the sergeant was more to his liking that
that of the scientists, who would be downright uncommunicative this time of
the morning, even Calumet.
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Turning, he walked two units past his own room and knocked on the door of
number six. It was possible the sergeant was already awake. Chester had
encountered him down at the truck stop several times, often before he arrived
himself. He wondered if Pat had as much trouble sleeping as he did. -
There was no response, and he knocked again, louder. One last time. It was
just as well, he decided. Pat was probably down at the cafe already and would
be glad to see him.
But when he arrived, a quick search of the small dining area showed no sign
of the sergeant. Chester took a seat, thinking perhaps that Pat was in the
men's room. Ten minutes of waiting dispelled the likelihood of that.
Chester was puzzled. No place else in town except the gas station across the
street would be open for several hours, and he could see that the sergeant
wasn't lingering there, chatting with the sleepy attendant.
Prompted by something stronger than just curiosity, he left his coffee
half-finished and strolled back to the mo-tel. Further knocks, verging on
pounding, produced no response from within number six. The station wagon was
still parked in front of the room.
Had the sergeant gone off on some errand of his own? That seemed unlikely,
since he was under strict orders to be available to drive at any time.
Chester made a decision he regretted in advance. Prob-ably he'd come out
looking the fool, he thought as he walked toward the office. There he woke the
groggy manager-owner of the motel and borrowed the duplicate key to room six.
He opened the room. The sergeant was not in bed. Nor was he in the bathroom,
hiding in a closet, or else-where about. Chester checked the bed carefully,
noted that it hadn't been slept in.
"Lookin' for your friend, the big fella?"
Chester spun, reaching for the pistol at his hip that wasn't there. It was
only the bathrobe-clad form of the motel manager.
Chester forced himself to relax, startled at how tense he was. "Yes, of
course," he explained.
"Could have told you 'bout him," the manager de-clared with an sir of
superiority. "Heard a noise out back a couple of hours ago . . . don't know
exactly when. Didn't look at my clock. I'm used to engines wakin' me up. Get a
lot of folks come in the middle of the night.
"There was this big rig pulled up behind the back rooms. It struck me funny,
you know? Because there's no reason for a truck to pull in here. Truckers,
they sleep in their cabs and park behind the night station 'cross the street.
Never had a one take a room here.
"I saw a couple of fellas get out. They met somebody else . . . big fells,
coulda been your friend. They yakked a minute or two, then all climbed in and
drove off to-gether. Didn't see nothin' to make noise about, so I went back to
bed."
"You're sure it was my friend?" Chester asked tightly.
"Nope. Said it coulda been," the manager replied. "But I am sure of one
thing."
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"What's that?"
"I'm still tired." He turned and walked back toward his office, leaving
Chester standing paralyzed with anxi-ety in front of an ominously deserted
room number six.
He whirled finally, ran to the phone, and stopped with one hand about to pick
up the receiver. Part of the con-versation he'd had with the sheriff as he'd
driven out to the ranch came back to him.
"They sure like their privacy," Biggers had told him. "They've got a TV, all
right, and radio. But they pipe and filter their water out of their tank, and
they've got their own generator for power. There are gas lines run-ning all
over that part of the county, and J.W. sneaks some of what they need from here
and there. No telephone, though. No real contact with the outside world except
for the mail."
No telephone, Chester thought frantically. His hand left the receiver. The
three scientists would have to be told eventually, of course. But not now, not
yet.
He picked up the phone, firmly this time, and dialed. There was a pause and a
click, and a voice said, "Post operator. May I help you, sir?"
"This is Major Josiah Chester. I have an emergency call for General
MacGregor. He'll be at his home now, operator. "
About an hour to have troops here, MacGregor had told him. But that had been
over a month before. Were the helicopter-borne special units still standing
by?
They'd better be, he thought grimly.
The cluster of seven men had reached the entrance to the open, flat area in
front of the house and barn. It was well lit by the steady glow from the alien
device. Each man was clad entirely in black and had black streaked across
cheeks, forehead, and other projecting parts of his face.
Turning, the big man in the lead caught the attention of his companions. "If
possible, no killing," he in-structed them. "If you must, do it fast."
Someone in the back of the group spoke up. "What about using the guns? Should
we-"
"It doesn't matter. There's no one near enough to hear, and even if there
were, people here fire off guns all the time. That's one thing we don't have
to worry about, but I'd prefer to avoid any killing."
"Why?" a coldly casual voice asked.
"It's always better to be neat than sloppy," the leader explained. He pointed
toward the house, moving his gaze from one man to another. "You, you, you, and
you, form-a semicircle from the front to the rear side of the house. I don't
think there are any other doors.
"You two, get out the suppressant. I can see the dogs from here, sleeping on
the front porch. Move fast. They might not wake up in time to do much barking.
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