Nightzone (11 page)

“Sure. I've heard that.” The rancher's serious, pensive expression drew me up short. “You're not taking them seriously.”

“Not the rumors, but the jerks who spread them? Damn straight. I am taking them seriously, as a matter of fact,” Waddell said. “And look where we are…the Boyd kid is dead, isn't he. That's how serious all of this is, Bill.” He paused, eyes squinting into the distance. “Have you ever visited the VLA up north? The Very Large Array?”

“Sure.”

“So you
know
that there are folks who think
that
installation is just a front for clandestine listening…satellite spyware at its best. And always
clandestine,
of course. First they listen in, then they'll take your guns, then they'll be after your pickup truck.”

“Pickups?”

“Hell yes. Anti-green, gas hogs that they are. Plus, in the Middle East, what do the rag-tags use as military vehicles?” He wagged a finger. “Pickups.”

“I refuse to be paranoid, no matter how many people are chasing me,” I laughed. “Life is too short for this kind of shit.”

“Well, sure enough it is.” Waddell heaved a huge sigh. “So…is this a warning to me?” He jerked his chin toward the ruined power poles far down below. “That's the way I see it. I mean, who the hell else would be affected by cutting the power? And what asshole with half a brain is going to think dropping a few power poles will stop this project? Come on. I told Bobby Torrez the same thing.” Waddell thrust his hands in his pockets. “Goddamn freaks with too much free time.”

No hard evidence had surfaced indicating that Miles Waddell's project, whatever it might be, was drawing fire, but it was a logical assumption—and enough to cause sleepless nights, I was sure. I nodded at the cardboard tube. “So what's the deep, dark secret?”

He popped the top off the tube. “This is a hell of an undertaking for a country boy,” he said. Adopted country, maybe, I thought.

“My mother was ninety-one when she died,” Waddell said. The rolled plans, if that's what they were, remained half in the tube. “Still sharp as a tack, still hating most things about life since my father died thirty years ago. I showed her this set of plans, and she didn't say much. But I saw her eyes twinkle. The day—the
day
before she died, she sent this to me.” He handed me a single sheet of neatly folded correspondence. In violet ink, the writer had printed two sentences:
Let's see what you can do with it. Make it worthwhile and be content.

I read it twice, then handed it back. “That's it?”

“That's it. Well,” and he waved a negligent hand, “you know all the legal paperwork. The lawyers have to carve out their pound, Bill. But when all said and done, yeah. That's it.”

“I should ask what the ‘it' is,” I said.

“I was her stepson, too, you know. Goddamn
stepson
. I guess I'm the only souvenir of the man she loved.”

“And what's the
it
?”

“Just between you and me?”

I glanced around us as if checking for eavesdroppers.

Waddell patted the tube and its partially withdrawn contents. “Let me show you. It's easier.” He collected the tube and moved to the back of the truck, dropping the tailgate. Spread out on the gate, the architect's rendering was large, fully three by four feet. I held one side as the breeze touched one corner.

“Jesus,” I breathed, and Waddell let me examine the rendering without comment. I saw not just one modest observatory, but an array of buildings dominated first by a modest radio telescope in the center of a courtyard, a telescope about the size of the units at the VLA, and then farther to the southwest, not far from the edge of the mesa, the installation of a much larger dish—I guessed it to be the California project. It dwarfed the control building, the cars, and people.

“You've been thinking about this for some time,” I said.

“Sure enough.”

“I had no idea.”

“The ten-cent tour.” He bent forward and guided me around the plan. “Computer center for the big guy,” and he touched the California dish. “Then over here is a theater linked to the eighty-inch housed in this dome. That's what I call my ‘first look' scope. Hell of a program to orient visitors to the facility and the heavens. It's like one of those big-screen theaters you see in museums where they show the movies. Curved screen, the whole bit. But it's a live feed from the telescope, mixed with some canned stuff. And really much, much more that that.” He looked across at me and grinned. “I mean, we
might
have a cloudy night some time.”

He charged on. “Now
this
should appeal to you.” He touched an attractive building shaped in a crescent. “Five-star restaurant. We'll pay special attention to the green chile burritos. I'll hire Fernando Aragon as a consultant, if I have to.”
Ah, the power of money,
I thought. He touched what appeared to be a glass dome on the restaurant's roof. “Peel that back, weather permitting, and you can sip your soup and watch the heavens slide by.”

He swept his hand across two other buildings whose roofs appeared to slide apart in sections. “Four sixty-inch units, each one viewing a separate section of the heavens, image projected on giant screens in a comfy auditorium, live narrative when appropriate, and on and on.” He straightened up. “You impressed yet?”

“‘Flummoxed' would be a better word. Why haven't I heard about all of this?”

Waddell shrugged. “I've been keeping it close, Bill. I wanted to go through all the planning stages before anything went public. Once I
go
public, with all the permits and shit like that, there'll be no secrets.”

“Public access?” I leaned across and touched the site of the California project.

“Ah. Probably not. That's up to them, I suppose. They're a bonafide research facility. Their primary target of study right now is the deep space microwave background. The fundamental stuff.”

“More fodder for conspiracies, Miles.”

He held up both hands in surrender. “I know. I know. But I don't have time for that.”

“Is this what I think it is?” A tramway cabled its way up the steepest section of the mesa's northwest rim, originating from a single large building and parking lot down below. “I see it, but I don't believe it. Do you have any idea how much a funicular costs, Miles?” It was a silly question that popped out of reflex, and if I hadn't understood before, the scope of Waddell's problem became clear now.

“Tramway,” he corrected. “Fully enclosed cars riding on suspension cables. It's short enough that it doesn't need a mid-point support tower. The cable is made in Switzerland. And yes, Bill. As a matter of fact, I know
exactly
how much it will cost.”

I leaned close so that I could read the label for the building complex where the tram docked on top. “Resort and hotel.”

“I haven't come up with a good name for it yet. Some folks might want to come stay here just for the desert bird-watching down below. That's fine, too. Some of the best mountain bike trails on the continent. Horse rental. You know, the possibilities are really endless if you focus on how to attract the wide-ranging clientele. No tunnel vision.” He held up the tube and shook out another rolled document. “But I just found this…”

“You've got to be kidding.” The 18 by 24 photo montage showed a fetching little narrow gauge locomotive pulling four passenger cars and a flame red caboose. Smaller photos layered around the central image of the locomotive showed close-ups of the unit's various features.

“Natural gas?”

He nodded happily. “That smoke plume is pure steam. Chuff and puff just for looks. I've scouted out a nifty route from Posadas around behind Prescott's ranch, cutting across some of the most impressive arroyo country.”

“Chuff and puff,” I mused. “Nobody runs cabooses any more, you know.”

“I do. Train's not a train without one.” My frown must have alarmed him. “I've thought this through, Bill. I really have.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, and peered at the logo at the corner of the blueprint. “Powers, Broyles, and Hadley…who the hell are they?”

“A bunch of kids,” he replied proudly. “Hadley's the son of a former girlfriend of mine.
Former.
We parted on the best of terms, thank God. He's the oldest of the trio, twenty-eight and smart as a whip. Broyles and Powers were classmates of his at the University of New Mexico. I wanted architects who have some imagination but who can follow directions and keep their mouths shut. Hell, they're going to make mistakes, but that comes with the turf.” He laughed. “Hell of a first job, huh? But what's important is that they'll deliver what
I
want, not what
they
want. That's the heart of their marching orders, and they understand completely.“

The breeze touched the rendering again and Waddell rolled it up neatly and stowed it in the tube. “Are you ready for the exciting part?”

Chapter Twelve

“I need you.”

“Like a goddamn hole in the head,” I scoffed. “You might need a good therapist before all of this is finished.” I brightened. “You need an old, crusty engineer to drive the train?
That
might appeal to me for a day or two. And by the way, Miles…I didn't ask. Where the hell does the train
go?
You mentioned the Prescotts. There's a fair list of properties between Posadas and your mesa, including theirs.”

“I've planned a thirty-two-mile route. A little longer than necessary to pull in a
great
mountain bike course that's on a piece of property I happen to own. Another little detour to take in some scenery at the southwest end of Cat Mesa. There's a great birding spot up there. But, seriously…”

“So you actually have all kinds of people who know a little bit about this project. You can't talk to neighbors about railroad easements without word leaking out.”

“A few know bits and pieces.”

“And that's all it takes. Somebody knows more about this project of yours than you think.”

“And that's why I want you to work for me, Bill.” He held up a hand as if to ward off my incredulous response. “Let me tell you what I need, Bill. Really. I need someone who likes to cruise around the desert, looking at stuff. I need someone who drives around at night—maybe just with the light of the moon, or that little ‘perpetrator light' you used to use behind your front bumper.”

“That was Bobby's idea, not mine,” I said. And it was a good idea—a single tiny bulb down low between bumper and front wheel, throwing just enough light to mark the side of the path on a moonless night.

“I need someone to sit in on some planning sessions, who'll give me his opinion when I need it, probably more often when I think I don't. I need someone to be around, on no particular schedule, to check that when a shipment of a hundred yards of gravel is delivered, I
get
a hundred yards. I need someone to chat with folks on an informal basis. I need…” and he held up his hand when he saw me about to interrupt. “I need someone to talk with Frank Dayan, Bill. I want to make sure we keep him happy. He's got a big story breaking in this week's edition. The California folks had some neat glossies they provided, so it'll make a splash. I want to be sure that continues with all the media, but I also want to make sure he scoops the big papers regularly.” He paused for breath. “The easiest way to keep them all happy is to advertise, advertise, advertise. When I do that, goddamn right they won't ignore me. See? I
have
thought this out.”

He turned and sat on the tailgate, boots dangling a couple of inches above the dust. “There's something else I didn't mention.”

“Several little things,” I replied, “like a really basic little thing.” He looked puzzled. “I don't care if your mother left you ten million bucks. That won't pay for all of this. And when you can't pay, you're going to end up with a bunch of abandoned foundations and broken promises, and maybe a locomotive they'll call
Waddell's Folly.
” He looked pained. “You could run cattle on the tramway up to the mesa-top for skyline grazing, I suppose.”

“‘Skyline grazing.' I like that. And you're damn right. I can't build this for
fifty
million. For one thing, I don't want to do this project in slow stages, finishing up when I'm a hundred and eight. I want it done right, and I want it done now. And I can pay for that. This whole deal,” and he swept his arm to include the mesa-top, “is a three-year project, start to finish. That's the challenge.”

“You think?”

“How does three hundred and thirty-eight million sound, Bill? After taxes, that is.” He obviously enjoyed the expression on my face. “That's a third of a
billion
, my friend. And in addition to that…” He punched the air with a forefinger, “in
addition
to that, throw in a whole superblock of downtown Chicago real estate. Good stuff, too, if you like Chicago. High-rises with marble foyers and all that. Fortune 500 companies as tenants. We're not talking crumbling adobes here. What I
am
talking about are the results of a long, long lifetime of high finance. And you know what? I don't need a single brick of it. Not one little office. All of it goes. All of it on the block. And that's almost another billion.
Billion,
with a ‘B'. I'm not about to sit around and wait for all those fancy buildings to start crumbling.” He reached across and patted the cardboard tube. “This is what I want. This is what I need to do.”

“Well, damn.”

“Well, damn is right. Let's do it.”

I looked out across the mesa with a jarred perspective. “You sure have a way of bringing the world to your doorstep.”

“You don't think it will work?”

“I think that lots of people would like to have your problem, Miles. Or share in it, anyway. Half of the world's crazies will think you should give the money to them for
their
pet projects. Half will think you should just donate all your inheritance to charity. Half will want to screw you out of it with all kinds of scams. Half will want to just stick a gun in your ear and steal it outright.”

“That's a lot of halves.”

“It is. And on top of that, a tiny,
tiny
fraction of one percent of the population
might
understand what you're doing and why. You'll find a few astronomers who might be willing to jump into bed with you for a hand in all of this. A few will want to work with you. The dangerous ones are the ignorant sons-of-bitches who think that
you
should think like they do.”

“Will you work with me?”

“Miles, I have enough to keep me happy right now, thank you. A lawsuit now and then to keep me interested.” I shrugged. “I don't have the energy, the expertise, or even the time left on Earth to be of any use to you.” I saw his shoulders twitch. “And what's this ‘something else' that you forgot to mention in all this deal?”

He grimaced and hunched forward, both hands planted on the tailgate. “There are really two things I should mention, and I need your advice about what to do. I already mentioned the first one. A couple of days ago, this impressive as hell packet arrived by certified mail—from a security firm in Denver. I don't know how they got my name, or how they got wind of what I was doing here, but they offered to negotiate a comprehensive security contract with me. On-site during construction, and then a permanent part of the facility afterward.”

“There you go,” I said. “Word gets out, no way around it. Maybe they heard about the California project. Maybe they read that same article about the feds moving in…about the UN establishing a beachhead, so to speak. Professionals might be the best road for you, because you're sure as hell going to need security of some sort. Have I heard of this outfit?”

“United Security Resources. USR.”

“Huh. I don't know them.”

“But see, how appealing would that be? I mean, imagine Bob and Ginny and the three kids coming from Columbus, Ohio, to enjoy this installation. To ride the train, ride the tram, have their breath taken away by the dark zone up on top. And the first person they meet is some uniformed storm trooper riding around in a black Suburban with air-raid slits over headlights, telling them where they can or can't go. I don't think so.”

I laughed. “And don't forget, Miles…whole sections of the night sky will be off-limits to civilian stargazers. You have to control where you point all those telescopes. I mean, you can't just look around willy-nilly, you know. You'll need security to make sure the telescopes are all pointed the right way.”

“That's depressing, Sheriff. Don't even think about starting
that
yarn.”

“Be prepared for your full measure of crazies, that's all I'm saying, Miles. But look. In an installation this huge, you're going to have to have some security. A lock on the gate down below isn't going to be enough. I mean, think of the complications. Some old fart has a heart attack at this altitude, you're going to need some organization to handle it. Someone takes a fall on the rocks. Someone steps on a rattlesnake. Someone vandalizes—we know
those
nitwits are out there. Break-ins. Shoplifting. You name it. You have to have some sort of infrastructure to deal with that, even if every member of your security squad is in plain clothes, made up to look like innocent college professors.”

“That's an idea.” Waddell looked at me shrewdly. “See why I need you?”

“I'm flattered, Miles. But I think you'll need a good deal more than some old retired fat guy.”

“You bet. But I need that old fat guy to help me keep my feet on the ground. I need someone to talk to without having to worry that what we say will get dumped into the rumor mill. I don't want an asskisser, and I don't want Gestapo. Just someone I can trust for an honest opinion. I've watched you work over the years. And maybe most important, I don't think money impresses you much. You can't imagine how important that is to me right now.”

I sighed. “I don't need a job, Miles. I really don't. I have my own projects.” That was mostly true. “I'll be around off and on, and I'll be delighted to be a sounding board any old time you can catch me and buy my lunch. If you want to give me the combination to that gate down below, all right. Let's keep it informal. How about that?”

“If I have to settle for that, I will. All I'm asking is that you just…
be around,
on an unannounced basis. No clocking in and out. Just a set of savvy eyes that isn't busy with other concerns. I mean, right now, this project is no problem for me. I can cover all the bases. But that's not going to last. We'll have a fair-sized village being built here. You'll be a welcome sight, moseying around the place.”

Turning a full circle, I once more drank in the sheer enormity of that mesa-top. “I'm already curious enough to be out here from time to time.”

Waddell nodded vigorously. “That's a start. Can I make you an offer?”

“An offer for what, Miles? I don't need or want a job.”

“But this is different.”

“At the moment, maybe. But you know as well as I do that these things have a tendency to grow like kudzu. First thing you know, you'll ask me to do something that'll conflict with plans I've already made, and there you go. Hell, I might want to take two weeks to head north to Fort Sumner, or Fort Union, or one of those interesting places. Or a month fishing in Montana. Or six months visiting the kids.”

“You don't fish, Bill. And when this is up and running, your kids will be beating a path to come
here.
And what the hell. When you're not here, why that just fits in with the random nature of your job.”

“
Job.
Even the word has a repulsive sound, Miles. I've had
jobs.
Years and years and years of jobs. I don't want another one.”

“You know…” He sounded so cagey that I knew what was coming. “We haven't even talked about remuneration.”

“Because that assumes some figure will impress me. I already told you, Miles—I don't need the money. I'm content the way I am.”

“You think?” He readjusted his Stetson and zipped up his jacket. “This has the potential to be a life-changing deal, you know. I mean, this isn't just a little eight-inch reflector telescope mounted on a flimsy tripod. We're talking a state-of-the-art facility here. We'll attract visitors—even researchers—from all over the world. We're talking about an infrastructure so complete and diverse that we can connect with other installations around the world.” He held up a hand as if to ward off my interruption.

“And all
private
enterprise
,
Bill. That's the thing. No government grants to hog-tie us. No approval from some NSF hotshot for funding.” He smiled tightly. “No UN asking for a link tie in with one of our instruments.”

“With something that big, you sure as hell don't need me in the way.”

“Shit, what have I got?” He swept an arm in a wide arc that included acres of open mesa-top blossoming with half a thousand red surveyor's flags. “A three million-dollar road. Enough surveying done to make somebody's career. I have preliminary state approval for both the granddaddy of all septic systems up here, and another one down at the gatehouse. I have two building permits…I'll need fifty by the time I'm through.”

“And all somebody has to do to get what he wants—to force-fit his agenda into yours—is to hold up one of those permits. Pull some strings. Call a buddy in Santa Fe or Washington.”

“I think we can keep everybody happy, Bill. And I think that because we don't have any hidden agendas. Big as it is, this is just a theme park of sorts. It's a tourist attraction on a mega scale.”

“And the California project already has their foot in your door, Miles.
They're
not a theme park.”

“You think that was a mistake?”

“Time will tell, won't it?”

“I've stayed below the radar, but that won't last long. So far, it's ninety percent ideas and planning. It's easy to do that under the table. But when the earth starts being pushed around, or when pieces of that big radio telescope start rolling through town, then watch out.” He pointed to the east. “See over that way? Go all the way to the rim. We'll have our own gravel pit and portable crusher plant for a while. Won't have concrete trucks battering my road to pieces. It's all right here.”

“The California folks are in agreement with you about the whole thing? Tourists, publicity—all that? They haven't tried to change any of your plans?”