Thin Air (46 page)

McCarthy didn't even flinch.

"They're all right," said Gault.

Hammond relaxed. "Hear that, Doctor?" he said. Then he waved his arm at the
Sturman.
"Traben never got the bugs out, did he? She wasn't supposed to come back to Philadelphia. You're not as close to success as you thought you were."

McCarthy eyed him sullenly. "There are still the aftereffects, Hammond. How do you know they won't catch up with you?"

Hammond glanced at Yablonski, who stiffened, then glared at McCarthy with unconcealed hatred. They were squared off, eyes flicking at each other.

With a sudden lunge, McCarthy made his bid for freedom, yanking his arm away from one Marine, knocking down another, preparing to spring across to the next deck.

Yablonski kicked the legs out from under him and pounced. McCarthy sprawled on the deck. Yablonski pressed his face down by squeezing the back of his neck.

McCarthy screamed a reverberating, "NO!" but his plea trailed off into an echo as Yablonski's thumb pressed down on the button and activated the teleporting harness.

McCarthy blinked out.

Smitty and Gault shrank back, staring at the empty spot on the deck where McCarthy had been. Yablonski was left clutching at thin air, staring down at his hand.

There was a long, stunned silence before the Marines began muttering among themselves. Admiral Gault recovered from the shock and whirled to yell instructions about security, warning everybody to keep his mouth shut.

Hammond pulled Yablonski to his feet and muttered, "You did that deliberately."

After a moment of grim consideration, Yablonski's eyes met Hammond's. He said softly, "Prove it."

McWilliams appeared holding Yablonski's jacket and Hammond's holster, which he had retrieved from the captain's cabin. He rocked on his heels between the two of them.

Hammond gave him a look of genuine gratitude, and said, "Thanks." McWilliams grinned broadly.

The last thing Hammond would remember about that night would be glancing over to starboard and seeing Smitty and Gault huddled in conference. From then on, during the helicopter ride to Bethesda Naval Hospital and afterwards, Gault did not meet his gaze again. The admiral was avoiding him.

By the time he was safely tucked into a private room in the security ward, Hammond was positive that another shoe was waiting to drop.

26

"Nicky? Are you all right?"

"Sure. I'm just stuck here in Bethesda for a few days. And I mean stuck. I feel like a pincushion. Yablonski and I have two needle-happy doctors. They visit us six times daily; other than that, we're in isolation."

"Why?"
      

He hesitated on the phone, wanting to keep the conversation light. "What have they told you?"

"Just that you're both in hospital."

Hammond shook his head and silently cursed Smitty and Gault. But at least they had assured him that Jan and Mrs. Yablonski were all right, that despite McCarthy's threat, no attempt had been made to penetrate MAGIC. Relieved, Hammond and Yablonski had decided it was all a bluff and, as long as Bloch's organization was being rounded up, no further danger existed.

Except the danger to themselves from possible after- effects.

"Nicky?" said Jan again, tentatively.

"Yeah, I'm here. Listen, I'll probably be out in a couple of days and I'll want to see you...before you go home."

There was a long silence. Hammond twisted the telephone cord.

"Don't chase me away so fast."

He wanted to feel relief, but he was too concerned about something else. "Jan," he said, "I want you to understand why I feel hesitant...about us. I've just been through the same thing that happened to your husband in 1953. There may be residual effects....That's why we're here...under observation."

He paused for a reply. There was nothing.

"Jan, I can't saddle you with another Harold Fletcher."

"What are you talking about?" she said quietly, very much under control.

"Well, I'm not going to have nightmares, mental problems, but I might have other things...hard to cope with."

"Like what?"

"That's what we're trying to find out."

"Hammond, is this a brush-off?"

"No!" he protested. "No. I want to see you. I don't want you to go home until I see you."

"What makes you think I'm so anxious to go home?"

She was calmer than he was. And more determined, he sensed.

"You sound like Admiral Gault," she said. "He's been trying to get rid of me, too."

"What?"

"He came to us and said you were both at Bethesda, you were okay, but you couldn't be disturbed; and we should wait until you contact us. He wanted to send Mrs. Yablonski back to Cotuit and me back to Los Angeles." Now her voice broke. "Can you imagine what it was like— the two of us sitting here for three days going crazy wondering about you?"

"I'm sorry," he said. But he was more angry than sorry. Why should Gault deliberately try to put three thousand miles between Hammond and Jan? Only one possible explanation: he didn't want them together.

"How did you talk him out of it?" he asked.

"We threatened to yell our heads off." Hammond smiled to himself. "There's something else," she added. "They've brought in another guest. I just got a brief glimpse when he came in; he's been locked up ever since."

"Who is it?"

"You remember our host at the party Friday night?"

Hammond was stunned. "Bloch? Are you sure?"

"Yes," she said, and her voice dropped. "There's been a parade of strange people going in and out, along with your Admiral Gault and Mr. Smith."

It was puzzling. Why hadn't they handed Bloch over to the FBI? Certainly, they had enough on him now.

"Jan, can you sit tight for a few more days? We have a lot to talk about."

"Yes," she said. "We do."

When they weren't being tested for after-effects or jabbed full of needles, Hammond and Yablonski made elaborate plans for a fishing trip, to include two cases of beer, Mrs. Yablonski, and Jan. Hammond was in good spirits except at night, when he and Cas both lay awake anticipating the possibility of drifting through a wall or vanishing in their beds....

On the afternoon following his conversation with Jan, Hammond got a call from Cohen. He had attempted to trace Dr. Kurtnauer in Israel, and until three days ago had been totally unsuccessful. Then Smitty stepped in, brought his full authority to bear. As Cohen explained it, the Navy Department was wildly anxious to speak with Kurtnauer.

"But he died in 1973," said Cohen. Hammond was silent a moment, feeling sorry for the old Austrian whose scientific idealism had wreaked so much havoc.

Hammond thanked Cohen for all his help, then hung up and mulled over the government's sudden revival of interest in Dr. Kurtnauer. Was it just to tie up loose ends?

He shook his head suspiciously. You're a detective, Hammond, he told himself.
J5o
detect.

By Monday, nothing had developed: no uncontrolled vanishing or disorientation, no residual effects at all. Hammond concluded that Traben and company had developed a cleaner process over the years.

Hammond and Yablonski were discharged from the hospital on Tuesday morning and flown by helicopter back to the Pentagon. They were taken directly to Smitty's office. They were alone, just the three of them, no Admiral Gault. Hammond realized he hadn't seen or heard from Gault in over a week.

"We have a task force out locating the rest of McCarthy's patients. Cohen and Slater will be handling the treatment from now on," said Smitty.

Yablonski nodded gratefully.

"We're questioning all the people at MTL. Except for a few inner-circle types, generally they didn't know what they were working on. And we don't want them to find out."

"What are you going to do with them?" asked Hammond.

Smitty fingered some papers. "Don't quite know yet. MTL still has "a lot of legitimate contracts to fulfill. We'd like to keep their organization intact...."

"You
would?" Hammond said. "That's a private company."

Smitty smiled. "MTL is so far in the hole to the U.S." Government for misappropriated funds that they might as well enlist in the Navy."

Hammond didn't find it funny. "And Bloch?" he asked.

"I'm sure he'll be very repentant."

Hammond's eyes narrowed. Smitty was playing a game. "Don't tell me you haven't nailed him yet."

Smitty's eyes flicked to Yablonski. He said nothing.

Hammond bounced out of his chair. "Come on, Smitty! He's staying at a well-known sanctuary in Herndon, and Father Gault is hearing his confession every three hours! Now what are you doing about all those stations Bloch set up around the world?"

Smitty's gaze traveled to Yablonski again, and he sighed. "We're trying to set up a deal with him."

"Deal?" barked Yablonski.

"What the hell does that mean?" Hammond asked.

"You don't think we're going to let it slip out of our hands, do you? For the time being, it's in everyone's best interests that none of this be made public, so I will of course expect you both to uphold our policy of no discussion on this matter—with anyone. For Nick, it's an order, Mr. Yablonski; as for you, I'll have to depend on your good judgment."

There was dark silence for a moment, then Hammond spoke. "What sort of deal are you setting up with that sonofabitch?"

"We might give him a little more time to perfect it, under our supervision."

Yablonski was very still.

"What part of it?" asked Hammond. "The teleportation business? The weapons guidance system? The little pedestal in space?"

"All of it," Smitty said quietly.
 

Hammond stared at him, then exploded: "That bastard's going free! And you're going to be partners with him!"

Smitty shook his head and flashed a confident smile. "No, we're not."

Hammond had heard him more convincing.

"Look," Smitty continued, "I grant you that Mr. Bloch has proven to be a colossal villain, but some of the things he had in the works are eminently practical. Think of it this way: we've put a stop to his lust for power. That's all over and done with. He'll be working on this for only one reward: his freedom."

"What about the murders!" Hammond shouted. "Fletcher, Rinehart—"

"Can't prove he had anything to do with them. He'll maintain that was Traben's end."

"You know it's not!"

"Nick," Smitty began patiently, "this is more than one man's bid for supremacy. It directly affects the economic and military structure of the entire nation. We can't just padlock the doors and forget about it!"

"But it doesn't work!" snarled Hammond. "That ship was not supposed to return to Philadelphia! After all these years, they still couldn't control the process! It's too unstable! If Kurtnauer were alive, he would tell you the same thing!" He leaned over Smitty's desk, seething with anger. "Do you want another generation of Fletchers and Olivelys?"

Smitty was silent. His gaze shifted to Yablonski, who looked back at him sternly. "We're willing to take the risk," Smitty said casually.

Hammond sank back into his chair, weighing those Words, reflecting on how strange it was that Bloch had been right in his suspicions of the government and what they would do with Thin Air if they ever gained control. In truth, they were not so far removed from Bloch himself. Given the potential of the process, should it fall under the control of
any
one person or nation?

Hammond crossed looks with Yablonski and sensed something more primitive in his reaction: cynical acceptance of betrayal.

Yablonski got up quietly and moved to the door. Hammond stared at Smitty, not quite knowing what was expected of him. Smitty saved him the trouble, accompanying him to the door and once more admonishing them both to be discreet.

"Do you really think you're going to keep this quiet?" Hammond asked. "With all the people who've been involved?"

"We hope so," said Smitty.

On the way down the hall, Yablonski muttered to Hammond, "Too bad Dr. McCarthy is unavailable. They'd probably have made a deal for his services, too."

They stopped into the NIS office and Ensign Just-Ducky informed them there was a staff car waiting at the Mail Entrance to take Yablonski back to Herndon so he could pick up his wife; they would be put on a plane at Dulles and flown back to Cape Cod.

Hammond accompanied Yablonski down to the Mall Entrance, his bitterness growing. "They want to do exactly what Bloch would have done. Use this thing like a political baseball bat—whip everyone into line! Some country gives us trouble, the Secretary of State merely says, 'You want teleportation? Get in step!' For God's sake, Cas, even if they never perfect it, the
potential
is always there. They can drop
hints"