“Yes, one of my people here just told me we’re getting strong readings, also.”

Borden’s voice continued, “I reviewed the data parameters for previous versions of this study. As we know, the pattern’s cyclical. Some- times the signals are almost impossible to detect. Other times they’re pronounced. But until now, the highs and lows have been in the same range. These are the highest readings we’ve ever seen-and that includes what happened where you are, back in 1945. The reason I contacted you isn’t just to make a report. I’m asking you to reconsider your strategy.” She paused. “Colonel, are you certain you want to stay at your location?”

Raleigh found the question touching. One of his many secrets was that he and Borden met each month at a Baltimore hotel room, where they allowed themselves to pretend they had emotions unrelated to their careers. Her question wasn’t merely about protecting the pro- gram. It suggested that she was actually concerned about his safety.

“Colonel, can you hear me?” Borden’s voice asked.

“Yes,” he finally said, “I hear you. Thank you for your input, but I’ll be staying. All these years, this is where the program has been headed. Without a team on-site, we’ll never know the truth. I can’t leave.”

This wasn’t just where the program had been headed, though. It was where his life had been headed since he’d first heard about the lights when he was a boy.

FOUR – TRANSFIGURATION

57

Twenty seconds after the explosions, Page’s cell phone rang. He and Tori were staring toward the sky in the direction from which the shock waves had come. He pulled the phone from his belt and pressed the answer button.

“Did you hear them?” Medrano’s voice asked urgently.

“A small one, a big one, then another small one,” Page replied. “From the northwest. The only thing over there is the observatory.”

“That’s what I’m thinking, too. Where are you?”

“The airport.”

“Big surprise. I finally figured you were planning to use your plane tonight. A private plane can go just about anywhere, right?”

“Just about.”

“The nearest Highway Patrol chopper is ninety minutes away. I can’t wait that long. I want you to fly toward those explosions and find out what the hell happened.”

“The problem is,” Page said, “one of the places a private plane can’t go is prohibited airspace.”

“You’re telling me the observatory’s off-limits?”

“Usually a prohibited area has something to do with national security. I have no idea what that observatory has to do with any of that, but at the very least, I could lose my pilot’s license if I fly in there.”

“I can’t go in there, either,” Medrano said. “That’s federal property. I don’t have the jurisdiction to send in cruisers. Listen, I’ll try to get permission from the FBI. While I’m waiting, can you at least fly along the boundary of that area-maybe get high enough to try to see what happened?”

“That I can do. I have a police radio in my plane. What’s your frequency?”

Page wrote down the number, pressed the disconnect button, and returned his phone to his belt.

He looked at Tori. “This could be dangerous. You might want to think about not going up with me.”

“Could you use an extra set of eyes?”

“Always.”

“Then you’ve got company.”

58

A bullet tore up dirt near Brent’s left cheek. He flinched and ducked his head lower.

Where he lay was a sandy trough that might have been a dry creek bed. The parched land had absorbed the water from yesterday’s storm except that there seemed to be a puddle under him, soaking him. Then he realized that what he felt was the wet crotch of his pants where his bladder had let go.

The only thing that kept him from panicking was the television cam- era. I’m not going to lose this chance. He angled it up toward the black smoke that billowed from the downed helicopter. Then he pivoted to the right and aimed the camera toward the smoking ruin of the news van.

Now comes the hard part-staying alive to show this to somebody, he thought.

Anita was sprawled between him and the burning van. Her head lolled, and she looked weaker.

He squirmed toward her, stopping when he was halfway there. The guard at the observatory had a large area to scan with his rifle. From this new position, Brent hoped to be able to ease the camera over the edge of the trough and record what the gunman was up to.

Need to do something. I’m not just going to lie here.

He took a deep breath, braced his trembling muscles, and cautiously showed himself. Through the camera’s viewfinder, he saw the guard turning in his direction and raising the rifle. Brent managed to get down just before three bullets blasted dirt above him.

“Wouldn’t pay attention to the sign!” the guard yelled from be- yond the fences.

Brent had lost his handheld microphone. Now he relied solely on the shotgun mike attached to the top of the camera, although he had little hope that it would register the guard’s voice from so far away.

“Had to come barging in!” the guard continued. “All I wanted was to listen to the music!”

Music? Brent thought.

“I told you to get out of here!” the guard shouted. “But you had to keep pushing! You had to keep me from the music!”

What in God’s name is he talking about? Brent wondered.

“Trespassers will be prosecuted! That’s what the sign says!”

More bullets sprayed dirt above Brent’s head.

“And as soon as I get these gates open, I’ll prosecute you to hell!”

Brent crawled toward Anita, whose dark skin should never have looked so pale. He untucked the pen that bound the tourniquet and loosened the cloth, grimacing at the sight of the blood that flowed from her left arm.

“Need to free the circulation from time to time. Otherwise you might get gangrene.”

“Too much information,” she said weakly.

“Sorry.”

“Cold.” Anita turned her head to the side and made vomiting noises, but nothing came from her stomach. “Heart’s racing. Think I’m in shock.”

Brent retightened the tourniquet. He strained to push a large rock toward her, propping her sneakers on it. “This is supposed to help.”

“Where’d you learn all this?”

“I did a story about an emergency first-aid team.”

“And now you’re an expert? Lord, I wish I hadn’t asked. The cam- era.” Breathing rapidly, Anita noticed that Brent had set it down so that it pointed toward them. The red light was on. “You’re recording us?”

“Don’t you want to be a star?”

For a moment, Brent thought he heard an approaching engine. His pulse raced with the hope that the police had heard the explosions and were coming. But at once the faint drone stopped, and he feared he’d imagined it.

He picked up the camera and hoped that the smoke and flames would shield him as he hurried to the front of the burning van. Staying back from the heat, he aimed the camera along the side and focused on the guard, who stood before the inside gate. He seemed to be studying it.

He’s not sure if the fence still has any juice to it, Brent realized. When the helicopter crashed onto the fence, did it cut off the electricity, or will he get fried if he touches the gate?

The guard evidently decided not to take the chance. He swung to- ward the shed, ran past the truck piled with corpses, and vanished through the doorway.

“Anita!” Brent rushed over to her. “He went inside! I think he’s shutting off the electricity to the fence. If I’m right, he’ll soon come for us. Hurry! We need to move!”

She licked her dry lips and nodded. “Help me up.”

After he lifted her, she hooked her unwounded right arm around his neck. He linked his left arm around her waist. Holding the camera with his right hand, he helped her waver along the dirt road.