Thank God, Page thought. “We need to get out in case there’s a fire.”

His door was wedged against the ground. In pain, he managed to free his seat belt and harness.

“Climb through your door!”

With the fuselage on its side, Page was able to half stand and help Tori unbuckle her harness. He pushed at her hips, helping her get through the door on the right. Wincing, he pulled himself up, squirmed through the open door, crawled over the side, and dropped to the ground.

His chest ached, but the pain hardly mattered when he smelled aviation fuel.

“Run!” he shouted. But Tori didn’t need encouragement. She charged forward onto the old runway. Flanking her, Page ran as hard as he could.

Ahead, the man they’d seen on the runway had collapsed. Without hesitation they knelt beside him, turning him onto his back. Even with all the blood, Page knew he’d seen this man before. On the previous night, he and Tori had driven past the abandoned airbase. A man in his forties, bald and sinewy, with rigid shoulders and an air of authority-he’d been unlocking the gate.

“Can you stand? Page asked. “We need to get you out of here.”

The man mumbled something that sounded like “great-grandfather.”

Page and Tori lifted him to his feet, guiding him along the old run- way. The beam of light continued radiating through one of the hangars, streaking toward the northwest, soaring into the sky, then angling down toward something on the far horizon. The air was filled with a hiss-crackle-hum that smelled like an electrical fire. Page felt his hair standing up.

Struggling to get the man to the road, Page looked over his shoulder, and was stunned by how much brighter the lights were. Explosions tore up ground in the distance: bombs from long ago. The grass fire spread toward the runway. When the flames reached the Cessna, the fuel tanks erupted, sending a fireball into the sky.

The hiss-crackle-hum became unbearable. As heat from the beam of light threatened to set Page’s clothes on fire, the sky was abruptly filled with what seemed a gigantic skyrocket, higher and farther away than any fireworks could reach. It sent huge trails of sparks flying in every direction.

“What the hell is that?” Tori asked in amazement.

The sparks radiated high and low, far and wide across the heavens. Blazing tendrils showed every color imaginable, so massive a display that Page was stopped in his tracks, awestruck.

The sky seemed on fire.

At once the ray of light ceased.

It vanished at the same time as a blast lit the horizon, off in the direction of the observatory. The colors drooped in the sky. The sparks fell, their luster fading. As the hiss-crackle-hum went silent, the only illumination came from the grass fires.

Coughing from smoke that drifted over him, Page found that he was able to move again. He and Tori urged the man through the darkness. They reached a fence, lifted the man over it, passed between parked cars, and sank onto the road.

A new sound filled the night. The sound of hundreds of people crying.

“Great-grandfather,” the man said.

People stumbled past them. Some got into cars, but the vehicles wouldn’t start. Others called the names of loved ones. Pleas for help from God or somebody, anybody, blended with moans. A crowd gathered on the road, plodding along it, people looking like refugees from a war zone as they made their way toward Rostov. Sirens wailed from the direction of the town.

The fires showed Medrano climbing onto a pickup truck.

“Everybody stay calm!” he yelled. “We’ll take care of you! Help’s on the way!”

Page looked at the stranger they’d set on the road. His face was dark with blood.

“Hear those sirens? Just hang on, and you’ll be okay,” Page tried to assure him.

The man didn’t respond. At first Page worried that he had died, but then he saw that the man’s eyes were open, unblinking, staring at something that might have been far away, or else locked in his mind.

Page reached over and gripped Tori’s hand. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“We’re alive,” she answered. “Can’t get much better than that.”

The siren blared closer, red and blue lights flashing in the dark.

80

Anita woke periodically in the night, gradually recovering from the effects of the anesthetic. This time, when she opened her eyes, sun- light drifted between slats in blinds, revealing the hospital bed she lay on. Her left arm was in a cast, the weight of which added to the deep pain in her arm.

“The bullet did a lot of damage to the bones in your arm,” a voice next to her said with effort, “but they were able to save it.”

Anita looked to her left and found someone in the room’s other bed. She recognized the voice-it was Brent’s-but she couldn’t see his face, which was covered with bandages.

“I told you I’d be here when you woke up,” he said, his voice muffled. “I’m a man of my word.”

Anita frowned. “What happened to you?”

“I chased that story until it caught me.”

Still groggy from the drugs she’d been given, Anita said, “I don’t understand.”

“I got too close to it.” Brent’s voice dropped. “I got burned by it.”

“Burned?”

“I don’t think I’ll be going to Atlanta. In fact, I don’t think I’ll be coanchoring with Sharon anymore, either. But given what the story cost us, I can guarantee that you and I will get that Emmy.”

Anita tried to sit up. She was desperate to make sense out of what he was saying.

“You were burned?”

“The doctors aren’t sure how bad the scars will be. They talked about skin grafts and specialists. If I’m lucky, I might be able to do some investigative reporting as long as my face is in shadows when I’m on camera.”

Anita couldn’t speak for a moment.

“Lo siento.”

“Since I’m probably going to be in El Paso for quite a while, I guess I’d better start learning Spanish. What did you just tell me?”

“I’m truly sorry.”

“Thank you. We made a good team.”

“We’re still a good team,” Anita said.

“All the same, I think you’d better start looking for another partner.”

“Do you like Mexican food?”

“I don’t know what that’s got to do with anything, but the truth is, I tried the stuff once and hated it.”

“That’s because you didn’t eat in the right place. You haven’t tasted anything till you dig into my mother’s chicken enchiladas.”

81

“A massive electrical storm?” Costigan leaned back behind his desk. Although he wore his uniform and gunbelt, he still had the bandage around his head. It made him look vulnerable.

“A huge cell of dry lightning. That’s what the feds say happened,” Medrano told him. “All kinds of government types got involved, particularly the FBI and the National Science Foundation. The NSF runs the observatory. Or used to. The facility blew up last night.”

“From dry lightning.” Costigan looked confused. “Is that even possible? Could something like that disable the power systems in a couple of hundred vehicles? Not to mention several helicopters and a Cessna?”

“Whether or not it’s possible isn’t the point. That’s the official explanation for what happened, and with all the television cameras disabled last night, we don’t have pictures to prove otherwise.”

“What about the satellite that exploded? Half the southern United States saw it.”

“Space debris blew it apart. What looked like sparks was the wreckage burning as it entered the atmosphere. The fact that it happened at the same time as the dry lightning is entirely coincidental. There’s no way the government’ll admit that it was experimenting with a weapon that uses electromagnetic energy.”

Church bells rang across the street, announcing the start of the Sunday service.

“A weapon?” Costigan frowned. “You think that’s what was going on?”