The three men were spending a noticeable amount of time checking out the pod.

Dane checked his watch. It was 1:30, and there had been no call from Parmenter. They all agreed that Parmenter would have to remain at his post for the plan to work, and the scientist said he had a contingency plan, but now Dane had to abide by Parmenter’s final admonition, “If I don’t call by 1:30, if you don’t hear from me …”

He got on the radio again. “This is Dane. We have a go. Please acknowledge.”

“This is Emile. We have a go.”

“This is Preston. We have a go.”

Atop the semi, Preston and three crewmen unfastened the Velcro loops from around the bundle of webbing and carefully lifted the top edge of what looked like a huge fishnet woven from fine, nearly invisible fibers.

In the lab, Moss and DuFresne received a quick message in their headsets from Mr. Stone. “All set.”

By 1:30 Mandy had slipped on the white, angelic costume and then, with Keisha’s help, folded and secured its flowing edges inside a black leather bodysuit.

Keisha closed up the last breakaway seam of the bodysuit and asked, “All right, how’s that?”

Mandy did some stretches, went through a few dance moves, waved her arms about. “It’s working.”

“Looks good from here.” Then she lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. “I allowed for a few extra pounds.” She winked.

Mandy slipped a silvery tunic over the bodysuit and looked in the mirror, seeing once again Keisha’s signature touch.

“Just like old times,” Keisha said. “You look as marvelous as ever you did.”

Mandy turned to face her. This was good-bye. “I wish I could have remembered you.”

Keisha placed a hand on each side of her face. “I do earnestly hope to see you again.”

At 1:40, Dane, Mandy, Emile, Max, Andy, and Carl met under the stage for a word of prayer. Mandy figured it was a prayer meeting one would only see in show business: she dressed in silver and black like a fantasy hero; Dane and Emile looking tense, still wearing radio headsets; enormous Max dressed like an executioner, Mandy’s shackles draped around his neck; Andy and Carl dressed like slithery henchmen from the dark side, Carl carrying Mandy’s handcuffs. Dane and Mandy were the only Christian believers. Emile was agnostic, Andy was into Scientology, Max was searching and thinking his family ought to find a church somewhere, Carl didn’t give religion much thought at all.

But they all prayed together because they were a team, and she could feel it: this was her moment, they’d all worked very hard to make it happen, and their hearts were with her.

Dane said the Amen and then let them know, “Gentlemen, it’s been a privilege.”

“Right on,” “Same here,” “Back at you,” “Let’s do it again sometime” … they dismissed to their stations.

“And lady,” Dane said.

She gazed into eyes she needed time, precious time, to fully understand. A moment, an eternity, passed, and there were no words. He finally looked to make sure they were alone and said quietly, “It’s a go. God be with you.” He turned his eyes away and without another word, walked out, leaving her alone in the semidark amid the panels and rigging and girders, alone to take hold, finish the show, and find her way back.

She sank onto a makeshift bench, her thoughts and feelings tending in one direction: Lord, why me?Then she smiled at herself, playing back a memory: Dane, the sorrow-worn widower, and she, the half-doped “hoper,” in his living room, and she giving him a lecture about not giving up but living the rest of the life God had for him. Boy, was that big old shoe ever on the other foot now.

Except that—and how was this for weird humor?—the rest of the life God had for her might be no more than the next hour.

Andy and Carl brought in her hula hoop and let her know her doves were on their way to the third level of the parking garage. She thanked them and they left her alone again.

Alone. Ohh, she could feel it as if it were the story of her life, feel it so strongly it had to have been planned. By whom? She sighed. Same old answer: God—which brought a nice release: where was the point in giving up? If there was going to be a big old defeat, let it come from God, not her. It was better to take hold, finish the show, and find her way back … or die trying.

All right.That was settled.

She put the loneliness to work. What I wouldn’t give to see the ranch again, even fork up some hay and manure; have a mocha at the breakfast table; dance a waltz—no, some swing!—and I’d love to get back to that kiss we never finished.

From where she sat she took hold of the hula hoop across the room and made it float in midair, turn, spin. She closed her eyes and petted her doves in their cages in the parking garage.

And for a moment she could see the aspens growing under the stage and a hint of the green pasture amid the girders in the dark.

At 1:51, Moss and DuFresne, fully aware of the eyes watching everything from behind them, maintained a confident air. Moss indicated the readings. “She’s getting it back. We have a multiplicity of timelines … weak at this point, but coming up to strength.”

DuFresne asked, “Can you cut those timelines off?”

Moss nodded with confidence. “Just giving her some rope.”

“Seamus, it looks good.”

The video monitor showed a wide shot from the top of the bleachers, taking in the gathering crowd. The bleachers and a good half of the parking lot were full.

Just then, the television showed a live feed from the local station.

“Hey, turn it up!” said one of the Watchers.

DuFresne turned up the sound.

“… on this sunny afternoon at the Orpheus Hotel Casino, live show business at its best, the Grand Illusion outdoor escape by up-and-coming magician and escape artist Mandy Whitacre. Hello everyone, this is Steve Kirschner …”

“And I’m Mark Rhodes.”

“And this is a special, live edition of Vegas Today, your instant source for the latest entertainment news from the Entertainment Capital of the World.”

* * *

Folks in the front reception area of Clark County Medical Center were paying half attention to the television in the corner while reading old magazines, texting on cell phones, and waiting.

Arnie Harrington, incognito in a jogging outfit, set aside a two-week-old Timemagazine and paid full attention as the screen switched between a high angle of the bleachers and stage, a close-up of the stage, and a traveling handheld taking in any key point of interest.

Whatever happened, he’d know.

At 2:00 P.M., Emile, in the control booth with headset in place, cued the music. A fanfare sounded, the trees onstage began to sway, the volcano rumbled and belched white smoke. The crowd cheered and whistled, here to have a good time and already into it.

For Mandy, being under the stage was like being inside a huge, cartoonish clock striking noon. Valves were hissing, hydraulics gushing, levers jerking, pulleys spinning, all just above her head. She cowered a bit, pulling her tunic around her. Seeing Emile’s marvelous brainchild from the bleachers was one thing; seeing it from inside was entirely something else and no less frightening.

Max, Carl, and Andy took it in stride. In the middle of all that busyness they hurried under the stage to their posts, Max and Carl onto the hydraulic lift, and Andy to the control panel to wait for the strains of creepy music, their cue. When the music played, Max and Carl gave a little wave, Andy hit the Up button, and up they went. The audience began to boo.

Dane eased over to the edge of the crowd at stage right and watched as Max and Carl, decked out and masked in black leather, popped out of the swaying forest and gave the booing crowd disdainful wave-offs like “bad guy” world wrestlers. They swaggered over to the pod, went through the motions of rigging it to the cable, then signaled the crane operator—once again, one had to overlook the incongruity of a monstrous, modern construction crane in a medieval setting. At least the crane itself was hidden behind a leafy, woodsy screen with only the huge boom to ignore.