the desk. Let them shout and scream — they were entitled …
The FBI chief crossed to him, walking casually, ignoring the racket, his face impassive. “Colonel, the doc says the guy is dead — coronary arrest.”
Arcasso nodded, equally phlegmatic. “Get the body out of here — fast — I don’t want a fuss.” The agent nodded back and headed for the door.
Arcasso turned to his audience. His metal claw slammed down again on the desk. “Okay, that’s enough! Settle down — I haven’t finished!” He glared at the shocked faces before him, then softened his approach. “You’ve all had a big shock. You’ve taken it very well.” He lied, “ ’Fraid it was too much for one gentleman — he’s passed out, he’ll have to be hospitalized. Is anyone else feeling ill?”
The FBI chief ushered in two white-coated orderlies carrying a stretcher. Arcasso’s prayer was answered. The dead man’s face was not covered, and the FBI man effectively blocked the view for most of the audience. The group remained silent as the grim charade was played out. The doors closed.
“No need to worry about him. He’ll be well looked after — and at federal expense. Now” — he dismissed the matter — “let’s move on. You’ve accepted the unbelievable part very well.” The lie was worth repeating. “You’ll find the next item easier to take. Not only have you traveled in time but in space. This is Denver, not New York. You will appreciate we did not plan this — ”
“Just one moment! Not so goddam fast!” It was one of the businessmen.
“I’ll be obliged if you did not interrupt.” Arcasso’s tone was hard, menacing. “There’ll be time for questions later. As I was saying, this Event was not planned; we are most anxious to have the accounts of your experiences. Four-star accommodations have been arranged and transportation is ready. I suggest you go now and relax in comfort at Uncle Sam’s expense. Then you can tell us everything and ask questions.” He stopped; it was the best he could do, a blend of prevarication and flattery.
The businessman was tougher than most. “I have to get home — ”
“Sir,” said Arcasso icily, “we can’t delay all these good people with a public discussion of your personal problems.”
A FBI agent moved up to the man, taking his arm, talking earnestly, quietly.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. The country can be proud of you.” He smiled at the older women; warmed by alcohol, some smiled back. “Don’t forget, you have room service for whatever you want” — he wouldn’t dream of letting this group loose in a restaurant — “The U.S. government picks up the tab. Anything you want, from a highball to the doctor — just lift your phone. Thank you.”
He stepped down, soaked with sweat. Unbelievably, there was a slight ovation. An older, clear voice called out, “How about you, Colonel?” and got a small laugh.
“You’re in the wrong business, Colonel,” the FBI chief muttered sardonically. “Don’t offer me any gold bricks; I might just buy one.”
Behind his stiff smile, Arcasso hated himself — but what else could he do?
*
Alvin Malin arrived two hours later. Crew and passengers had been established in the hotel. The setup was far from ideal, and things became even stickier when the embargo on phone calls was disclosed. But by that time they had been split up, and were much easier to soothe, cajole, or lean on.
The air Accident Investigation team had flown in and gotten the Jumbo moved to a hangar. There Arcasso briefed his men. He wanted the plane checked out for anything, repeat anything, unusual. He did not mention holes, but warned his team to give special attention to the plane’s external surfaces. They were to conduct a minute search of the interior, vacuum floors and seats, and keep the dust for analysis.
When asked what they were looking for, Arcasso said — frankly — he didn’t know. His bleak expression stopped any
The FBI chief crossed to him, walking casually, ignoring the racket, his face impassive. “Colonel, the doc says the guy is dead — coronary arrest.”
Arcasso nodded, equally phlegmatic. “Get the body out of here — fast — I don’t want a fuss.” The agent nodded back and headed for the door.
Arcasso turned to his audience. His metal claw slammed down again on the desk. “Okay, that’s enough! Settle down — I haven’t finished!” He glared at the shocked faces before him, then softened his approach. “You’ve all had a big shock. You’ve taken it very well.” He lied, “ ’Fraid it was too much for one gentleman — he’s passed out, he’ll have to be hospitalized. Is anyone else feeling ill?”
The FBI chief ushered in two white-coated orderlies carrying a stretcher. Arcasso’s prayer was answered. The dead man’s face was not covered, and the FBI man effectively blocked the view for most of the audience. The group remained silent as the grim charade was played out. The doors closed.
“No need to worry about him. He’ll be well looked after — and at federal expense. Now” — he dismissed the matter — “let’s move on. You’ve accepted the unbelievable part very well.” The lie was worth repeating. “You’ll find the next item easier to take. Not only have you traveled in time but in space. This is Denver, not New York. You will appreciate we did not plan this — ”
“Just one moment! Not so goddam fast!” It was one of the businessmen.
“I’ll be obliged if you did not interrupt.” Arcasso’s tone was hard, menacing. “There’ll be time for questions later. As I was saying, this Event was not planned; we are most anxious to have the accounts of your experiences. Four-star accommodations have been arranged and transportation is ready. I suggest you go now and relax in comfort at Uncle Sam’s expense. Then you can tell us everything and ask questions.” He stopped; it was the best he could do, a blend of prevarication and flattery.
The businessman was tougher than most. “I have to get home — ”
“Sir,” said Arcasso icily, “we can’t delay all these good people with a public discussion of your personal problems.”
A FBI agent moved up to the man, taking his arm, talking earnestly, quietly.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. The country can be proud of you.” He smiled at the older women; warmed by alcohol, some smiled back. “Don’t forget, you have room service for whatever you want” — he wouldn’t dream of letting this group loose in a restaurant — “The U.S. government picks up the tab. Anything you want, from a highball to the doctor — just lift your phone. Thank you.”
He stepped down, soaked with sweat. Unbelievably, there was a slight ovation. An older, clear voice called out, “How about you, Colonel?” and got a small laugh.
“You’re in the wrong business, Colonel,” the FBI chief muttered sardonically. “Don’t offer me any gold bricks; I might just buy one.”
Behind his stiff smile, Arcasso hated himself — but what else could he do?
*
Alvin Malin arrived two hours later. Crew and passengers had been established in the hotel. The setup was far from ideal, and things became even stickier when the embargo on phone calls was disclosed. But by that time they had been split up, and were much easier to soothe, cajole, or lean on.
The air Accident Investigation team had flown in and gotten the Jumbo moved to a hangar. There Arcasso briefed his men. He wanted the plane checked out for anything, repeat anything, unusual. He did not mention holes, but warned his team to give special attention to the plane’s external surfaces. They were to conduct a minute search of the interior, vacuum floors and seats, and keep the dust for analysis.
When asked what they were looking for, Arcasso said — frankly — he didn’t know. His bleak expression stopped any
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