The Return by Buzz Aldrin

Author:Buzz Aldrin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

CHAPTER EIGHT

THALIA:

When I checked my voice mail at the office, somebody had used a computer-speech program to call my office number and leave the phrase “Drop this case now” repeating for five minutes. My guess was that even if a phone trace had been available, it would turn out to lead only to some pay phone.

I did not win the argument with Scott that night; he stayed on the couch in the house. I though it must be pretty weird and depressing to be back in his old house, but not in the bedroom, but he actually seemed to cheer up. The next morning I awoke to the smell of breakfast cooking and came out to find Amos getting through his second helping of French toast. “Hey, remember, I don’t have a job anymore,” Scott said, apologetically. “I guess I could see if NASA or Global would take me back—I’ve kept up my training flight time and my time on the simulator—but for the moment my best prospect is to find some nice woman to support me, so I’m practicing my domestic skills. I’ll even clean up after myself, really. It won’t take you a bit of extra effort to have me here.”

“The apron is what makes the image,” I assured him.

“Are you going to go to the police about your car getting bombed?” Scott asked.

“I already did. And I reported that first threatening phone call, back when that happened, too. For one thing, if the cops have a record of incidents, and if there’s anything that looks like an escalation, they would take that very seriously. Besides, I haven’t done anything criminal and keeping the cops informed keeps them from getting suspicious. And to judge by what I got from them over the phone last night, they seem to be doing a good job. The airport cops are working very much by the book for an arson case, and I know from two past cases that the Arlington arson investigator knows his stuff. But if the people who did it are professionals, there won’t be anything they can trace. The airport detective guessed it would turn out to be a plastic bottle of flammable liquid put under the car, inside a metal bowl to make it flash upwards, set off with a long strip of oil-soaked rags. Nothing traceable to any source, and chances are they didn’t leave prints.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

I was getting irritated with Scott for discussing it in front of Amos, who was studiously keeping his face down in his plate and shoveling in more breakfast. “I’m not expecting this case to go much longer,” I said. “So I’ll spend some of Nick’s money and hire a bodyguard service; I’ve had to do that a few times for the Coalition’s lawyers.”

“Is that going to be enough?”

“It always has been for the Coalition,” I said, with a tone that I hoped would close the argument.

After we dropped Amos off at school, Scott gave me a ride to the office, and on the way he fretted some more.

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