The Doomsday Box Read Free Page B

is?” he asked. “Is it really?”
    â€œReally.” Fuchsia nodded. “My uncle told me and he’s a pilot.”
    â€œOh, good.” Danny glanced at the cotton-wool clouds. They did look as if you could get out and walk on them. “We’re not supposed to sit together,” he said, suddenly remembering.
    â€œNo, we’re not—isn’t it silly?” She gave him another of her smiles. “I’ll go back in a minute. I just came over to find out if you have a girlfriend.”
    â€œSorry?”
    â€œA girlfriend. Are you going out with Opal or somebody?”
    Not likely, Danny thought. “Opal’s going out with Michael,” he said. “I’m not going out with anybody.”
    Fuchsia’s smile widened. “Just wanted to let you know I’m available,” she said. She patted his knee lightly, then tripped back to her seat.
    Danny watched her go. After a moment he remembered to close his mouth.

Chapter 4
Michael, Disused Air Force Base, Montauk, New York
    M ontauk was not what Michael had expected. The old air force base looked abandoned. A KEEP OUT warning sign was almost wholly overgrown with grass. The perimeter fence was broken down in several places. There were weeds poking through the concrete of the runways. His car stopped outside a gateway that was hanging from one hinge. Inside the fence, portions of the base looked like a construction site. He could hear the growl of earth-moving machinery and the clank of cranes. Workmen in hard hats lumbered about unloading materials. They seemed to be renovating one of the old buildings.
    â€œYou got your ID?” his driver asked him. Michael nodded. The driver was sharply dressed in a gray suit and wore shades straight out of Central Casting, but he still managed to look like a boxer. He had to be with one of the agencies, but he’d flatly refused to give out any information on the trip from the airport. Now he climbed out of the car and held open Michael’s door like a chauffeur. “This is as far as I take you,” he said. “Don’t have clearance to go any farther. You must be mixed up in some heavy stuff.”
    â€œWhere do I go?” Michael asked, ignoring the comment.
    â€œTell any of the workmen you’re here to see Mr. Allen.” The driver glanced through the gate and gave the ghost of a smile. “If you get that far.”
    He didn’t. Although the base seemed deserted outside the construction area, he walked fewer than a dozen steps before a uniformed security officer emerged from one of the broken-down buildings. “Michael Potolo?” she said pleasantly. He noticed the uniform was of a private security firm, but all the same she was armed and, despite the pleasant tone, her hand rested casually on the butt of the pistol in her belt. Whatever the superficial appearances, somebody was taking security very seriously round here.
    Michael nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Here to see Mr. Allen.”
    She smiled at him. “Mind if I check your ID?”
    Michael handed her his Shadow Project papers and waited. She checked the photo ID carefully before handing them back. “Know what, Michael? You surely have a cute accent.”
    Michael smiled back. “Thank you. Is there really a Mr. Allen?”
    She shook her head. “You’re liaising with Colonel Saltzman. This operation is under military jurisdiction. You want to follow me, Michael? The others are already with him.”
    Colonel Saltzman was not what Michael expected either. He was a slender, balding man in his fifties, wearing a sour expression and a civilian suit that made him look like a constipated bank manager. His office had the appearance of something a bank manager would use as well—large computer desk, filing cabinet, and a scattering of chairs, but nothing else. Opal and the others, including Gary Carradine, were occupying those chairs now.
    â€œMichael