"It's all crazy," the woman said. "We used to worry about Gas Buggy, and all the radiation from the test site, and now this. They closed down our meat locker. It's enough to scare the hell out of me. Frank came in with Tillie yesterday and they were so nice. They worried about Stella so much. Well, thank you for calling. I've got to start closing up now. Yes. Jack is in the warehouse and he'll walk me down to the trailer park. Thanks. Goodbye."

She replaced the phone and turned to Hicks. "Can I help you?"

"I didn't mean to interrupt. I was wondering about the coffee shop across the street. Is it recommended?"

"I'm not the one to ask," the woman said, standing.

"I'm sorry," Hicks said politely. "Why?"

"Because I own the place," she answered, smiling. She approached the counter and leaned on it. "I'm prejudiced. We serve good solid food there. Emphasis sometimes on the solid. You're English, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"On your way to Las Vegas?"

"From, actually. Going to Furnace Creek."

"Might as well turn back. Everything's sealed up that way. The highway's closed. They'll just turn you around."

"I see. Any idea what's happening?"

"What's your name?" the woman asked.

"Hicks. Trevor Hicks."

"I'm Bernice Morgan. I was just talking about my daughter. She's being held by the federal government. Nobody can tell me why. She writes to say she's well, but she can't say anything about where she is, and I can't talk to her. Isn't that crazy?"

"Yes," Hicks said, his neck hair prickling again.

"I've got lawyers all over the state and in Washington trying to find out what's going on. They might think they're tangling with some small-town yo-yos, but they're not. My husband was a county supervisor. My father was a state senator. And here I am, talking your ear off. Trevor Hicks." She paused, examining him more closely. "Are you the science writer?"

"Yes, actually," Hicks said, pleased at being recognized twice in as many days.

"What brings you out this way?"

"A hunch."

"Mind if I ask what sort of hunch?" Clearly, Bernice Morgan, for all her warm voice and hospitable manner, was a tough-minded woman.

"I suppose it could connect with your daughter," he said, deciding to go for broke. "I'm following a very thin trail of clues to Death Valley. Something important has happened there—important enough to draw your President to Furnace Creek Resort."

"Maybe Esther isn't hysterical," Mrs. Morgan mused.

"I'm sorry?"

"My store clerk. She says some men talked about a MiG crashing in the desert."

Hicks's heart fell. Was that all it was, then? Some sort of unusual defection? No connection with the Great Victoria Desert?