CHAPTER ONE
On a Monday evening, the Phoenix International Airport was as quiet as it was ever likely to get. Lance Corporal Dominic E. Carter, US Marine Corps, navigated the blue car towards the meters in front of the terminal. He was driving a vehicle of no make: completely unidentifiable. It was one of the one-of-a-kind models that the above-ground decoy departments of Starbright Project cranked out to explain their presence deep in the Arizona desert. It slid almost silently up to the curb behind a taxicab. The driver switched off the engine and exited. Locking the car with care, he went to plug the meter. Then he turned to face the terminal doors, but before entering the building he straightened his uniform with care. He had begged Colonel Smythe to assign him to this duty, and he was determined to look his best.
Inside the vast building, Nick grabbed a baggage cart and made his way towards the conveyer belt labeled for Captain Calavicci's flight from Hamilton. What he had been doing in Canada was anybody's guess, but it wasn't for enlisted men like Nick to question the holiday arrangement of heroes like Albert Calavicci. He was just glad that the Project Administrator had agreed to take the vacation. Everyone knew that the captain had been having a rough time lately. His marriage had fallen apart in some kind of disastrous collapse that had kept him away from Starbright three days a week for months. The divorce had been horrible and very messy: she'd taken him for everything she could, even his dog. The captain hadn't been sleeping well, or eating properly, and people said he drank too much.
Nick didn't believe that. It was just a nasty rumor like so many that circulated close-knit communities. Somebody who was jealous of Captain Calavicci had probably started it. Nick wasn't going to pay attention to lies like that. Men like Captain Calavicci didn't drink to forget their problems: they faced them with courage and determination, and they always came out victorious.
The first waves of people were filtering down from the gate now: businessmen in costly suits, a harried-looking woman leading a couple of school-aged kids, and a group of students wearing large knapsacks and enormous headphones. Nick's pulse began to pick up speed. Any second now…
He still couldn't believe his luck. He had only been transferred to Starbright six weeks ago, and here he was, entrusted not only with one of the "secret" cars, but also with the transportation of the Project Administrator. Captain Calavicci was a national hero of the highest order, the kind of a man the military hoped to produce once in a century. Everyone knew how he had kept the Apollo program afloat and fought for President Kennedy's dream. Nick was old enough to remember the Christmas mission in '76. It almost hadn't made it past the early stage separations, except that then-Commander Calavicci had manually piloted the command module through the critical moments. The Christmas Eve broadcast had been awe-inspiring, and that awe had carried through into the moon landing the following day. The image of the two astronauts playing catch against the lunar landscape, with the earth hanging like a marble behind them, was one Nick would never forget. Then the disaster, when the computers in the LEM had failed, and the commander and his pilot had had to jettison. They said that Captain Calavicci had saved his comrade's life by endangering his own. Long before his days with NASA, he had served as a fighter pilot in Vietnam. Shot down, taken captive by the enemy, and held for six years in deplorable conditions. Tortured, starved and humiliated, and he had come back from that hell to become the man Nick was picking up at the airport today.
And there he was! Nick had only met him once, briefly, on the day he had first arrived at Starbright—the captain had taken the time to introduce himself, welcome the new boy onboard, and give him a Project button. Despite this, Nick knew at once that the man in the brilliant blue shirt was Captain Calavicci. You didn't forget your role model's face. He had a small duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and his other arm was curled around the waist of a lissome blonde a good four inches taller than he was. She was giggling and trying to work a pricey Zippo lighter as they walked. Her escort had a cigar clamped between his teeth. Nick snapped to attention, though the captain had not spotted him yet.
The girl laughed again in response to something Captain Calavicci said as he puffed on the cigar. She was very young: just about Nicks age, and she was wearing neon orange leggings, bright pink sneakers, and a white sweatshirt that reached well down on her slender thighs. Probably someone he had met on the plane, Nick reflected. Captain Calavicci loved to flirt with beautiful girls. People said that he was promiscuous, but Nick thought that was a harsh way of putting it.
The girl pointed, and Captain Calavicci turned. He spotted Nick, grinned, waved, plucked the cigar from his lips and kissed the girl passionately. Then he took her hand and they ran across the room.
Nick saluted crisply. The captain smiled. "At ease, Corporal," he said. Nick stood down. Captain Calavicci extended his hand and shook Nick's firmly. "Dominic Carter, isn't it?"
Nick flushed with gratification. "Sir, yes, sir!" he breathed. Then he added self-consciously, "My friends call me Nick."
"Nick it is, then," Calavicci said warmly. "How's life treating you, Nick?"
"Couldn't be better, sir!"
"That's what I like to see!" the captain said. He turned to the girl. "Max, this is Lance Corporal Carter, whose friends call him Nick. Nick, this is Maxine, my wife."
"Wife, sir?" Nick blurted in spite of himself. His eyes widened at this horrible lack of tact.
Captain Calavicci's smile didn't waver. "That's right," he said. "Isn't it?"
Maxine—Mrs. Calavicci, Nick corrected himself, still not quite fathoming it—giggled and nodded. Then she turned towards the carousel, where the flight's baggage was starting to surface. Picking up on her cue, Captain Calavicci deposited his carry-on (or perhaps it was hers, Nick thought, still flustered by his own faux pas) on the cart. He moved towards the conveyer, watching the entry port with an almost predatory look in his eyes. The young woman (Mrs. Calavicci, Mrs. Calavicci) followed, parking behind him with her arms around his waist and her chin on his shoulder. Nick struggled to navigate the cart nearer, but the throng of travelers was too thick to allow that.
Captain Calavicci said something, and his new bride giggled again, nibbling his ear. Nick shifted uncomfortably. She looked about his age, and if that was the case, then the captain was old enough to be her father. He chided himself for that disrespectful thought, and watched as the older man sprung forward and nimbly caught up two suitcases. Nick abandoned the cart to relieve him of them, and the officer ducked back to hook his kit bag. This he tossed unceremoniously over the heads of the crowd, winking as Nick caught it and placed it carefully with the rest of the baggage. The captain then returned to the carousel, waiting impatiently for something more. His young bride started toying with his hair. He sprung from her grasp, seized a black garment back, swung around to catch her about the waist, and sprinted through the throng towards Nick.
"That's it," he said, giving her another smacking kiss. "Off we go."
He grinned at Nick, who felt his heart swelling with elation once more. His idol was actually looking at him, talking to him, standing no more than four feet away from him.
They reached the car and Nick began to stow the luggage in the trunk. Captain Calavicci opened the rear door for his wife, and then came around behind to help.
"That's really not necessary, sir—" Nick protested. The captain only shrugged and put away the last two bags. He beat Nick to closing the hatch, too, and then gave the enlisted man a companionable pat on the back as he moved off to climb in after the lady.
Nick got into the driver's seat and taxied away from the airport. A glance at the rearview mirror told him that the couple in the back seat were making themselves very comfortable. They were smothering one another with kisses. Between each, she giggled and the captain murmured, "Maxine, Maxine, Maxine," with incredible passion.
Suddenly a silvery laugh rang out as Mrs. Calavicci pulled something out of her husband's back pocket. Captain Calavicci tried to snatch it back, but she turned away from him, giggling yet again.
"Maxine, give me that," the captain hissed.
"No-oh," she teased. "I want it."
"Maxine! Give me—" He fell silent as he realized it was too late to stop her.
The setting sun glinted off of a stainless steel hip flask as Mrs. Calavicci tipped it against her lips. She giggled yet again and tried to administer some to her husband. He resisted, and his furtively shifting eyes locked with Nick's in the mirror.
The young Marine flushed and refocused his attention on the road. He thought he saw Captain Calavicci snatch the vessel and knock back a hasty swallow, but he tried not to notice.
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM"Where are we going?" Maxine asked at last. They had been riding for more than an hour. After retrieving his flask Al had subsisted into silence, passively accepting her caresses but never reciprocating.
"The Project," he said flatly.
Maxine tried to study his face. Was he angry with her? He'd almost yelled when she had taken his flask. It didn't make sense. They had fooled around with it all they wanted on the plane, refilling it from their airline-sized bottles, teasing each other with it, laughing until the other passengers had to have thought they were nuts. Then suddenly it wasn't okay?
Maxine didn't want to make him mad. She hadn't been trying to. All she wanted to do was flirt a little, but for once Al didn't want to play. Normally, that was all he ever wanted to do. Everything was a game. Everything was a laugh. It was always time to have some fun. That was one of the reasons she'd fallen in love with him.
At first she'd resisted that. She knew guys never fell in love. They'd get hot for you, but they wouldn't love you, so if you fell in love with them that gave them a huge advantage. Then they'd dump you, or worse. She'd dated some real jerks. Al, though, was different. He just wanted to be happy, and he wanted everyone around him to be happy, too. He was so sweet, and funny, and romantic. She never would've thought a train trip to Niagara Falls would've made a romantic honeymoon, but it had. Oh, boy, it sure had!
Maxine cuddled close to her husband, who was staring moodily out the window as the desert sped past. She stroked the nape of his neck with her index finger. He didn't seem to notice. She wished drowsily that he would turn his head and look at her eyes. She had pretty good eyes. Beautiful eyes, he called them…
She sighed a little and turned her head to look out the front windshield. There was something on the horizon: lights glimmering in the growing darkness. She sat up, her interest piqued even through the tipsiness and the after-effects of an fourteen-hour trip. This was it! The top-secret project where Al worked—and where they were going to live. She leaned forward between the front seats.
"Is that it?" she asked the cute young marine.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered. "That's Starbright."
Maxine shivered with pleasure as she felt Al's hand creeping up her back. "Almost there," he murmured. She grinned and flopped back against him, leaning her head back and kissing his jaw. He favored her with a small smile. "Now put your seatbelt on."
She obligingly scooted back into her proper place and buckled the harness. The lights were growing nearer, and she could make out a walled compound and a large, glaringly illuminated gate. She shivered. It looked like something from a science fiction TV show.
The car halted in front of the gates, which drew back to admit them into a narrow passage. The driver rolled down his window as another soldier approached, leaning in to take a look at the contents of the car. Al reached up and switched on the dome light. The guard snapped to attention.
"At ease," Al laughed. "How's things?"
"Fine, sir."
"No trouble?" he pressed, eyes twinkling.
"No, sir!"
"Did you even notice I was gone, Matt?"
The Marine shrugged sheepishly.
"That's what I thought," Al said sagely. "Can we come in?"
There was an awkward silence. Maxine noticed the man outside glance at her uneasily. She turned to look at Al again, wondering what was wrong. Al smiled a little. "This is my wife, sergeant," he said with a little amusement.
"Your wife, sir?"
There was something like skepticism in his voice. Maxine felt suddenly defensive. "That's right!" she said, rummaging for her purse, which had slid under the driver's seat. Folded neatly in the inner pocket was their certificate. She passed it over the young Marine's shoulder. The sentry scrutinized it.
"I'll be damned…" he muttered, then snapped to attention. "Sir, I meant no disrespect, sir!" he exclaimed.
Al's laugh almost shook the car. "It's all right, Matt," he said. "Just let us in, okay? It's been a long trip."
"Yes, sir," the sergeant said, handing the document back to Maxine and signaling.
They passed through into a broad, enclosed space. Maxine was too tired to have much sense of her surroundings as they parked. A couple of young men, also in uniform, hurried out of nowhere to take the luggage. Then Al had his arm around her waist and was leading her down a corridor and into an elevator. She hardly looked at the next corridor, but then Al was unlocking a door, and they slipped into a small apartment. The two soldiers, or whatever they were, set down the luggage, snapped briefly to attention, and left. Al locked the door, sagging against it with a satisfied sigh.
"Alone at last!" he said, wiggling his brows.
Maxine suddenly didn't feel very tired anymore. "We going to unpack first?" she asked.
He took brushed past her and into the kitchen, where he took out two glasses and a tray of ice cubes. From a cupboard he brought a glass of whiskey. "You want some?" he offered.
Maxine wrinkled her nose. "No, thanks," she said. "I've had way too much."
"Me too," he allowed cheerfully. "That's part of the fun."
"So, are we going to unpack?" she repeated.
He took a long swallow from his glass and shook his head. "There's only one thing I want to see you unpack," he told her fondly.
She let loose yet another tipsy giggle. Usually she wasn't much of a giggler, but when she was a bit drunk her more girlish impulses were set loose. With a compliant little wiggle, she pulled off her sweatshirt. Al froze with his glass halfway to his mouth, admiring her bra. It was exactly the same electric orange as her leggings, and every bit of it was lace. A broad, glowing smile made little creases next to his dark eyes.
"Maxine…" he breathed.
"Yes?" she prompted, biting her lip breathlessly, hoping against hope that he'd say it again.
He didn't disappoint. "You're beautiful," he said. "So beautiful…"
With a tiny squeal of pleasure she sprinted into his arms, incognizant of the tumbler of whiskey. He spun her around, chuckling throatily. Then he clamped his left arm around her middle and swung her to one side so that he could finish his drink. He deposited the dish, its ice still hard and glistening, on the counter, and then drew her into a deep, searching kiss. She twined her arms around his neck and wriggled her hips from side to side. He responded by pulling her closer to his own body.
"You know what I love about these silly pants?" he asked, caressing the spandex.
She chuckled and shook her head.
"They're—"
He was interrupted by a heavy, authoritative pounding on the door. Maxine's heart skipped a beat at the sound, and she pulled from his arms, looking frantically for a place to hide. The hammering cacophony sounded out again, and she forced herself to stay still, watching Al's face. He, too, had gone suddenly white, and she could see his right hand shaking as he drew deep, calming breaths. He laughed hoarsely and forced a grin.
"Little Red Riding Hood with the goodies?" he suggested, quirking an eyebrow.
"Ah-ha," Maxine gasped, fighting irrational panic.
There was another knock, louder than the others. Maxine's eyes darted to the door, which was shaking with the force of the contact. She tried to order herself to calm down.
Al moved towards the door and leaned against it. "Who is it?" he called in a wheezy, singsong falsetto.
"Open this door, captain!" a booming voice commanded.
Al rested his head against the doorjamb and closed his eyes. "Kenneth," he said flatly.
"Open this door!"
Al laughed almost ironically. "I'm the Project Administrator, Ken. Who's in charge here?"
"Of security, me," the gruff voice continued. "Now open this door."
Al chuckled, shaking his head and sinking to the floor, his back against the door. Maxine watched from the proximity of the refrigerator, confused as hell. "I'm busy," he called. "Come back in the morning."
"Captain, if you don't open this door…"
"Give it a rest, Ken," Al groaned in wry exasperation. "I've got a new wife to take care of, and—"
"You're harboring an unauthorized civilian!"
Al's head straightened with a snap. "What?" he squawked. He scrambled to his feet and snatched up Maxine's shirt from the edge of the kitchenette's linoleum. He tossed it to her, and she caught it instinctively, staring at him in confusion. "Put it on!" he whispered urgently. Then he turned, not waiting to see if she obeyed, and opened the door. In the corridor stood a broad-shouldered, daunting-looking man in the duty uniform of a Marine. "What the hell is this?" Al demanded.
"You admitted an unauthorized civilian into the compound," the other man growled. "I'm here to escort her into custody."
"Like hell you are!" Al said, squaring his shoulders. "Go to bed, Ken. You've been—"
"Colonel Smythe," the man said. "I don't use your first name, and you don't use mine. Understood?"
Al wasn't budging. "Ken, give it up," he said firmly. He picked up Maxine's purse from the top of the heap of luggage and drew out the wedding certificate. He passed it to the other officer. "Maxine is my wife, and she's not going anywhere."
Smythe's brow furrowed. "Your last wife," he said coldly, putting undue emphasis on the modifier; "required Committee clearance to visit the Project. What, exactly, makes you think that this one is any different?"
Al rolled his eyes so enormously that his whole head moved. "Hmm, let's see," he said. "I. Live. Here. Now?"
The colonel's thin lips disappeared entirely. "It's my duty to ensure that the integrity of the Project is maintained, and without the proper clearance—"
"Clearance?" a cheerful tenor voice asked. Maxine watched in amazement as a trim young man in a costly black suit trotted into view. "Is this about Mrs. Calavicci's clearance?"
Smythe eyed him suspiciously. "Yes," he grumbled.
The other man's mouth cracked into a shimmering smile. "I've got her badge right here," he said, holding out a sheaf of papers and a plastic tag about twice the size of a credit card. "It's provisional, of course," he told Al while the colonel examined the documents. "Until we can get her picture and specifications."
"Thanks!" Al said. From the way he slumped in relief, Maxine could tell that the guy in the suit had done him an enormous favor. "You're sure efficient."
The younger man smiled. "The chemistry lab may sleep, Captain, but Human Resources never does. Can I meet the new Mrs. Calavicci?"
"Sure!" Al enthused. "Maxine!"
Without thinking of her state of seminudity, Maxine hurried forward. The adrenaline released by the moment of panic had addled her thinking. She hardly noticed the way three pairs of eyes bugged in consternation as she appeared at Al's side. The man from H.R. schooled his features first and his Hollywood smile returned.
"Uh… this is Maxine," Al stammered. "Maxine, Colonel Smythe's our head of security, and this is… uh… Dan Pendra—venen. From Human Resources."
"A pleasure, Mrs. Calavicci," Penvenen said, extending his hand.
Maxine nodded numbly, having to shift her shirt from one arm to the other before she could shake. "Charmed," she breathed, bobbing one shoulder a little.
"Now," Al said smugly, plucking the forms from Colonel Smythe's fingers and drawing Maxine back inside so he could close the door; "if you gentlemen will excuse us, we've had a very long trip home, and we need our rest."
He shot the deadbolt and tossed Maxine's clearance papers onto the entryway table.
"Dan's a heck of a nice guy," he said. "Now, where were we?" He curled his arms around his waist and settling one hand on each buttock. "Oh, yeah," he murmured sensually. "I remember! Do you know what I love about these silly pants…"
MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMDaniel Penvenen, ostensibly of Starbright Project Human Resources, closed the door of his office and allowed himself the luxury of a smug, ear-linking grin. Not bad for half an hour's notice. Old Pen still had it.
Colonel Smythe was absurdly easy to manipulate. The man's instinctual loathing of his Naval counterpart was a decided advantage.
So was that leggy bimbo—the one wearing the matching brassiere and long-johns.
All that remained to perfect the evening's victory was to actually obtain Committee clearance for her, before Calavicci rooted out the lie or examined the forged papers. He doubted the last was a real danger. Between the alcohol on his breath and the high school whore in his arms, the captain was going to have a lot on his mind in the morning. Real clearance wouldn't be hard to get. Congressman Davies, Dan's contact, would be more than willing to ante up once he saw the merits of the situation.
Penvenen opened the bottom drawer of his desk and drew out a sleek black composition book—volume three in a continuing series. He opened it to the first blank page and sat down to write. First, he dated the page. Then in a crisp, professional script he started his report:
New wife. Unannounced. "Maxine". Statutory rape? Further data required…