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Updated: June 29, 2025
The Jeep had one of those typical California vanity plates, held in place by a brass frame which, had I been able to read it in the dark, would have said "My other truck is a Mack." The driver was pumping on his brakes continually, no doubt keeping time to some Country Christmas Hit Classic.
I reached into the front pocket of my "camera" case for the handphone, to shift to two-way. "I'll call the Times and have somebody come up with a car to get us and Mr. Murell's luggage." "Oh, I have a car. Jeep, that is," Tom said. "It's down on the Bottom Level. We can use that." Funny place to leave a car.
I asked him what he was doing there and he said that he was being charged with theft. "Of what?" I asked. "A jeep," he replied. Apparently he had acquired a jeep and sold it to an Arab. "For how much?" I asked. "Four hundred dinars." he answered. At that time the Iraqi dinar and the British pound were at par. He seemed to be quite happy, perhaps he had the money stashed away somewhere.
The project afforded him a perfect cover and it was only minutes by jeep away from the crater. Even so, the double duty was an appalling task. And it would have been impossible if it wasn't for Copper.
"You two have done a fine day's work." After the prisoners had been locked up to be handed over to the FBI, the two Beach Patrol officers drove Bud and Mel back to the area where they had landed. Just as the jeep turned down the dirt road leading to the shore, Bud's keen eyes spotted a lurking figure in the distance. "Stop, please!" Bud said, tapping the driver on the shoulder.
Outside, on the open landing field, Verkan Vall glanced up at the sky, then looked at his watch. It had been twenty minutes since he had backed the jeep into the barn, on that distant other time-line; the same delicate lines of white cirrus were etched across the blue above. The constancy of the weather, even across two hundred thousand parayears of perpendicular time, never failed to impress him.
I'd been taking snaps of the grave, and I was burbling away like an ass about how important this was and how it was positive proof of sapience, and he was insisting that we get back to camp at once. He called the other jeep and told Mallin to get to camp immediately, and Mallin and Ruth and Juan were there when we got in.
"It's going to be a long story," Copper said. "Even though I have forgotten some of it, I can chant the redes for hours." Kennon braced his back against one of the fat tires of the jeep. "I'm a good listener," he said. She chuckled. "You asked for this," she said and took up the verses where she had left off.
All that remained now was tarring the fields, and then buckling down beneath the wind shields before the first winter storms struck. Pete was trying to get the nozzle of the tar sprayer cleaned out when Mario's jeep came roaring down the rutted road from the village in a cloud of dust. In the back seat a couple of Dusties were bouncing up and down like happy five-year-olds.
"You can't make a man famous for discovering something that doesn't matter," said Holden hopelessly. "And this is that!" "Nothing's impossible to public relations if you spend enough money," Cochrane assured him. "What's this useless triumph of his?" The jeep bounced over a small cliff and fell gently for half a second and rolled on. Babs beamed.
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