Watcher At The Well - Echoes Of The Well Of Souls Part 3

Lori thought, but didn't dare say, that the younger man looked almost like the generic poster of a Latin American revolutionary.

Francisco introduced them around, and the younger man nodded to each in turn, giving each of the news team a pen-etrating stare, as if he were trying to memorize every detail he could see about them.

Finally he said, in a voice both deeper and more gruff than his father's as well as more heavily accented, "All right. We go."

Terry gave Lori a sudden look that was understood al-most instantly; this wasn't their guide but their keeper, and no matter what kind of b.a.s.t.a.r.d he was, he was in charge.

They walked around the very large hacienda toward some large outbuildings in the rear, and almost instantly they could see where the crew had set up. A small area against a nondescript green-painted barn was being test lit by some very bright portable lights, and a generator rum-bled to give the whole thing power. Gus was happy to see that they'd brought his gear around, and the crew, almost all Brazilians, had already unpacked some of it and set up for the spot.

Terry looked around in the darkness. "Too bad we couldn't get a better backdrop," she commented.

"This could just as well be Macon County with that barn."

"No photographs of the ranch," Juan Campos growled. "Your plane or this barn only."

She shrugged. "Too bad. John will have to carry the re-moteness with his personality."

The reporter chuckled, but then he turned to Juan Cam-pos to get the other ground rules straight. "What do you want me to say about where we are?" he asked. "Just that we're on a remote airstrip well inside the jungle, or can I say more?"

"You may mention my father and his hospitality," the man in green responded. "In fact, we want you to do so. But do not mention me or what you have seen here."

"Fair enough. Uh-for the record, what does your father officially grow and export from here?"

"Bananas," Juan Campos responded flatly. Terry rolled her eyes, and Lori had a hard time not laughing in spite of the danger. It was all too, well,comic book, real as it might be.

"Doc, you and John stand over there against the barn," Terry instructed. "We want to play with the lighting, and Gus wants a camera test. We'll have to adjust to get rid of some of the shadows. John, I'm going to talk to base and see what they want and when."

They were already getting bitten by all sorts of small insects-a medical crew had met them at the airport in Manaus and had filled them with shots, but in spite of that and liberal doses of industrial-strength bug repellent on the plane, Lori was still not sure what was biting her or how hard it would be to look into a camera and not keep scratching and swatting. Thoughts of a.s.sa.s.sin bugs and malaria mosquitoes came to her unbidden. Once in the lights, though, the little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds seemed to gang up in swarms. It was going to be a very tough few minutes with those lights on.

Almost as surreal was the little Brazilian man with the pancake and small kit of makeup who actually came in and touched both of them up while Gus took his own sweet time doing his tests and also rearranging the lighting. Fi-nally the main lights went off, leaving them with enough electric light to see but still giving an almost eerie sense of darkness after that brightness.

"Can't do with available light and get a decent shot here," Gus told them, "but I think we can manage with just the one portable light there."

He seemed oblivious to the bugs. "Aren't you getting eaten alive, Gus?" Lori asked him. "How can you keep that steady?"

"Aw, shucks, this ain't no worse than a Minnesota lakes summer," he responded casually. "Up there the bugs got to get in all their eating in a real short time. You catch 'skeeters in little teeny bear traps."

"Yeah. Sure." She remembered an old boyfriend once saying that anybody who started something with the words "Aw, shucks" should be closely watched and never totally trusted. Gus wanted everybody to think of him as just a country hick from the Minnesota backwoods, but this was a man who made a living as a free-lance cameraman for foreign correspondents. She couldn't help but wonder what that country hick act concealed. Perhaps he was the type of person n.o.body couldever really know.

It was amusing to watch Maklovitch at work. He'd stand there with his scribbled notes, lights on, camera running, and go through the shorthand script several times, often stopping and looking disgusted and then starting all over again. Occasionally he'd examine himself in the tiny mon-itor and call for somebody to adjust his hair or put a little makeup here or there, and then he'd also go back and forth with someone on the microphone as if he were on the tele-phone. It was a moment before she realized that hewas sort of on the telephone; he had an earpiece connected to the large apparatus beneath the satellite dish just beyond and was clearly in direct communication with Atlanta.

Suddenly he looked around. "Doctor Sutton!" he called.

"Yes?"

"Get over here! We want to introduce you and go over the initial spot."

She hurried over, suddenly as self-conscious of her ap-pearance as Maklovitch was of his, but it was too late to do much about it.

Terry came up to her and handed her an earpiece similar to the reporter's. She stuck it in her ear. A small micro-phone was clipped to the front of her blouse.

"h.e.l.lo? Doctor Sutton? You reading us?" a man's voice came to her.

She was suddenly panicked, unsure of how to reply.

Maklovitch was an old hand at this sort of thing and said, "Just talk. That little mike you have on will pick you up. Just use a normal tone. It's pretty sensitive."

"Uh-yes, I hear you fine," she responded, feeling sud-den panic and stage fright.

"All right. We'll be coming to your location after the next commercial spot."

"That can take twenty minutes," Maklovitch commented dryly. Then he said to her, "It's going to be easy. Just relax, I'll make some introductory remarks, introduce you, then ask you the same kind of questions we've asked all along. They might have a few extra questions as well, but don't expect anything complex or anything you might not be ready for. This isn't brain surgery, and the audience aren't physicists. Okay?"

She nodded nervously. Up until now this was the one thing she'd thought the least about; now, oddly, it was the thing that was making her the most nervous, and she tried desperately to calm down.

"All I want to do is not make a fool of myself," she told him honestly.

"Don't worry. You'll do fine. The one problem is the au-dio. You'll be hearing two channels at once sometimes- the director or supervising producer in Atlanta and the anchors. Just don't let it confuse you."

The next few minutes were something of a blur, but all thoughts of the discomfort, the lights, the bugs, and the heat and humidity faded. She remembered being asked, "Is there any danger that this asteroid is large enough to cause worldwide problems?" and answering reflexively.

"If you mean the sort of thing that wiped out the dino-saurs, a nuclear winter, no," she told them. "At least not from the figures I've seen so far. Wedid have a near miss with an asteroid that might have done us in a few years back, but this isn't in that league. Still, it is a very large ob-ject, relatively speaking, and there will be some very nasty aftereffects. We might well have some global cooling for a period of years, much as if a couple of very big volcanoes erupted at the same time, and, depending on the upper-level winds here, an even more dramatic effect on the South American and possibly African continents for some time. It will be impossible to say anything for sure until we see it hit."

"Then we don't have to find a survivalist with a fallout shelter," one of the distant anchors said jokingly.

"No. Although if you're living in the western Amazon basin and know somebody with one, it might not be a bad idea," she responded.

There was more of that sort of question and answer, but considering she wasn't even going on current data, there was, she reflected, nothing she could say that any nonsci-entist might not have said from somewhere in the States.

Still, when the light went down and somebody, probably Terry, said, "Okay, that's enough for now,"

Lori felt almost stunned, not quite remembering what had gone on. Almost everything-their questions, her replies, even her annoy-ances-seemed distant and unfocused, beyond remembering clearly. She was suddenly afraid that she'd just made an ab-solute fool of herself on national television.

Terry came up to her and asked, "Well, what do you think about the new data?"

"Huh? Oh-sorry. It's all something of a blur. New data?"

"Yeah. Impact point ninety kilometers west southwest of here in-" She looked at her watch. "-about three hours, give or take."

"They're that certain? There are so many variables . .."

"NORAD's computers are pretty good these days, I hear, since they got into such hot water over m.u.f.fing even thecontinent Skylab was gonna hit some years back. If this as-teroid hadn't gone into unstable low Earth orbit, they might be guessing still, but it's deteriorating now right on sched-ule. They fed in the wobble and decay characteristics, and their computers came up with the predicted ma.s.s, and that was the missing element. They say they're ninety-plus per-cent sure. Didn't you hearanything !"

"I-Iheard it, but it just didn't register. I guess I was just too nervous."

The producer grinned. "You did fine. Look, we'll keep getting data for the next hour or so, and if this prediction continues to hold, we'll do one more standup and then it's off to the plane. Take it easy, relax.

Don Francisco's men brought out some sandwiches and drinks. Take the coffee, go easy on the beer, and don't touch that sangria-it's like a hundred and fifty proof."

She looked over at the small but elegant-looking spread. "I see Gus isn't taking your advice on the sangria," she noted.

"Aw! He's a cameraman. He has a reputation to uphold."

Lori was much too excited and nervous at that point to think about putting anything in her stomach, so she wan-dered over to where the technicians were monitoring the steady satellite feed and listened to the program.

It appeared that there would be no fewer than a dozen instrument-laden airplanes aloft at rockfall, after all, al-though Lori's group would be the on-site news pool. If nothing else, this would be the most covered impact in his-tory, witnessed and monitored by more people around the world than any other.

And even though they would have a ringside seat, the best view would be from the big tracking telescopes in Chile, which could lock on to the meteor while it was still coming in. She only prayed this wouldn't be another one of those overhyped duds astronomical sci-ence was famous for. If the thingdid break up as it entered the atmosphere, or if the resistance was stronger and the an-gle less steep than projected, it might be nothing more than an anticlimatic meteor shower with very little reaching the ground. Still, this rock was so large thatsomething would hit, and it would be bigger than a baseball, that was for sure.

If it did hit with real force, it would be very dangerous, but then they'd be in the perfect position to view the im-pact. The newspeople were concerned only with their pic-tures and an event opportunity which allowed them to build audience and sell diet plans and commemorative plates and such via commercials; she wanted to be in the neighbor-hood when a big one hit and see it just afterward. It was the chance of a lifetime.

Terry was preoccupied with her clipboard, which was constantly being updated to the point where it resembled the tracks of drunken worms more than a comprehensible schedule, listening to cues and the remote director's queries and commands from the tiny transceiver she wore like a hearing aid in her left ear. Oblivious to anything beyond the moment, she was startled to the point of near shock when somebody grabbed her rump and squeezed.

"Howdare you!" she spit, whirling around, only to see the leering grin of Juan Campos. He was obviously high, possibly from drink-he smelled like it, anyway-but also, possibly, from something more. "You touch me again and I will grab your b.a.l.l.s and twist them off!" she snapped in Spanish.

He just grinned and gave a low chuckle. "Spirit. I like a pretty girl with s.p.u.n.k."

"You are a pig!" she snapped. "Would you dishonor your father's hospitality in his own home?"

"My father is an old man," Juan Campos responded. "In his time he did as much and more, but now he remembers himself only as a gentleman. He sits here in his palace and acts thepatron, Eton Francisco, the great benefactor of his people. It is I who now make it all possible, not him."

"Shall we tell him that? He is not far."

Campos stiffened. "You will notapproach my father!"

"Then we will approach him together and ask him what he thinks of his son's behavior to his guest!" She started to-ward the house, and he suddenly reached out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her violently back.

High or not, there was a homicidal, lunatic look in his eyes and manner, the kind of dark malevolence that would give anyone chills.

"All right, b.i.t.c.h! For now! But you will not always be in this place and so-protected.You forget where you are and how long a journey you have to get anywhere else!"

And with that, he faded back into the shadows.

Terry put on a good, tough front, and shewas tough after all she'd been through in her job, but she was badly shaken by the encounter. It was a sudden mental free-fall back to Earth, a reminder of just how dangerous this place and these people were and how vulnerable she and her people were, too.

She hoped that one of those d.a.m.ned meteors would strike the b.a.s.t.a.r.d or perhaps wipe out this whole sordid place, but she knew that there would be no such luck. Her father's caution years ago, when she'd first gone out on her own, floated back to her. "Always remember that G.o.d reigns in heaven," he'd told her, "but Satan rules the Earth."

Perhaps, she thought sourly, she'd seen so much of the latter's evil, she just took it for granted.

John Maklovitch came over to her. "We've got one quick standup in five minutes, then we'd better get to the plane," he told her. "It's coming in." He was suddenly aware that she was hardly listening.

"Something wrong?"

"The pig of a son just made a move on me and threat-ened me," she told him.

The newsman nodded. "I figured as much. Think you can handle him?"

"Alone? Sure. I've got a black belt, remember? But against him and some cronies with their big guns-well, I'm not so sure. Besides, what would the old man do if I broke his son's neck? We've got to getout of here, you know."

He thought a moment. "Maybe, but I'll report it in to the studio so they'll know to check up if something happens af-ter the story. n.o.body is dumb enough to do anything until we're breaking down. Tell you what . . . You remember the ma.s.sacre in Chad? Why don't we just try the same gim-mick? I'll have sound rig a trigger switch on the remote mike for me. Stick close to me, and if he pulls anything, at least he'll be broadcasting it back to the studio. You can imagine what the old man would be like if he heard that on his satellite TV!"

She gave him a weak smile. "Thanks, John. Let's get this show on the road!"

He hesitated a moment. "What about the doc? Think she'll get the same treatment?"

"I dunno. Maybe. She's kinda old and frumpy for Juan, but some of these other guys-you haven't seen many women around here." She sighed. "We'llall stick close."

The second spot went smoothly, and then everybody started to move fast. Gus and an a.s.sistant from the Brazilian network gathered their material and headed for the front of the big house; the sound man, also Brazilian, stuck with the newsman and the two women, his portable pack ener-gized. Neither Maklovitch nor Terry said anything about Juan to Lori; no sense in alarming her unnecessarily and then possibly having to spill the backup plans where other ears could hear.

"We'll be on almost continuously from about five or ten minutes before anything shows up right through the strike and aftermath," the newsman warned the scientist. "Just comment on what you see and don't worry about what's going out. Just remember to watch your language."

"I'll try," she a.s.sured him. "I'm getting used to it now. I think once I'm away from this place, well, it'll be more relaxing."

"I know what you mean. We have to return and drop off the backup tape and the like for uplink, but we'll have to play it by ear from that point. If the main body hits any-where within 150 or so miles of here, as it's supposed to, we'll probably have to use Don Francisco's helicopter to get in close. I, for one, want to see it close up after it hits if conditions permit and before the military and scientific teams get in and start blocking everything off. Still, if the thing looks like a nuclear blast, it might be too dangerous."

"It still depends on how much burns away and whether it fragments," Lori told him. "But if it's a good size, it's going to be a very nasty sight."

They took the station wagon back to the plane with guards and the technical crew riding in a truck behind. The pilot and copilot were there, looking a little uncomfortable and anxious to be off, but they helped the crew stow its gear.

"Wait a minute and let me and Hector here check the re-mote exterior cameras," Gus asked them. He and his Brazil-ian a.s.sociate climbed aboard, and in a couple of minutes Gus stuck his head back out and said, "Come on in! Gonna be kinda crowded, though."

Terry walked up to the plane and went inside and saw immediately what Gus meant.

Sitting in the last row were Juan Campos and a big smelly bodyguard.

Campos grinned when he saw Terry. "Come in, come in! We are all one big happy family here, no?'?

It was fifty-nine minutes to rockfall.

The Beach at Ipanema, Before Sunrise

IT WAS NEARLY DESERTED BEFORE DAWN, THIS BEACH THAT WASfamous in song and story but would, before the morning was run, be crowded almost to bursting with bodies craving the sun and wind and waves. He liked the waves, the warm bodies wearing nothing or nearly so, the fun and generallife of it all, and he came here often to watch, often enter-tained most by the reactions of puritanical American tour-ists seeing their first nude and topless bathers in what was basically an urban resort, but he liked this time, too, when he could still hear the waves, smell the salt air, and see that, indeed, there was sand on the beach.

The homeless, particularly the bands of pitiful, roving children, were also pretty much absent now, huddled away in corrugated cartons, abandoned buildings, and other hide-aways, away from those who might prey even on them. Also absent for the moment were the hustlers, con men, pickpockets and petty thieves who roamed the area near the beach.

Not that he was alone, nor did he particularly want to be. Here and there, walking along the waves, barely visible in the beginnings of false dawn, were occasional couples and a determined jogger, and, up on the walk, a big man in a colorful shirt was either walking two enormous dogs on leashes or they were walking him. In the small cafes within sight of the beach there was already activity as they pre-pared for the morning onslaught of tourists and urban es-capees, and as always in Brazil, the overpowering aroma of brewing coffee was beyond even the abilities of the morn-ing breezes to completely dissipate.

This, in fact, was his favorite period of any year or season, when he was not working, and had nowhere to go, and could just walk around and enjoy the sights, sounds, smells, and, yes, people.

That would surprise those who'd known him over the long course of his life or even the few who currently knew him more than casually. He liked people; he genuinely liked them, else he'd never be here and certainly wouldn't be stuck in this rut. He just couldn't, wouldn't getclose to in-dividual people, not if he could help it. No matter how good or how wonderful or fascinating they were, they had a fatal flaw, all of them, that would eventually break his heart.

People grew old. Peopledied.

That was why he particularly relished times like this. A few weeks in a town far from his normal haunts, an anon-ymous stranger to everybody he might meet. And they in turn were here temporarily from, usually, very mundane pursuits, here to have a good time and be convivial and then go home.