"Because one came to me. He asked me if I was a pilot. There are only two of us on board, and you're senior to me." He shrugged.

There was a long silence. "Utter nonsense," the commander said at last. "Some fool's idea of a prank, no doubt."

More silence.

"Don't you think so?" Albright asked, rather nervously, Caan thought.

"No," he said quietly. "I didn't think it was a prank."

The two cups of coffee grew cold, untouched, in front of them.

"You did throw that stinking stuff away, didn't you?" the commander asked with a smile.

Caan shook his head. "Did you?"

"Of course," Albright said indignantly. His voice growing louder, he added, "If you think that I'm going to let some punk threaten Arlington Mills Albright for one minute—"

"I didn't think anything, sir." His headache was throbbing again. He rubbed his temples with his fingertips.

"It stands to reason you'd keep yours," Albright said, rising jerkily. "Probably tied around your neck along with a rabbit's foot for good measure. Your people have always been superstitious."

Caan looked up, his face expressionless. "Does that go with being pushy, stingy, dirty, and unfit for membership in your country club? Sir?"

"You insubordinate little Jew," Albright said with contempt, and walked out.

Caan sighed. He put his wet slicker back on and headed out into the rain.

* * *

"Jesus Christ, will you look at that!" Someone near Caan was pointing toward the western sky.

"Gotta be a twister," someone else confirmed.

"Nah, twister's got a tail on it. Or sompin'. They ain't no tail on that thing."

"But it's moving."

It's moving this way, Caan thought.

"Wait a second. Let's have a look-see through these glasses," one of the men said, raising a pair of binoculars. He lowered them again, slowly.