18
At the sound of her name, she started back, a look of shock on her face, but still held the gun to his head. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m the man who’s looking for you.”
“Well, you found me, and you’re gonna be sorry you did, a*shole.”
“No, you found me.”
“You think I’m going to put up with you beating my horse?”
“I was sure you wouldn’t. That was the point.”
“Mister, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but you just made the biggest mistake of your life.”
Ford could feel the muzzle digging hard into his skull. He said, calmly, “Did you actually see me beating your horse?”
“I sure as hell did.”
“Really? Think back to exactly what you saw.”
A long silence—and then understanding dawned on her face. “Ah. I get it. You flushed me out with an act.”
“Exactly.”
“All that yelling was still abuse. You totally freaked Redbone out. I think that sucks. I think you suck.”
“I’m extremely sorry, I truly am. But he’s a working ranch horse, and he’s seen and heard plenty of rough stuff. He’ll get over it. Especially when you go out there and comfort him.”
She was silent for a long moment and then asked, “Are you armed?”
“Yes.”
Keeping the gun on him, she said, “Where is it?”
He gestured with his chin at his back. She felt around, pulled out Ford’s .45, and stuffed it in her day pack.
“Any other weapons?”
“A camping knife.”
“Where?”
“Right side, on the belt.”
She took that, too, and then sat back, more relaxed now but still keeping the gun trained on him. “Cell phone?”
“Yes.”
“Give it to me.”
Ford passed over his iPhone. She took it and stepped outside the tent. He winced as she dropped it on a flat rock and stomped all over it with her massive hiking boots, leaving it a pancaked ruin. She came back in. “Any other electronics? GPS, iPad? Any communication devices?”
“Nothing.”
“Get out of the tent.”
Ford exited the tent. She stood in shorts and a tank top, despite the cold air, revolver still trained on him, obviously thinking about what to do with him. He took the opportunity to observe her. She was, as they had said, a remarkably beautiful woman, lithe and fit, her long brown limbs smooth and well-muscled. Her blond hair fell down her back in a thick, loose braid. Her eyes were an intense dark blue, almost navy, but there was something awkward and even immature about her. Perhaps it was the funny gap between her two front teeth, which, in an odd way, made her even more appealing.
“I’m going to search you,” she said.
Ford held out his arms. “Be my guest.”
She searched through his bag first, then started on his body, her hands thoroughly exploring every pocket and seam. Then she stood back.
“Okay,” she said, “I congratulate you on finding me. Clever ploy. But it was a waste of time. I’m going to say hello to Redbone and calm him down from your stupid antics. And then I’m going to disappear back into the mountains and you’ll have to tell whoever sent you that I got the jump on you, took away your gun and phone, and sent you packing like the loser you are.” She laughed. “Understood?”
“You might want to at least find out who sent me.”
She ignored that. He watched her walk down to the horse. She untied him and spent some time talking to him, stroking his neck, calming him down. It was clear from their reunion that the horse remembered her, even after nine years. His ears perked up and he frisked about like a colt again. Ford watched as she looped the cotton lead rope into a pair of hobbles and put them on his front feet, discarding the stake rope. She came back over.
“How is he?” Ford asked.
“A lot better, no thanks to you. There’s not much grass up here, so he’s going to need to graze free all night long. I hobbled him so you can catch him in the morning.” A long silence. “So who do you work for?”
“The president.”
Her eyebrows went up. “The president? Of the United States? That jackass sent you to get me?”
“Yes.”
“It’s that bad?”
“Yes.”
“To hell with him. I don’t like him. Thinks the U.S. is the world’s policeman. I’m sick of it.”
“That’s totally beside the point, and you know it.” He paused. “Why’d you run?”
A hostile silence.
“What do you have against cell phones and GPS units?”
Again silence.
“What did you do with the Dorothy program?”
At this she frowned. “Enough questions. I’m outta here. You can tell Mr. President and everyone else to go screw themselves.” She pivoted and started to walk away.
“Everyone? How about Jack Stein’s mother? You want me to tell her that?”
She froze. The muscles of her back twitched, and her bare shoulders flushed deep red. She turned slowly and faced him. “How dare you say something like that to me?”
“How dare you. Jack stayed at his post until the end—while you ran. Ran out of the building, ran into the mountains. NASA needs answers. Jack’s family deserves answers. You’ve got the answers.”
“NASA doesn’t want answers from me. They want a scapegoat.”
“All they want to do is talk to you.”
“Bullshit. They had a cop at my door in the hospital.”
Ford swallowed. “They’re not going to blame you if you help them find the answers. And if you don’t? They will blame you. The person who runs is inevitably made into the scapegoat.”
“I have my reasons for being here.”
“This is a lot bigger than you and your problems. You created the Dorothy program. You understand it. You owe it to everyone to help figure out what happened. And if you have it, to return the program to NASA.”
A long silence stretched on. She suddenly bowed her head, and her shoulders began to tremble. Ford realized she was making a huge effort not to cry.
“You owe it to Jack Stein,” Ford said, pushing his advantage.
“Stop it,” she said, her voice muffled. “It wasn’t my fault. Just stop it.”
“I know it wasn’t your fault. But if you don’t help them, they will blame you. That’s human nature. You wrote the software.”
“No … no, I didn’t write it…”
“Who did, if not you?”
“Dorothy … it was self-modifying software. Truth is, no one has much of an idea how that software works.”
Silence. She began to cry. Ford felt bad. After that tough-gal act, she’d turned out to be unexpectedly vulnerable.
“I’m sorry, but you have a responsibility now to make things right.”
“I … I can’t go back. I just can’t.”
“Why not?”
A choking hiccup. “You just don’t understand.”
“Help me then.”
“I’m being … threatened.”
Ford covered up his surprise. “Threatened? Who’s threatening you?”
Another gasp. “Dorothy.”