among shadows... but one with shiny feral eyes.
He abruptly unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up.
Albert looked around. "Where are you going?"
"Cleveland," Bob said grumpily, and began to walk down the aisle toward the tail of the aircraft, still trying to track the source of that interior alarm bell.
13
Brian tore his eyes away from the sky - which was already showing signs of light again - long enough to take a quick glance first at the INS readout and then at the circle on his chart. They were approaching the far side of the circle now. If the time-rip was still here, they should see it soon. If they didn't, he supposed he would have to take over the controls and send them circling back for another pass at a slightly different altitude and on a slightly different heading. It would play hell on their fuel situation, which was already tight, but since the whole thing was probably hopeless anyway, it didn't matter very
"Brian?" Nick's voice was unsteady. "Brian? I think I see something."
14
Bob Jenkins reached the rear of the plane, made an about-face, and started slowly back up the aisle again, passing row after row of empty seats. He looked at the objects that lay in them and on the floor in front of them as he passed: purses... pairs of eyeglasses... wristwatches... a pocket-watch... two worn, crescent-shaped pieces of metal that were probably heel-taps... dental fillings... wedding rings...
Something is wrong.
Yes? Was that really so, or was it only his overworked mind nagging fiercely over nothing? The mental equivalent of a tired muscle which will not stop twitching?
Leave it, he advised himself, but he couldn't.
If something really is amiss, why can't you see it? Didn't you tell the boy that deduction is your meat and drink? Haven't you written forty mystery novels, and weren't a dozen of those actually quite good? Didn't Newgate Callender call The Sleeping Madonna "a masterpiece of logic" when he
Bob Jenkins came to a dead stop, his eyes widening. They fixed on a portside seat near the front of the cabin. In it, the man with the black beard was out cold again, snoring lustily. Inside Bob's head, the shy animal at last began to creep fearfully into the light. Only it wasn't small, as he had thought. That had been his mistake. Sometimes you couldn't see things because they were too small, but sometimes you ignored things because they were too big, too obvious.
The Sleeping Madonna.
The sleeping man.
He opened his mouth and tried to scream, but no sound came out. His throat was locked. Terror sat on his chest like an ape. He tried again to scream and managed no more than a breathless squeak.
Sleeping madonna, sleeping man.
They, the survivors, had all been asleep.
Now, with the exception of the bearded man, none of them were asleep.
Bob opened his mouth once more, tried once more to scream, and once more nothing came out.
15
"Holy Christ in the morning," Brian whispered.
The time-rip lay about ninety miles ahead, off to the starboard side of the 767's nose by no more than seven or eight degrees. If it had drifted, it had not drifted much; Brian's guess was that the slight differential was the result of a minor navigational error.
It was a lozenge-shaped hole in reality, but not a black void. It cycled with a dim pink-purple light, like the aurora borealis. Brian could see the stars beyond it, but they were also rippling. A wide white ribbon of vapor was slowly streaming either into or out of the shape which hung in the sky. It looked like some strange, ethereal highway.
We can follow it right in, Brian thought excitedly. It's better than an ILS beacon!
"We're in business!" he said, laughed idiotically, and shook his clenched fists in the air.
"It must be two miles across," Nick whispered. "My God, Brian, how many other planes do you suppose went through?"
"I don't know," Brian said, "but I'll bet you my gun and dog that we're the only one with a shot at getting back."
He opened the intercom.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we've found what we were looking for." His voice crackled with triumph and relief. "I don't know exactly what happens next, or how, or why, but we have sighted what appears to be an extremely large trapdoor in the sky. I'm going to take us straight through the middle of it. We'll find out what's on the other side together. Right now I'd like you all to fasten your