Almost midnight. If Tom hadn't spoken so often of the White Sands Air Force base, she never would have come in here, never found the little-used gate behind the barracks, where Captain Macomber would enter to avoid publicity, never have mentioned the right few words to the master sergeant at the gate-house. (If ever you need anything, darling, see Sergeant Reed. We were in Korea together.) Sergeant Reed had been reluctant at first, but then had understood....
She crouched behind the gate-house in darkness now and listened.
"But I tell you I'm Macomber!" the captain cried. "You've got to let me through. The ship's blasting off on automatic in a few minutes."
"Just show me your identification," Sergeant Reed said.
"I already—"
"Show it to me in the light where I can see it, Captain."
Jeanne ran down the runway that led past the little cement mounds of the observation turrets toward the needle-like shape which loomed up in the glare of a single floodlight. She had checked her wrist watch with Sergeant Reed's. Four minutes to midnight. Reed would delay Captain Macomber long enough. It was only a matter of minutes now. The sergeant would get a blistering chewing out, but could claim he'd only been doing what he thought was his duty.
He told me the spaceship worked automatically, the girl in the restaurant had said.
The spaceship's airlock was not secured. There was no reason to secure it. Jeanne found Macomber's pressure suit and with two handfuls of thumbs buckled it on herself. Footsteps pounded along the runway as she slammed the airlock door.
Seconds now. Less than seconds—