Free Saucer: Savage Planet by Stephen Coonts Page B

representatives were facing a tidal wave of unprecedented proportions. Their political careers were on the line. Deliver or else. Well, if their political careers were on the line, so was the president’s. He would get nothing from a Congress fighting for political survival.
    P. J. O’Reilly stepped in and tried to suavely tell the assembled delegation that the government had not mined the Roswell saucer’s computers and didn’t know any drug formulas. He was shouted down.
    “If we didn’t, we should have. What are we going to tell the public? That the U.S. government is incompetent?”
    “Why not?” the president muttered. The elected ones said that all the time, twenty times a day. Out loud, so they could all hear, he said, “The fact is the Roswell saucer was put under lock and key in Area Fifty-one because the Truman administration was afraid the public would react badly to flying saucers and aliens from space. Subsequent administrations didn’t even know the damn thing was out there in that desert, and even if they had, they wouldn’t have had the guts to tell the public flying saucers were real. It was the Cold War, for God’s sake—the American people had their plates full confronting Communism and worrying about nuclear war.”
    “Be that as it may,” the Speaker of the House said, “the public believes in flying saucers now, and the people want the benefits of saucer technology. All of them. Cures for diseases, enhancement of human life, all of that.”
    “All,” echoed the president.
    “The electorate will not be denied. If this administration and this Congress can’t or won’t deliver, they’ll elect a president and Congress that can. It’s that simple.”
    “If they are willing to wait for the next election,” the Senate minority leader said ominously. “From the tone of the messages my office is getting, they might not be willing to wait anywhere near that long. They want it now !”
    The delegation left shortly thereafter. Despite the lateness of the hour, each and every one of the senators and congressmen and women in attendance held a press conference on the sidewalk in front of the White House. The president watched some of the circus on television. They had told the president, they said. They had delivered the messages from their constituents.
    “This is one of those seminal events that will change people’s political affiliations for generations,” O’Reilly said. “Like the Great Depression. If we don’t act, the foundations of America will crack like a rotten egg. But if we play this right”—he rubbed his hands and grinned—“we’ll take all the marbles.”
    The president had rarely seen O’Reilly grin, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He felt for his Rolaids bottle. “We’ll go to Missouri in the morning,” he said. “Tell them to get Air Force One ready.”
    “Should I have the press secretary make an announcement?”
    “Hell, no. Let’s keep it quiet, like we were going to Baghdad. We don’t want this to turn into a media feeding frenzy.”
    O’Reilly merely raised his eyebrows. The president still didn’t get it, he decided. The poor devil.
    *   *   *
    Egg Cantrell was up before dawn making coffee. He hadn’t slept more than an hour. He turned on the kitchen television … and was astounded to see a picture of his farmhouse.
    Egg looked out the unbroken kitchen window and saw the lights from the TV trucks and news sets. Not one, but three … four … five. Five sets of lights, and cameras, and satellite trucks. He went to the living room and saw another light setup.
    The farm was under siege.
    Egg raced around ensuring the doors were locked. He put the telephone back on its cradle, then picked it up. Got a dial tone. Called 911.
    When the dispatcher picked up, Egg started talking. He gave his name and address. “My property has been invaded by news crews. I need the sheriff, as soon as possible. I’m willing to file trespass