Shadowfires

the form, the clerk-"Call me Sam,” he'd
said, when he had shown them the shop's gun selection-excused himself and went to the north end of the room to assist a group of fishermen who had questions about several fly rods.
    The second clerk was with another customer at the south end of the
long room, carefully explaining the differences among types of
sleeping bags.
    Behind the counter, on a wall shelf, beside a large display of
cellophane-wrapped packages of beef jerky, stood a radio tuned to a
Los Angeles AM station. While Ben and Rachael had selected a shotgun
and ammunition, only pop music and commercials had issued from the
radio. But now the twelve-thirty news report was under way, and
suddenly Ben heard his own name, and Rachael's, coming over the airwaves.
    “… Shadway and Rachael Leben on a federal warrant. Mrs. Leben
is the wife of the wealthy entrepreneur Eric Leben, who was killed in
a traffic accident yesterday. According to a Justice Department
spokesman, Shadway and Mrs. Leben are wanted in connection with the
theft of highly sensitive, top-secret research files from several
Geneplan Corporation projects funded by the Department of Defense, as
well as for suspicion of murder in the case of two Palm Springs
police officers killed last night in a brutal machine-gun
attack.”
    Rachael heard it too. “That's crazy!”
    Putting one hand on her arm to quiet her, Ben glanced nervously at
the two clerks, who were still busy elsewhere in the store, talking
to other customers. The last thing Ben wanted was to draw their
attention to the news report. The clerk named Sam had already seen
Ben's driver's license before pulling a firearms information form
from the file. He knew Ben's name, and if he heard it on the radio, he was almost certain to react to it.
    Protestations of innocence would be of no use. Sam would call the
cops. He might even have a gun behind the counter, under the cash
register, and might try to use it to keep Ben and Rachael there until
the police arrived, and Ben did not want to have to take a gun away
from him and maybe hurt him in the process.
    “ Jarrod McClain, director of the Defense Security Agency, who
is coordinating the investigation and the manhunt for Shadway and
Mrs. Leben, issued a statement to the press in Washington within the
past hour, calling the case
'a matter of grave concern that can reasonably be described as a national security crisis.'
”
    Sam, over in the fishing-gear department, laughed at something a
customer said-and started back toward the cash register. One of the
fishermen was coming with him. They were talking animatedly, so if
the news report was registering with them, it was getting through, at
best, on only a subconscious level. But if they stopped talking
before the report concluded…
    “ Though asserting that Shadway and Mrs. Leben have seriously
damaged their country's security, neither McClain nor the Justice Department spokesman would specify the nature of the research being done by Geneplan for the Pentagon.” ”
    The two approaching men were twenty feet away, still discussing
the merits of various brands of fly rods and spinning reels.
    Rachael was staring at them apprehensively, and Ben bumped lightly
against her to distract her, lest her expression alert them to the
significance of the news on the radio.
    “… recombinant' DNA as Geneplan's sole business …”
    Sam rounded the end of the sales counter. The customer's course paralleled that of the clerk, and they continued talking across the yellow Formica as they approached Rachael and Ben.
    “ Photographs and descriptions of Benjamin Shadway and Rachael
Leben have gone out to all police agencies in California and most of
the Southwest, along with a federal advisory that the fugitives are
armed and dangerous.”
    Sam and the fisherman reached the cash register, where Ben turned
his attention back to the government form.
    The newscaster had moved on to another story.
    Ben was startled and delighted to hear Rachael launch smoothly
into a line of bubbly patter, engaging the
fisherman's attention. The guy was tall, burly, in his fifties, wearing a black T-shirt that exposed his beefy arms, both of which featured elaborate blue-and-red tattoos. Rachael professed to be simply fascinated by tattoos, and the angler, like most men, was flattered and pleased by the gushy attention of a beautiful young woman. Anyone listening to Rachael's
charming and slightly witless