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Cody Custer returned their grimness with a polite tone. "Hi. This is the Thrush Limburger mobile broadcast van. Is there a problem?"
"Going to Nirvana West, sir?" one officer asked.
"That's right."
"We're warning all traffic going into the area that there is a chance this HELP plague is getting contagious."
"My boss will laugh at that. He says there's no such virus."
"It's our duty to warn you of the dangers of proceeding, sir. This is the only roadblock between here and Nirvana West."
"We'll go ahead."
"I'm sorry. I have to apprise every motorist individually of the risks involved. Health Department regs."
Now they are taking this too far, Custer thought. Aloud, he said, "My boss is in back, but he's broadcasting."
"We won't take but a minute of his time."
"Okay, go ahead and knock. But don't be surprised if you wind up explaining yourself on the air. Thrush loves this kind of weak-kneed stuff."
The California Highway Patrol officer touched the bill of his uniform cap, and two of them went around to the rear of the RV.
Custer watched them in his rearview mirror while the third officer watched him with unreadable eyes. Those eyes kept Custer from grinning noticeably. One of the cops had a ponytail tucked up under his cap. Only in California, he thought.
The two officers were not gone long. But they did get in. Custer could tell by the creaking of the RV springs, caused by the shifting of weight in back. Every time Thrush moved around, the springs complained.
Only one of the troopers came back. "You're all set."
"Did he give you a hard time?"
"No, sir. He was very cooperative."
"Guess he is in a good mood."
The sawhorses were set aside and Custer drove on.
The Tell the Truth mobile broadcast RV lumbered into Nirvana West like a red, white, and blue amphibious vehicle. The loudspeaker was blaring Fed Leppar, known to be Thrush Limburger's favorite rock band.
That was enough to get the attention of the swarm of press people who were jostling one another for the rapidly dwindling supply of lobster salad sandwiches being handed out at the food service truck. They were eating them as if it were the last food on earth.
The music stopped when the RV did. Behind the wheel, the driver popped the music cassette and inserted another.
Fanfare blared. Minicams were rushed to the site. A white limousine arrived and out squeezed Senator Ned J. Clancy, looking worried and working his asthma inhaler often. His aides, seeing this, pressed close in case he started to list.
And from the loudspeaker, came a hearty baritone.
"Ladies and Gentlemen. This is Thrush Limburger. I have promised that I would come and now I have. You have been yanked. That is, you have been deceived. I have brought you the truth, and it shall set you free."
The fanfare returned. It was brassy, triumphal, attention-getting.
And everyone who could, got around to the back of the RV where they expected Thrush Limburger to emerge. Those who had sandwiches brought them.
But the door did not open. His voice did not come again.
Behind the wheel, Cody Custer looked at his watch.
Someone shouted, "What's keeping him?"
"Probably in the john," Cody thought to himself. "But he picked a hell of a time for it." He turned on his radio. From the local station normally broadcasting The Thrush Limburger Show, there was only low static.
He cued up the announcement cassette again, louder this time, and leaned close to the radio speaker to see if Thrush's mike picked it up. It didn't.
They gave Thrush Limburger three more minutes, then someone walked up and knocked on the door.
There was no answer.
Finally, Cody Custer came out with the key to the door. He unlocked it, threw it open, and climbed in.
There was the miniature soundproof broadcasting booth. There was Limburger's microphone, his personal computer, his size fifty-seven coat draped over his big chair.
But there was no Thrush Limburger.
He was not in the john or in his sleeping cubicle or kitchenette.
He wasn't anywhere.
Cody Custer didn't have time to be shocked or frantic or anything. He poked his head out of the door and cameras clicked and mikes were thrust in his face.
"Thrush Limburger is missing!" he shouted. "Somebody call the police."
Pandemonium broke loose. Everyone wanted a shot at the empty microphone.
"I knew this would happen," a reporter crowed. "That bag of wind finally broke open and nothing came out."
There was a scramble for cellular phones.
From under his coat, Senator Ned J. Clancy pulled one of his own. It had been hanging from a hook sewn into the double-strength lining of his coat. He spoke in low careful phrases. When he was finished, he restored the unit to its hook, exactly where a pistol would be hidden in a shoulder holster.
"I have an important announcement to make," he bellowed.
"Senator Clancy has an announcement," repeated his chief aide.
"Senator Clancy is giving a press conference right now," added another.
The word spread fast. It passed from mouth to mouth.