The Visitor

by Brent Ayscough

  “What have you been smoking, Richard?” the director joked. “Nothing can go seventeen-thousand miles an hour in the atmosphere.”

  “I know it seems like a mistake, but we have it recorded by NORAD and then by all of our systems and two satellites. The speed is confirmed. It had a radar signature when accelerating. But then, when its engine shut off, as it had no radar signature. We were only able to follow it visually via our satellite, which was very compromised. It landed at night, and then clouds came in and covered the area, preventing visual tracking. By the time the sun rose, and the cloud cover thinned, the craft was nowhere to be seen.”

  The director was still just getting started for the day. He frowned. “This occurred yesterday and I’m only now being informed?”

  “Well, you see, the notification came from NORAD, and it seems that this is the first time since Homeland Security was established that NORAD has had cause to notify Homeland Security. And, when the report was made, our own staff did not at once consider it important enough to notify you on the golf course on a Sunday that a UFO was identified leaving the United States, as opposed to entering it. Frankly, it seems that some of the staff doubted the validity of the report. We just don’t get UFO’s like that. So it was passed on to me last night, and I thought this morning was soon enough.”

  The director pursed his lips, leaned forward, and rested his forearms on his desk. “Go on. More details.”

  “It was first detected on radar entering the atmosphere, apparently gliding down, from one-hundred-fifty-seven-thousand feet above White Sands. As it was gliding, it gave off a reduced heat signature. We don’t know how high it started from. It was first seen visually seen at fifty-eight-thousand feet by our F-22 Air Force pilot. He did not have cameras on his plane, only radar. He described it as a black, stealth-shaped aircraft, twenty-five feet in length, gliding down into the atmosphere in the direction of the jet stream winds. It had a shape similar to one of those NASA lifting bodies, which glide well without long wings, and are not super-streamlined like a hypersonic rocket. Our pilot said he could see the pilot, who was, surprisingly, a red-haired female without any helmet or oxygen mask.”

  “Russian?” Houser asked.

  “I contacted Russia to see if it was a Russian test vehicle, or if they knew anything about it, or would admit to it. I was told no, and they confided that Russia had also tracked the craft at their Armavir Radar Station which tracks incoming missiles to their west. Anyway, why would Russia test something over the US, rather than off in northeast Siberia, where it would be hard for us to detect? To do it over the US would be a very serious provocation. I rule out Russia.”

  “You say it sped to seventeen-thousand miles per hour while still in the atmosphere?” Houser asked, unable to believe what he’d been told. “Are you sure about that?”

  “That’s the bombshell. It achieved that speed while still in the atmosphere. Anything we have, or know of, would have been incinerated at those low altitudes and that speed. Also, it did not accelerate faster than seventeen-thousand miles per hour once it left the atmosphere, as you would expect it to. It just went to seventeen-thousand miles an hour as though the atmosphere had no effect on it.”

  “Any clues?”

  “Nope. It’s a mystery. I have spoken to our F-22 pilot, and he has no additional information to offer. I’m having an FBI criminal sketch artist make up a drawing of the pilot’s face, but our pilot was looking through his face shield, through his canopy, and through the canopy of the mystery craft. So his view was compromised as to minor details.

  “One theory is that it is a privately made craft sent over to us to us as a warning that whoever made it can reach such speeds with a bomb--even a small, dirty bomb. And since it can go so fast, it could be launched from a ship or even the ground in nearly any country and reach us at low altitudes, for which we are not prepared. We have nothing that could intercept it and knock it out. It could be a warning from someone with a future extortion threat, possibly to release some Muslim prisoners or something like that. Maybe some lunatic with Arab oil financial resources sufficient to have such a craft built.”

  “Do you think that whoever sent it will want to request ransom?”

  “That seems hard to believe,” Ralls said. “Catching the group that would collect a monetary ransom would be all too easy, and they could most likely never get away with it. More likely, it’s something else, but I’m not sure what. Maybe a release of prisoners, or maybe pulling out of some country or military base we have somewhere.”

  Director Houser shook his head and sighed. “Putting in a young woman with no headgear, instead of, say, a regular pilot or a robotic pilot must have been to make some kind of statement. I can’t imagine a Muslim nation doing that, since they won’t even let women drive cars. It would be an insult to the Koran, or so many of them would think.”

  Ralls nodded. “Good point.”

  “Do you have any idea at all where the craft might have come from?”

  “None whatsoever. One remote possibility is that it might have come from one of those crazies with their homebuilt rockets, trying to show off. But the person did not claim any glory, and she could have made it a media event if she wanted to. Or it could possibly even be some disgruntled engineer who wants to get even with the US, or someone in it, and wanted to show what he knows and we don’t. But we have no knowledge of anyone who can build anything like that.”

  “We can’t let anything with that much intercontinental travel capability and tremendous speed go unhampered,” Houser argued. “This is especially true since we don’t know who built it. Someone could send over a nuclear bomb, even a small dirty bomb, and hit a target city here before we could knock it down. The very purpose of the SCUD missile test over White Sands is to stop such a missile if one was tracked coming in to our territory from a relatively nearby launching station, such as a ship near us or a territory nearby or one of our protectorates. Where do the satellites show where it landed?”

  “The exact coordinates have been plotted by satellites,” Ralls said. “So we can determine where it landed by GPS satellites.”

  “I want you to go over to where it landed and check it out. Maybe there’s a hanger around somewhere or some evidence as to what happened to it.” Houser turned to the monitor on his desk and typed in an inquiry. “We have a military base in Lodz, Poland. I’ll see if I can get you a special military aircraft today to get there so you won’t have to go through commercial flights with several plane changes to get to Poland. You can pack a weapon that way, in case you need it. I’ll arrange a military chopper there and a few soldiers to help look for that craft, whatever or wherever it is. I’ll get my contact at the National Security Council to make the calls to arrange things and put you in touch with the CIA. I want you to leave today if you can, so no more time lapses to let whoever flew that craft hide it.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The Dalai Lama concluded His speech at the University of California at Long Beach with:

  “For as long as space endures,

  And for as long as living beings remain,

  Until then, may I too abide,

  To dispel the misery of the world.”

  “How perfect!” a beautiful East Indian woman in the audience blurted out, although not very loud.

  She produced a handkerchief from her purse and touched the underside of her eyes, which were moistened by the experience.

  The young man sitting next to her glanced her way. “Yes, He’s fantastic. This is my first experience.”

  Feeling comfortable with this man who shared a common interest, she asked, “Would you be like to come to our conference group meeting in an hour, the Followers of His Holiness? It’s being held in conjunction with a chapter of the Students for a Free Tibet.”

  “Could I?” the young man asked, uncomfortable at intruding.

  “Anyone interested may come. You may come with me as my guest, if you feel uncomfortable going alone. There will be se
veral speakers who are very knowledgeable about His teachings.”

  “Great! Is it nearby?”

  “Yes, it is right here on this campus. You may follow me if you like. It’s only a ten minute walk.”

  The two of them worked their way through the crowd of seven hundred leaving the meeting hall. Just outside, the noise of the jabbering throng subsided, so she looked at him and introduced herself. “I’m Shanta Laxshimi.”

  He was able to better see her attire outside. It was foreign to him and so exotic. She looked East Indian, early thirties, and extraordinarily attractive. Her beauty was enhanced by a magnificent sari which she wore so very well. It was of maroon and gold material. Her mid-section was left bare in the traditional sari fashion, and she was without stomach fat. She wore a thin gold chain around her bare waist and another on her ankle.

  She looked at him, waiting for his name and, finally, he realized that he was staring at her without talking. “Oh, sorry--I’m Andrew Saunders.” He paused, clumsily, and then added, “Ah--actually, if you would rather ride than walk, my car is here.”

  “Why, yes. But there’s no parking here or near the next place. We have to walk.”

  He looked up toward the street, a signal to his driver. In the dark, people were walking to their cars, some a considerable distance away. Double parked, with an attendant driver, was a shiny black Mercedes sedan. And, seeing Andrew, the driver turned on the lights and drove forward. A chauffeur in black exited smartly and opened a door.

  “Wow!” Shanta was awestruck. “Is this yours?”

  “It’s either a company car or Roger rented it,” Andrew said, gesturing at the driver. “Just tell Roger where.”

  The meeting of the Followers was held at a smaller conference room on the university campus. The group’s volunteer organizer was Warren McLaughlin, who had been instrumental in inviting His Holiness to UCLA Long Beach and had sent a newsletter to the Followers as well as the Students for a Free Tibet, who now congregated at the meeting, following His Holiness’s speech. Andrew was handed a newsletter at the door, which contained words of wisdom imparted by His Holiness, along with news of current events in Tibet. Within a short while, over two hundred people had come in, chatting and discussing what they had heard.

  McLaughlin took the podium, which brought about a respectful silence as people stopped talking. “For those of you who are newcomers, I usually give a short update on what is happening in the land where His Holiness belongs and from which he has been exiled. In Tibet, atrocities continue. World news ignores this. More than six thousand monasteries and their contents, irreplaceable jewels of Tibetan culture, have been destroyed by the demonic communist Chinese government. Tibetans are routinely imprisoned and tortured for non-violently expressing their views, which includes support of His Holiness. They are detained indefinitely without public trial, tortured, and often killed. One million two hundred thousand Tibetans have died from torture, starvation, and execution. Nuns are brutally raped in Chinese prisons.

  “Why is it that Tibet is the only area of The People’s Republic of China where foreign journalists are not allowed? The tortures that we have documented include severe beatings, whippings, use of electric batons on mouth, body, and genitals, being kept in irons continuously, suspended by their arms, deprived of sleep or food, and exposed to intense cold.

  “Tibetan women are forced to have abortions. They are given the option of paying a fine of seven thousand Yuan, usually the equivalent of five years annual income, unless they terminate their pregnancies by abortion. Mandarin had replaced Tibetan as the official language.”

  McLaughlin began to work himself up. “The Chinese government offers tax breaks and military promotions to those Chinese who will move to Tibet as part of a population transfer to destroy Tibet’s culture. Huge numbers of Chinese, an estimated seven and a half million, have been sent there to dilute the Tibetan population, which is estimated at six million. The Chinese exploit the natural resources; ease over-population of China by expanding their territory; obtain strategic military locations over Asia, especially to station missiles directed toward India; and promote their racist, imperialist policies. The Chinese are destroying the environment by constructing pipelines; wholesale clear cutting of forests on an unbelievable scale; and dumping toxic waste, including spent nuclear fuel, on Tibetan soil.”

  He paused to calm down and then continued. “His Holiness proposed a five-point plan for the restoration of peace and human rights in Tibet. First, the transformation of Tibet into a zone of Ahimsa, a demilitarized zone of peace and non-violence. Second, abandonment of China’s population transfer policy. Third, respect for the Tibetan people’s fundamental human rights and democratic freedoms. Fourth, restoration and protection of Tibet’s natural environment and abandonment of China’s use of Tibet for the production of nuclear weapons and dumping of nuclear waste. And fifth, commencement of earnest negotiations on the future status of Tibet and relations between the Tibetan and Chinese people.”

  McLaughlin opened his arms as though in despair. “And what does the mighty American government, the policeman of the world, do? It normalizes relations with China, completely ignoring the atrocities and the ruination of Tibet. When the oil of America was threatened by Iraq entering Kuwait, America and her allies went to war. This was not to save the anti-American Emir or the Kuwaiti people who believe Americans are Satanic infidels, but for oil. Yet for Tibetans, they remain crushed by no less villainous behavior. Now Americans and their allies have attempted to police Iraq and Afghanistan, all because of oil, but in the name of addressing terrorism. But what of the terror in Tibet?”

  The speech continued for an hour and a half, after which Roger took Andrew and Shanti to a place he had located while they were at the meeting, an after-hours pizza/Italian café, just off campus. The tables were candle lit and the best little round table next to a window had just become available. The young maître’d put Andrew and Shanta at that table ahead of two other parties, deciding they had a reserved seat there, his decision motivated by Roger passing him a hundred dollar bill.

  At the table, the candle light gave radiance to Shanta’s brown skin, glowing with the rich oils she rubbed on her skin, memorizing her onlooker.

  “Do you like my sari?” she asked to give him license to continue staring at her body.

  “I’ve never known an East Indian girl before. I’m from the south and there were no East Indians there when I grew up. I think your outfit is beautiful. What do you call it?”

  “It’s just a sari. I got this one in Jaipur. Have you been in India?”

  “No.”

  “This is my first trip to the United States. I’ll not be able to go to the south, but I have heard it is very nice.”

  “Please tell me about yourself,” Andrew asked.

  “I must tell you that I’m married.”

  Andrew went into shock. “Married?”

  “Well, it is not exactly what you might think, but still I’m married.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My family moved from India to Singapore, where I grew up. My parents made an arranged marriage for me with a Singaporean, an Indian doctor, who had by then moved to New York to practice. I had no say in the matter. The doctor did not want an arranged marriage and refused for a long time. Finally, his mother told him that if he did not come back to Singapore to marry me that she would commit suicide--and she convinced him that she meant it.

  “And she probably did. So he agreed and came back for a traditional Indian wedding. But he never consummated our marriage and left the next day to return to New York. I was left no longer eligible to marry another, even though the marriage was not considered valid since it was not consummated. But I had nowhere to go, and I was no longer eligible under Indian tradition, like used goods. I was very hurt and left to go to an ashram in India.”

  Andrew could hardly believe the story. “Seriously?”

  “Oh yes, quite seriously. I had been fol
lowing Hindu religious teachings all my life until I discovered the truths of the Dalai Lama. I’m fascinated with Him. I find no conflict in His words and my Hindu upbringing. It is very harmonious.”

  Andrew was fixated on the sexual aspect of her story. “You never consummated your marriage?”

  “I’m still a virgin.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Tak approached a small sign alongside the road that had the number “4” on it. A passing car slowed to a stop just ahead of her. It was a small blue car, with only the driver, who reached over and cranked down the window on the passenger side. He said something that made no sense to her. She let the sound reverberate in her mind to detect what it was. He repeated it.

  Was he asking her name, she wondered? “Tak,” she told him.

  He leaned over and opened the car door, obviously offering a ride. She climbed into the car and off they went. He began to speak to her, but she could not understand him.

  “I only speak English.”

  “Ah,” the driver said, shrugging his shoulders and smiling. “No speak.”

  They rode along, not speaking, the spring green color of the countryside a delight. Before long, a sign appeared: WIELICZKA. The driver turned and looked at her as though to ask if that was where she was going.

  She assumed this town or place, whatever it was, would be as good as any, since she had missed Kansas. “Yes, this will do nicely.”

  The driver slowed his car and turned into a parking area. A number of vehicles were parked there, including several small busses. The car stopped and Tak pulled on the silver crank to open the door. When the door did not open, she pulled harder. Hadn’t he pulled on this when he initially opened the door for her? She’d thought for sure that he had. The chrome handle came off in her hand. She looked over sheepishly at the driver, who took it from her and set it down between the seats. He then leaned over her and opened the door for her. She got out of the car, closed the door, then leaned through the window, and said with a smile, “Thank you.”