Landfall

by John McWilliams

  “So?”

  “I only heard one shot, but they both went down.”

  “There were two shots,” Lauren told him.

  “But it sounded like—”

  “It was two, George.” Ellis returned to his seat. “Lauren can aim and fire faster than most people can pull a trigger.”

  “So…” George stared past Lauren, out her window. “I guess those guys—they’re probably dead, right?”

  “Shooting at the FBI will tend to get you dead,” Ellis said. “Yes, George, they’re dead.”

  George pulled the blanket up to his neck and looked straight ahead.

  “What about calling Arthur?” Lauren turned to Ellis.

  “You want to tell him a gun went off in his plane and we have no idea why?”

  “What about trying to wake up what’s-his-face?” Lauren looked down the aisle.

  “I guess it’s worth a shot.”

  After several attempts at reviving the man—they tried smelling salts and even zapping him with the defibrillator—Lauren lifted his head and let it drop.

  “I think he’s brain-dead,” she said.

  “He’s not brain-dead.”

  “Well, then that’s the best impression I’ve ever seen.”

  “He have any ID?” Ellis asked.

  “Nothing. Although these sure aren’t the same breed of mild-mannered, Taser-toting thieves who robbed Los Alamos.”

  “So what does that tell us?” Ellis asked as they returned to their seats.

  “It tells us that there’re probably two groups. Those guys were after the crystal, and these guys, for some reason, wanted to keep us here for forty-eight hours.”

  “Keep us from what, though? Visiting the Lees?” Ellis asked.

  “Exactly.” George removed his blanket. “These guys are what we, the people in my world, call the Wall.” Leaning on his armrest, he pointed down the aisle. “Their job is to keep anyone from finding out what Dr. Lee, or whoever is the Receiver of the Message, is up to. My guess is that they’re mercenaries and they get paid a lot. I doubt they know much about what they’re protecting.”

  “And you don’t think they had anything to do with the crystal being stolen?” Lauren asked.

  “That was probably pulled off by the Iceland Group,” George said.

  “Wait a minute—you know about the Iceland Group?”

  “Of course. How could I not know about the Iceland Group? They’re working on the same advanced wave technology that Dr. Lee had been working on. And from what I’ve heard, there’s a huge project going on up there right now in Dr. Carrols’s lab. They have it all sealed up security-wise like it’s the Pentagon. I’m pretty certain they’re the ones who sent—or will send—Dr. Lee his message.”

  George looked at them. “What?”

  “Why didn’t you say something about this sooner?” Lauren said.

  “I don’t know. You never asked.”

  “Special Agent Madison?” Jeff’s face appeared on the screen above the table.

  “Yes?” Lauren slowly turned away from George.

  “We’re lining up to enter the corridor, so you guys need to buckle up. The secondaries are coming online in sixty seconds.”

  “Thanks, Jeff.”

  Lauren made certain George’s shoulder harness was tight, while Ellis turned his seat forward.

  Moments later, the secondaries came to life and the G10-X shuddered as Lauren felt compressed into her seat. She loved this part. Out her window, the world fell away, blue faded to black, and the edge of the horizon became the edge of outer space.

  Eighteen minutes to Mars? That really could change the world.

  But there was no absolute proof that this was about space travel. The only thing they really knew—the only thing they could infer—was that, whatever it was, it was big.

  First, Helios shows up from out of nowhere. Then the crystal is stolen out from under their noses. Then mercenaries try to kidnap them… Actually, this is starting to get personal.

  Those men had planned to keep them in Houston for forty-eight hours. Well, no “Wall” of mercenaries was going to keep her and Ellis from discovering the truth before it was too late to do anything about it—assuming anything could be done about it. Whatever this was about, it clearly was going to come to fruition in forty-eight hours.

  She brought up the countdown timer on her HoloWatch. They now had forty-seven hours.

  Chapter 14

  At an abandoned Little League field just outside of Albuquerque, New Mexico, Jan and Nate sit on the third row of a four-tier aluminum bleacher. Coop and Big Kenny are across the street in the Wal-Mart parking lot. It’s 7:45 A.M.

  “How long do we give this guy?” Nate lies back, staring at his watch.

  “I think this might be him now.”

  A Pontiac Firebird, roostertailing a plume of dirt, slides to a halt just short of home plate. A heavyset man in a cowboy hat steps out of the car and slams the door as the dust settles.

  “This is going to be fun,” Nate mutters.

  Jan and Nate step off the bleachers.

  “I believe we have a friend in common?” the man says.

  “Coop Dixon…?” Jan replies, not quite certain it had been a question. “And you’re JD?”

  “Correctamundo.” JD leans against his Firebird. “Coop assures me that you boys are all right. I don’t do this often. But sometimes a man’s gotta pay the bills, if you know what I mean.”

  “Pretty hard to take that any other way,” Jan says.

  “Huh?” JD looks puzzled.

  “We know what you mean,” Nate tells him.

  “Oh. Good.” JD opens his trunk and, inside it, opens a suitcase-sized ammunition box. “I’ve got timers and remote activation devices.” He indicates a pile of electronics, then picks up a circuit board. “This is one of the more sophisticated of our detonation controls. It’s programmable and even has a USB and Ethernet port. These days you can actually blow shit up via the internet. Now these here are your standard blasting caps and relays. Either of you technically inclined?”

  “We’re fairly capable,” Nate says.

  “Excellent.” JD stares at Nate for a long moment. “You look kinda familiar.” He rubs his chin. “But I guess if you were an actor or something, you sure as heck wouldn’t be here talking to me.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Nate says. “No offense.”

  “None taken. Now let’s talk charge. And I don’t mean the cash or credit kind of charge. I’m talking high-end, high-quality explosives.” He picks up an antique cigar box and places it on top of the ammunition box. Inside are four paper-wrapped bricks. “RDX,” he tells them proudly. “Or, as you might know it, C4.” He lifts his hat and scratches his head, looking at them deliberately. “I’m assuming that whatever you two have in mind, it’s non-lethal and beyond the borders of Arizona. Am I right?”

  “Correct on both counts,” Jan says. “What kind of damage can this stuff do?”

  “Well, one of these babies could blow this here car to kingdom come. I mean, kaboom!”

  “Then one brick is probably all we need.” Jan looks at Nate.

  “How do we even know this stuff works?” Nate asks.

  “Show me the money and I’ll show you it works.”

  Jan removes a wad of hundreds from his pocket.

  “Well, then.” JD stares at the bills, licking his lips. “Let’s go blow some shit up.”

  Behind the bleachers, on the other side of a hill, JD sets up his demonstration using a small sample of the C4. Nate stands on the crest of the hill, keeping an eye out.

  “Don’t expect much more than something like an M-80 going off,” JD explains, placing the sample charge and detonator on top of a berm. “This is just to prove this stuff works.”

  They move back.

  “Would you like to do the honors?” JD hands Jan the transmitter.

  Jan presses the button, and the C4 explodes like a shotgun going off, dirt flying into the a
ir.

  “Impressive,” Nate says.

  “Seems to work,” Jan adds.

  “Like I said…” JD examines the damage. “Okay, boys, time to talk money.”

  “Well, how much do you normally charge—” Jan begins.

  “We’ve got company,” Nate calls out. He crouches low.

  Jan and JD rush over as a black Suburban pulls in behind JD’s Firebird.

  “You know these guys?” Nate asks.

  “Friends.” JD waves at the Suburban as all four doors open in unison. “They probably heard the explosion—thought there was trouble. Hey, I don’t know you boys from Adam. I needed insurance.”

  “Well, if you want this deal to happen, you better tell them to leave,” Jan says.

  “Unfortunately,” JD lifts his hat and scratches his head, “you boys have put yourselves in a weak negotiating position. Always a bad business move.” JD, good ol’ boy salesman, is gone, replaced by JD, good ol’ southern sheriff. “I think my boys’ll stay while we come to an agreement.”

  “There’s no deal until they leave,” Jan insists.

  “Oh, I think you’ll come around.”

  Jan looks at Nate questioningly.

  Nate nods.

  Swiftly, brutally, Jan throws his arm around JD’s neck and drops him to his knees.

  “Another step and I’ll break his neck,” Jan shouts at the men rushing the hill.

  JD holds out a hand, halting the men.

  “This is us improving our negotiating position,” Jan informs JD. “Tell your friends to leave and you’ll get your money. They stay and, no matter how this goes down, you won’t be around to talk about it. Understand?” Jan tightens his grip, then releases the pressure.

  “Yes, yes,” JD coughs. “They’ll do the deal. It’s all good,” he tells his friends. “Just git. I’ll meet you at the Starbucks.”

  “You sure about this, JD?” one of the men asks.

  “Yes, I’m sure. Do I look like I want my neck broke?”

  “Anything happens to him and you’re dead—both of you,” the man says, as the four begrudgingly return to their Suburban.

  A minute later, they’re gone.

  “The noisy one—that was my little brother.” JD rubs his neck. “Probably would hunt you down.” He chuckles. “But we’re good, right? I mean, the deal’s not soured or nothin’. No reason we can’t start over—right?” He smiles, showing off his tobacco-stained teeth.

  And the salesman’s back.

  “As long as there’re no more surprises,” Jan tells him.

  “No more surprises,” JD agrees.

  They return to the Firebird.

  “So, how much you boys gonna want?” JD opens the trunk.

  Jan looks at Nate. They walk off toward the bleachers.

  After a brief discussion, they conclude that, since neither of them is a demolitions expert, and since their plan is still up in the air, they had better get more than enough. Hopefully, Oren will know how to make use of this stuff.

  “We’ll take all four bricks,” Jan tells JD as he and Nate return. “And four sets of remote detonators.”

  “And this is for blowing up an empty building or something, right?”

  “That’s right. No one’ll get hurt,” Jan says.

  “Okay, so… how about an even five?” JD rubs his neck, looking at Jan hopefully.

  “Five what?”

  “Five thousand.”

  “All right.” Jan goes over to the duffel bags on the bleachers and returns with a stack of bills. “Here’s five thousand. And here’s an extra two hundred for you and your boys to have a couple of rounds on us. We good?”

  “More than good.” JD shakes their hands and, minutes later, leaves them in a cloud of dust.

  Nate and Jan start toward the Wal-Mart.

  “That was pretty generous of you,” Nate says.

  “Hey, we can use all the positive karma we can get.”

  Chapter 15

  Lauren, Ellis, and George’s autonomous Nissan Altima pulled up to the University of North Carolina Asheville’s Dawkins Hall. It was sunny and warm, about seventy-five degrees. In the distance, they could see the Blue Ridge Mountains.

  Yesterday afternoon, after handing off their unconscious prisoner to the local FBI at the Asheville Regional Airport, Lauren had attempted to contact Dr. Stephen Lee about moving up their appointment scheduled for the following day. He’d never responded.

  By 9:00 P.M., they had decided to simply intercept the man before his first lecture in the morning. The college’s online directory had him giving a lecture on applied biochemistry in room 204 at 9:30 A.M.

  Exiting the Nissan, Lauren, Ellis, and George entered Dawkins Hall and went directly to room 204. Dr. Lee was already there, giving an impromptu lecture to a handful of students on the emerging technology of living fabrics. He was explaining how these fabrics, worn like a second skin, could be used for extended space journeys. They could, he was telling the students, help convert carbon dioxide to oxygen, help stimulate muscle growth, and help people endure extreme temperatures and reduce their exposure to cosmic radiation.

  Stephen Lee was taller and thinner than his father—at least based on the videos Lauren had seen. He was handsome in a swashbuckling sort of way, and his tight-fitting shirt made him look more like a personal trainer than a college professor.

  “The acorn sure didn’t fall far from the tree,” Lauren told Ellis. They were standing at the back of the lecture room.

  “What do you mean?” George squeezed between them.

  “He’s a martial artist,” Ellis said.

  “How do you know?”

  “The way he moves, the symmetry of his physique,” Lauren explained. “And look at his forearms.”

  A moment later, Dr. Lee concluded his lecture and dismissed his students.

  Lauren, Ellis, and George approached the dais.

  “Dr. Lee,” Lauren said. “I’m Special Agent Madison; this is Special Agent Cole, and this—”

  “I know who you are,” Dr. Lee said, stuffing papers into his briefcase. He glanced at George. “The FBI’s teaming up with tabloid reporters now?”

  “I’m not a tabloid reporter,” George said.

  “Well, you certainly spout enough about unfounded theories.” Dr. Lee closed his briefcase and set it beside the lectern. “Don’t get me wrong: belief-wise I probably have more in common with you than with them. Maybe I should be asking you why you’re teaming up with the FBI.” He stepped off the dais. “All right, let’s get this over with. Even my students are starting to look at me funny now that ‘Helios fever’ has taken over the internet.” He took a seat on the edge of the dais and indicated that they should sit where his students had been just minutes before.

  “Dr. Lee,” Lauren said, shifting forward in her seat. “Our concern is not so much about the discovery of Helios as it is with what we found inside it.”

  “And what was that?”

  “You don’t know?” Lauren stared at him.

  “No,” he said. Lauren waited silently, and after a moment, he added, “You know, as much as I enjoy staring at pretty women…”

  “You’re honestly going to tell me you don’t know?” Lauren furrowed her brow.

  “How would I know?”

  “Okay, well, then why do you think your father sent Helios back?”

  “All I know is that thirty years ago, the FBI decided my father’s work could be perverted into the perfect weapon, so they backed him into a corner and somehow forced him to blow up the space station. Probably. But, since the FBI covered up the entire affair, for all I really know, maybe the Russians blew up the station. Or maybe the FBI did it themselves.”

  George chuckled. “That’s almost verbatim what you said in the Ernest Maxwell Space Station Bombing documentary.”

  “They asked the same question, and my thoughts haven’t changed,” Dr. Lee said. “Although I’m a little surprised that you’ve even heard of that documentary.�
��

  “Not much gets past George, it seems,” Lauren said.

  “We ended up suing Maxwell and his production company in order to keep that piece of crap from being distributed,” Dr. Lee said.

  George laughed.

  “I know, I know, once it hits the internet…” Dr. Lee said. “It’s just that the film had a ton of factual errors and they tried to credit me with being a consultant and an executive producer.”

  “Special Agent Madison’s planning to write a screenplay about your father,” George said.

  “Really?”

  “Not about your father per se,” Lauren said. “I was thinking it’d be more about our investigation and where all the clues lead. You know, just the facts.”

  “Now that sounds like something I could really get behind,” Dr. Lee said.

  “Really?” Lauren smiled.

  “Perhaps you could send me a synopsis—”

  “Could we please do the investigation before we start filming it?” Ellis growled.

  “I see,” Dr. Lee winked at Lauren, “that you’re both the looks and the brains of this operation.”

  Wow, Lauren thought. Dr. Lee was handsome, clever, and apparently quite brave—talking that way in front of Ellis. But divide and conquer wasn’t a strategy that worked well with her and her partner.

  Hopefully though, her flirtation would make him more amenable to the investigation. And, who knows—maybe she could work out something with him regarding her screenplay.

  “Dr. Lee—” Lauren began.

  “Please, call me Stephen.”

  “Okay, Stephen.” Lauren smiled coquettishly. “What do you make of the Helios discovery?”

  “Not much, other than I would imagine that with the FBI’s old guard either dead or off playing bingo somewhere, their lies are starting to look pretty thin—even to you. But why don’t we cut to the chase—and you tell me what you know?”

  Lauren considered this. Stephen Lee wasn’t going to address anything—the crystal, the robbery, or certainly the team of potential kidnappers George called the Wall—until she brought it up. And time was slipping away.

  “Okay,” she said. “This is what we know: three days ago, we investigated a purported space capsule discovered by a couple of hunters at the foot of Dead Horse Mountain in Alberta, Canada. Inside the capsule—which we’re now nearly one hundred percent sure is Helios—we found an empty spacesuit in a reclined position with its hands resting on top of a silver case.” Lauren paused. “What’s so funny?”