“Okay.”
“Good. We’re off on a good foot then. I know you’re a bit—out of it here. I apologize. I know you’d like to get out. Goodness knows, we’re not going to be able to keep you here forever, putting off relatives with those letters we’ve been having you write.”
“You’re not going to kill me?”
“Don’t you think we would have done that by now?”
Tim shrugged. He did care; he still had a kernel of the will to survive protectively banked deep below, inside of him. But he also sensed that it wouldn’t be to his advantage to show it.
“Tim, I know this is hard for you to accept, but sometimes things, hard things, have got to be done—for the greater good. For the protection of the security of your country, of my country—and maybe even for other, greater altruistic reasons.”
That had been something that he and the doctors had been going over in Session—and so automatically, knee-jerk, Tim said, “Yes, I agree.”
“Good. Then we concur on something. That’s a start.” The man who’d called himself Brian stood up, tucked his tie back down into his coat, stuck his hands into his pockets, and then walked over to the stack of books on the countertop by the bed. They were innocuous classics. Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain. David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. Nothing like there should be, thought Tim, nothing like Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka or Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. “I see you’ve kept reading.”
“Yes. Retention’s not great.”
The man clucked his tongue. “Damn. I’m so sorry... I wish there was some other way.” He gestured around. “All this... twenty-first century technology we’ve got, and this is still just so medieval.” He chuckled. “Well, at least they haven’t got you on the rack.”
“At least they haven’t got me on the rack,” Tim parroted.
“Look,” said the man, after fingering his chin thoughtfully a while, “there’s a way you can get out of here, you know.”
“Yes,” said Tim, monotone. “Die.”
“No, no, you needn’t be so depressing. No, we can get you back in your life. There will be some changes, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But you can go on... in fact, with a clean slate. And I’m pretty sure... no, damn it, I’m positive... I can get you financial reparation... for the trouble you’ve gone through. Naturally, if you don’t seek legal recourse...”
“If I sought legal recourse,” he had trouble saying the words, “I’d be killed.”
“A very healthy financial consideration,” continued the man, as though he’d not heard that last sentence. “You could do what you like with your life. You wouldn’t have to be so beholden to your old man, hmmm?”
“That would be good.”
He didn’t really know how it would be. He just said the words as though without his own volition.
“Then you’ll help us.”
“What do you want me to do?”
The man sat down again, smiling. He had looked doubtful before, but now he looked much more confident.
“I don’t want you to think, Tim, that this isn’t something that you wouldn’t want to do anyway,” he said. “In fact, there’s an aspect in here that’s going to be very important to you.”
Tim just sat there on his bed, listening—his mind drifting, drifting away. “Tim... You remember Diane, don’t you? Diane Scarborough.”
… Drifting… drifting…
Then something hooked.
That was the name! The name he’d been groping for...
“Your girlfriend, Tim. Your lover. You remember, don’t you?”
Diane. Dark hair, flashing eyes. Great legs. Stubborn, willful, a real handful... He had loved her, yes... He had no feelings now, but he could remember that he had loved Diane Scarborough once.
“Yes, I remember.”
“The aliens have her.”
“Oh?”
“And you can help us get her away from the aliens.”
“Aliens...”
“We’re in a war, Tim. A secret war. This planet has been infiltrated by beings from another planet. They tell me at Session that this possibility has been discussed.”
Tim remembered something about aliens in the Session… His mind reached out for the memory, grasped it. And then his eyes grew wide. His mouth opened and closed and then his teeth clenched.
The fear... the anger roared in.
The aliens! The enemy! Of course, how could he not remember them?
“It’s okay, Tim. It’ll be okay.” The man’s reassuring hand touched his arm. Human contact was reassuring, comforting... Tim looked over to the man, and realized... Yes. This man is on my side. This man is a friend. He wants what is best for me.
“You see, Tim... These aliens... They look just like human beings, but they’re not. They want to do things to this world, terrible things. We can’t let them do that, now can we. We can’t let them destroy our society—can’t let them destroy us. As a nation, as a world even—but most certainly, our humanity.”
“No,” said Tim. Again, the word came out in agreement, unbidden, automatically. Trained, instilled... and yet, somehow even as he spoke it, he believed it.
“Do you remember Diane’s father?”
Tim searched his memory. He groped, stumbled, grasped—yes—tall, good-looking, dynamic... A man with a mission—and in his own arrogant way as stubborn and willful as his daughter...
But what was his name?
“Yes... Yes, I remember.”
“Do you remember his name?”
“No, no... Wait… yes, of course. It was Everett. Dr. Everett Scarborough!”
“Did you like him, Tim?”
“No.” That was not a difficult question. “No, I can definitely remember not liking him.”
The man in the suit with salt-and-pepper gray hair began to pace the room, getting caught up in the emotion of the moment. “And well you should not have, Tim.” He waggled a finger at the prisoner. “Your instincts were correct.”
“Why?”
“You may not believe this, Tim. But do you remember what Scarborough was?”
“No.”
“You don’t remember his passionate stand against the possibility of extraterrestrial life visiting Earth?”
“Oh... yes. Yes, I think I do.” It was there, somewhere. It sounded right.
“All that time, Everett Scarborough was a traitor!” The man who called himself Brian slapped a fist into a palm. “A traitor to the human race.”
Tim blinked. It took some time for him to assimilate this. It was hard. A traitor? Dr. Scarborough?
“Why do you think that Diane was kidnapped?”
“Diane... kidnapped...”
“Yes. She was kidnapped by the aliens...”
“Oh yes.”
“You, Tim... You can help us find her. And this is the final reward. You’ll have Diane back.”
“Diane back. Yes... I’d like that.”
“I thought you would. But in order to get Diane back, you’re going to have to cooperate with us. When we let you go free—which we intend to—will you help us?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll help us contact Dr. Everett Scarborough? Help us find where the aliens have taken Diane?”
“Yes.”
He said the word automatically—but even so, inside he agreed.
Yes, he knew he would help them.
They were the people in the right, and the aliens were evil.
Terribly evil.
“Good fellow.” The man in the suit went over, put a fatherly hand onto Timothy Reilly’s shoulder. “I knew we could count on you.” He took a deep breath, let it out importantly. “We’re going to be working very closely together on this one.” He sat down on the bed. “This, Tim, is what we’re going to have to do...”
Timothy Reilly listened as intently as he could, but his mind still felt that it was somehow still drifting, drifting gently away.
Chapter 20
The next day, they slept in.
It wasn’t until after eleven o’clock that Everett Scarborough roused. For a long, delicious moment he was disoriented. He lay sprawled in silky linens, head propped up in a feather pillow. Light seeped around some drapes pulled tight, dappling the expanse of the room where he slept.
It appeared to be some sort of landing. A deck...
Of course, he remembered drowsily. The A-frame... The cabin... He recalled the exhausting drive up here and the circumstances of the visit, and he pulled the sheets over his head, trying to salvage just a few more moments of restful oblivion before he had to face whatever was the next crisis.
“Hey there. I saw you peek out. Don’t try to hide. You’re awake.”
A woman’s voice. He peered out, squinting against the change of light. “Hi. Well, this is a better awakening than I’ve been having lately. At least you’re not an alien or a science fiction writer.”
“I should think not!” She held a cup in her hand. “Have some coffee, soldier. The war’s not over, but you’ve got a short reprieve.”
“Thanks.” Scarborough pushed himself up out of the bed and reached for the coffee. He got a kiss first, which he accepted gladly. And then he took the steaming cup of milky eye-opener.
Marsha was dressed in jeans and a subdued violet blouse. She sat back on her haunches and watched Scarborough sip his cup of coffee in silence for a moment, smiling beatifically at him. “Glad we made up yesterday!”
“Me too.”
“Want to make up some more?”
“Where’s Jake?”
“Gone out to rent a car.”
“Well if anyone can find a car to rent, it’ll be Jake. Still he could be back any moment.”
“Hmmm. Your hair’s a little dirty. So’s mine. Maybe we could take another shower.”
“I don’t think my heart would make it through another shower, Marsha.”
She giggled. “Well, I suppose I would settle for some cuddles. I don’t suppose that would compromise us if Jake came back suddenly, now would it?”
“I guess not.” She leaned against him and soon they were folded together into a gentle, coffee-flavored kiss.
Yesterday evening had been nice. After that memorable shower, he’d taken a very short nap, enough to take the edge off his exhaustion.
And then they had planned what was next.
Jake had gotten hold of Maximillian Schroeder. Just as he’d predicted, the famous author-abductee was in Tucson, working on a location shoot for his latest film. Jake was supposed to call him up today and firm up a tentative afternoon meeting date.
Scarborough had listened to the whole story of Jake’s relationship with Schroeder—he’d made the reporter spill it all, every last sleazy bit and then dug for more afterward, so he thought he pretty much knew the score. Jake had admitted that he’d taken money from Schroeder in return for certain “rights” to the forthcoming articles and books Jake intended to write. That was pretty much par for the course, as far as Scarborough was concerned. What interested him the most, though, was the fact that Schroeder had insisted on Camden staying in touch, letting him know his whereabouts—and most importantly, finding out where Everett Scarborough was.
Scarborough was ninety-nine percent sure that Maximillian Schroeder was working for the people in charge of White Book and Black Book.
And if not them, then maybe even for these “aliens.”
“Why else would he give you all that money, Jake?” Scarborough had said shortly, “Why else would he want to know all that information, immediately, if it wasn’t to feed to someone else?”
“Well, he did claim to be in contact with the Others...” Jake had said thoughtfully.
“All the more reason to do what I suggest here.”
“Which is?” Jake asked eagerly.
“Kidnap the man!”
“Kidnap him! But that would make us as bad as them!” Marsha had objected at first.
“We’ve got to fight fire with fire... especially in the desperate, no-choice mode we find ourselves in now.” Scarborough’s words were abrupt and forceful. Nonetheless, the look of alarm in Marsha’s eyes caused him to elucidate his suggestion. “I’m not saying we’ve got to use their methods. We won’t hurt him—although we shouldn’t let on that we don’t intend to. No, he’ll see us as desperate, and I’m not going to have much trouble playing the crazy with Max Schroeder.” A slight grin trembled at the corner of his mouth. “And I’m sure he’ll believe that I’m more than willing to use some pretty nasty methods.”
Jake rolled his eyeballs. “Well, there goes my contract with him!”
“There are a few more important things to worry about than contracts now, I think, Jake.”
“But what do you hope to get out of him?” said Marsha, still not quite right with the suggestion.
“Look, if he’s working with Dr. Julia Cunningham’s White Book people, we’ll find out what’s going on there.” Scarborough took a deep breath, “And if he’s working for the Others... we might just grab our chance to find Diane and end all of this craziness!”
Thus, it was decided.
They were going to kidnap Maximillian Schroeder.
Jake would meet with him, then lure him back to the Winnebago. They’d take their prisoner out to the desert, interrogate him, threaten him—and have him take them where necessary, or, if everything failed, simply take him back to Tucson and dump him off on the outskirts.
It was a rough, desperate plan, Scarborough admitted.
But what else could they do? They simply couldn’t stay in the cabin, doing nothing.
Finally, the others agreed.
And a simple, but effective strategy was roughed out.
Then, tired, they went to bed.
“Hmmmm,” said Marsha now. “You know, we might as well enjoy these quiet moments interspersed between all this excitement.”
“Doesn’t it feel like I’m enjoying myself?”
“I don’t know, Ev. Feels to me like you’re going back to sleep!”
“Believe me, at the moment sleep is the very last thing on my mind.”
They heard the sounds of heavy steps on the deck, and Jake Camden singing an old blues song as he barged into the cabin.
“Yo!” he said, still playing air guitar as he hopped over a stool and skipped about on the rug. “Hey, you love-birds! Mission successful. You wanna unlock those lips and get down here for a little necessary powwow?”
Marsha got up, and Scarborough padded after, dragging his empty cup along with him for a refill downstairs.
“You got a car?”
“You bet. The garage here rents them. Not much, and it cost, but then you gave me enough money, so no prob. What’s more, it didn’t take long, so I gave Schroeder a call. I’m supposed to meet him at the EI Charro’s Restaurant on North Court at three o’clock sharp. If you guys would be so good as to show up in the parking lot at, oh, about three-fifteen, I’m sure that there will be no problem in me figuring out a way to get him out by three-thirty.”
It had been decided that there should be two cars involved, since Jake’s arrival in a Winnebago might not merely be hard to explain, but suspicious in itself. Besides, in such a situation, it wouldn’t hurt to have a faster mode of getaway transportation.
“What did you get?”
“Well, there was this old Chevy there, but the guy had a nice sporty Nissan Z, too... so I shot the wad and rented that. Fast cars, you know. Might come in handy.”
For the first time, Scarborough actually agreed with Jake’s excess. “Wait a minute, though—aren’t those cars two-seaters?”
“Yeah, but push comes to shove, Scarb, we can fit you easy in the back.”
“You’re so considerate.”
“And, you’ll be pleased to know, I shot a few cheeseburger and french fry creatures up in the woods.” Camden displayed a brown paper bag complete with grease spots. “Thought you all would like a little lunch.” He set the
bag upon the counter.
Scarborough was not particularly keen on a cheeseburger for breakfast, but it certainly saved the time and effort of fixing something in the kitchen, and frankly, he realized that he could do with some protein and grease and lots of carbohydrates to get through this particular day.
Marsha got out the napkins and retrieved some sodas from the RV, and they ate.
“You know, the more I think about it,” said Jake Camden through a mouthful of food, “the more I’m going to enjoy the look on that smug intellectual face when we’ve got him tied in a chair.”
“Jake!” said Marsha.
“You can bet I’m not looking forward to this,” said Scarborough. “I’m not a great one for intimidation.”
“Oh, but you do it so well!” laughed Jake. “Just pretend you’re back on the Phil Donahue show in 1988 with him. Remember that? Boy, I’m sure you wouldn’t have minded him being tied up in a chair then, with you standing over him with a gun or some delightful instrument of torture!”
Scarborough nodded, the color rising to his cheeks. Yes, he could well remember that day. And maybe Jake was right... And besides, if this hypocritical bastard was as deeply enmeshed in the mechanics of Diane’s kidnapping as he suspected he was, then Jake was right. When it came down to that moment, Scarborough was going to have no problem. Only problem might be in preventing himself from actually striking the man!
“As long as I’m there you won’t!” said Marsha, after he voiced that thought.
“Yes,” Scarborough agreed. “I think we’re going to be glad you’re there, Marsha.”
“I don’t know,” said Jake, ketchup dripping unnoticed down the side of his mouth. “Maybe we shouldn’t have Marsha there. Might be less threatening to him if she’s there.”
“Where are you going to put me then? In the bathroom? Outside behind a cactus? Get real.” Her eyes got steely and determined. “Besides, don’t you think I’m a little pissed off about this whole thing? Don’t you think I’m not going to have much of a problem acting desperate?”
Her voice rose in a grating snarl and she leaned over imposingly toward Camden, who instinctively backed away. “Okay! Okay, I believe you!” He almost fell off his chair. He blinked and then he grinned. “Wow! You know, Scarborough, this lady here could be our secret weapon!”
The UFO Conspiracy Trilogy Page 93