Pursuit r-7

by Andy Mangels

  Max sat down but said nothing.

  "So, what are you, then?" Lisa asked. "Shania thinks you're an angel or something, but I don't think angels are quite gonna look like you. Or have the cops after them. “

  Max sighed. "I can't really talk about it. Its not safe for me, and it wouldn't be safe forjyou, if you knew. “

  She shot a peculiar look at him for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough. So why are you back here, then? “

  "Because, as you said earlier, this isn't over for you." Max held the envelope out toward her. "This should help with the bills. “

  She took the envelope and looked quickly at the contents, then regarded Max with the peculiar look again. "This is a lot of money Is it stolen? “

  Max shook his head.

  "Drug money? “

  "No," Max said. "It's completely safe for you to use. “

  She nodded. "Hmmmm. So, you're some kind of rich angel who's running from the law with a bunch of his friends? They all like you? “

  Max grinned. "They're all good people. And none of us deserve to be hunted." He stood to leave. "It's best if you don't mention to anyone that you ever saw me or talked to me. “

  Lisa stood and winked, a wobbly grin on her face. "Got that." Max started to open the door, but she moved forward. "Hey, I'm sorry to have been such a hard case on you before. Thanks for what you did earlier. And now"… she held out her hand… "if I shake your hand, my hand won't turn silver, will it? “

  Max grinned. "Nope." They shook hands, and Max exited the area, feeling good for the first time in almost twenty-four hours.

  Roswell, New Mexico The morning sun was still low in the sky, but Jeff Parker was already out in front of the Crashdown, cleaning the windows. Nancy Parker looked out at him and grinned; he was as hardworking today as the day they had met. It was difficult to believe that 2003 was going to bring their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. It seemed like only a few years ago that they had met at that 1978 Village People concert; he was escorting his younger sister, and appeared to be one of the few heterosexual men there. They exchanged numbers and started dating shortly thereafter, and were married later that year. Both of them worked at various jobs for several years before Jeff decided to open his own diner, the Crashdown Cafe, in 1984. Little Elizabeth was barely over a year old then, and quite a handful, but somehow they'd managed to juggle the busy worlds of parenthood and the restaurant trade.

  Back then, Nancy would hold Liz in one arm and help cook or waitress with the other. This morning, her arms were unencumbered as she mixed pancake and waffle batter, and kept an eye on the scones to make sure they didn't overbake. Today she didn't know where Liz was, only that she was off with the rest of her friends. What did they call them? "The Bod Squad"? No, "The Pod Squad. “

  Nancy giggled a bit every time she heard the name; when she was twelve, she had idolized Peggy Lipton, who'd played Julie Barnes on The Mod Squad on TY and… much to her mother's chagrin… had also nursed a crush on Upton 's costar, Clarence Williams III. Ah, how things change.

  The humorous moment faded quickly, replaced by melancholy. Nancy 's only child was on the run from the government and aliens and who knew what else. And except for occasional reports… like the one they had gotten last night… she had no way to protect her little girl.

  As she turned, Nancy 's elbow knocked a bottle of Tabasco sauce from the counter, and it shattered on the floor. She grabbed a roll of towels and crouched behind the counter to clean it up.

  She heard the sudden squeal of tires outside the cafe. Still squatting, she turned and looked through the glass pastry case and out toward the street to see what it was. A black van and a black sedan had pulled up outside the diner, and Nancy saw several men dressed in dark paramilitary clothing exit the vehicle at a run.

  Nancy 's blood turned to ice as she heard someone bark an order at Jeff, who dropped his cleaning supplies and tried to run for the door of the cafe. He yelled her name, but they were on him in an instant, four of them crashing down on top of him.

  Even before she heard them say it, Nancy knew the men were coming for her next. She scrabbled across the floor, ignoring the glass shard that stabbed into her leg from the broken Tabasco sauce bottle. She crawled through the swinging door and into the kitchen, and only then did she dare to stand up. Grabbing the cordless phone on the wall, she considered her options.

  Do I call Jim or the Evanses? Phillip will know what to do. He's a lawyer. She started to dial, then realized she was half squatting in the middle of the floor, bleeding from the cut on her leg. She shook her head quickly, trying to focus. Okay, they're probably waiting out in the alley. And they'll head upstairs first.

  She ran to the downstairs bathroom and locked the door behind her. She knew it wouldn't hold for very long, but maybe it would buy her time.

  As her trembling fingers touched the cell phone's buttons, Nancy heard the men running up the stairs toward their home above the diner. The phone on the other end rang once, its small, purring sound nearly drowned out by the frantic beating of her own heart, and the noise from the men outside.

  "This door's locked!" a male voice yelled outside the bathroom.

  The phone rang again. Next came a click, and then she heard Diane Evans's voice. "Hello? “

  "Break it down if you have to," another man outside ordered.

  "Diane, it's Nancy. They've just taken Jeff, and they're raiding the house, looking for me. Oh, God, they're going to be here any second. Diane, you've got to… “

  And then the door crashed inward, the frame splintering around the hinges and the lock.

  Nancy found herself staring into the guns of two masked men dressed all in black.

  Cheyenne, Wyoming "So everything's okay then?" Liz asked.

  "Yep." Max smiled lightly "You're sure? No problems?" She looked into his eyes, but couldn't see any concern in them.

  "No problems. “

  They were walking across the parking lot toward the Microbus. Kyle and Michael had been arranging Maria's guitar case and what little other luggage they all had, setting up individual areas for each of them within the cramped vehicle. Soon, they'd be back on the road.

  Isabel and Maria were standing outside the van, looking up at the cloudless dawn sky.

  "We're all clear, kids. Now let's blow this thing so we can all go home," Max said.

  Liz recognized the paraphrasing from Star Wars, and was about to make a joke about Max being a scruffy- looking nerf-herder, when she tripped and fell forward into Isabel… Suddenly she was back in the White Room, with its painfully bright klieg lights and the doctor and the restraining straps that secured her to the operating table. But now she could see that there were others in the room as well, and still more people watching from galleries elevated above the room. Men in dark suits, mostly. One woman was present.

  She felt excruciating pain from somewhere in her chest, but she couldn't lift her head to find its cause.

  Instead, she looked past the red haze in her eyes, past the pain lancing through her mind, and into the mirrored hoods on the overhead lights.

  She wasn't surprised to see that she wasn't Liz anymore. She was Isabel now, though it took Liz a moment to recognize Max's sister. Most of her hair had been shorn away, replaced by a chaotic tangle of electrodes and wires. But that wasn't the worst of it.

  She couldn't see everything because of the medical workers who bustled about her lower half, but she could see that her/Isabel's stomach and chest were draped with protective medical material.

  The fabric's light blue surface was stained crimson with blood.

  And then one of the workers moved aside, and she saw that her/Isabel's chest was open, spread wet and wide, as they continued to disassemble her, organ by organ.

  Liz screamed, and the sound reverberated off the white walls. But the technicians paid no heed to the sound.

  And then, there were hands on her shoulders, and Liz found herself looking at Max. She could see her reflection
in his dark eyes, saw the fear on his face, an expression mirrored by Isabel and Maria, who stood directly behind him.

  "Liz! Are you all right?" Max said.

  Liz was startled to find herself lying on the blacktop of the parking lot, beside the van. She realized that she must have screamed out loud. She nodded, and Max grasped her hand tightly and helped her to her feet.

  Liz caught her breath. "I saw it again, Max. Isabel was… they were doing an alien autopsy, but she wasn't dead! It was horrible! “

  Maria tried to put her arm around Isabel's shoulder, but the taller girl pushed her away, her face suddenly drained of all color.

  Max gave Maria a quick, apologetic glance, then released Liz's hand so he could approach his sister. "We're going to make sure it doesn't happen, Iz. It won't come true. “

  Michael hopped out of the van. "I know it's not a good time, but we've got to go, Maxwell. Liz screamed pretty loud, and somebody's going to come looking any second. “

  Kyle and Maria helped Liz up into the back of the Microbus, and seconds later, Max helped Isabel inside.

  Liz couldn't help but notice that Isabel was making every effort not to touch Liz as she found a place to sit. Isabel wouldn't, or couldn't, even look at her.

  I don't blame her, Liz thought. I'm not sure I'd want to look at anybody who'd just foretold my death.

  Michael started the VW and sped out of the parking lot.

  Roswell, New Mexico Ever since the military lockdown of the town following the explosion at Rogers Air Force Base, Brody Davis had taken ever greater security precautions at the UFO Center, as well as at his own home. The Center was already well fortified, as had been proven when Sheriff Hanson had tried to storm the place thinking a hostage situation had developed there. And while he already had hidden video cameras monitoring the inside of the place, Brody had also installed a number of external video cameras over the last several months.

  If another government lockdown was coming, Brody was going to be ready. It wasn't that he was particularly antigovernment; he just didn't trust them, especially with all the invaluable data that was stored here at his museum.

  There had been times… especially when Max Evans had worked there… when Brody had felt he was on the verge of making a breakthrough in his research into the Roswell conspiracy and UFO cover-ups in general. But those months had also been full of what he'd come to think of as "lost time": the period during which he felt he had been abducted by aliens. Once, he had even awoken in New York, with no idea how he had gotten there from Roswell, nor why he had made the journey. Clearly, some other intelligence had been pulling his strings.

  This morning, he had come to the museum very early. His daughter, Sydney, was staying with his parents for the week, so he had been able to spend a lot of productive time on his research.

  He pulled a CD out of its case on the wall bookshelf and prepared to sit back at his desk, when a movement on the monitor caught his eye. The camera had a wide-angle lens, and faced across the street from the UFO Center, toward the Crashdown Cafe.

  He watched as a black van and a black sedan pulled up in front of the Crashdown, and men in black leaped out and tackled Jeff Parker. Moments later, several of them burst into the Crashdown, guns drawn.

  For a moment, Brody was too astonished to move. Then his survival instincts kicked in. Running to the wall, he toggled several switches, which triple-bolted all of the doors. Another switch brought a secondary set of doors sliding forward and locking into place; the thick steel barriers would act as a secondary shield should the first set of doors fail.

  He kept his eye on the monitors to see if they were coming across the street toward him, or were down the alley, but he didn't see any movement.

  "Who do I call?" he asked out loud, but only one name came to mind: Jim Valenti. Although the man worked in law enforcement, Brody trusted something about him. Maybe it was the way he had been so protective about Max and his friends. Maybe it was his clear and outspoken belief in the existence of UFOs and extraterrestrial life. Or maybe it was something deeper that Brody couldn't quite define.

  Rifling through a stack of papers, Brody tried to find the number. Valenti had come to see him a week or two after the Rogers explosion, and had given him a special beeper number. "If anything… strange ever happens that you don't think you can discuss with the law, page me," Valenti had told him then.

  "Why?" Brody had asked. He hadn't needed to elaborate on his question.

  "You and I both know that there's more going on beneath the surface than most people will ever understand," Valenti had said, his voice steady and low. "If you ever need help, Brody, remember that I'm an ally. “

  Now Brody knew he needed an ally more than ever before. He finally found the pager number and punched it into his cell phone.

  The phone rang once, and then picked up. A tone buzzed in Brody's ear, and he punched in his private phone number, then the pound sign. An automatonlike female voice said, "Thank you." He hung up.

  On the monitor, he saw the men in black pulling Nancy Parker out of the Crashdown by both arms. He pressed a button, and the camera focused in closer. He could see that she was gagged, and that the men all had black ski masks over their faces.

  One of them re-entered the Crashdown and picked something up from the floor. He placed it in the window, and Brody saw that it was the "closed" sign.

  And then, to his horror, Brody saw one of the men look across the street, directly toward the camera.

  Directly at him.

  Jim Valenti had just put on his Roswell Sheriff's Deputy jacket and was preparing to leave his house when the phone rang.

  Strange. Who's calling at this hour? Amy had already left to go back home and change clothes before opening her shop.

  He picked up the phone. "Hello? “

  "Jim Valenti? “

  It was a woman's voice. Familiar, but not overly so. "This is Jim. Who is this? “

  "I don't think it's safe for me to say, Jim. But I will say that you once gave me some very good advice over drinks in Arizona." She paused for a moment. "Do you know who this is now? “

  The voice clicked into place. The only woman he had given advice to in Arizona was FBI Special Agent Suzanne Duff, when he had counseled her about what not to put in her reports about the Laurie Dupree abduction and the shooting of Grant Sorenson.

  "Yeah, I know who you are. What can I do for you? “

  Her voice seemed strained. "I can't explain right now, over the phone, but I think something very bad is about to come down in your town. “

  "What kind of bad?" Valenti's eyes darted around the room, and his hand automatically went to his sidearm.

  "I'm not sure. But there's been some activity I've tracked in Wyoming and New York City, and something tells me that you aren't safe there. “

  Valenti was about to reply when his second line beeped and his pager went off simultaneously When it rains, it pours, he thought ruefully. He looked quickly at the pager. It was Brody Davis from the UFO Center. Not a good sign. "Hold on. I have another call coming in," he said to Duff.

  He clicked the "flash" button on his phone. "Valenti here. “

  "Morning, Jim. It's Randy. You on your way into work? “

  "Was just about to leave, Sheriff. What's up?" Valenti frowned, and the hairs on his neck began to rise.

  "Uhhh, nothing special. I just need you at the office as soon as possible." Hanson sounded distracted, as if he was concentrating on something else. Jim recognized it as Hanson's "tell," the one thing that gave gamblers and liars away.

  "Something up I should be aware of, Randy? “

  "No," the sheriff said, too quickly. "Just get on in here. “

  "All right. See you soon." Valenti hit the "Flash" button again. "You there? “

  "Yes," Duff said. "What was it? “

  "Trouble. I'm back at the Sheriff's Department… as a deputy now… and they just called me in but wouldn't tell me what about. And I just got an emerge
ncy page from someone else. “

  Her voice was full of urgency. "Don't go in. Get out of there, and get anybody else who you think might be at risk out of there as well. “

  Valenti wasn't going to argue. "Got it. I'm gone. “

  "Jim, wait. I'm coming out there too. If you can, meet me where we had drinks before." Jim knew that meant the Dupree house in Tucson.

  "I'll do my best." He looked down at his beeper again and saw Brody Davis's number flashing there.

  "Good luck, Jim," Duff said, and the phone clicked as she hungup.

  Valenti was torn now. Something big is going down. Is Amy at risk? He had grown to love the spacey Amy DeLuca more and more each day they spent together.

  Do I call Brody back, or make sure Amy is safe? The choice wasn't really all that difficult. Grabbing his extra cell phone, Valenti moved out of his house and toward the departmental rover parked in the driveway. On the way, he dialed.

  Diane Evans was just toweling off from the shower when she heard the phone ring. Wrapping a towel around her midsection, she ran to get it, picking it up just after the second ring.

  "Hello? “

  She heard the muffled sound of a harsh male voice, followed by the hushed tones of Nancy Parker. "Diane, it's Nancy. They've just taken Jeff, and they're raiding the house, looking for me. Oh, God, they're going to be here any second. Diane, you've got to… “

  And then Diane heard a crash, as if something had exploded. Several men's voices were shouting for Nancy to get her hands up, and she heard Nancy scream, "Don't shoot! “

  The phone line went dead.

  Fear gripped Diane, and she ran for the bathroom, where Phillip had just started his shower. "Phillip! Something just happened at the Parkers'. There were men with guns! “

  In seconds he emerged from the shower, narrowly avoiding slipping as he exited the bathroom. "Call Valenti! Hurry!" He grabbed the clothes he had worn yesterday, which were lying on a chair near the television, and wiped a towel around himself cursorily.

  Diane looked at the list on the nightstand and punched in the number for Jim Valenti. A busy signal beeped repetitively in her ear. "It's busy," she said.