The Roswell Protocols

by Allan Burd

  A white tiger rug with fangs ferociously displayed covered the stained wooden floor—its yellow-green eyes staring down the arch-shaped fireplace. Circling the rug on its left side was a two piece leather sofa, jammed together so there was plenty of room to lie down and stare up through the skylight that was directly above. Perfect for sleepless nights when the weather didn’t permit her out on her deck. Adjoining the couch was a glass-topped end table, splattered with glamour magazines. On the adjacent wall, a white oak entertainment center supported a digital music player with mounted speakers, a large screen HDTV, and a DVD player. Over to the left, the pass-through showed a glimpse of the kitchen.

  It was a very romantic setting, she thought. Unfortunately, a man wasn’t included in the picture.

  She started sketching the Princess, beginning with her long silky black hair that framed her face. Then she added her trademark big brown eyes that mesmerized all those handsome knights. The pencil moved downward as she sketched her slim and shapely, well-proportioned body. She was quite beautiful. Stacy caught her reflection in the glass door and chuckled, wondering how many of her readers knew that Princess Zinfandel was actually her mirror image, only modified to give her that animated cartoon look that children adored.

  “So why is your castle so empty?” Her pencil tapped rapidly on the pad now as she mulled over the answer. “It’s because you’re a strong modern woman who chose to keep her individual freedom to pursue her own career.” Then she sighed because she knew that was a lie.

  A quick sip of wine brought the truth to the forefront. Every time she managed to get close to someone, her constant nightmares, chronic insomnia, and irrational fears always seemed to be more baggage than they were willing to handle. Worst of all, she didn’t even understand the fears. Sudden panic attacks causing her to become deathly afraid for no apparent reason. When they occurred during daylight, she would become frantic. A “total freak-out” her last boyfriend called it. While she was sleeping, they would force her awake screaming and sweating, but with very little recollection of her nightmare. But since she moved here five years ago—with the help of her therapist Dr. Miller—they became increasing less frequent to the point where they had almost subsided completely.

  Yes, soon she would be fine. She withdrew from her thoughts. “OK, Princess Zinfandel … perhaps it’s time for you to finally meet your knight in shining armor, Sir Right.” That brought a sly smile to her face. She scribbled some notes on the pad then reached out for another sip of wine to warm her.

  Then a thunderous clap abruptly shattered the calm darkness. It was as if the night itself cried out in a gasp of pain and its scream, echoed and amplified by the mountains, ripped loudly through the cold moist air. The wooden deck beneath her feet shuddered. Her metal lounge chair vibrated and shifted under her weight. Her wine glass shook and White Zinfandel splashed over the rim onto her blanket. Then the rumbling air moved menacingly through her. For a few seconds it jarred her soul, then it passed and the night grew silent once again—but this time much more eerily silent than before.

  It was an experience she never had before, yet somehow it was familiar. Her hands trembled as she gave in to the sudden urge to race indoors, tearing the blanket away from her and tossing it aside. She shuddered as she fiercely pulled open the sliding doors, her entire body tingling with fear, and within a time span as short as ten seconds, her last five years of therapy came completely undone.

  2

  NOVEMBER 9, 2:52 A.M. (PACIFIC STANDARD TIME)

  PALO ALTO, CALIFORNIA

  She screamed continuously.

  At first with slow, short moans, but as the sensations heightened, her screams quickened, growing lengthier and more poignant. Then, with a final exultation, she arched her back and let out an uncontrolled wail of ecstasy.

  He screamed.

  Then both Logan Grey and Lisa Morgan collapsed their muscular supple bodies together and relaxed in each other’s arms. A long moment passing before either one was able to resist the urge to lie blissfully in silence.

  “You are incredible,” cooed Lisa. Her face was flushed with excitement, her mouth relaxed with a smile. “I had a feeling those body language skills of yours would pay off in bed,” she added with a teasing grin.

  Logan blushed, smiling back at her. He was having a great day. No, even better than that—a perfect day. Only twelve hours earlier he successfully finalized the deal to sell Ms. Morgan’s brand name cosmetic line to a Japanese firm for forty-seven million dollars—a deal which made Lisa Morgan a multimillionaire and netted him a cool ten percent of the take. And he earned every penny, he thought. The negotiations had been going on for a month and were on the verge of falling apart before Lisa gave in and hired him as a consultant. He even managed to get thirteen million dollars more than the original final offer of thirty-four million. A feat which served to remind him that he was the best.

  There were plenty of other negotiating sharks for hire out there. That was true. Like them, Logan had the gift of gab, knew many different cultures intimately, and spoke seven languages, including American Sign. But that wasn’t what made him the best. What set him apart, above all the rest, was his obsession with kinesics, the science of body movement.

  Each culture had different forms of expression through body language. What meant yes in one language, meant no in another. But even more than that, each individual had “tells”—subconscious movements of the body that uncovered their inner motives or feelings that they would not willingly reveal. Logan knew if you looked hard enough and knew what to look for, almost anyone could be read. In this negotiation, the difference between $34,000,000 and $47,000,000 came from Logan noticing that each time Mr. Kiru, CEO of Shadeio Cosmetics, was willing to go higher in price he would pause a few seconds longer than usual and slowly bring the tips of his index fingers to his chin. Logan knew that since Americans as a culture conversed faster than the Japanese, Kiru’s additional pause between sentences was designed to unnerve Lisa Morgan at the times Mr. Kiru himself was actually the most nervous, and he would use that strategy to try to keep the asking price low. Once Kiru’s strategy was known, it became child’s play for Logan to push him to his limit.

  “Oooo … Are you getting shy on me now?” Lisa teased with a purr as she rolled over to face him. “I’m surprised. So commanding and aggressive in business, dynamite in bed, and now you’re getting shy.”

  Lisa’s mind drifted back to when she met him over a month ago. She was beginning to get frustrated, not knowing exactly how to handle Mr. Kiru. Ordinarily, her charm and good looks were more than enough for her to win the day. Add to that her incredible business savvy, and Lisa Morgan was a woman who always got what she wanted, when she wanted, and how she wanted. But Mr. Kiru was different than most American men. He was impossible to seduce, difficult to read, and stubborn to the core. Soon after she started negotiating the deal, she realized she was in over her head and her reputation was in danger of becoming something less than perfect.

  When a friend recommended Logan, she was reluctant at first, not willing to admit she couldn’t handle it all by herself. However, she rationalized, it wouldn’t hurt to hear him out, and if he had anything interesting to say she would make a mental note of it before seeing him to the door. After all, there was no man who could do a job she couldn’t. She decided to plan her initial meeting with Logan just prior to her first formal meeting with Mr. Hoitu, Mr. Kiru’s right hand man. She had bought Mr. Hoitu a gift, a large box of very expensive Godiva chocolates, as she understood was the culturally correct thing to do. This way, when she knew Logan would mention it, she would show him just how prepared she was. Yes, she thought, she was perfectly in control of the situation.

  When Logan entered her office, she was momentarily taken with his boyish good looks, until she noticed Logan came bearing a gift of his own. Under his arm he carried a neatly gift-wrapped box with a white bow. When she asked if that was a bribe, he simply replied “Yes, but not for you. I
t’s for Mr. Hoitu.” This made her feel all the more secure she knew what she was doing. However, when she proudly displayed her box of chocolates, Logan informed her that he knew Mr. Hoitu had been dieting for several months and when Ms. Morgan’s secretary informed him of the gift she had chosen, he decided to bring along a more appropriate one, a Nike sweat suit. He also added if she didn’t believe him, she should just check Mr. Hoitu’s belt when he comes in. It should be large around his waist with noticeable wear where the notches used to be. So proud was Mr. Hoitu of his progress that he wore the same old belt as a trophy. Of course she did look, and damn him, Logan was right. She hired him on the spot and never regretted it for a minute.

  Logan tilted his head, adjusting his pillow underneath him so he could look at her just right and still lie comfortably. “Not shy … I was just thinking. Actually, I’m the one who’s surprised. In all that time we worked together, you never showed any interest in me. I mean personally interested.” Logan knew that was a white lie. Over that time he had picked up plenty of unconscious clues that alerted him to the fact that Lisa was attracted to him. Picking up those “tells” was what he was best at. He was just too polite and professional to point them out. Besides, Lisa was the one who hired him. She wasn’t the one he was supposed to be reading.

  “Bull,” said Lisa playfully. “I know you must’ve picked up on my signals right away.” Logan was slightly taken aback by her candor. “Hey, after working with you for a month, I know how good you are,” she said, her smile brightening again. “The fact that you didn’t hit on me when you knew you could have, just made me appreciate you all the more,” she added, as she leaned over and gave him a long passionate kiss.

  A kiss which he eagerly returned. “And here everyone told me you were business before pleasure,” Logan said.

  “I am,” she replied. “But now, thanks to you, my business is done. Are you ready for more pleasure?” she asked, while rolling on top of him.

  After a long enjoyable moment, Logan gently pushed her away. “I’d love to,” he said softly, “but in about five hours I’ve got a meeting with the prestigious Ms. Harrison of Micro Circuits Technology,” he said softly.

  Lisa recognized the name as the seventy year old widow of the recently deceased business mogul Mr. Harrison. “Leaving me behind for another woman already, huh?” she joked.

  “Yeah, I have a real fetish for the older babes,” he joked back.

  “Well, she’s just going to have to wait. I’m not quite done with you yet.” Her hand worked its way to a more convincing position, as she kissed him again. “What was it you called this again?”

  “Win-win negotiating,” Logan answered before rolling her over, getting on top. “Everyone gets what they want. Everyone wins.” He kissed her again, ready to make love to her for the second time tonight, completely oblivious to the events taking place all around the world at just this moment that soon he would be part of.

  3

  OTTAWA, CANADA

  “Damn.”

  The soft vibrating sensation in his left leg alerted Major David Gaines of the Canadian Royal Air Force that the pager he had reluctantly placed in his sweat suit was ringing. He reached into the pocket, slowing his gait slightly as he retrieved the message. He quickly scanned the number scrolling across the digital readout and noted it was an emergency beacon from his immediate supervisor.

  “Damn,” he muttered again.

  I knew I should’ve left this at home, he thought, knowing his morning five mile jog was permanently interrupted. But it was his duty and Major Gaines always put his country first. However, he was two miles into his run and thus a good distance from home.

  He turned down the next main throughway, detouring away from his usual route, intent on getting to Kendales Delicatessen as quickly as possible. It was the only store he knew would be open at this hour of the morning. He crossed another street and ran into the deli, past the hanging salamis on the wall, and into a phone booth in the near corner. Just as his breath began fogging the booth, he noticed the sweat beading at the fringes of his short-cropped jet-black hair in the reflection. Paying no heed to his muddled appearance, he rapidly dialed headquarters. “Gaines here,” he said hurriedly.

  The voice on the other end relayed a message to him from Commander Smythe. After a momentary pause Gaines hung up, a stern look on his face. His wiry muscles tensed. He stretched briefly then sprinted homeward.

  A meteor? That didn’t make any sense. But that’s what’s the message said. Emergency. Meteor Warning. Destination Southern Section of Ellesmere.

  His mind raced faster than his feet. Who knew what damage a meteorite could do to that island? Were there any top secret military systems there? What was the danger to the surrounding communities? He couldn’t believe what was happening. Of all things, a meteor … it was so improbable.

  He reached home in less than fifteen minutes, grabbed his keys, and went straight to the garage for his Volvo. Within half an hour of making the call, he pulled up to the headquarters of Canadian Intelligence, flashed his badge to the guard at the gate, and drove inside. He parked his car and walked to another guard booth where he was required to show his badge again. This time a three-man escort team was waiting to accompany him to briefing room L304 on the lower level. Major Gaines thought this very strange. Why the escort? A quick glance through the corridors, where he noted more security and more activity than usual, told him there was more to this event than met the eye. Why the conference room in the basement? The above ground rooms were certainly more suitable for a non-military emergency.

  Briefing room L304 was small, containing only a narrow conference table in the front, and behind it, a large LCD monitor built into the wall. In the middle of the table, a holographic projector displaying a non-rotating image of the earth literally hovered inches above the surface. Standing to the left of the table was Commander Bruce Smythe. On the other side was the man in charge of Canada’s Defense Department, Admiral Walter Brock. Two other officers were seated; Commander Weston from foreign intelligence and Commander Britton from the air force. Gaines was the last to arrive.

  “Be seated Major Gaines,” requested the Admiral. He was a short, portly, elderly man completely bald except for a few gray hairs that adorned his temples. However, despite his meager presence, he still commanded a great deal of respect.

  “Er … Yes sir, I—,” Gaines stammered as he took his seat.

  “Commander, bring the men up to speed,” interrupted the Admiral sternly. He was not in the mood to waste time.

  Commander Smythe stood up from his chair and walked to the head of the table beside the Admiral. “Around twenty minutes ago SPADATS detected an object that entered the earth’s atmosphere,” he said, referring to the Space Detection and Tracking System jointly operated by the United States and Canada. He placed a flash memory drive into the projector port as he spoke and what appeared on the radar screens earlier this morning was now being replayed in fast motion on the holographic globe. He approached the three dimensional hovering image and used his index finger to point out the highlights. “The object first appeared here and followed this path—slowing down along the way. We expected impact here, at precisely 5:51 Eastern Standard Time.”

  Expected, Gaines thought to himself, his interest growing even further.

  Smythe continued, noticing the confused expression newly pasted on Major Gaines’ face. “Our first thought was a meteor but we now know this was not the case. I apologize for any misinformation I relayed to you on your call-in, Major. The deception was not intentional. At the time, we truly believed it was a meteor.” After Gaines nodded his acceptance, Smythe continued on.

  “As it approached on its final path, we sent two F-18 Hornets to intercept. Their orders were to destroy, if necessary, as long as there was no danger of misdirecting it and endangering lives. They were scheduled to intercept here over the ocean.” The holographic display now showed the flight path of the two fighter planes. When th
e blips representing the fighters were moving closer to the object, Commander Smythe pushed a button returning the holographic replay to real time speed. “I’m now going to playback the tape recording between the pilots just before intercept. I think it’s better if the three of you experience this for yourselves—so listen up.”

  The tape began to play. Radio static followed by … “Hound, we’re within range. Do you have target on radar?”

  “Copy that, Lynx. Fox is on the scope and about to be downed.” Hound always referred to a target as fox. It was how he got his nickname.

  “Don’t fire until you have visual verification, Hound. Do you see anything yet?”

  “Not yet—sun’s too low on the horizon, blocking my view. Wait … did you catch that?” The surprise in his voice could be heard over the slightly static transmission.

  “I think so.”

  “Whatever that thing is, it ain’t a meteor, eh. The sun is glinting off of metal.”

  “Lock on and fire, Hound. Whatever it is, we can’t let it touch down.”

  “Acquiring lock, Lynx.” The beep beep beep beeeeeep of the radar finding its target came in loud and clear, “Locked and ready. This hunt’s over buddy. What the f—that’s impossible— the fox just vanished. What are you reading, Lynx?”

  Gaines noticed that the blip representing the object on the hologram also disappeared. He knew that meant that ground tracking had lost the object as well.

  “Same thing, Hound. No radar, no visual—nothing. Let’s use search pattern Alpha to scout the area.”

  Commander Smythe hit the stop button. The blips on the holographic globe froze in place. The pilot’s recording went silent. “Needless to say they didn’t find anything. Any theories?” He looked around at all the participants in the room.