The Roswell Protocols

by Allan Burd

  “Look at that, David. It’s your lucky day.” She laughed out loud. She stepped closer, grabbed his hair, and stared into his bloody face. She puckered her lips, as if about to kiss him. Then she smashed him in the face with her gun. As he fell unconscious at her feet, she turned to Nikolai. “I’m sick of this country. Let’s go home.”

  76

  PRINCE RUPERT - STACY’S HOUSE

  Logan admired the bright white vaulted ceiling that led up to the skylight. It was the perfect touch, fully completing the relaxed decor. He felt like he was away at a ski chalet. The living room was spacious. An L-shaped couch framed two sides of a white tiger rug. The third side had a recliner. The open side faced a large brick fireplace with a rack that held all the standard tools—tongs, a shovel, a corn broom, a poker, a blower, and a wooden holder for the logs.

  To the right, a big-screen television sat on a contemporary black stand, which contained a DVD player and an assortment of movies. Against the far wall was a hi-fi stereo component system with mounted speakers. On the same wall, paintings were mounted to balance the contrast. Logan glanced at the Monet, briefly, before his attention was captured by a book case. Interested in Stacy’s taste in reading material, he wandered over to peruse.

  Colonel John Chase cased the place with a different agenda in mind. He noted the exits, a habit he picked up after years in the military. To his left were sliding glass doors that led outside to a deck. He wondered if the deck had stairs that led to the ground because it was the only outside exit on this level. The other doors led to a bathroom, a kitchen, and a dining area. Against the east wall he eyed stairs down to the front door, a laundry room, and a one-car garage. Another staircase went up to a gallery walk that led to two rooms and the master bathroom.

  Stacy returned from the kitchen holding three steaming coffee mugs in her hands. She handed one to Chase and put the other two on an end table. “Anything with it?”

  “Black’s fine,” said Logan.

  “Cream, two sugars,” responded Chase.

  “I’ll be right back,” Stacy said, returning to the kitchen.

  Logan pulled one of Stacy’s books from the shelves and thumbed through it. He placed it back, noting the book next to it was written by Stacy herself. He grabbed the thin book and scanned the title—“Princess Zinfandel and the Sharkmen of Azador’s revenge”. That was telling, he thought. He opened to the middle and saw her illustration. Stacy was Princess Zinfandel and the Sharkmen … . Immediately, he turned back to the inside front cover to check the copyright date. The book was printed in 2006. “Colonel, take a look at this.” He brought it over and showed Chase.

  They were both staring at it when Stacy came back in, cream holder in one hand, a cup of sugar packets in the other. Their expressions spoke volumes.

  “Care to explain this?” Logan asked.

  She placed the milk and sweeteners beside the coffees, a thoughtful look in her eye. “Everything you have told me is true, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Logan answered.

  She put her finger in her mouth and began chewing on her knuckle. Then she paced. “I think … no, I am an abductee,” she said. Hearing herself say that for the first time startled her. It sounded so bizarre.

  “Come again?” asked Chase.

  “I should have mentioned it back at the hospital, but … you know … how exactly does somebody bring that up?” She sat down. Chase took a seat in the recliner. Logan sat next to her. “I just found out myself this afternoon. I didn’t believe it. Heck, I still didn’t believe it when that thing attacked us. But it’s the truth.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Chase.

  “You think I do?” Stacy got up and walked around. She reached for the coffee, then decided it might make her too jittery and left it where it was. “Since I was a little girl I’ve had nightmares. Not just ordinary bad dreams, but the same terrifying nightmare over and over again.” She paced around as she recounted her dream. “See those sharkmen I drew? They were the images that continually haunted me.

  “My parents took me to therapist after therapist, but they all said the same thing, ‘Don’t worry, Mrs. Michaels, she’ll grow out of it.’ What a joke.” She laughed in a way that wasn’t funny and walked to the other end of the couch—all of a sudden too uncomfortable to sit directly next to them. “Funny part is they were right. Over time, the dream faded and eventually I forgot about it. But then, years later, for reasons no one could explain to me, they returned worse than before. I went to a therapist during that period. She suggested I write about the experience to help me understand it. I’m not sure if it helped or not, but it made me realize I liked writing. When they finally faded once again, I decided to pursue writing full time.

  “You’re holding my third book. Pretty funny, huh? Well, they say write what you know. Anyway, when I got on my feet, I decided to start over, so I moved here. That was six years ago. One year later, the nightmares started again. This time more vividly than before. That’s when I starting seeing Dr. Miller. He was the best. The one I found easiest to talk to. He was more like my friend than my doctor, if you know what I mean. He taught me how to live with it and once again the nightmares gradually faded.” Stacy got up again. Recounting her life story was making her fidgety. She walked over to the sliding glass door and looked out over the mountains.

  “Until last night. I was standing right out here when I heard a noise as loud as thunder.”

  “That must have been the sonic boom the ship made before it crashed,” Logan told her.

  “Yeah, well …” Stacy went on. She described the nightmare she had that night. How it was more vivid than ever before. How it sent shivers down her spine and frightened her more than anything else. She told them about the emergency visit to Dr. Miller, and the subsequent hypnosis session involving Dr. Peterson.

  Chase reached for his coffee and took a sip before it got too cold. “The police report said Dr. Peterson owns the plumbing supply depot on Elm.”

  “Yeah. Apparently regressive hypnotherapy doesn’t pay the bills,” Stacy said with a half smile.

  Logan stood up. He cupped his hand around his chin and pondered a moment. “That still doesn’t explain why they tried to kill you. Do you have any idea why they were after you?” Logan asked.

  Stacy’s eyelids rose and she shrugged.

  “Sorry. I had to ask,” said Logan apologetically. He walked over and grabbed his coffee.

  Just then Chase’s cellular phone rang. He flipped it open. “Yeah.”

  “It’s me, Colonel.” The voice that rang out from the phone belonged to Dr. Blaze.

  “Hold on.” Chase stood up and walked out of earshot.

  Blaze told him what he had learned. How most likely there were four aliens on the loose.

  “Are you sure? Maybe they had guest rooms or something,” said Chase.

  “The ship’s completely programmable. If they needed another bed they could’ve created one in a minute,” Blaze answered.

  “Damn. Did you call Gaines?”

  “Tried to, Colonel. But he didn’t pick up.”

  Logan wandered to the sliding door, watching Stacy’s reflection in the glass. He wondered what she must have gone through. Could it all have been true? Well, they say truth is stranger than fiction and her tale was as weird as they come. But it still didn’t sit well with him. Was she really an abductee? Her children’s book proved it, but still, it was so … unbelievable. And if it were really true, why did the alien attack her? It just didn’t make any sense.

  Stacy caught him staring and smiled at his reflection.

  Logan turned around and smiled back. He took another sip of coffee while she approached him.

  “What happens now?” she asked.

  Logan didn’t know.

  “I can’t tell you any more, Colonel,” Blaze said. “The replacement helicopter’s here with some escorts and they’re reattaching the clamps now.”

  Chase heard the chop-chop of a rotor in the
background. Their connection became garbled. “You just take care of that ship,” he ordered.

  “I will, Colonel.” Blaze hung up.

  Chase flipped his phone closed.

  Logan headed towards him. “What’s up?”

  “Blaze says more than one got away. He counts four.”

  “Jesus,” muttered Logan.

  “Oh, he’s got nothing to do with this,” Chase countered.

  “What now?”

  “We’ll wait here. Until we hear another report of a sighting, that is. Going out looking for them is a waste of time, and who knows … maybe the alien that tried to kill her will come back.”

  Chase had no idea how right he was. For in the skylight looking down on them with vacant hollow eyes was the alien. Its eyes fixed on Stacy.

  It slowly withdrew from the glass and disappeared into the night.

  77

  Rebecca felt no remorse. More than an hour had passed since they left Gaines’ unconscious battered body lying on the side of the road, and already she had forgotten him like he had never existed. Her only thoughts were about returning home. She took a swig of Vodka from the bottle, a small taste of things to come.

  Nikolai glanced at her, not sure what to make of her behavior as they had never met before today. He was glad he brought the vodka—his way of saying thanks—but it was supposed to wait until later. Perhaps her wild side was exploding free after years of being held in check. Well, he thought, she earned it. As long as she didn’t indulge too much. “I thought you would appreciate that. My way of saying congratulations on a job well done.”

  “Spaseeba,” she said, wiping the alcohol from her lips. “How much further?”

  “Another hour,” answered Nikolai.

  Rebecca took another swig. Then, sensing what Nikolai was thinking, she put the cap back on and put it away. After all, it wouldn’t truly be time to celebrate until they got home. In this business it was important to keep your wits about you. “How are we getting this stuff out?” she asked.

  “We have comrades stationed at—”

  Rebecca interrupted with a laugh. “I haven’t heard that word in a long time. Too long,” she reflected. Her demeanor became more serious. “It will be very good to get back. How is life in Moscow?”

  “In some places worse, others better,” he said. “You need not worry though. After this assignment, I’m sure General Vaskev will see to it that your accommodations rank among the best.”

  “Good.” Rebecca smiled. She couldn’t wait to return. Her superiors would treat her as if she was a hero—and she was, she thought to herself. She remained undetected in enemy camp for five years. During that time she smuggled out an untold amount of secrets that would have made any KGB agent proud. Her idea for a pipeline worked flawlessly. Nobody suspected that each time she visited her gynecologist she was actually dropping off information.

  She told David she couldn’t have a child because of certain “female difficulties”. It was the perfect lie. Not only did it allow her unlimited visits to her doctor, who no one suspected was also a spy, but it played on David’s sympathetic nature. She learned that any time she needed to get closer to him, she just had to reveal more of her vulnerable side. He fell for it every time.

  “So how are we going to get this stuff out?” she asked again.

  “We have a contact in Alaska. He runs a fish market. We are going to off-load everything on this truck into crates and then leave by freighter. Within one week’s time, everything we took will be in Russia.”

  “And with that fool out of the way there is no one to stop us.”

  As if on cue, headlights glared at them from further up the road. A huge truck, its cab facing toward them, its rear sideways, blocked the two lane highway. “Is that part of the plan?” she asked.

  “No.” Nikolai kept his speed steady, calculating he had at least thirty seconds before he collided with the impromptu roadblock.

  “I’ll take care of it.” Rebecca reached into her pocket and withdrew the alien weapon. Then she remembered David squished the thumb. There was no time to go into the rear and get another. “Damn it. I can’t use this.” She looked toward the truck, which loomed larger each second they approached it. She remembered her weak moment when she stopped to avoid a Jeep, and it almost resulted in her losing the alien cargo to the Japanese. She didn’t want Nikolai repeating her mistake. “Ram it. Don’t stop. Just drive straight through it.”

  They were getting close.

  Nikolai slammed on the brakes, halting the eighteen-wheeler.

  “NO! Damn it,” Rebecca shouted, pounding her fist against the dashboard.

  “This is not the armored truck you were driving before. If we hit that truck at this speed, we’ll both be killed,” answered Nikolai.

  They stopped about twenty yards short of the truck. In between, a lone figure stood firm, holding a gun in one hand aimed directly at their windshield. The other hand, still to the side, held an Uzi. The figure stood about five and a half feet tall and was clothed in heavy winter garb. A hooded, black, down jacket was pulled tightly around the individual’s face, concealing it in darkness. One thing was clear to them though. Whoever the mysterious figure was, they knew exactly what they were transporting.

  Their windshield cracked suddenly as a bullet drilled through the glass, lodging itself in the metal wall behind them. The figure darkened as two more shots took out their headlights. Now only Rebecca and Nikolai were bathed in bright light, like criminals held for questioning at a police station.

  A voice screamed at them. “Put your hands where I can see them and step slowly out of the truck.”

  Nikolai already had his gun handy. So did Rebecca.

  The glass cracked again. Another bullet pinged between them and ricocheted through the roof.

  The figure dropped the gun and held up the Uzi. “I know you can see this, Nikolai. Next time, I use it. You have two seconds to make your decision.”

  Whoever it was knew him—and the voice sounded very familiar, but he couldn’t be sure from within the truck. He quickly made his decision. He raised both his hands, showed his pistol, and left it on the dashboard.

  “Your turn.” The figure aimed the Uzi at Rebecca. She quickly did the same, following Nikolai’s lead. They both opened their doors and stepped slowly out of the vehicle. “Walk in front of the truck and get on your knees.”

  Now he recognized the voice, but it couldn’t be? Maybe the howling wind was making him hear things. He hesitated and stared curiously. The height was right but—

  “Do it. If I was going to execute you, I would’ve done it already. Get down on your knees and you’ll live.”

  Nikolai and Rebecca glanced at each other. There was nothing they could do. Nor did Nikolai desire to do anything. Not until he was more certain. They eased to the front of the truck and dropped to their knees as their captor commanded, feeling the cold concrete beneath them.

  The figure approached, face still hidden beneath the hood. Nikolai squinted in the bright headlights, but he still could not see for certain whom it was, even though the person was almost on top of them.

  “Nikolai, I didn’t think trapping you would be so easy,” the voice taunted him. Then the hood turned to face Rebecca. “You must be Valeri, or should I say Rebecca?” Holding the Uzi firm in one hand, the figure brought the other hand up and removed the hood.

  Nikolai’s mouth gaped wide. His suspicions were correct. “What are you doing here?”

  Nikolai’s wife Katrina smiled at him. She paused, and then in a dead serious tone she answered him. “I’m here to inform you, my dear husband, that as of this moment, your life as a spy is over.”

  78

  PRINCE RUPERT

  The TV was tuned in to the local news. Logan was watching, noting so far the incident with Stacy went unreported. His thoughts moved elsewhere. He was going over everything he had learned about the aliens that would explain their contradictory behavior. He mulled over his enc
ounter this morning—which at this point felt like it happened a week ago. He recalled everything Gaines and Dupres told him and came to the same conclusion. Their actions were defensive in nature.

  So why were they suddenly aggressive? And why Stacy? What was the connection?

  He believed she was abducted, but there had to be more to it than that. Studying her was quite different than stalking her. But they were in control when they took her in the past. Now they weren’t. Their situation was more desperate.

  All that was true, but it didn’t offer the answer he was looking for.

  Stacy approached quietly, startling him with her voice. “At least they kept me off the air,” she said. “The last thing I need is publicity like that.”

  Chase was within earshot. “Unless that sucker makes another appearance, no one else will hear about it. Your government will see to that,” he added, forgetting that Stacy considered them to be the government.

  The slip of the tongue snapped Logan back to full attention. He had to distract her before she picked up on the inconsistency. “Are you cold?” he asked, jumping off the couch. “I’m cold.”

  Stacy nodded. “That’s because this room is located directly above the garage. I kind of like it, though. It gives me an excuse to start a fire and wrap myself up in a blanket.” She smiled at the thought.

  “Can I get one started now?” Logan asked. The idea of getting a fire going appealed to him. It had been a while since he had sat in front of a fireplace, and the memory was a good one.

  “Sure. That’d be nice.” Stacy smiled at him.

  Logan walked over to the fireplace. He opened the glass door and reached underneath to pull the lever that opened the flue, learning it was already open. He looked toward the holder and saw only two logs remained from the cord. Choosing the healthier looking of the two, he squat down and placed it in the ash-ridden fire place. He turned his head to face her. “I see you use this often.”