A Strange Valley

by Darrell Bain

  * * * *

  At the same time Beamer was looking down on the valley, Lisa was standing by the window looking up in that direction. She had gotten up to go to the bathroom and paused there on the way back.

  “Dan, come look. You should see this; it's beautiful.”

  Daniel gazed at Lisa's figure, limned in the moonlight slanting through the window. A shaft of pale light played over her bare breasts as she turned. They swayed gently with her movements.

  “It sure is,” he said.

  “You can tell me that all you like. I love hearing it from you, but you still should see the view from here.”

  Daniel got up and went to stand beside her. From the upstairs window, they could see up the side of the valley, dotted here and there with glimmers from lighted homes. At the very top of the valley's edge there was an indentation. To one side was a cluster of lights; filling the indentation was the orange globe of a full moon. Its light shadowed that side of the valley just enough to be able to distinguish forest from roads and pasture but not much else.

  Daniel slipped an arm around Lisa's waist. “You're right. It is beautiful. This will be a good place to live.” He gazed up at the moon, holding Lisa lightly, as content as he had been in a long time, even with all kinds of threats hanging over them. As he bent down to kiss her, he caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye. He blinked and saw it again, a human form dressed in dark clothing. It was moving, but hugging the shadows of landscape shrubbery that dotted the small yard on the side of the building opposite the entrance. Even as he stood stock still, holding Lisa tighter and tighter without realizing it, he knew what he was seeing. The figure turned the corner and was out of sight now, behind the B&B, but Daniel was sure he knew where he was headed.

  “Dan, dear, what is it?” Lisa asked, sensing the tension that had suddenly gripped him.

  “Our goddamned friendly assassin, if I'm not mistaken,” he whispered. “Quick, Lisa, call 911, then let's get out of here.”

  Even as she picked up her phone, then put it back down, he realized the lines would have been cut. And there was no way to get down the stairs now and out of the building without him knowing they were there, because he was certain the man would come in through the unlocked side door, and the stairs were visible from there. He also knew that the front entrance would be covered by a second person.

  Lisa was already throwing on some clothes and he quickly did the same, keeping his heavy .45 by his side and ready. He finished dressing and waved for Lisa to get down, then used the barrel of his pistol to ease the door open, prepared to either fight or lead the way out. Just then a bright flare of light, along with a muffled explosion came from downstairs, destroying his night vision. He knew immediately what had happened.

  “They've set us on fire. That was an incendiary device. Now they'll wait at both exits.”

  “What do we do?” Lisa's voice was calm but he could see her body trembling. She was holding her .38 revolver, barrel pointed at the floor, but ready.

  Thank our lucky stars most people here own guns, Daniel thought. He knew the doors would be blocked with probably one person at each; that was how the teams usually worked. They would stay until the fire engines arrived, hoping in the meantime that the ones in the building would rush out into their arms. That left the window, which he hoped would let them get clear. Already he could hear the roaring of flames from below.

  “The window! Quick, strip the sheets!” Daniel commanded. Part of his training had been in a quick method of knotting two bed sheets together for a quick escape from a second story.

  Lisa complied, still holding her weapon in one hand. Daniel quickly knotted the two together and got Lisa to help him shove the bed to the window. He used both pillowcases to attach the sheets to the nearest leg of the bed frame. He checked to make sure the safety was off his weapon then steered Lisa to the window. Smoke was already beginning to fill the room.

  “You go down first. I'll cover you from up here. As soon as you hit the ground, rush for the cover of the fountain and cover me while I'm on the way down. Try not to make any noise.”

  Lisa nodded and pushed up the window. She threw the knotted sheets over the sill as he checked the pillow case knots. He moved into position by the window.

  “Go!”

  Lisa disappeared over the sill while Daniel tried to look three ways at once. It was good that he did. There was a third hitter in on the attempt. Daniel saw arms clutching a hand weapon rise up from a shrub. Luckily he was ready. His first shot came a microsecond before the other's, throwing off his aim. The figure sprawled forward, then raised his-no, her-arm, still trying to fire. Daniel didn't hesitate. He pumped two quick shots into her then slid out the window, trusting Lisa to protect him.

  He tried to watch as he slid down, clutching his weapon along with the sheets, but they twisted, turning his body away from the action. A bullet punched a hole in the wood frame wall an inch from his face, peppering his cheeks with flecks of paint. He let go and dropped the rest of the way, falling heavily but holding on to his gun. On the way down, he saw Lisa kneeling in the moonlight, firing as calmly as if she were shooting at targets on a range. By the time he was down, and regained his feet, it was over. The other two had come around the side of the flaming house, expecting to catch them coming out the window when they heard the first shot. Instead, Lisa had caught them, shooting one from behind and the other twice in the chest as he turned.

  In the distance, sirens began to wail. “Come on, let's get out of here,” Daniel said.

  “But-but the police. They'll believe us!”

  Lisa didn't know how feds operated. “Don't be a fool. Come on. An hour from now some federal officer would pull rank, arrest us on some trumped up charge and we'd be dead or disappeared before morning. Even as he was talking, he was dragging Lisa toward his rented car.

  She held back. “No, take mine! I know the way!”

  The way to what? But Daniel knew she was right; her vehicle wouldn't be followed as his might be. They passed his car and slid into hers, a five year old Ford extra cab pickup. Lisa started the engine and they roared away, tires screeching. Seconds later she turned on a side street, raced down it, then turned again. They beat the fire engines out of the street by a minute or less and the police cruisers by not much more. Just then, Daniel happened to think of Lisa's friend.

  “Marybeth! Oh goddamn, we left her behind!”

  “No we didn't,” Lisa said. “She's not there. Don't you remember? She was going to see her girl friend.”

  “Oh yeah. Girl friend?” He laughed inside, thinking of how ludicrous it was, wondering about Marybeth's sexual preferences while zooming around with a woman driving a pickup, heading away from a place where they had damn near been either burned or shot to death.

  “Sure. She likes girls as much as men. She's lots of fun. Can I slow down now?”

  “Uh, yes. We ought to be clear by now. Where are we going, by the way?”

  “Up to Beamer Research. Marybeth told you that Tyrone Beamer wants to talk to you. He's the one who discovered us, even before the feds did.”

  “Is he the one you've been reporting to? That's what I gathered from Marybeth.”

  “Not in that sense. We're not really organized. Tyrone sort of leads an informal council of people in the know-and it's not very many yet. You'll like him. He's a good man; he's done a lot for the valley.”

  “What does, uh, Tyrone want with me? Marybeth said something about the council, but after we went to bed I forgot all about everything except you.”

  Lisa glanced at him, smiled charmingly, then turned her attention back to driving. Daniel was impressed. She had just survived what he assumed was her first gunfight, had probably killed two men (or possibly one man and a woman) and wasn't showing the least sign of hysterics. He wasn't either, but he had been through two such scenes already in his life; once with the Marines and once with the Agency.

  “I think he wants you on the council.
For sure, he wants you out of Masterville, and Marybeth and I away from danger, too. He'll find a place for us up on the mountain.” She reached over and patted his thigh. “Welcome to the club. You're now one of us.”

  “Great. But what are we?”

  “We're us. That's enough for now.”

  BOOK TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  President Robert L. “Bobby Lee” Smith was incensed, as was Murray Phillips. They were huddled in their usual basement conference room, discussing recent events.

  “Who was in charge of that clusterfuck, anyway? I want him fired,” the President said.

  “It was Mandel Crafton, the AIC of the Washington office. If we fire him, we might have a whistle blower on our hands. We sure as hell don't want that. It's bad enough that he screwed up the Op in that fucking valley, but he let the mole they had in his office get away, too.”

  “I thought you said he was killed during his getaway?”

  “He was, but the local police got in on it before we arrived on the scene and ID's him first. He's going to be in the headlines in tomorrow's paper. We've got a cover story going on him but I can't tell you for sure that it will go over with the media or the public.”

  “Fuck the public and the media both. Just make damn certain it can't be traced back to us.”

  “Everything is being sanitized as we speak. I'm having Crafton transferred sideways and promoting that agent who was with Stenning, Shirley Rostervik, into his position. She knows as much as anyone about that valley, now that we've lost our other agents there.”

  “How the hell could that happen? They're not goddamned Supermen, are they? And while we're on the subject, what have you done about them?”

  “I don't know how it happened. I suspect luck as much as anything else. As for the three deaders in Masterville, the Police Chief there is covering it up for now.”

  “He is? Why would he do that?”

  “That's what I'd like to know, but I don't even have an operative there right now. I pulled the last one out because they had gotten her address from a description and license plate. She was lucky to get away before they tracked her down.”

  “It sounds to me as if whoever is controlling things there wants to keep a damper on publicity. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, it does. The longer they can sit quietly in their little valley and expand their population, the better off they are.”

  President Smith got up and began walking in measured treads around the long conference table, trying to decide on the right course of action. He circled twice then stopped, clasping his hands behind his back.

  “And we still don't know what they are, do we?”

  “According to Rostervik, there's nothing really strange about them, other than what we've already noted.”

  “Yeah, they're fucking atheist, free-loving, gun-totin', gook-loving radicals that don't want anything to do with the federal government. One or two of those traits are normal in a person. All of them together are as rare as an alligator in the White House swimming pool. I tell you, Murray, they're goddamn mutants. Have to be.”

  Phillips did not attempt to dispute the President; he was beginning to feel much the same way. He followed him with his eyes as he resumed pacing. He circled the table twice more, then sat back down. He reached out for the silver coffeepot and refilled his cup.

  “All right, here's how we're going to play this. I really do believe those Martians, or whatever the hell they are, they constitute a threat to the nation, but right now isn't the time to crack the whip on them, so long as they stay quiet and don't try any funny stuff. What I want to do is make the buildup slow. Plant stories about how odd they are, how atheistic.”

  Phillips opened his mouth, preparing to inform the President that there was a considerable difference between being an atheist and not going to church, but he closed it before saying anything. After all, he could be right; they could all be atheistic to the core.

  “Next, I want research stepped up radically, and no pun intended. Spend whatever it takes, but I want to know what makes those bozos tick. Don't let it outside the circle. If you need subjects to work on, I'm sure you can find some volunteers around the valley.”

  Phillips nodded, understanding that the “volunteers” would never return. Alive at least.

  “And I'm going to see the Joint Chiefs this afternoon. We'll reserve a brigade of soldiers trained for urban warfare in case we have to seal them off, or even go in and round them up. I'll take care of that end.”

  Phillips nodded again as the President sipped at his coffee.

  “Now I want you to set a date to have a complete campaign ready to demonize that place, whether we know anything else or not. I mean really let them have it on the atheism and free love business, plus whatever else Briggs feeds you. We'll let it run until we get the public stirred up, then use the Army brigade to seal off the valley for “National Security Reasons.” We'll let them sit and stew for a while, then a few weeks before the election, we'll round them up.” The President smiled maliciously at the end of his monolog. “How does all that sound?”

  “It will work,” Phillips responded. “By God, I'll make it work.”

  “Fine, fine. Hey, I gotta go now. Remember, get that research going. We pay those eggheads enough; let them start earning their money for a change.”

  * * * *

  Phillips sat for another fifteen minutes after the President left, drinking another cup of coffee that he really didn't want. An army Brigade sealing off the valley? Demonize them as security threats? Sure, both would work, but where would that leave his own agency? The only play he would get wouldn't be publicized. The Military and Homeland Defense would reap all the benefits of extra prestige, funding and expansion of their turf. What was fair about that? And then he thought of the stolen uranium still being held so close to his vest that only a few of his selected confidants knew of its existence. Them and the President. What would a dirty bomb do if it was exploded over Masterville? Or better still, what if it went off over that brigade of soldiers and he “captured” the ones who did it? Now that would make for some prestige for the NSA! And it would doom Masterville and all its inhabitants. Hell, an irate citizenry would probably migrate to the valley in swarms and overrun the place, radioactive or not, killing everyone in sight! He closed his eyes, visualizing hordes of Christian men and women, rife with banners, crosses and righteous anger trekking into the valley with guns blazing. Damn Bobby Lee! Leave it to the army, and those people in the valley would use their guns to defend themselves and make it into a case of massive civil rights violation. But if citizens of Arkansas and Missouri, rather than the army, did the same thing, it was a Holy War. And who could argue against that? No one, not when it was Christians doing the Holy Warring for a change. Now that was really something to think about. He would try to get the President to see his viewpoint at their next meeting.

  Murray left the conference room, making sure nothing incriminating was left behind. He wore a pleased expression for a change, incongruous to those who knew him. He wore it for hours as he fleshed out future contingencies and plans. Whatever went down, he was determined that the NSA, and himself as Director, got most of the credit and none of the blame.

  * * * *

  When Shirley reported to the office at mid-day, having swung by her place to freshen up and get a few hours sleep first, she was puzzled by the sideways glances directed toward her from colleagues she met in the hallways, and a quick averting of eyes as she returned the stares. It was only when she entered the Operations Office for assignment that she found out what the stares had been about. She was now the boss, having succeeded Crafton without even knowing it. She knew it now, though, having been directed to see Phillips before doing anything else.

  As soon as she arrived and was seated in his office, Phillips explained the circumstances.

  “You mean Bevins, Goodnight and Orson are all dead?” She knew all three slightly, but hadn't known they were even
in Masterville.

  “That's right. Gunned down at that so-called Bed and Breakfast you and Stenning were staying at.”

  “What happened to Daniel—to Stenning?”

  “He got away somehow, after killing those three, and those two broads did, too. We've lost track of them all.”

  “Wait a minute. You mean we were responsible for trying to kill Daniel?” She decided this wasn't the best time to remonstrate about his use of the word “broads” when he should have said women.

  “We were. You didn't know, but we ran a deep search on him and it turns out he's one of those people. Since we had given him all that information, we had to do something about him, and taking him off the board seemed simplest.”

  “But-that's-”

  “Drop it. You know we don't tolerate spies. We found out Mark Terrell made a call to him before he got himself killed, too. His phone wasn't quite as secure as he thought it was.”

  “How did he die?” Shirley was sitting forward, arms folded over her chest in a protective gesture. My God, she knew the agency could be vindictive, but this?

  “He escaped from custody.” Seeing Shirley's unbelieving countenance, he added, “Truly, he did. He overpowered his guards, hurt one of them badly, and then crashed his car when we tried to catch him a couple of hours later. Damn shame, too. He could have revealed a lot, I'll bet.”

  Shirley reached out and held onto the arm rests of the chair in Phillips’ office where custom dictated that she should be seated. She eased her back into it and sank into the leather cushion, feeling lightheaded and grateful for its plush comfort.

  Phillips gave her a few minutes to absorb what had happened while she tried to keep her face carefully blank. How could an Op go so bad so quick? And Daniel one of the Masterville people? How had that come about? But it must be true. Look how quickly he had fallen for one of their women, ignoring a beauty like herself. She sighed, and Phillips took that as a signal to continue.