They watched her weave her way through the tables to the door, Leo apparently with simple lust, Delmer with suspicion. What had she been up to? Was her sudden appearance some kind of warning?
When she disappeared into the lobby, Leo turned around and picked up his glass. Three or four ice cubes were all that was left in it, and they clung stubbornly to the bottom when he tilted it up to his lips.
"Here, let me borrow some of that,” he said, picking up Delmer's water glass and pouring a half inch off the top of it into his own glass to float the ice cubes.
"Wait!” Delmer said, grabbing his arm. He'd figured it out. “Don't drink that. She poisoned it."
Leo rolled his eyes. Prying Delmer's hand loose, he said, “Del, don't you think you're taking this conspiracy business a little too seriously? She didn't poison your drink."
Embarrassed by Leo's patronizing tone, Delmer asked, “Then what was she doing here?"
"Asking the time,” Leo said. He took a big gulp of water, slurping in one of the ice cubes. He smiled wide at Delmer while he swallowed, as if to say, “See?” but his smile suddenly changed to a grimace of horror. He spit the ice cube back into his glass and said, “Then again . . .” but he never finished. His eyes rolled upward and he tilted forward until his forehead rested on the National Revealer.
"Holy shit!” Delmer whispered. He looked up at the other bar patrons, but the couples at their tables hadn't noticed anything, and if the man with the newspaper had, he wasn't making a move. Delmer felt completely alone. His confident “we” a few minutes before had been bravado, nothing more; the truth of the matter was he had never met another person who believed in a clandestine space program, or in Bigfoot or the face on Mars either, for that matter. He'd only read their articles in the newspapers.
He looked back down at the top of his friend's head. My God! he thought. Leo is dead. Whatever the woman had slipped into the water had killed him instantly. And Delmer would no doubt be on the top of the suspect list. He'd frequented this bar often enough over the last few years, somebody was bound to recognize him . . .
Still, he couldn't waste time worrying about himself. Leo was dead! Poisoned by the drink that should have been his.
Here was his proof that the Black Space Program existed, but how could he use it to convince anyone? Delmer tried to think: What should he do now? There was no way he could save Leo, but if he acted fast he could at least track down the woman who had killed him. And maybe, if he played it right, she would give him the proof he needed to blow the whole story wide open.
Yes, that was it. If Leo's death was to mean anything at all, then Delmer had to use it to put pressure on the government. Get them to come clean with the nation. He stood up from the table and strode out of the bar in search of the woman.
She was just getting into a taxi when Delmer reached the parking lot. He raced for his own car and squealed out of the lot only a block behind it, following as inconspicuously as possible. When the taxi merged onto I-5 going north, he closed up the lead a little, following a couple of cars behind as it switched to 520 and crossed the floating bridge into Bellevue.
It seemed as if half the buildings lining the freeway belonged to computer manufacturers or software companies. “Of course!” Delmer muttered to himself. “The computer industry has to be in on it as well. Jeez, why didn't I think of that before?"
The taxi pulled off the freeway and swung around the block into a Red Lion Hotel parking lot. The woman got out and entered the lobby, but as soon as the cab had gone she came right back out, walked through the lot to a parked car—a black Mercedes—and drove away.
Delmer followed her to another hotel where she switched cars again—this time to a black BMW—then she led him through winding streets to a sprawling mansion built into a hillside. An electric gate blocked the driveway; Delmer drove on past, pausing only long enough to write down the address. Then he headed for a phone booth.
The yellow pages held over a hundred listings for private investigators. Delmer groaned as he saw page after page of ads promising discretion, confidentiality, and affordable rates. How could he know which ones were legit and which ones were already part of the conspiracy? A wrong guess would be disastrous.
Then he couldn't afford to guess. He would have to consult a higher power. With a newfound sense of determination, he scanned the pages of the directory, glancing at the names just long enough for them to register in his subconscious mind, then he went back to his car and took his Ouija board out of the trunk, sat down in the passenger seat with the board on his lap, and placed the fingers of both hands on the planchette. It would work better with two people, but Delmer didn't have time to track down a compatriot to help him. The oracle would have to work through him alone.
He let his wrists and forearms go slack, then focused on the alphabet spread across the board and tried to let his mind do the same. After a moment, the planchette began to move.
* * * *
"You know, Elvis served me a burger once, back in ‘83. I'm sure of it.” Sid Jaimeson, the investigator, paused to light a cigarette, puffing the smoke toward the windshield, where it curled around and drifted straight toward Delmer.
Delmer cranked his window down a couple of inches. “Elvis, huh?” he said distractedly. They'd been watching the house behind the iron gate for a couple of hours now.
"Yup. In a little Mom & Pop diner in Kalamazoo, Michigan. He'd shaved off his sideburns and his hair was a lot shorter, but you can't fool a trained eye. It was Elvis all right."
"Wow,” said Delmer. “What'd you do?"
Sid blew more smoke at the windshield. “Nothing. It wasn't any of my business.” He was silent for a minute or more, then he said, “Well, okay, I tipped him twenty percent, just to let him know I knew. But I didn't tell anybody, if that's what you mean."
Delmer grinned. “You just told me."
Sid grinned right back. “I told you the wrong town, too."
"Oh.” Delmer was momentarily crestfallen, but then he realized Sid was just being professional. “You know,” he said, “I'm glad—"
"Look sharp,” Sid interrupted. “Here she comes.” He stabbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, and the two men hunched down in their seats as the iron gate swung open and the black BMW slid silently out into the night. It was halfway down the block before its driver turned on the lights.
Sid started up his car and pulled out after her, keeping a full block behind until she got into heavier traffic, then closing up the distance and following her onto the freeway. She drove south all the way to Renton before getting off on 169 and heading toward Mount Rainier.
"What could she be doing way out here?” Delmer asked as they drove past Enumclaw and turned east on 410.
"Could be anything,” Sid said. “Making a drop, meeting a contact, disposing of a body—you name it."
Delmer shuddered. He wondered what had happened to Leo's body. How long had he sat there face down in the bar before someone noticed him? Had anyone described Delmer to the police? Were they even now ransacking his apartment for clues? That much was certain; if not the police then the Black Space Program people. And both organizations would no doubt post guards to catch him when he returned. Which meant he couldn't even go home. He could call in from a pay phone for his messages, but that would be it.
The road had begun climbing into the Cascade foothills. Now that they were the only two cars on it, Sid had dropped way back, so they just glimpsed the BMW's taillights as it disappeared around the tree-lined curves ahead of them. Then they came to a twistier section and didn't see the car at all for a few minutes, but the road straightened out again and there it was, stopped at a pullout.
It was too late to stop without being obvious. “Duck down,” Sid said as he drove on past. He took them around the next corner, then killed the lights and turned the car around on the narrow road. With the engine off, and using just the emergency brake so the lights wouldn't come on, he coasted them back down until they wer
e just peeking around the corner. The BMW was an inky patch of darkness under the starlight, growing more visible as their eyes adapted to the dark.
"She's got to be meeting someone,” Sid whispered, as if his voice could carry the quarter mile to the other car and give them away. “She hasn't even gotten out of the car."
"What if they come down from above?” Delmer asked. He meant from up the road, but Sid leaned forward and looked up through the smoky windshield.
"Holy shit!” he whispered.
Delmer leaned forward to see what he was so excited about. Sure enough, there was a glowing ring of red and green lights descending toward them from high in the northwestern sky.
Sid reached back into the rear seat and grabbed his camera. Rolling down his window, he leaned out and started snapping pictures as the UFO dropped silently to a stop beside the BMW.
It dwarfed the car. Delmer guessed it was thirty or forty feet tall and twice as wide. It was circular, the classic flying saucer design with a bulge on the top. Through the transparent bubble, Delmer could see silhouettes of two humanoid pilots sitting at a control console.
The BMW driver's door opened, and the woman from the bar stepped out. She was bathed in pulsing light from the UFO. Sid kept clicking away with the camera as a ramp descended from the underside of the saucer and the woman walked up it and disappeared inside.
"We got ‘em,” Delmer whispered triumphantly.
The ramp slid back into the saucer, the lights brightened, and the UFO rose up into the air again. Delmer expected it to shoot straight up, but instead it slid silently up the road—straight at their car.
"Uh oh,” Sid said. He handed Delmer the camera. “Hold that and put on your seatbelt. Things could get bumpy here.” He waited until he was sure that the UFO pilots had indeed seen them—which was unmistakable when a beam of bright white light shot out from the edge of the saucer and lit up the interior of the car like the inside of a flashbulb—then he turned the key in the ignition.
The engine rumbled to life, then immediately died. When Sid tried the key again, nothing happened. Not even the starter motor turned over.
"They're using a dampening field!” Delmer squeaked. “They can stop engines and stuff from working."
Sid nodded. “Well, then, let's just see if they can repeal the law of gravity.” He released the emergency brake and the car began to roll down the highway toward the parked BMW.
"I think they can.” Delmer clutched the edge of the seat in panic, as if that might help hold them to the ground.
When they came under the UFO, all the loose pop cans and napkins and maps and stuff in the car rose up to bang against the roof, and both Sid's and Delmer's hair rose straight up as well, but their seatbelts held them in place. The camera shot up out of Delmer's hands, but he snagged the strap and reeled it back down to his lap. The car rocked as if in a strong wind. Sid cursed as he fought for control, but the car didn't leave the ground.
Then they passed out from under the disc and all the debris rained back down on them. “All right!” Sid shouted. “We're too heavy for ‘em.” He straightened out the car so it was pointed down the center line of the highway, and they began to pick up speed.
The UFO floated along behind them, pinning them in its intense light and sweeping its anti-gravity beam across them time after time, but Sid kept the car on the highway and by the time they reached the first curve they were doing nearly forty miles an hour.
The road swept around to the left, and in the middle of the curve the car suddenly got light again. Delmer expected it to skid off into the trees, but instead it did the opposite, oversteering hard to the left. Sid corrected for it, batted a pop can aside, and said, “They're playing with our inertia. Well let's just see if we can play back.” He hit the brakes hard, and the car stopped instantly, without even squealing the tires or throwing Sid or Delmer against their seatbelts. The UFO swept on ahead, and Sid reached into his jacket, pulling out a snub-nosed revolver. He waited until the floating pop cans fell to the floor again, then leaned out the window and fired three rounds at the UFO. The report echoed off the trees beside the road.
It was like hitting a baseball. One moment the UFO was there; the next it was careening through the sky toward the northern horizon.
"Hah, thought so,” said Sid.
"What?” asked Delmer.
The engine suddenly coughed and rumbled to life, without Sid touching the key.
"Aha, their damping field must have a range limit. Hang on.” Sid stepped on the gas and the car sped down the hill.
"What made them zoom away like that?” Delmer asked, gripping the dashboard as Sid swerved the car around another corner. “They wouldn't be afraid of a gun, would they?"
"I doubt it,” Sid said, “but if they can play with gravity and lower inertia, then I figured that's what they use to keep themselves afloat. And by the way they supposedly zip around the sky and make sudden stops and all, I figured they probably don't weigh more than a couple of grams. So I sent a couple more grams of high-velocity lead toward ‘em. Just like playing pool; the momentum has to go somewhere."
Delmer wondered if that was such a hot assumption, but apparently it had worked. Not for long, though; the UFO stopped just as quickly as it had gone, and like a ball at the end of an elastic cord, it shot back toward them.
"Time to call in the cavalry,” Sid said. He pulled his cell phone from his hip and flipped it open, dialing with his thumb while he drove.
The road bottomed out and began to rise again. Sid punched the gas and the car shot up the other side, then the engine coughed and died again. He shoved in the clutch, and they coasted on up and over the crest of the rise.
Delmer was afraid that the dampening field might kill cell phone signals, too, but a moment later Sid said, “Marty? Sid. No, no time; listen, I've been following somebody, and I think I stumbled onto a major drug deal. I want you to send the chopper and as many cars as you can spare. Damn right they've spotted us; they're chasing us down the side of Mount Rainier right now. On 410, right. Tell ‘em to get here quick; the dealers are faster than we are, and I don't know how much longer I'll be able to hold ‘em off. Right. Thanks."
Sid thumbed off, tossed the phone to Delmer, and laughed at Delmer's surprised expression.
"But—why didn't you tell them the truth?"
"What? Marty's a nice guy who just happens to work dispatch at the Puyallup field office, but if I call him up and say ‘UFO,’ he can't do a thing to help me. Say drugs and he can send half the damned force."
The phone buzzed in Delmer's hand. He nearly dropped it in surprise, but managed to flip it open instead, bracing himself against the door as the car swerved around a hairpin turn, and say, “Uh . . . Sid's car."
"Who the hell is this?” a deep voice asked.
"Delmer . . . uh, a friend of—” Delmer said, but Sid grabbed the phone from him before he could say more.
"Sid here,” he said. Delmer gasped as the UFO swept its spotlight and anti-gravity beam across them again and the car lurched toward the inside of the turn. Sid cursed and jerked the wheel straight again, then said into the phone, “Nope. Hold on.” He dropped the phone in his lap, pulled his revolver out of its shoulder holster, transferred it to his left hand, and leaned out the window to fire three more shots into the air.
The UFO streaked away again, its spotlight dimming with distance until it winked out among the stars. Sid holstered his revolver and picked up the phone again. “Sorry, I had to persuade ‘em to back off. Hell, yes, that was gunfire. Get your asses up here or you'll be readin’ my obit in the morning.” He thumbed off the phone and tossed it back to Delmer.
"What did he want?” Delmer asked as the car's engine started up again and Sid accelerated hard down the road.
Sid laughed. “He wanted to know if I'd seen any funny lights in the sky. Said they're getting all sorts of calls about it from out this way."
"Good,” Delmer said. “Maybe they'll believe us now."<
br />
"They'll believe us when I show ‘em the photos,” Sid said. “Not before.” He leaned his head out the window and looked up. “You know, I believe our flying friends must have been listening in on our call, ‘cause it doesn't look like they're coming back."
He slowed the car and continued driving down the mountain at a more normal pace. After a few minutes they saw a highway patrol car speeding toward them with its lights flashing, and Sid blinked his headlights to flag them down.
Delmer let Sid do the talking, and he was impressed with how few details Sid had to change in order to make the story sound completely believable. He even said straight out that the car full of drug dealers “took off like a rocket” when he fired on them the second time, and he and Delmer hadn't seen them since.
The helicopter showed up not long afterward and began sweeping the roadside with a spotlight that seemed like a dim flashlight after the UFO's bright beam. Sid and Delmer stuck around for a while, putting up a show of helping with the search, but when it became apparent to everyone that the bad guys had slipped through the net, Sid thanked the cops for saving his bacon and the two of them took off for Seattle again.
Sid dropped Delmer off at the parking lot in Bellevue where he'd left his car and they split up for the night, Sid to go download the photos he'd taken and Delmer to hole up somewhere until morning. He didn't particularly like the idea of spending a night alone in a motel, but going home was out of the question, and as Sid pointed out, staying together made them a bigger target.
So Delmer waited until Sid drove away to the north, then went the other direction, eventually finding a cheap motel near the airport. He bought a copy of the National Revealer from a late-night grocery down the street and fell asleep reading the news.
* * * *
The next morning Delmer called Sid's office number, but he just got an answering machine. He called Sid's cell number, but that went to voicemail, too. Delmer fussed around the motel room for another hour, giving Sid time to get to work, then called again. Answering machine again.
Analog SFF, June 2010 Page 9