Edge of Revelation

by David John West

  At that moment a student who prided himself on his wild japes had taken it into his mind to throw eggs from concealment into the crowd of drinkers . He was lubricated by liquor and showing off to his friends in the release of evening. One egg struck a girl behind tall John and made her squeal. As Rakul and Joe turned to look, a second arced in towards Joe. Both aliens became aware of its course and as it approached a soft crack could be heard as it was deflected from its course at the last instance by Joe’s ripallo. It was not deliberate but the deflection went straight towards Rakul, who was wearing no such protective device. Rakul moved faster than could be seen and clenched the egg before it could strike his chest. In the act he crushed the egg and it dripped between his fingers. He looked down at the mess in his fist briefly then Joe felt him start to move. Firstly he pushed his beer glass into Joe’s free hand. Despite his great size Rakul flitted between the packed drinkers at impossible speed, dancing round the people, deploying the ‘aggressive walk through hostiles’ close combat manoeuvre so appreciated by the Jarlankans in hand-to-hand combat. He adjusted the posture of people he passed through on his mazy route, assisting their arms to not spill their drinks. Soon he confronted the egg-thrower as he was set to hurl another egg into the crowd. He grabbed the egg-thrower in one fist and lifted him off the floor, his knees bent in fear, toes traipsing the ground. The egg-thrower looked up into Rakul’s predatory stare, Rakul’s sharp eyes narrow slits, regarding him like an eagle’s prey. The egg-thrower was transfixed in Rakul’s gaze and near fainted with fear. As the pair stood motionless in their dramatic tableau, Rakul suddenly seemed distracted and the egg-thrower was amazed to feel he may be let off; he might just escape a good beating after all. The egg-thrower did not realise that two fearsome Mafiosi had moved forward to take position behind him to both sides and were staring down the threatening hulk of Rakul, adding to the menace of the stand-off situation that had silenced all the drinkers around them. The nearby drinkers heard strange words from Rakul as he bowed his head to reach a long tongue into his eggy palm to taste the raw egg. “Thank you, that was most nutritious, you may give me the remainder of your package as you are clearly dispensing with them.” Rakul lowered the thankful egg-thrower back to his own feet and relieved him of the egg box he was carrying. Rakul nodded to Rafaello and Umberto over the head of the egg-thrower, who was still unaware of his good fortune that the Cavallo protectors had materialised to save him. Rakul then turned on his heel to return to Joe between the drinkers on the cobbled pavement.

  Rakul stood before Joe again, egg box in one eggy hand, smiling unselfconsciously. Joe passed his beer back to Rakul’s free hand and he took a drink. “You must tell me at some time how the egg that I saw was clearly on a path to strike you suddenly diverted and came on to me instead.”

  “I did nothing,” Joe denied any direct involvement in half-truth.

  “Indeed I saw you do nothing but nonetheless it occurred and reinforces your resourcefulness. This meeting may be more interesting than I had hoped. Now you must tell me your needs if we are to have an effective bargain.”

  “You do have something, someone that I would be willing to trade. She is a captive once held in Braganza, in the central Spyre.”

  “This is personal, then. This captive must be of some stature if she was held in the Spyre itself. Someone that you personally wish to trade? Maybe you want this on your own, without official sanction.” Rakul was not seeking direct confirmation as his mind ticked through the ramifications. “And this person would be… ?”

  “I would need to confirm this plan with my colleagues before giving you that name,” Joe replied. “But you can be assured that this person would be of importance to me personally though of much lesser importance than your missing Omeyn.”

  “This would make the basis of a sound trade as I would see it,” Rakul observed, magnanimous now. “I would like to make this work, then maybe we will have a special understanding that could be helpful again.”

  Joe took a draught of beer as he thought about making a deal with this particular devil. They talked no more of business that evening and Joe was left believing at least this part was his own business, a side deal to the main campaign. And yet there was a niggle at the back of his mind telling him that this was not so.

  TWELVE

  Don Griffiths arrived at Heathrow airport mid-morning for his connecting flight through Dallas Fort Worth to San Antonio. Top Brass must be taking his witness statement on the Thetford UFO very seriously as his orders to fly to United States HQ came through within hours of sending his report to the local AATIP officer Earl Whitburn. His orders came from the AATIP Executive Director Dan Tucci who was flying down from Washington to chair the meeting in Texas personally. Don was pleased to see they had stumped up for a business class seat, it being long-haul at short notice and all. Good to see that some military budgets were holding up. Air Force guys perforce had to use military transports whenever possible so travelling civilian this occasion would be a civilised way to arrive in reasonable shape later that evening local time.

  Security and passport control were streamlined enough at Heathrow compared to the USA. His boarding card allowed Fast Track and he looped past the economy lines and was alone as he cleared his overnight bag from the X-ray belt with competent efficiency. The plane was ready so he boarded straight away to find his private seating area on an internal aisle near the front. He removed his phone and book for the flight and stowed his bag in the overhead locker. The seat was very comfortable and catered well for his long frame. Flying was humdrum for Don but this special civilian treatment still felt good for the air force man. He settled in to read a newspaper as the other passengers arrived and one by one took up their seats until the business class cabin was mostly filled. They closed the doors and taxied away soon after the scheduled time; apparently the winds were lighter than usual so flight time savings would make up for the slight delay on take-off. Soon the aircraft was all locked down and thundering down the runway towards the west. The airplane rose steeply over the opposing traffic jams that was the M25 London orbital motorway and banked to the north before reaching Windsor Castle.

  Don was feeling very settled when the seatbelt lights were switched off and the hostess brought him a Scotch and soda. There was a high partition to his right and he heard an urbane English accent ask for a gin and tonic from the hostess working the other aisle. He was settling down to his aperitif and snack when his neighbour craned his head around the partition making it very easy for them to speak without being overheard.

  “Don Griffiths, US Air Force?” he enquired.

  No time off for travel in peace and quiet then, thought Don, unsurprised. “Yes indeed. I guess it’s no coincidence about our travel arrangements then. You have me at a disadvantage, I think.”

  “My apologies for catching you at a loss, I am David Harrier, sort of UK opposite number to Dan Tucci at AATIP and travelling to the same meeting as yourself. I asked for us to sit together so we could meet ahead of time.”

  “Good to meet you,” Don Griffiths replied easily. So it is to be a joint forces meeting. This is getting more interesting all the time!

  “I am even more glad to meet you than you might think,” David smiled. “If I weren’t meeting you I fear I would have been travelling well back down the plane.”

  “Pleased to oblige. Truth be told I was surprised myself, but wasn’t going to argue.”

  Once they took down their partitions then their conversation could be entirely private. The other passengers in their row were busy with drinks, reading or had donned headphones. Most had reclined and were far enough away not to hear even had they been interested. The hum of the flight and relative peace of the business class cabin did the rest to give them complete privacy.

  “I am handling the liaison between UK air intelligence and your own for this meeting,” David Harrier continued. “I have been something of a specialist in ali
en and UFO matters in the UK military for quite a while now. As such I get copied in on your UFO reports in the UK and I am aware of the unfortunate episode at your family house some time ago.”

  “I see,” Don replied slowly. That made sense. “I wasn’t looking for any of this to happen. From my family’s point of view, I wish neither event had happened.”

  “I am sincerely sorry about the abduction event at your home. It must have been terrifying. How are the family coping?”

  “The twins have forgotten all about it. They thought it was just a bad dream. Belinda was most upset by it and blamed my job and the location for what happened to us. That was the only explanation that made sense of the threat to her family to her. I understood that and thought it had gone away until that thing flew over our new house. No use anybody saying we were deluded now, we were wide awake when that thing came right over us, no mistaking it.”

  “I confess I have not seen a UFO like that in all my years but of course I have checked enough reports from credible civilian and military sources to be convinced. The craft you saw seems to be very similar to a large slow-moving craft seen over Phoenix a few years back. I can also say that I have very recently had first-hand proof of alien visitation so I too have personal reasons to contribute to this meeting,” David said.

  “That may be good, may be bad, depending on what this is going to be all about,” Don observed. He had little understanding beyond the UFO sighting context for the meeting. It could be routine but he decided not, the way events were moving along with such urgency.

  “Suffice to say there are things coming to a head and it’s in both our local theatres of operations,” David added. “But probably best to save the rest until we get to Lackland base. We should use these comfortable seats to catch up on some sleep, never know when you will get some more!”

  Don smiled in agreement as the hostesses arrived to take their lunch order. He reflected that it was good to have supportive company for the trip and this mysterious English officer sounded competent enough.

  *

  The long-haul flight terminated in Dallas where Don and David cleared immigration and customs, before walking the cool curved corridors of DFW airport to their domestic connection to San Antonio. The wide window walls looked across the airport to the flatlands of north Texas under lofty azure skies that reminded both men they were not in watery Cambridgeshire any more. Soon they were emerging from their local flight at San Antonio where an Air Force Ford sedan was waiting. A uniformed driver leaned against the door waiting. It was late afternoon local time, hot and humid. They were driven to the Hilton Suites hotel adjacent to their base where the desk clerk was expecting them. It was a civilian hotel but much of its custom was military and it was glad of the government business to maintain the substantial four-storey hotel with a high guest count.

  There was a message from Dan Tucci to say that he was delayed and unable to meet them that evening so Don and David had the evening at leisure; no one else joined them at the hotel. David used the time to bring the US officer up to speed on the arrangements between the security agencies of the two allies. This had been cleared in advance to save time on introductions in the main meeting due to start 9am sharp in the morning.

  *

  A different driver collected Don and David from the hotel foyer at 8.45am the following morning. Both men were in civvies, though formal in blazer, slacks and military necktie. Both men had visited United States Air Force Intelligence HQ in the past and were aware it housed an eclectic mix of uniformed personnel and dressed-down civilians. Most of the intelligence workers were young IT types more resembling Silicon Valley programmers than clean-cut military. Air Force Intelligence Headquarters was a large building on the periphery of the airbase. Their driver dropped them outside the double glass doors of the main entrance, which was unimpressive by commercial standards save for the menacing black shape of a retired Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird high-altitude reconnaissance plane standing on a concrete pad in front. On a prior trip David had it explained that this mean-looking plane could fly so fast and high that its evasion tactics were simply to outrace any incoming missiles. It also had the reputation that it was so fast it was at the edge of all tolerances. It leaked air and fuel in flight and barely held together with the stress of flying faster than Mach 3. Several Blackbirds had been lost, but none to enemy fire. This particular Blackbird would never run that risk again but served as a lasting monument to the power of USAF technology.

  Don and David were met at the check-in desk by a young captain in formal uniform who explained that he was to collect them and escort them to the meeting room where Dan Tucci was expecting them. A less formal round-faced receptionist of indeterminate age welcomed them both with a wide smile. Her eyes sparkled behind silver-rimmed glasses. She had a tightly curled Afro hairstyle. Visitors were reminded of the status of the premises by two large plaques side by side on the wall behind Alysha (according to her name badge). One was the familiar blue roundel of the USAF with the bald eagle atop a shield containing lightning bolts, claws and wings. Next to it was the lesser-known insignia of the USAF Intelligence: a quartered shield in grey and blue with black knight chess piece over crossed sword and key.

  Don showed his USAF pass to Alysha and David provided his British army credentials and handed over his passport into her safekeeping on exchange for a San Antonio USAF pass. A young woman in lightweight combat pants, heels and sheer black top was seated in a beige couch off to one side of the desk. She watched them arrive and stood once they had their ID checked and received their visitor badges. David was expecting her.

  “Hello, Charlotte, good to see you here.”

  “Hello, Brigadier, good to see you too,” Charlotte replied taking his hand. They smiled warmly to each other, clearly friends. Don Griffiths looked on enquiringly.

  “Don, this is Charlotte Miller. She is also invited to the meeting. She works with Professor Kitteridge in Cambridge University. Charlotte, this is Don Griffiths of USAF Intelligence stationed at Lakenheath.”

  Charlotte took Don’s hand and gave it a warm squeeze. “Good to meet you, Don,” Charlotte said pretending they had never met. It was unlikely that Don Griffiths would recall her action to confound the Zarnha agents trying to kidnap his family not so long ago.

  “Nice to meet you, Charlotte,” Don replied. He had a fuzzy feeling of déjàvu and an immediate liking for this attractive young woman, only mildly irritated that he could not place the strong sense that he knew her from somewhere. This whole episode was disturbingly weird and he would rather things were more in their rightful place, better ordered.

  “I checked in already,” Charlotte offered brightly, turning back to the desk. She was sporting a security pass in a clear plastic wallet hanging from a red lanyard round her neck.

  Charlotte picked up her medium-sized black leather tote and the young captain took them through another glass door to the interior where airport-standard security scanners were waiting. All three removed shoes, belts, metal objects and placed them with their bags into plastic bins to go through the scanner. One male and one female security guard waited on the far side of the metal detector arch, and they were frisked professionally before collecting their things.

  Not as personally intrusive as some lady security guards, Charlotte smiled to herself thinking of a different occasion when she had travelled as a civilian to Frankfurt.

  Their security passes were checked one more time before they were allowed into the main building. The upright Head of Security scrutinised the men’s passes in detail. He regarded Charlotte’s perfunctorily from some distance as it was dangling intriguingly from the suspended material of her bosom. The Head of Security was red-faced to begin with so it was hard to tell if he was flustered.

  The interior of the building was a big low space partitioned into sections containing many cubicles with young people, mostly male, working at desks with multip
le computer screens. The overall lighting level was dim, few workstations received natural light from the few small high windows. Most of the ambient light was provided by the glow of the very many visual display units. As they set off down the first aisle red rotating lights like those on old police cars went off in the ceiling above them. After a few strides Charlotte realised these lights were following their progress, switching on slightly ahead and going out behind them. The staff on either side stood and spread themselves across their computer screens. An amusingly effective way to ensure visitors were unable to catch a view of confidential information, Charlotte mused. The US military was always pragmatic. As she progressed Charlotte caught sight of Don Griffiths scrutinising her at the edge of her wide peripheral vision. He was clearly trying to place her, but was unlikely to recall that fateful night when she and the Pantucci brothers had saved his family from the Spargar kidnap attempt. He had been drugged by the Zarnha abduction group for the whole of that episode, and it had been dark. His chances of matching her face to that occasion was very remote indeed when their current circumstances were so different.

  The young captain led the group down a long aisle to a meeting room in the corner of the building. As they walked along they were accompanied on both sides of the aisle by a wave of workers standing and smothering their screens before sitting again. A kind of high security Mexican Wave perhaps? They reached an innocuous meeting room painted battleship grey. It contained a steel mesh within the standard partition walls. This Faraday Cage was another precaution against snooping – and their mobile phones would not work on the inside. The captain rapped on the door and a clear voice called, “Come In.”

  Inside, Dan Tucci was waiting in a civilian suit with two very serious-looking middle-aged men with matching crew cuts, blue suits, white shirts and conservative neckties. Dan was medium height and rounded in the middle, especially relative to the two others, who were much broader and more solid when they stood together in a scrape of tubular steel chairs. Dan’s face was very animated, eyes, mouth and cheeks smiling fully. The other two men were expressionless and looked implacable.