CHAPTER FIVE
AGENDAS
The meeting room was one level down from the surface, and had a high ceiling. Six men sat around a large oaken table in dim red light coming from panels above them. They were cloaked and hooded for anonymity and wore earphones connected to a translator module in the center of the table. Two others were not present, but participated via closed circuit television; a camera and video monitor were mounted at one end of the table where the others could see everyone. Heat flowed into the room from floor grates, and a humidifier sprayed a fine mist from one corner of the room. This was in answer to the requests of two of the council members who were suffering uncomfortable skin conditions aggravated by the Arizona heat.
“All are present, so let’s begin,” said Mister Brown, the chairman. “Mister White will read the minutes of the previous meeting.”
The man called Mister White, also a Green, like his chairman, read the minutes, pausing occasionally for the translator to catch up in transmitting his words in four different languages for the council members.”
“Are there any corrections or additions?”
There were none.
“Under new business, I have an announcement. A new analyst has arrived to participate in Shooting Star. There’s some disagreement among our American colleagues as to what agency he works for and why he’s here. If you check your files you’ll see he’s a top program and technology analyst, involved most recently with the Ju-67 lifter package, which surfaced in Sophia. Excellent credentials, and he’s worked for several agencies, including the military, a situation I personally do not find unusual, but the Americans are suffering from their usual paranoia.”
“Well, there have been problems here,” said Mister White. “I don’t think they’re accidents, and neither do you. I can assure all of you the Green Party is not involved with the problem, but it will participate in the solution. I know we have differing views on how and when the drive technology should be revealed, but we all agreed it would eventually be done, and sabotage, either overt or covert, will not be tolerated.”
“Are you pointing a finger at anyone in particular?” asked Mister Jones.
“Are you speaking for the Reds today?” asked Mister White.
“I am.”
“The Americans have a saying that if the shoe fits you wear it, so I suppose—”
“Nobody is being accused, Mister Jones,” said the chairman. “You must admit, however, that any saboteur involved can only be a member of the project and have access to internal correspondence.”
“Witness the damage done to the field generator. Only this Council and Colonel Davis knew when that was coming in,” said White.
“So maybe you should accuse Davis of something besides his usual corruption.”
“It would hardly be in his best interests to damage the technology his corporate masters would like to get their hands on. Whatever Davis does, he can always be diverted by money. He’s not the problem here. Someone wants the project slowed, or stopped. It’s logical to suspect those who have vocally opposed those goals after agreeing to our initial plan.”
“It was your plan,” said Jones.
“But you agreed to it. You all did,” said Mister Brown. “If you’ve changed your minds, then you should disassociate yourselves from the project. We can proceed without you.”
There was a pause, then, “I doubt you’re prepared to pay the political price for that kind of arrogance,” said Jones, and he looked down the table towards the television monitor. “I’d like to hear something from the Blues about now. Mister Smith?”
Again a long pause, and then a soft reply from one of the two-seated figures shown on the video screen, a kind of mumble quickly transformed into the metallic speech of the translator.
“We have nothing to gain personally by the success or failure of this project. Our objection from the beginning has been brought against giving any kind of technology to a political system we basically despise. In the end it will make fortunes for a few, and the common people will see little value from it. Our decision to participate was based on developing relations between the governments represented on this council, to show that after a century of squabbling we could actually work together on something. We have done that until recently, and now we’re squabbling again. Instead of pointing fingers regarding transfer of a technology that is already a generation old we should be asking who will benefit the most if we go our separate ways again.”
“Are you prepared to suggest someone to us?” asked the chairman. “It seems to me we were only having a discussion, not divisive argumentation.”
“But people who oppose the project for various reasons should not be equated with saboteurs who endanger or end lives. That was being inferred. I have no person or party in mind, but whoever it is has access to council discussions and physical access to the base. It could be one person, a group, or a government. It could be one or more of the Americans. This new man just arrived, this Eric Price, I think we all agree he’s more than a scientist or mathematician. The need for better and faster data analysis has been around a long time. When the sabotage began, he is suddenly here. I think he’s here to solve the problem for us, and we should not waste our time here with pointless accusations. We should be talking about getting a new airframe and converter in here to replace the one our American friends so stupidly damaged in the recent test. And we should at last give them the manual in simple English they can understand. That, at least, is in keeping with our agenda for this meeting.”
Chairman Brown quietly bit his tongue to divert an emotional outburst. “Point noted, Mister Jones. You can be certain the sabotage issue will be on next meeting’s agenda. And if there are any further unusual incidents, I’m sure this council can put together its own team of agents who won’t bother to deal with the perpetrators or their supporters in a humane way.”
“And we’ll we willing to contribute to that effort,” said Mister Jones.
“On to other business, then,” said Brown, and they moved on to discuss the logistics of bringing in all the necessary parts to replace what had been damaged or destroyed in the Americans’ hastily arranged and ill-fated test. Eric Price was added to the assignments of the watch team, and there was a report on the deuterium separation facility under construction two hundred miles east of Fiji.
The hour ended, and the meeting was adjourned. The video monitor was shut down, and everyone returned to their rooms before their American hosts had risen for a new day.
Mister Jones did not retire so soon. He went directly to his computer, selected one of four channels, addressed a short invitation for a private meeting, and sent it. A minute later the reply arrived on the open channel, voice mode, blank screen.
“Thank you for answering so quickly,” said Jones. “You can imagine how irritating the meeting was for me. I tried hard to hold my temper.”
“You did well, under the circumstances.” The voice coming from the computer was gravelly, slow-paced, and required no translation. “I’m not displeased with you.”
“I think the Greens are looking for an excuse to bring in their own military, sir. The man’s arrogance has become provocative. He practically dictates policy to the council.”
“In time it will trap him. The Blues are also displeased by his attitude. I’ve just heard from them. I think there might be an opportunity for an alliance.”
“But what do we do about the sabotage?”
“The perpetrators must be found, of course. We should all clean our own houses, but the Americans must not be a part of it. We cannot allow our structure to be revealed. And if the new agent they’ve brought in gets too close to our identities, even at the council level, he’ll have to be killed. It’ll be easy enough to blame it on the Americans. They’re already suspicious of him.”
“Any specific orders for me, sir? I truly regret my outburst today.”
“Do not be so critical of yourself, my friend. Be my eyes and ears, avoid p
rovocation, but let the Greens know they are not going to define policy for the council. Tactfulness is desirable, but firmness is required.”
“Yes, sir.”
And the connection was broken.
Jones went right to bed, and was awake for only minutes. He was confident he was doing all that was required of him, and Control had even called him friend. That was a good sign.
* * * * * * *
Leon ordered lunch uptown at Burger Heaven at eleven, before the weekend mob of tourists got hungry enough to descend on the place. Quarter-pounder with curly fries and diet cola were ready in ten minutes, and he was the only person in line. He took his tray over to a rough-hewn table in the mall way between clothing and new age shops, and sat down facing the street. People crowded the walkway, and wandered in and out of the shops. Angelic music came from one doorway, along with the odor of aromatic oils and burning incense.
Leon ate slowly, starting with his fries. He was halfway through with his burger when a balding, heavyset man with a round face sat down opposite him. The man wore jeans, cowboy shirt and black Stetson. He placed a large cup of coffee on the table, took off his Stetson and put it on the bench beside him.
“Nothing to eat?” asked Leon.
Alexander Davis, Colonel, United States Army, scowled as Leon took a big bite out of his hamburger. “That thing you’re eating would stay in my stomach for a week.”
“Too much stress,” said Leon coldly, but smiled to make it a joke.
Davis uncapped his coffee, and took a cautious sip. “Price acknowledged my message. Pickup is at oh-five-hundred Monday.”
“Does it have to be so early? The party will run after midnight.”
“I don’t care about your party. I have a schedule to keep.”
“If it’ll make you happier, you could tell me who your corporate friends are, and I could send them an invitation. Nataly is the best hostess in town.”
“They contact me; I don’t contact them,” said Davis, “and all you are is hired help. Remember that.”
“As long as I’m well paid,” said Leon. He chewed thoughtfully while Davis took another sip of coffee, then, “So, when are you going to have something else for me?”
“Probably late next week. Our guests are preparing an instruction manual that covers the entire system. After the last test I told them we wouldn’t proceed without it.”
“Ah, so they really do know how that thing flies.”
“We’ll see. It could all be lies, and we’ll have to test everything, but a copy of the manual should be sent out right away. The usual way, from Phoenix, and if you send it to anyone except our clients I’ll know about it.”
“Of course,” said Leon, but thought, you just think you know things, asshole, but you don’t know jack-shit about what’s going on.
“Just reminding you,” said Davis, and then he softened, reached into his shirt pocket and took out a small envelope, folded in half. He handed it to Leon. The envelope felt soft, and bulky. “That’ll make you feel better. You’ll get the same in two weeks, and so on, as long as you do your job. Enjoy it. Buy a painting, or something.”
Leon pocketed the offering. “Give me some warning about delivery of the package.”
“Of course,” said Davis. “Well, gotta go. It’ll be a month before we can meet again like this. Check your P.O. box every day.”
Leon nodded. Davis got up and walked away behind Leon’s back.
Leon finished his cola leisurely, then went to his Humvee and drove directly to his bank to make a deposit.
CHAPTER SIX
SOCIAL GRACES
Leon picked up Eric at exactly seventeen hundred. Eric buzzed the Humvee through the gate, and was waiting at the garage when it pulled up. The mini-opener on his key ring let them out again. Leon turned right on Dry Creek Road and headed back to 89A, left to the Y, then right to the creek and out of town. Traffic was heavy, the weekend crowd from Phoenix just starting to head for home. All around them the spires and buttes were turning yellow-gold and red-oxide in the light of the setting sun. Hardened to travel all over the world, Eric nonetheless thought he’d never seen so much beautiful, surreal scenery in one place.
It was slightly spoiled by Leon being obnoxious again.
“I know it’s not part of your nature, but tonight you’re going to be absolutely charming to everyone and laugh at all their stories, no matter how boring or trivial they are.”
“Can’t I just listen politely?” asked Eric, with what he hoped was a sarcastic tone of voice.
“Not without positive affirmation or a clever response, especially when it comes to their artistic tastes. These are the people who keep our galleries open, dear boy, and they’ve come from as far away as New York just for this party. Nataly is simply fabulous, and just wait until you see the house.”
The narrow road curved sharply several times, and came out onto a sloping plane. Ahead, the multi-spire complex of Cathedral Rocks was a black silhouette against a red and yellow-streaked sky. Leon turned right onto Back-o-Beyond Road, and followed the winding course up into a canyon guarded by red-rock massifs on both sides. Sprawling Santa Fe-style homes were perched grandly on ledges high above the road.
“Definitely the high-rent district,” said Eric.
“Five to eight million, most of them. Nataly’s is more.” Leon turned onto a scree road that climbed steeply and went around four hairpin curves before coming to a closed gate flanked by two guards with holstered automatics. A third man watched from a little kiosk on the other side of the gate.
“Hi, Sam,” said Leon to the guard who peered in at them. “Eric Price here is one of the honored guests tonight.”
The guard checked their names off a list on his clipboard. “Have a nice evening, gentlemen,” he said. A wave of his hand, and the gate opened. They drove through it, around another curve, and came out onto the terraced summit of a butte at eye level with the summits of Cathedral Rocks, a thousand yards distant.
The entire summit of the butte was a single estate built in several layers with a sprawling, single story dwelling at the top. A graveled area was nearly filled with cars. A sloping forest of prickly pear and other cactus led to the edge of an endless pool fed by waterfalls cascading down red rock, and up to a balcony the size of an ordinary house. Festive globe lights in several colors were suspended above the balcony, and a noisy crowd was talking, drinking and enjoying the spectacular views in all directions. Eric followed Leon up red-rock steps to the door of a Spanish-style mansion with red-tiled roof and stucco stained reddish brown. Eric was reminded of Celtic patterns by the ornate carvings on the door. The door was open; they walked right in, and were immediately assailed by those who’d heard about Leon’s new partner and wanted to meet him. The women wore designer clothing from jeans to gowns, their men in casual wear to match, and nothing off the rack.
Eric met dozens of people in just half an hour. He shook their hands, listened politely to their small talk, verified over and over again that, yes, he was a single man with nobody special in his life. He smiled until his jaws ached. Leon watched closely and occasionally raised an eyebrow to show his approval. In just half an hour, four women came on to Eric, one whispering how nice it was to see that Leon’s new partner was, as she put it, straight as an arrow. The noise level was deafening, and the strain of trying to hear an individual conversation was exhausting. Someone put a drink in his hand without asking. It was scotch, with too much water. He sipped it and smiled and raised his glass to toast things he couldn’t hear in the din. His head began to ache. Leon had abandoned him by now, and was nowhere in sight. A woman around forty, tall and elegant, caught his eye from across the room and began edging through the crowd towards him.
Eric fled.
He pretended not to notice the woman coming at him, shouldered his way to the buffet table and filled his plate with prime rib, a roll with butter, and two knishes with some unidentified stuffing. The balcony was within reach, the woman gainin
g on him. He squeezed past the open, sliding door and fled down a winding staircase to a path descending past the waterfall towards the pool. In seconds he was out of sight of the balcony, hiding like a schoolboy and feeling stupid about it.
The pool was still and beckoning, reflecting the red and orange colors of a sky at dusk. He went to it, eating a few bites from his plate, and sat down in a lounge chair close to the waterfall. Mist cooled his face, his senses calmed by the white noise of splashing water.
He’d been sitting there for several minutes when there was movement in his peripheral vision. He looked right and saw a woman descending the stairs. She wore an orange, Asian-style, sleeveless dress with a slit up one thigh. Her long hair was coal black, draped over a shoulder, and her skin seemed to glow in the day’s last light.
Eric stared without conscious thought, for she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She saw him, then, and smiled. He averted his gaze, looked towards the pool, but she came close, and he smelled scented soap and lavender.
“Leon said I’d probably find you here. A person can’t hear himself think upstairs, but everyone is having such a good time. Aren’t you?”
Eric dared to look at her, and swallowed hard. Up close, her eyes were nearly as dark as her hair, her skin so white that fine, blue veins showed in her forearms. “I’m afraid I’m not very good in crowds,” he managed to say, and was thankful when his voice didn’t quaver. “Introvert, I guess.”
“Me, too,” she said. “I’m most comfortable one-on-one with people. And I think it’s very peaceful down here.”
Eric was trying to think of a profound reply when there was a shout from above him. He looked up; saw Leon hanging well out beyond the corner of the balcony to be able to see them past the waterfall. Leon waved merrily, hanging on tightly to the railing with one hand.
“Hi, Nataly. I see you found him. Do try to coax him back upstairs again.”
Sedona Conspiracy Page 4