“Let’s talk. Your place. I’ll let myself in from the tunnel, so don’t shoot me.”
The phone went dead.
So, he can get in here from the basement. Yes, we need to talk.
Leon must have run the entire way, in minutes the tunnel door opened as Eric watched from the top of the stairs. Leon locked the door behind him. “I don’t see a gun, so I guess I’m welcome.”
“I don’t have a gun,” said Eric.
“That’s right, Analysts have no use for them. So, what happened with you and Davis?”
Eric went down the stairs. He and Leon stood by the furnace in orange light to talk. Eric told him what had happened, in detail. Leon shook his head.
“He’s never acted like that with me. We’ve even had some drinks together. You must have said something to spook him.”
“I know I did. I want total access to the base, and he doesn’t want me there.”
“Do you need that for tech evaluation?”
“I have to see and handle the hardware, Leon. You sound like Davis.”
“Didn’t he brief you on ‘Shooting Star’?”
“I have the file here.”
“So study it. Maybe everything you need is in there. Slow down a bit; you just got here.”
“Fine, but I can’t speed up progress on the project if I can’t get what I need. I have to see the aircraft, get my hands on the metal, and Davis knows it. What’s he so suspicious about?”
“I don’t know,” said Leon.
“I just sent in my initial report, and it’s not complimentary to Davis. Either I get what I want, or I’m out of here.”
“I wish you’d talked to me first.”
“I don’t report to you, Leon. Christ, first Davis, now you. Everyone wants to be a boss. Well at least I have the file. Now why don’t you get out of here so I can read it.”
“Okay, but you don’t have to play prima-donnas with me. Read the file. Maybe it’ll show you how important this project really is. We can talk in the morning. I’ll be in the office by ten.”
“Goodbye,” said Eric. He thought about stomping a foot for emphasis, but decided that would be pushing things too far.
Leon turned away, opened the door to the tunnel and closed it loudly behind him. Eric immediately locked it, making a show of temper. He went up the stairs, taking deep breaths, letting them out slowly.
Well, I think I’ve stirred up things enough for one day.
He made coffee in the kitchen, made a ham and cheese sandwich and took it all to his desk, where the file awaited him. For the rest of the morning, all afternoon and early that evening he read it, studied it, making notes, talking to himself on paper with each discovery he made.
It was not just an aircraft, but also something more. It was delta-shaped, flat like a lifting body and huge, with extreme dimensions of a seven-twenty-seven. A crew of five in a spacious controls area at the sharp nose of a smooth fuselage not designed for stealth. No missile pods to be seen, nor was there a bomb bay, yet the overall shape of the craft suggested military. The drawings showed four jet engines, but no specs or manufacturer were given. Could be a lifting body for something smaller, he thought, then, no, the aft cross-section is much too thick, the taper forward too extreme for a lifting body. The whole thing looks aerodynamically unstable, must be fly-by-wire.
There was nothing in the file to tell him where the thing had come from: no markings, no manuals in a foreign language, no history about how it had been obtained. There was not even a photograph of the aircraft, only drawings. One detail drawing showed a strange, internally cantilevered section to the rear of the craft that, when lowered, made it look even more unstable, and there was nothing to show what was in that section or what purpose it served.
The great bulk of the file was table after table of test data, all taken in a laboratory setting: wind tunnel data to Mach one, vibration and stress tables on wings and fuselage, thermal and electrical conductivity data over selected sections of the aircraft. There were no records of any performance testing, not even a record of a flight.
What am I supposed to do? Come up with a plan to put all this crap together so it says something? Why would anybody want to sabotage such a messed up project?
Eric closed the file in disgust, and took himself to town for dinner at The Planet. He had a Saturn burger with fries, and someone who had been at Nataly’s party tried to interest him in buying a timeshare. When Eric politely declined, the man told him about a program at the Creative Life Center just outside of town. Some expert on UFOs was speaking there. It would be an opportunity to meet some of the new age crowd, many of whom were devoted patrons of the arts. Perhaps Eric could salvage a bad day by developing his cover as a man of art.
He drove to the center after dark. A sharp turn off Schnabley Hill Road took him to an interesting structure built in a sort of vertical helix with modern art appointments in bronze and glass. He walked up a spiral walkway from the parking lot, bought his twenty-dollar ticket at the door, and got one of the last seats in a large lecture hall filled with people talking loudly. A man was introduced, claiming to be a physicist. He talked for an hour about UFOs from other planets and other universes, the many groups of aliens now living among humans, their various agendas, some good, some bad. Eric fought to listen; it was all so absurd. The man showed UFO photographs, most of which could be staged with little imagination. When photos were shown of flying saucers sitting in the front yard of a man’s house during a Swiss visitation, Eric had to bite his tongue to keep himself from laughing out loud.
Midway through the talk, he had a strange feeling he was being watched. Eric turned around to look over his shoulder and saw Nataly Hegel standing at the back of the room, arms folded. She’d been frowning, but when she saw him looking at her she smiled, and he quickly faced forward again. His heart thumped forcefully, and he heard little of the rest of the talk. After it ended, perhaps she’d have coffee with him.
When the talk ended he looked for Nataly, but she had left.
Eric went home that night feeling strangely depressed.
* * * * * * *
Leon fumed all the way back to his house. If that was a phony snit, then he did a good job of it, but I’m not so easily fooled, Mister Price.
He went straight to his desk, sat down at his computer and dialed in a series of numbers on his telephone. The machine buzzed three times, a pause, then three more times.
“Yes, what is it?”
“Leon. Can we talk?”
“Yes,” said Colonel Alexander Davis.
“I just talked to Price. What in the hell do you think you’re doing? Price just filed a complaint because you won’t give him base access, and we could have a whole platoon of deep ops people here in a day. Are you crazy?”
“I’m trying to find a saboteur, Leon. I don’t need a new face here to probe around and warn the bastard.”
Leon’s voice rose in pitch. “There could be a dozen new faces at your base in days because of your hair trigger ego. If you’d think for just one minute you’d see your suspicions are telling you that Price has been sent to do exactly what you want done. My bet is he’s better at it than any ten men you can put together.”
“I don’t think—”
“That’s right, you don’t think! Shut up and listen for once! An NSA team will sniff out our arrangement in a week. With only one man we have some control. I’ll call my boss; reinforce your claim that analysts don’t need total base access, but that if Eric is also here for the security problem his orders need to be clarified so that access can be granted. If they deny he’s here for that purpose, we’re in trouble. We’ll know quick, and I’ll call you back.”
“You spooks need to be educated about military protocol,” said Davis. “That’s what caused this problem.”
“Fuck your military protocol. You caused this problem,” said Leon, “and it had better not happen again. You like to talk about accidents. Be careful one doesn’t happen t
o you.”
Leon stabbed the keyboard and broke the connection before Davis could answer the threat with one of his own.
He sat there for half an hour, composing thoughts, rehearsing arguments, then dialed Gil on his cell phone. He was prepared for tough arguing, maybe even a chewing out for not properly preparing Davis.
What he got was a cheerful Gil who quickly agreed to clarify Eric’s orders and be totally open about the man’s assignments. He even gave Leon a small pat on the back for moving so rapidly to remove a logjam in the operation.
Leon hung up, relieved but confused. There’d been no real discussion. It had all been too easy.
Thinking about it kept him awake that night.
* * * * * * *
“Our man is in, Mister President. There was a problem with the details of his orders, but it’s all taken care of. I’ll bring you summaries of his briefings as they come in.”
“That’s good news, Gil. Let’s get this show on the road for sure. I want to see that plane flying by the end of the year.”
“You’ll have it, Mister President,” said Gil.
CHAPTER EIGHT
REVELATIONS
There was little he could do in the way of a plan, but in two days he organized the existing laboratory data into a coherent state through graphical display in three dimensions. Stress tolerances and conductivities were shown as colored surfaces superimposed on an external drawing of the aircraft, and he added a red, variable surface showing applied stress from the wind tunnel work. There were no anomalies to be seen, the aircraft perfectly designed mechanically up to mach-one, but like a bumblebee it was totally unstable aerodynamically, another fly-by-wire design. The cantilevered section aft remained a total mystery to him, and was first on a list of questions included in his report for Davis if he was ever allowed on the base again.
He didn’t have to worry about it for long. It was nine in the morning, his second day in the little office near the south edge of town. Once upon a time it had been a workingman’s bar, and Leon swore that in the heat of summer the walls sweated beer, the odor impossible to get rid of.
Eric was proofing the final draft of his report when the telephone rang. Leon hadn’t arrived yet, so Eric answered the call.
“World Arts, this is Eric Price, how may I help you?
“You can do what you were sent here to do. This is Colonel Davis. You’ve got what you want, but I’m still going to watch you like a hawk. Two days, oh-five-hundred. Be ready to impress me.”
The line went dead before Eric could say a word.
How I love the sound of an arrogant man who has just been given a new asshole by a superior, he thought. I just hope they didn’t tell him everything about me. A person thinking they’re dealing with a common field agent is the best protection I can have.
For a moment, he enjoyed a kind of smugness over his victory. Gil had done it again.
Leon arrived at ten, and Eric told him what had happened.
“There you are, see? There was nothing at all to get upset about. Everything’s going to be fine.” He removed his jacket and hung it carefully over the back of his chair before sitting down at his computer. He pointed at Eric, and said, “Today, I will show you how to sell art, or to at least appear to be doing it. When you’re done with your military thingy, I have a list of dummy galleries to go over with you.”
Again the floppy wrist and affected speech, but Eric had already been with the man long enough to know it was all a lie.
The phone rang again a few minutes later, but this time Leon answered it. “Oh, hi,” he said. “I bet you want to talk to Eric. He’s right here. Hold on.” He put a hand over the receiver, and whispered.
“John Coulter. Just play along, and meet him. I’ll explain later.”
Eric picked up the phone. Leon did not hang up, listened with his hand over the receiver.
“Eric Price. How may I help you?”
“John Coulter, Mister Price. We met at the Nataly Hegel party, and shared an appreciation for the cheese knishes at the buffet, remember?”
“Oh, yes. Leon introduced us.”
“Leon and I go back a couple of years. We share an interest in pistols, and also in art.”
“Are you a collector?”
“Not really. I’m in imports and exports, Mister Price, a wide range of products, including art, and even guns on occasion.”
The hair bristled on the back of Eric’s neck, and Leon raised an eyebrow at him.
“Guns?”
“Well, sporting weapons, really, but paramilitary favorites as well, all semi-automatic, of course. I’m interested in anything that can be sold abroad, Mister Price, and I’d like to acquaint you with my connections. I think I can provide some fine markets for you. Can we meet over coffee or lunch sometime and discuss it?”
Leon was nodding vigorously at him.
“Of course. Lunch would be best. How about the Coffee Pot?”
“This Wednesday—at noon?”
“Fine. I’ve put it down, Mister Coulter. See you then.”
They hung up. Leon smiled. “Nicely done, short and sweet. Now, when you meet, be a good listener and you’ll discover a new element in this mystery you’re here to solve. It seems our dear Colonel Davis also has friends in the commercial sector who are most anxious to get their hands on the new technology we’ve acquired. They’ve made him a lucrative offer, and Davis has offered me in turn a generous stipend to aid him in his quest for wealth. Can you imagine the audacity of the man in bribing a federal employee and patriotic citizen such as me? I have accepted his offer, of course. John Coulter will eventually present to you a similar offer, if you seem willing, and you will be willing. If John is liaison to the commercial interests involved with Davis, we might learn the identity of the people or companies involved and turn the information over to Gil for whatever action he wants to take. And from the look in your eyes right now you might even want that assignment. Death to those who commit treason, and all that.”
“Davis should have been turned in for court-martial as soon as you discovered this,” said Eric.
“Ah, but we need him, at least for the moment. First things first, Eric; first the saboteurs, then the technology, then those who’d like to steal it. Interesting, don’t you think? And you also get to go to nice parties and meet beautiful women.”
“Stop it, Leon. I don’t need the act.”
Leon laughed, turned back to his desk, and they worked the rest of the morning in silence. When Eric finished proofing his report for Davis it was nearly noon. Leon had brought a sack lunch, and was deeply engrossed in his work. Eric was hungry. “Think I’ll hit the deli at the grocery store,” he said, and Leon didn’t even look up.
Safeway was several blocks away, Nataly’s shop three blocks closer, and the impulse, when it came, was overwhelming. Eric didn’t fight it, pulled into the little parking lot in front of New Visions. A few cars were there, Arizona plates, Phoenix area. The front window display featured museum-quality crystal clusters, Tibetan singing bowls and dream catchers the size of dinner plates. When he opened the door a dozen exotic scents, sweet and musky, assailed him. A pretty, young girl in a sleeveless, silk blouse and peasant skirt smiled at him from behind the counter as she checked out another customer. Golden hoops dangled from her ears, stretching the lobes, and a small, white crystal glistened from the right side of her nose.
It seemed at first that Nataly wasn’t there, and Eric didn’t dare to ask for her. He wandered around the shop like any other customer. Glass shelves held little boxes with crystal and mineral specimens; he paused to examine several of them. Locked cabinets held larger, pricier pieces, many of them scepters of clear quartz and amethyst, and a red garnet the size of a baseball. Incense sticks hung in bags on a wall, near a display of burners, black sand, charcoal disks and little pouches filled with nuggets of frankincense, myrrh and Egyptian musk. Angelic choir music came softly from two speakers in the back corners of the shop where shelv
es were lined with books on alternative religions, mythology and UFOs. Several related to strange sightings in the Sedona area. Eric pulled one from the shelf and had begun leafing through it when a soft touch on his elbow made him jump.
Nataly was standing next to him, very close, looking up at him with fathomless eyes.
“That’s a very interesting book,” she said. “Bob Terrell has written a series of them. You might want to meet him sometime. He’s local.”
Eric pretended to study the book. “Oh, I don’t think so. I’ve never seen a UFO and, quite frankly, I don’t think they exist if we’re talking about little green men. People do see strange things, I admit, but I think they’re all natural phenomena if you take the time to figure them out.
“Ah, a skeptic,” said Nataly. “That’s good when you’re seeking the truth, but even scientists are trained to keep an open mind about the possibilities. Terrell’s like that; he reports what people have seen, and suggests possible explanations for each case. And it’s not just UFOs that he talks about.”
She reached across him and pulled another book from the shelf. “Here, this one is about the military base we think is still somewhere in the backcountry here. No little green men in this one.” Her eyes twinkled, her smile playful as she handed the book to him.
Eric felt a shock, and hoped it didn’t reach his eyes. He opened the book, leafed through it and saw no pictures.
“People have seen black Humvees, black helicopters that make no sound, even armed military people in the backcountry. Some of the encounters have been hostile, people turned back on hiking trails. Years ago there was a huge fire in the backcountry beyond Boynton Canyon. The Sedona fire department went out to fight it and were turned back by armed soldiers dressed in black, and the fire burned on for several days, maybe weeks.”
“I’m not aware of any restricted air space around here,” said Eric.
“It’s not necessary if the base is underground.”
Eric forced a chuckle. “I don’t think so. I’m sorry; it doesn’t make sense to me. A secret base so close to a major tourist center is even too stupid for the military.”
Sedona Conspiracy Page 6