Sedona Conspiracy

by James C. Glass

  “Could you take some time off? I thought we might do some hiking and climbing on the rocks near my house. I don’t get a chance to do it very often. It’s nothing technical. Hiking boots or good running shoes will do, and the views are wonderful.”

  It was not the ethereal tone of voice he’d heard before, but excited and animated.

  “Sounds interesting. Is this a group outing?”

  “Oh, no, it’ll just be the two of us. If we leave in an hour or so, we can have lunch on the summit.”

  “We’re climbing a mountain?”

  “Cathedral Rocks. It’s a thirty-minute climb.”

  “That’s where the angels are.”

  Nataly laughed. “You’ve been reading. Maybe we’ll get lucky and see one, but first you have to say yes.”

  “Yes.”

  She laughed again, and it was a beautiful sound. “Meet me at my shop within the hour. I’ll get started on lunch.”

  “Okay.”

  “Bye,” she said, and was gone, like an excited child. Eric caught himself smiling as he hung up the phone. How many different people are you? he wondered.

  On a day for lounging at home, he had dressed in jeans and pumas. He closed up the house and made the twelve-minute drive to the shop. Two cars and a battered, white truck were in the parking lot, and Nataly came out the door as Eric pulled up in front of it. She carried a daypack with one hand, was dressed in jeans and a red flannel shirt. Her dark hair was tied tightly in a tail that nearly reached her waist. She waved, then pointed at the truck, walked over to it and deposited the pack behind the cab.

  By the time Eric reached the truck, Nataly was inside, and pushed the passenger door open for him.

  “This is yours?” He climbed in, and pulled at the seat belt.

  Nataly gunned the big engine, and the tires spit gravel as she backed up. “Not a showpiece, but it can take me anywhere in the backcountry.”

  They drove up to the Y, and turned east. A stream of traffic was coming into town, but little was leaving. Nataly pushed the truck well over the speed limit on the narrow, winding road, pointing out shops, galleries, the turnoff to Frank Lloyd Wright’s famous Red Rock Chapel. They turned on Back O’ Beyond road, wound their way down into a sort of canyon and passed the turnoff to Nataly’s estate. Signs warned of flash flood dangers at low spots in the winding road. Coming around a sharp corner, Nataly suddenly jerked the wheel left, and pulled into a small parking area with a Redrock Pass sign. Two cars were parked there, with Arizona plates.

  Beyond the tops of trees, red rock spires loomed above them. Nataly pulled her pack out of the truck, and swung it up onto her back in a single motion.

  “I could carry that,” said Eric.

  Nataly smiled sweetly. “Thanks, but it’s light, and the exercise is good for me.”

  They descended to a dry wash, and then up a trail winding past cactus and gnarled pinyon to a series of broad shelves. Eric was already puffing when Nataly stopped to point at a blackened spot on the rock. “People come up here to drum and play instruments at full moon. It’s a good time to meet creative people, and hear their stories.”

  “I’ll bet,” said Eric, and looked up at rocky walls towering above him. “It looks straight up.”

  Again that smile. “It’s just a walk up, but we do start out with one interesting section.”

  A faint, scuff trail crossed hard rock and split into two trails heading left and right. Nataly veered right, then left up a faint, steep trail of earth and scree to a shelf along a wall, and a thirty-foot drop on one side. A crack ran up a jumble of rock at the end of the shelf. Nataly shoved a foot into it, and climbed without hesitation about twenty feet before looking back at him. Eric took the hint, and climbed after her. The rock was rough, with handholds everywhere. In a minute they were standing on another wide shelf, and above them was a series of shelves extending to the bases of two, monstrous spires. In another twenty minutes they had ascended the shelves, and were standing on a narrow saddle between the two spires.

  Nataly took a deep breath, and audibly sighed. Eric fought for breath. “Too much time behind a desk,” he wheezed, and looked out at the expanse of green mixed with rusty red below them.

  “Quite a view,” he finally added.

  “This is my favorite place,” she said softly, “since when I was a little girl.”

  “Steep climb for a kid.”

  Nataly looked at him, and for one instant seemed sad. “I used to come up here with my dad, but he’s gone, now.”

  “Oh,” said Eric. “I’m sorry.”

  “We were close,” said Nataly. She shrugged off her pack, and looked at him with huge eyes. “Were you close to your father?”

  Eric leaned her pack against the base of a rock massif. They sat down beside it, with a spectacular view to the south. Nataly rummaged in the pack, pulled out a thermos, and food wrapped in aluminum foil.

  “When I got older, I guess we were. Dad was in the military. He met my mom in New Mexico. I came along before he retired, didn’t see him much until I was a teenager.”

  “You grew up in New Mexico?” Nataly handed him a wrapped sandwich, and took one for her.

  “Yeah. Albuquerque, but we moved to Taos after dad retired. Mom insisted on it. Her family had lived there before she was born.”

  Nataly raised an eyebrow. “Was she a Native American?”

  “No, but people wondered. She had a subtle, Asian look and dark eyes, but her skin was ivory white. She was very beautiful, and soft spoken, but she had a power, that woman.” Like you, he thought. “My dad was a tough guy, but she had him wrapped around her little finger. Me, too.”

  Eric smiled at a memory, but looked away when Nataly smiled with him. “They were killed in a car accident several years ago. Dad was driving, and shouldn’t have been behind the wheel. His eyesight was getting real bad.”

  “Oh,” said Nataly.

  Eric forced another smile, gestured outwards with a hand. “They would have loved this view.”

  “But now you’re here to enjoy it for them,” said Nataly, and suddenly a young couple stepped up onto the saddle. They had come down along another trail that snaked around a spire beyond where Nataly and Eric had stopped to eat. They nodded a greeting, took a photograph of the view, and started off down the trail towards the parking area.

  “Where did they come from?” asked Eric.

  “I’ll show you. It’s a short trail.”

  They finished eating, and repacked the pack. Eric offered to carry it, and Nataly allowed it. She led him off the saddle to a faint trail along a shelf that curved sharply around a red rock wall and ended at a steep slope of earth and scree. Below them a gray slab of rock thrust upwards like a tongue. Eric pointed at it.

  “Looks like basalt. Really stands out against all this red.”

  “Some people think it’s an artifact of earlier life,” said Nataly.

  Eric shook his head. “People have an imaginative explanation for everything around here,” he mumbled.

  Nataly didn’t seem to hear him, was scrambling up the scree slope towards a needle of rock towering high above them.

  Eric hurried after her. The footing was loose and crumbling, and he was puffing again when he reached the top. Nataly had descended to a depression at the base of a rock spire between two wider massifs on either side of it.

  Eric slid down scree to join her. Nataly’s eyes twinkled, and she seemed amused. “You wanted to see where the angels come from, and I think it’s here. I feel a kind of extra energy when I’m here.”

  “Right,” said Eric. “I guess my receiver is offline.”

  “Here, take my hand.” Nataly reached out, took his hand in hers and closed her eyes.

  “Don’t you feel anything?”

  Eric’s face flushed, and he was suddenly conscious of his breathing. “Your hand is either very warm, or mine is cold.”

  “No, no, not that. Not heat. It’s violet, or purple. It comes out of the rock at m
y feet, and goes through me to this spire when I touch it. If there’s a portal for angels or beings from another dimension, I think it must be right here.”

  Eric squeezed her hand, thinking she might pull away from him. “I guess I’m just not sensitive enough to feel it,” he said softly. “Sorry.”

  Nataly opened her eyes. A moment before they had seemed much darker. Perhaps it was a trick of light reflected from orange and red rock. She pulled on his hand, and grasped his collar to bend him forward. “Then tell me if you feel this,” she said, and kissed him very softly on the mouth. It was not a long or deep kiss, but the shock of it went through Eric’s body in waves.

  She held his hand, her other hand on his chest, face close. He thought he saw sparkles of green in her eyes as she looked up at him.

  “I felt it,” he said softly. “It was very nice, but I’m wondering why you did it.”

  “I wanted to. I always do what I want to do. And you kissed me back.”

  “Yes, I did.” Eric put his free hand over hers on his chest. “Nataly, you don’t really know anything about me.”

  “I know what I need to know,” she said quickly, “and I like what I see.”

  “So do I, but I have a history—”

  “No need to talk about that, now. We’re attracted to each other. For now, let’s keep it simple and enjoy being together. No pressures, no expectations.”

  “Okay,” said Eric, then leaned down to look more closely at her. “I could swear that the color of your eyes keeps changing. I thought they were brown, but now they’re deep green.”

  Nataly smiled. “I’m just drawing energy from the portal here. Maybe someday we can go through it.”

  “And do what?”

  “Visit with the angels, of course, or whatever creatures there are on the other side.”

  “I think maybe one of the angels is standing right here.”

  Nataly’s eyes seemed to glow. She lifted up on her toes, and gave him a quick, but firm kiss. “That was sweet. Now let me show you the view on the north side.”

  He followed her down around the central rock spire to the edge of a steep slope where there was a wide view of Bell Rock and Courthouse Butte in the distance. They looked at it for several minutes, Nataly’s head resting lightly against him, and his arm around her waist.

  “There is an energy here,” murmured Nataly. “People come here from all over to meditate, to create, to find peace. Some come here to find their souls.”

  “Or to make a lot of money,” said Eric.

  “Is that why you’re here?”

  “No. Well, that’s part of the reason. This is a nice place. I’m going to like it here, as long as I stay. I get moved around in my business.”

  “Not for a while, I hope.” Nataly’s head pressed harder against his shoulder.

  “Not for a while,” he said.

  They enjoyed the view and their closeness for half an hour, then scrambled back up the scree slope and picked their way down from the saddle on rough-grained rock that gripped the soles of their shoes. They met several people coming up, faces bright with expectation of adventure, and waited for four of them before descending the steep crack down to the low terraces of rock.

  In minutes they were back at Nataly’s shop, and Eric was unlocking his car.

  “Don’t forget dinner. I’ll call to remind you,” Nataly said brightly.

  “I’ll be there. Thanks for today.”

  She smiled, and was gone, and Eric drove home. When he entered the house the phone was ringing. It was Leon, returning him to reality.

  But that night, Eric had a wonderful dream about Nataly.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  OPPORTUNITY

  Eric got to The Coffee Pot at seven, but tourists already filled the little parking lot. He had to park across the street and risk his life in a sprint back across again in morning traffic. A tall man in western garb and a black Stetson identifying him as a big city dude watched Eric approach, and smiled.

  “Good broken-field-running, Mister Price. Sorry we have to meet so early.” The man extended a hand. “John Coulter. Let me buy breakfast for your trouble.”

  Coulter’s grip was firm, but his hand was smooth, and he’d used a musky and probably expensive after-shave that morning.

  “Thanks,” said Eric. “We’ll probably have to wait a while.”

  They went inside, and were fortunate. The first wave of diners was just finishing, and the second wave had not yet arrived. In ten minutes they were seated at a corner table, ordering coffee and three-egg omelets. The waitress brought coffee, and left them.

  Coulter leaned forward and spoke softly. “Did Leon give you any hints about what to expect in this meeting?”

  Eric made steady eye contact. “He said you’re a good source of business contacts, and he’s worked with you in the past. On the phone you said something about markets for a lot of things, including art and guns. I presume we’re here to talk about art, Mister Coulter.”

  “That’s John, please. If we can do business together, I can provide you with dozens of markets for western art: scenics, cowboys, Indians, you name it. Europeans eat this stuff up, and I have a lot of contacts over there, west and east.” Coulter raised an eyebrow. “Eastern markets are tougher, but the right person can make a lot of money with them if he has the right product.”

  “You could make more money if you worked directly with the artists. Why choose a middleman like me? I get my commission before you get yours.”

  Coulter smiled. “The people I represent have wealth beyond our imagination, Eric. Money has no meaning to them. I am convenient, and so are you. I buy in bulk, and distribute what my clients desire. It is done privately, without fanfare. In the eastern block, a show of wealth remains impolite in elite circles. Money exchanges hands for many things without public knowledge, and not just art, as you well know.”

  “I beg your pardon?” said Eric.

  Coulter blinked slowly, and leaned closer. “Everything is for sale: art, ancient artifacts, weapons, nuclear material, state secrets, it’s all the same. Occasionally a thing is sold in error, but again, money is not an object, and that thing can be bought back for twice the price paid, or even more, if one deals with the right people.”

  “I don’t see what this has to do with contemporary western art,” said Eric, and the waitress arrived with their breakfast.

  They sat in silence until the waitress left. Coulter breathed in the odors of his food. “Let’s eat first. I’ve heard the meals here are excellent.”

  “Yes, they are,” said Eric. He was surprised by the turn of the conversation. John Coulter did not sound like a corporate representative at all. Embassy staff, maybe, but what embassy? There was no detectable accent in his speech.

  At the worst, surprise might produce an observable reaction. The two of them had eaten a few bites in silence when Eric suddenly asked, “Exactly which government are you representing, Mister Coulter?”

  The man looked at something over Eric’s shoulder, and chewed thoughtfully, then, “I work for people, not governments, but I must admit that many of my clients are well connected. Shakers and movers, Eric, the people who make the world go around. A man who provides for their needs can quickly become wealthy beyond his imagination. And that could be you.” Coulter wiggled an eyebrow at him, and took another bite of his omelet.

  “I would have to sell a great deal of art for that to happen, even if I inflated my commission for you.”

  Coulter smiled, took a sip of coffee, and the smile disappeared. “Let’s not dance any longer, Eric. I know who you are, and why you’re here. You have recently obtained access to a piece of technology that is stolen goods. It belongs to my client, and he wants it back. He’s aware of the difficulty in accomplishing that, and the political consequences of retrieving his property. But he will pay any amount of money to as many people as necessary for the task. Leon is on our team, and one other person I’m afraid we consider less than reliable.
He’s privately made some contacts with aerospace giants who might pay him more than we have offered. He might even have to be removed. Since that could arguably be part of the assignment from your government masters, you would be an ideal choice for the job if it became necessary.”

  Eric felt heat come to his face, and played on it. He gave Coulter what he hoped was an expression of both anger and surprise, folded his napkin and slapped it on the table by his unfinished breakfast. “This must be another one of Leon’s little pranks, Mister Coulter, and I don’t appreciate it at all. It’s not even amusing.”

  “Twenty million, Eric. That’s my opening offer, and I’m authorized to go higher. Just agree to join our team. Assignments can be negotiated later.”

  Eric stood up. “Don’t bother to call Leon. I’ll tell him what I think of this myself. Maybe he should start looking for a new partner.”

  “Talk to him,” said Coulter. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Goodbye, Mister Coulter. Thanks for the breakfast, but otherwise you have wasted my time.”

  Coulter only smiled. Eric turned, walked away from him with the air of one offended by a foul odor or presence, and left the restaurant. He kept his posture all the way to the car, and drove back to the office in three minutes. Leon was on the telephone when he arrived, and looked up expectantly at him.

  Eric pulled up a chair by Leon’s desk, sat down and stared at the man until his call had ended.

  “You don’t look happy,” said Leon.

  “I’m not.”

  “What happened?”

  Eric recited the entire conversation he’d had with John Coulter. “So, what did you tell him about me? He must think I’m pretty easy to get right to the point like that. I assume the other guy he mentioned is Davis. Since when am I supposed to eliminate Davis? You’re worse that a leak, Leon. You’re a flood.”

  Leon held up his hands. “All approved by Gil, right from the get-go. The agency orchestrated my contact with Coulter in the first place. There are a lot of things going on behind our backs. And I never said anything about you eliminating Davis. That has to be a plant, so ask Gil about it.