Authors: Ken Goddard
“
The
Reverend Slogaan … the incredibly
deceitful
and
hypocritical
man who declared yours truly, a fully-documented half-Bancoo Indian and a thoroughly accredited Shaman, to be a religious fraud.
“
The
Reverend Slogaan … the incredibly
mean
and greedy man who has filed lawsuit after lawsuit against our sponsors, demanding that they cease to support our show immediately, upon pain of eternal damnation!”
The radio host paused to catch his breath.
“Ladies and gentlemen, dear listeners all over the planet, I give you, for the first time on the Sky Search Show …
the
Reverend Jonas Slogaan.”
“Bellringer, you’re going to burn in hell for all eternity … along with every one of your guests and listeners,” a deep echoing voice declared.
“Thank you, Reverend,” Ace Bellringer purred, “and thank you for agreeing to be on Sky Search tonight. It’s quite an honor.”
“I have nothing whatsoever to do with your profanity of a radio station … and, God willing, never will,” the deep voice declared. “I have called, as an act of extreme kindness, simply to inform your guests that their stories about extraterrestrial beings visiting earth are a blasphemy of the highest order. Every man of a sound mind — and every woman who stands righteously beside her sound man — understands, with a certainly bordering on Grace itself, that there is not a single shred of evidence to suggest that any man-like species has ever existed beyond our planet. And to even suggest otherwise is to —”
“But Reverend,” the radio host interrupted, making deft use of his ‘kill’ switch to cut the Reverend off in mid-screech, “that is precisely what our guest Eleanor Patterson said just a few moments ago. She and her Alliance of Believers all understand that they are emotional advocates who should never be the ones to collect evidence of extraterrestrial contact.”
“The Alliance of Believers —” the deep voice raged, but the radio host cut him off again.
“ — all understand that evidence of such import should always be collected by a professional crime scene investigator,” Bellringer finished “An individual such as we have as a guest on the Sky Search Show this very evening: the world-famous Detective Sergeant Colin Cellars,” the radio host added proudly.
Cellars stared wordlessly at Bellringer as his mind raced, its varying elements still trying to make sense of all the new and incredibly confusing data.
“You can tell your Detective Sergeant Cellars that he —” the deep voice crackled with fury, but Bellringer was quick with his kill switch once again.
“And,” the radio host spoke in a breathless hush, “if my sources are correct, and I have no doubt that they are, I believe Detective Sergeant Cellars actually has that proof — actual physical evidence of extraterrestrial contact here on earth — in his possession. Evidence which he will soon display to the entire world.”
“WHAT … ?!” the deep voice screamed before being shut off for the last time.
“You heard what I said, Reverend,” Bellringer said with a devilish chuckle. “Goodnight, sir, and do try to sleep well tonight … very possibly for the last time, because I sincerely believe, dear listeners, that the lunacy Reverend Slogaan spouts forth again and again as sacred Gospel is about to be debunked once and for all time. And now, a word from our sponsors.”
“Are you feeling sick to your stomach? Is your world falling down around your ears? Try Doctor Goodasgold’s incredible new proven formula, unconditionally guaranteed to —”
Ace Bellringer switched off the feeds to the overhead speakers and the headsets, reducing the blaring noise-level in the recording studio to a merciful whisper, then pulled off his headset and motioned to his guests to do the same.
“Wow, wasn’t that something?” he declared, his eyes shining with delight. “I’ve been wanting to harpoon that bloated windbag on Sky Search ever since we started the show. What a demented fool.”
“Physical
evidence
of extraterrestrial contact?” Cellars said in a raspy whisper, still staring at the silver-haired radio host in disbelief.
“A slight exaggeration at the very worst,” Bellringer shrugged cheerfully, waving his right hand in a dismissive gesture. “You probably don’t have the evidence on you … I mean, I certainly wouldn’t. But can you imagine what Slogaan is thinking right now? He has to be shitting his pants as we speak. A billion-dollar enterprise based on the idea that extraterrestrials can’t possibly exist — because God
personally
assured him they don’t, apparently on numerous occasions — poised to go down the proverbial tubes the moment the first scientifically documented photograph hits the news wires.”
“Photograph? What photograph?” Cellars blinked in confusion.
“Only a matter of time before one gets slipped under someone’s door, ideally mine,” Bellringer shrugged. “I mean, don’t act so innocent, Sergeant; you and your buddy Dawson certainly
know
the Krays are here. Hell, you’ve both shot at them … and killed them, so I’m told … which means — and I’m totally guessing here — at least two very real extraterrestrial carcasses at two thoroughly documented crime scenes … probably being stored at this very moment in that Federal wildlife crime lab in Ashland. Am I right?”
“Ace has a very reliable informant in the State Police,” Eleanor Patterson said proudly.
“Not admitting it … not denying it,” Bellringer said with a wry smile at Patterson before returning his attention to Cellars. “And don’t try to tell me that you crime scene investigators don’t collect evidence and take photographs at your scenes any more, Sergeant, because I know for a fact … hey, wait a minute, speaking of rank, what’s with the Army uniform anyway? Did you just enlist, or …?”
Ace Bellringer blinked and then his face visibly paled … looking as if he was stunned by a sudden revelation.
“Oh, my god,” he said in a hushed whisper. “You’re really not a detective-sergeant, are you? You really are an Army —” Bellringer looked closely at the insignia on Cellar’s collar, “— Major? So soon after enlisting? No, I don’t think so. You must have been in the Army all along, and
that
means you must be an integral part of the government-wide conspiracy to — what, hide all of the evidence? And then what? Assassinate everyone involved … including
me
?”
Somehow, Bellringer managed to look absolutely delighted and horrified all at the same time.
“Look, I’m not —” Cellars started to say, and then hesitated, realizing he had absolutely no idea who he was or wasn’t.
At that moment, a voice yelled out of the nearby control room. “Hey Ace, put your headset back on. You’ve got another VIP caller on the line and this one’s a real beaut.”
The still-pale-faced radio host snapped his head around in the direction of the control room and then quickly back at Cellars, who waved a dismissive hand as if to say ‘go ahead, I’m in no hurry.’
Looking relieved, Bellringer lunged for his headset, motioned for Cellars and Patterson to do the same, and then thumbed a switch.
“Ladies and gentlemen, faithful listeners all over the planet, this has been a literal parade of revelations for me tonight. Insight after insight … and you won’t believe what I’ve just learned about my own fate. I’m sorry to have to tell you that this may be the last night you hear Ace Bellringer broadcasting live across the planet. But before we get into all of that, I’m told that we have another very special caller on the line.”
The wide-eyed radio host quickly jabbed his finger at another button on the glowing computer screen.
“Caller,” he said in a hushed voice as he leaned into the microphone, “please identify yourself.”
“Hello, Ace, this is Ann Tillman, Local District Manager and Special Administrative Assistant to Senator Loraine Cash Mariott.”
“Hello, Ann, what an honor to have you on the Sky Search Show,” Bellringer gushed. “And when you said Local District Manager, does that District include Jasper County — the home base for Eleanor Patterson’s Alliance of Believers?”
“Yes, it does, Ace. In fact, my office is located in Jasper Springs, just down the road from the County Auditorium where the Alliance holds their regular meetings.”
“Wow, isn’t that a coincidence.”
“Not at all, Ace. Let me assure you that the Senator and I had the Alliance very much in mind when we selected our office space. We like to keep a watchful eye on those poor dear souls.”
“Boy, talk about caring public servants looking out for their constituents. Isn’t that amazing, Eleanor?”
“Oh, yes, absolutely amazing,” Eleanor Patterson agreed with audibly less enthusiasm.
“So, Ann,” Bellringer charged on, oblivious of his guest’s dismayed expression, “what can we do for you this evening?”
“First of all, Ace, I’d like to advise you and all of your listeners that Senator Mariott is very much aware of the secret federal government investigation being conducted at the Bancoo Indian Reservation at this very moment, literally as we speak.”
“Really?” Bellringer said, his eyes widening.
“Absolutely, which is precisely why the Senator fully intends to call a special session of the Senate Subcommittee on American Indian Relics and Religious Affairs — which she co-chairs — tomorrow morning to get to the bottom of this outrage.”
“Wow, I didn’t even know there was a Senate Subcommittee on American Indian Relics and Religious Affairs,” Bellringer said breathlessly. “Do you meet often … I mean, could I get a copy of the schedule?”
“The subcommittee traditionally meets in closed session, and the sessions are always unannounced,” Tillman said hurriedly. “However, the Senator does want your surprise guest to know that a subpoena will be issued forthwith, commanding his appearance before the members of her subcommittee, along with any and all evidence of extraterrestrial contact he possesses.”
“Oh, boy,” Bellringer whispered … then quickly covered his microphone with one hand and glanced over at Cellars as he said, “you’re definitely in deep doo-doo now, Major,” before turning his attention back to Tillman.
“Ann, uh, I hope it’s okay to call a special administrative assistant of a United States Senator by her first name —?”
“Of course it is, Ace. In fact, you should know that I personally record your show on a regular basis; strictly for record-keeping purposes, of course.”
“Oh, wow, thank you … I think,” Bellringer said uneasily. “But, before you go, I want to follow up on something you just said.”
“Certainly, go ahead.” Tillman’s voice came across as prim and proper, in addition to being slightly menacing.
“I believe you used the word ‘outrage’?”
“Yes, I did, Ace, and I can’t think of another word that better describes the situation we are now facing. It is an outrage, indeed, that scarce American taxpayer dollars are being wasted on a completely futile search for evidence of extraterrestrial contact, and the Senator fully intends to expose this dirty little infestation that threatens the very bedrock that our nation was built upon.”
“What the hell does she mean by all that?” Cellars stage-whispered to Eleanor Patterson; but Bellringer frantically waved them silent before she could answer.
“So you and the Senator would be in general agreement with the position of Reverend Slogaan … that my guests, my listeners and I are all doomed to eternal damnation because of our personal scientific beliefs?” Bellringer pressed gently.
“That’s actually a rather extreme religious position to take, and certainly a bit beyond the scope of the Senator’s Subcommittee,” Tillman corrected. “But we would certainly be open to the proposition of having your station plowed under, and the earth it stood upon thoroughly salted.”
“Ah,” Bellringer said brightly as he thumbed his ever-ready kill button once again. “Thank you, Ann, for your— and the Senator’s — incredibly enlightening contribution to our already-off-the charts Sky Search Show tonight. And now, before we get back to our guests, a brief word from —”
“Hey, Ace,” the voice from the control room called out through their headsets, “hang tight, we got another live one!”
“Oh, my god, I’m completely backed up. I really don’t think I can handle another caller right now,” Bellringer said, staring wide-eyed at the number of un-played commercials now displayed on his computer screen.
“Well, you’d better take this one, Ace,” the control room voice advised. “He’s threatening to blow up the station in the next thirty seconds with some kind of anti-tank missile if we don’t put him on, and he sounds like he’s pretty serious.”
“Okay, okay,” the hassled radio host muttered as he quickly jabbed the flashing computer screen button with his right forefinger, and then leaned into his microphone.
“But first, a brand new caller with a real talent for getting attention,” Bellringer said as focused his eyes on the computer screen and then blinked, “Bobby from —?”
“Let’s just say the universe at large, and leave it at that, Ace,” a voice that sounded amused, threatening and impatient all at the same time replied.
Colin Cellars head snapped up.
“Bobby?” he whispered into his microphone.
“Hey,
compadre
, good to hear your voice again.”
Cellars didn’t know what to say. His frontal lobes were telling him the voice definitely belonged to a Bobby — a certain, one hundred percent match, no doubt about it — but nothing more. Nothing at all.
“Yours, too,” Cellars said hesitantly, thinking:
okay, so assuming you’re the Bobby Dawson Eleanor’s been raving about, I’ve got a lot of questions. Maybe starting out with ‘which one are you … Arthur or Lancelot?’ And ‘who the hell’s Guinevere?
’