"In
my opinion, it's something the young guy saw in the
newspaper." He described how Okun had snatched the paper out of his
hands
and was still holding it as they began the drive toward the cemetery.
"If
these guys were dangerous criminals, why wasn't I warned? And who's
gonna pay
for fixing up the hearse?"
When
one of the cops handed Radecker a copy of Saturday's
paper, it didn't take him long to figure out which story had caught
Okun's eye.
Now it was his turn to nod. By the time he was finished reading the
story, he
knew exactly where they were headed.
He
grinned at the chauffeur and wrote a phone number on the back of his
business
card. "You've been very helpful. Call this number. They'll fix your
car." Then he turned to one of the cops. "I need to use a phone for a
private call."
He
was shown into a small office and dialed Spelman's direct
line. "I think I've figured out where they're headed."
Spelman
told him to hold the line, then passed the receiver
to someone else. "Is this Radecker?"
"Yes,
sir. Who's this?"
The
man ignored him. "We found out your boys rented a
car at Ontario Airport yesterday. The vehicle is a gold Ford LTD
station wagon
with wood-trim panels, California plates CYS 385. You got that?"
"Yes,
sir."
"You
say you know where they're headed?"
"I
believe so, sir. But before I say anything, I'll
need to know who I'm talking to and if you have proper clearance."
"This
is Deputy Director Nimziki. Now where are
they?"
"Mexico,
sir. Somewhere in the State of Chihuahua,
probably in the town of Guerrero." He went on to explain Okun's sudden
interest in the newspaper and the likely connection to a paragraph in
the
Majestic 12 documents he had personally inked out before handing the
document
over to Okun. "He must have learned about it from Wells."
"You
think they're down there looking for an alien
vehicle?"
"Yes,
sir," Radecker said almost apologetically. He'd been given very few
specific instructions on how to do his job, but one thing had been made
crystal
clear: deny Okun access to information concerning other spacecraft. It
seemed
simple enough, but he had failed miserably. Okun had learned
everything,
despite his efforts. "With your permission, Mr. Nimziki, I'll fly down
there immediately and round them up."
There
was a pause while the man on the other end thought it
over. "No, that won't be necessary. You've served your purpose. Collect
your things and report back to Company Headquarters for reassignment."
"Yes,
sir. Thank you, sir." He hung up the phone,
confused. Until that moment he had no idea who'd been pulling the
strings on
the project, and he was surprised it went right to the top, Nimziki's
office.
Everyone in the company knew the presidential appointee wasn't the real
power
at the CIA. Day-to-day operations and who-knew-how-many covert
operations were
increasingly run out of the Deputy Director's Office. It was only a
matter of
time until he was named to head the Agency. But what had he meant by
You've
served your purpose
? That sounded ominous. At least he'd
mentioned
reassignment. Radecker allowed himself to be optimistic in spite of the
mess
he'd allowed to happen. Perhaps he was going to be promoted after all.
At least
he knew that wherever they sent him, it couldn't be any worse than
being
trapped in Area 51.
The
front wall of the cave was an ingenious construction of meticulously
stacked
stone, woven grass, and mud. After baking in the desert sun for
twenty-five
years, it was almost as
hard as solid stone.
When Okun hesitantly stepped through the opening, he noticed another
curious
piece of construction material: a large section of shell armor. He
recognized
it as the circular door of the alien ship. The last light of day was
coming
through the squarish hole Okun had found earlier. When he lit one of
the
candles and approached the hole, he made a rather gruesome discovery.
Something
was lying in front of it. The thing looked like a degraded plastic bag
with
hands and feet. He moved closer and discovered it was the decomposed
body of an
alien. The hands and feet, made of a thicker, tougher material than the
rest of
the body, were decaying more slowly. Lenel came up behind him, holding
a candle
of his own.
"He
must have been looking out his little window
waiting to be rescued when he died. The electromagnetic field generated
by the
power lines must have created a ceiling which allowed the signal to
travel
laterally, but not upward. That must be why the aliens never located
the
distress signal."
Okun
lowered himself toward the body until his face was only
inches above the decomposed corpse and looked through the opening.
"Guess
what the last thing he was looking at when he died?"
"A
large Y standing in a desolate landscape?"
"Bingo."
"It
looks like this one has been dead for years. But we
picked up his visual signal less than two years ago. Does it mean
there's a
telepathic interface between the creatures and their ship?"
"Makes
sense. And this little guy must have programmed the ship's sending unit
to
repeat the message
endlessly." He
looked over his shoulder at Lenel. "Now I know why the image felt so
lonely. This would be a crummy way to die, marooned in a cave on some
foreign
planet."
Lenel
grunted. He wasn't about to start feeling sorry for
the extraterrestrials. He walked deeper into the darkness to take a
look at the
ship. They lit a dozen candles, which cast an eerie, dancing glow
around the
ceiling. Like the first cave they'd explored, this one had mud-brick
apartments
standing side by side around the perimeter of the space. Staying close
to one
another, the two men began walking around the ship.
"This
one didn't crash," Lenel observed.
"There's no sign of damage anywhere. The shell armor seems to be in
perfect condition. I don't even see scrape marks."
Okun
squatted down. "One problem. Where are the
thrusters? This baby's lying flat on its belly. Shouldn't it be raised
up off
the floor?"
Lenel
shrugged and moved on. They walked all the way around
the exterior of the ship, pausing to make an investigation of the small
rooms
farthest from the mouth of the cave. They found several Mogollon
artifacts,
including what seemed to be a grinding stone, but no evidence at all
that the
alien had used the rooms. As they returned to the ship and came around
toward
its nose, Okun's attention was drawn to something happening behind the
windows.
He was about to say something when he took another step and fell into a
hole.
The sudden scream and downward flicker of candlelight scared Lenel half
to
death. "Okun? What happened?"
"I'm
OK," he said, "but be careful. There's a
hole over here." When he struck a match and relit his candle, Lenel
came
to the edge of the three-foot-deep pit. He reached a hand down to help
Okun
climb out, but Okun didn't take it. He was sniffing. 'The ammonia smell
is
stronger down here." He turned around and noticed he was in a trench
that
led in the direction of the ship's door. "It looks like this tunnel
leads
inside the ship. Should we go in?"
"What
if I said no, that we should wait for the help to
get here?"
Okun
admitted, "I'd probably go in anyway."
"So
why are you even asking?" the habitual
sour-puss snapped. "Help me down into this hole."
They
crawled the thirty feet to the center of the ship on
their hands and knees, the ammonia smell growing stronger. When they
were under
the open hatch, Okun saw the light of his candle flickering across the
dark
interior of the ship. Something suddenly struck him as terribly wrong.
As Lenel
caught up with him, muttering something under his breath, Okun reached
out and
arrested the old man's progress with a hand clamped onto his shoulder.
He was
looking up into the ship in a way that made Lenel very uneasy.
"Now
what?" he whispered.
"Listen.
You hear that?" Okun was moving his index
finger around in a very slow loop to show how the sound was repeating
itself.
After watching him do this for a minute and not hearing anything, Lenel
spoke a
few decibels louder than he needed to.
"My
ears are shot. I can't hear anything."
Cautiously,
Okun stood up, not sure he was going to like what he saw inside. Was it
possible there were survivors after all these years? He thought of
Trina Glucks
story, and how she'd been nose to nose with the Tall One. Although
there was no
one moving inside the ship, he was amazed when he located the source of
the
repetitive noise: the instrument panel at the front of the ship was
surging to
glowing life every few seconds. He climbed inside and walked to the
front of
the ship. He knelt and timed the surges against his wristwatch. To find
part of
the ship working didn't amaze him. He'd expected to discover the
signaling
system still carrying the message with the Y. But what he saw happening
around
him made no sense.
All
the systems were pulsing to a
very slow
heartbeat. "This is impossible," he yelled. 'This thing is using way
way way too much energy. Why does it have so much juice left?" He
turned
and went to confront Lenel with these questions but suddenly leaped
backwards,
sprawling against the dashboard, his heart suddenly pounding like a
fire bell.
"What's
the matter with you now?" Lenel demanded,
crawling into the cabin.
A
speechless Brackish could only point to something on the
floor. Lenel walked over and found three more decomposed bodies in the
corner.
They had been left in sitting positions, but, over the years, the heads
and
chests had collapsed in on themselves, sinking to the floor. Three sets
of legs
pointed toward the front of the ship. Okun had been so intent on
checking the
instrument panel, he'd literally walked right over them without
noticing. The
papery remains of a leg had been packed down under his shoe.
"Don't
worry. They're just as dead as the one outside,
and you didn't seem scared of him."
Okun
looked at the cadavers like he'd just swallowed a
mouthful of chunky milk. "But the way they're sitting there.
Creep-o-rama
extraordinaire."
"What's
this power issue you were hollering
about?"
Brackish
got back to business. "Look at these
instruments!" The two of them watched the instruments run through their
four-second cycles. The yellow shell glowed dimly, the bony arms of the
steering mechanism twitched, the set of tubes under the pod chairs
expanded.
"Where is all this energy coming from?"
"Beats
me." The old man shrugged. He started to
say something else, then stopped.
"What?
What were you going to say?"
"Based
on what we know about these ships, what's the
most logical energizing source?"
Okun's
mind toiled in darkness for a few moments until a
lightbulb popped on. "You're suggesting these power surges are coming
from
another ship? Which must mean there's another alien vehicle within
transmission
range. Which means..."
"Exactly.
They could be on their way down here right
now."
This
theory did not brighten the mood of any of the
life-forms inside the cabin, living or dead.
"Wait
a sec," Okun complained. "We worked out
the Van Allen connection a couple of times. We're supposed to have
until
tomorrow!"
"Don't
get your knickers all twisted up, son. It's only an idea. Who knows
where this
power is coming
from. Maybe this ship is
using the earth's natural electromagnetism as a battery, or maybe this
is what
happens every time the belts show increased radioactivity."
But
half an hour later, the instruments were pulsing in
three-second cycles. Both Okun and Lenel were convinced an alien ship,
perhaps
even a small armada of them, was approaching Chihuahua.
"I
figure we've got an hour, maybe two if we're
lucky," Lenel said. "This ship is in perfect shape. We've got to
learn as much as we can before they get here. I'll go below and try to
get a
look at the aqua-box. You stay here and learn what you can about the
control
mechanisms." Okun, mind racing in a thousand directions at once,
vaguely
agreed. "And because this is an emergency, I'm going to lend you my
secret
weapon." Lenel reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a
three-inch-long screwdriver. "Pull that panel apart and make us some
schematics drawings we can use on the ship back home."
As
Lenel trudged off, Okun absentmindedly set to work prying
the control system components out of their fittings. When he began to
sketch,
his mind began to wander. He'd poured his heart into finding this ship,
and now
it looked like he was going to lose it again. He wondered how tough the
aliens
really were. Could he and Lenel, like the ancient Mogollon Indians,
defend
their cave? He imagined pelting the unwelcome visitors with rocks as
they tried
to climb the hillside. If that failed, there was always the tire iron.
When
they saw Mad Dog Okun at the top of the slope
wearing a menacing sneer, would they turn and run? Would they fight? Or
would
he feel his body go numb and the weapon drop from his hands like Trina
Gluck's
toothbrush had dropped into the sink?
Then
there was another possibility. When the approaching
aliens were close enough, the craft he was sitting in would most likely
be able
to fly. He pictured himself glued into the pilot's pod chair. When the
first
eebie showed itself in the freshly cut doorway, he would slam the ship
in gear,
blast through the wall, and fly north to Groom Lake before the aliens
knew what
hit them. Two drawbacks of this plan were that Okun had never flown any
type of
aircraft in his life, and he didn't have the foggiest notion of how the
ship's
controls worked. He went back to the tire-iron scenario.