The second album held only pictures of her mom and dad from before she had been born. Lee studied the photos and slowly leafed through the pages. Her parents were avid travelers. As it turned out, the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree; she had journeyed to most of the regions of the world where those photos had been taken. Many of the images also had in them an old man and woman: her parents’ predecessors, whom she’d never met. At least, if she had she’d been too young to retain the memories. She liked to look at the pictures in that album, with her mom and dad looking young. Well, younger than Lee’s present age of forty-three, at any rate.
Neither Lee nor her parents were in the last album. She’d last glanced at it when she was a child. The album was dedicated exclusively to the analysts, not to the sleeper agents. All the same, looking now at the pictures of those nameless analysts was as close as she got to feeling a part of an extended family. Even one whose members weren’t aware of her existence or of those sleepers who’d come before her.
The oldest photo in the third album was from 1901. It was of Hagar standing among what must have been three dozen of her analysts. No other photo had them all together. Lee turned over a page. She noted a photo from 1928 with many analysts, too, but Hagar wasn’t in it. She flipped to the next page, but something nagged at the back of her mind. She flipped back to the 1928 picture. Not surprisingly, many of the people in it were in the 1901 photo, though looking older. But then she worked out what troubled her. There was this man. She examined the 1901 photo and located him there as well.
Lee pulled out the two photos and laid them side by side. She brushed outward with her thumb and index finger, enlarging sections of the monochrome images, and more facial details of the man materialized in both pictures. Her pulse quickened; she had not imagined it. This man hadn’t aged a day—like Hagar. She studied the chiseled face, the light sandy hair color. Who was he?
Lee scrutinized the 1928 photo, looking for clues. Anything. Unlike the older photo that was taken in some nondescript field, this one was shot inside a…she examined the picture closely…inside a shop of some kind. She magnified a small section of the photo, zeroing in on a plaque hanging on the wall. It bore some sort of a logo and an inscription. She zoomed in as far as was possible, squinted, and finally managed to make out the writing: “Jerome Shoe Repair.”
Lee chewed on this for a second. What the hell, she decided in the end. She was going to see if he was still alive and track him down if he was. The chances of either were small to none, but she’d absolutely nothing to lose by giving it a shot.
The United States was an obvious place to start looking. Lee closed her eyes, viewing a directory that the bracelet allowed her to access with her mind. She found two current businesses under that name. One was in Idaho. A mental glance at the storefront image and she was off, examining the other listing. That one was for a shop in Jerome, Arizona. The owner was one Dave Lyons, who had assumed ownership in 2003. No website. No telephone number. Just a street address. A quick mental scan showed her a street view of the store. It was a match; its logo was the same as on the plaque in the 1928 photo.
Lee took the morning flight from El Paso to Flagstaff, and a few hours later, she was driving a rental down to Jerome. If that ageless man in the photos was alive and about, and if he had the same…capabilities as Hagar, he might be able to open a rift out of Earth. Or at least he might be able to shed light on what the hell was going on.
The entire population of Jerome could have fitted in a single high school building; the town couldn’t have had more than a hundred homes. “Excuse me,” she would say at the shoe store, “I am looking for someone who posed here for a picture—perhaps the owner? Yeah, it was a while back. A bit less than a century.” She laughed out loud. Oh, this was going to be good!
She parked the car and crossed the street, noting the logo by the display window, below the lit “open” sign.
Lee entered and at the sound of the door opening, a man glanced up from the leather stitching machine he was hunched over. She felt a sudden, almost giddy, rush of excitement. It was him, the man from the photos. The same broad shoulders, the same cropped blond hair and prominent cheekbones. And he still looked to be in his early forties.
With his clean-shaven impassive face and blue eyes, he made her think of a placid lake. And who could tell what beasts lurked right under the shimmering, reflective surface?
The man exuded a sense of immense physical strength. However, the impression may have been misleading; if he was anything like Hagar, he was a lot stronger than his appearance suggested.
Lee crossed the room, her boots thudding on the worn floor, and she stopped closer than was appropriate. The seated man looked up and eyed the lithe woman in faded tight jeans and black jacket. Alert, bottle-green eyes bore down on him. Her broad face was tanned and framed with smooth dark hair streaked with silver and cut in an inverted bob. She was attractive and radiated self-confidence only life experience could bring, a certain kind of life experience.
Lee thrust a large photo under his nose. “This is you.”
His steel-blue eyes narrowed, and he studied her in silence.
“The picture was taken eighty-five years ago,” Lee said.
“Lady, exactly how old do you think I am?” he asked. His voice was low and husky.
“I probably can’t count that high.”
He snorted. “Now you are being ridiculous.” He lowered his head and gave a few whirls to the wheel on the stitching machine. Finally, he stopped. “So, you’re the one who sent the emergency transmission the other day.”
She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Lee Evans.”
He eyed her quizzically. “I’ve never heard of you—or was aware that any of Hagar’s analysts were alive and about.”
Her heart skipped a beat. It seemed he didn’t know about sleeper agents. Lee resolved to keep him in the dark. “My predecessor didn’t hear from Hagar,” she said vaguely. “Neither did I. For decades, nothing. Then I heard the alarm a few days ago, reckoned Hagar must be dead, and decided to come out in the open.”
For a moment, his curiosity was piqued. How was it possible that all those decades after—But then he angrily shut the thought down. It didn’t matter anymore. And the last thing he wanted to do was to dredge up the past. His expression hardened as he looked up at her. “Hagar died in 1939 in the bombing of Warsaw.” For a brief instant, she could see pain in his eyes. Then it was gone. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m afraid your trip here was for naught.”
She bit her lip. It dawned on her that until this moment, a part of her had still hoped against hope Hagar was alive. “What about you. I found you.” The words spilled out in a rush, “Don’t you have the same, well, the same special abilities as Hagar? Can’t you do something?”
He shook his head laconically and led her to an aged armchair. He knelt next to her.
“What,” Lee said, “are you doing?” The man had unzipped one of her boots and inspected it.
“What does it look like?” He stood up and absently wiped his hands on his dark apron. “Your boot could use a new sole,” he told her.
She laughed with a touch of hysteria in her voice. “The world is going to hell in a handbasket, but you are going to give my boot a new sole.” She raked her hand through her hair. “I knew I had a reason to fly this morning to Arizona, but until just now, I didn’t know what it was.”
The man stared at a point above her head. “I think you’d better leave.”
“I think I should,” she snapped back, her cropped hair swaying for a moment in agitation. She put her boot back on and left in a fury mixed with anguish.
Lee slammed her car door. Her tires squealed as she made a fast U-turn. She was through with this man. What a washout, a has-been! Whatever he’d done before, whatever his role had been, it was obviously a very long time ago. Now, he was just a
shoe repairman carrying painful memories.
“Look, can I buy you a milkshake?”
Startled, Lee caused her car to swerve a little, and she glanced wildly around.
“Sorry about before.” His voice was coming out from the bracelet she wore.
She didn’t know it could be done.
“It’s been a while since you’ve talked to a girl, huh?” Lee eventually responded.
She heard him laugh for the first time. She liked the sound of it. “My name is Aratta,” he said.
“Lee,” she replied. She imagined him smiling on the other end. “All right,” she said. “About the milkshake,” she added. “I’ll make my way back to Jerome. See you in an hour or so.”
There was a momentary silence. “Where are you, exactly?” he asked, his voice transmitted via her bracelet with perfect clarity.
“On the I–17, about ten miles south of Flagstaff.”
“Yes, I see now,” he said after a pause. “The device you wear on your wrist allows me to home in on your location.” He continued, “Permit me to lead you through a…shortcut.”
“Okay,” she said, unsure what he had in mind.
“In a few hundred feet, take the Newman Park Road exit and make a right.”
Silently, she did as instructed, then breathed in sharply as she rapidly ran out of road. “It’s going to dead-end at the farmhouse.”
“Not this time. Make a hard left at the fork.”
She swore under her breath and turned the car aside, raising dust. The path wound its way around the farmhouse. This is when she noticed that up ahead, the road forked once again and one route headed straight through the ponderosa pines, eastward through the forest.
After a few miles, the path broadened and turned into a paved road, as empty as the dirt road she had been on.
She drove in silence for a minute and finally figured out what was bothering her.
“There are creosote bushes all around. No trees.”
“So?”
“So, where the hell is the forest?”
“You’re back at Verde Valley.”
“Impossible.”
Aratta did not respond.
Lee swallowed hard and suddenly felt the need to put a second hand on the steering wheel. She drove guardedly, eyes glued to the road ahead, reluctant to even slow down unless she had to.
Momentarily, the road started climbing and a few switchbacks later she saw the town of Jerome nestled amid the hills. The man had somehow manipulated time or space, and she’d ended up traveling close to sixty miles in a matter of minutes.
Aratta was waiting for her on Main Street. He looked different now—wearing a starched, white dress shirt, a dark vest, and a fedora hat.
His eyes twinkled. “How was the drive?” he asked after she got out of the car.
“Short and to the point.” She laughed easily, suddenly feeling lighthearted.
Aratta offered her his arm, and without a second thought, she hooked her arm in his.
Arms linked, they strolled down the business district of the small town. There was a pleasant breeze and the sun was near the horizon, setting the sky ablaze where it met the far-off mountains.
The car models and the occasional fedoras on the men finally registered with her.
She stole a glance at him a few times. “This isn’t Earth, is it?” she eventually blurted.
“No, not quite.”
Lee studied the street openly now. “It’s Jerome, but maybe like it was decades ago.” She hesitated. “Are we in the past?”
“That is not possible.”
“Well then?”
“It is a reflection of what was, an afterimage if you will. Earth casts an infinite number of reflections.” He fell silent, and she held to his arm, glancing at the mysterious man who wielded powers she could not fathom. “So you work in the real world and come back home…to here?” she asked.
Aratta smiled amiably at her. “Not a bad way to spend time, is it?”
On the short drive back to Jerome, Lee had resolved to get right to the questions that burned in her mind. But as she was strolling with him, her arm entwined in his, it felt less urgent somehow. Time and again, Lee resisted an urge to rest her head against his shoulder. She felt as if she stepped into an impressionist painting, perhaps one of those pointillistic ones by Seurat or Pissarro.
They strode past a delicatessen and entered a small diner. Aratta bought each of them a milkshake, and they continued walking toward the setting sun.
Aratta’s home was a tastefully designed house at the foothills of a mountain. Lee examined his drawing room, taking joy in the tanned-colored walls, bamboo floor, and the powder-yellow area rugs. Through the glass sliding door, she noted a few hummingbirds hovering about a feeder against the backdrop of red sandstone formations in the distance.
Lee settled in a tufted armchair, and Aratta took the one across from her. The wood table had a single planter with an arrangement of bonsai trees. A miniature glen. Lee gazed at the moss covering the old, diminutive trunks. “It’s spellbinding,” she said softly. “How old are the trees?”
“I planted them about a hundred and thirty years ago,” Aratta replied. “They are coming along nicely.” He noted the expression on her face and gave her a disarming smile.
They both contemplated the miniature trees, the fire crackling in the brick-paneled fireplace.
An aging manservant silently entered, carrying a silver tray with tea and a wood bowl filled with fruits.
“Please,” laughed Aratta, gesturing at the tray. “It is rare that I have guests.”
She reached and took some grapes. And for a while, they were both contented to stare at the flames.
“The alarm went off a few days ago,” she said, stating the obvious.
He sighed heavily. “You could say that the weather is about to turn grim on this planet.”
“Already is.”
Aratta picked up one of the steaming cups of tea. “This has been but a gentle afternoon breeze to the typhoon that is to come.”
“Humanity will survive it,” Lee said.
“Undoubtedly. As a group, they’ve managed to survive far worse.” He stirred his tea with a tiny spoon. “But then again, humanity’s survival was never in doubt or the point.”
“No, of course not,” she replied immediately, feeling stupid.
“All of which brings us, no doubt, to the question you have wished to ask me: why didn’t I send out word—decades ago—and convened a hearing about the Terraneans, the Earth people.”
She braced herself.
Aratta laid down his cup on the saucer. “I can’t.”
“What do you mean you ‘can’t’?” But as Lee said it, she had a sinking feeling; she thought she knew what was coming.
“Just so. There’s no way in and there’s no way out of Earth. Something vast and powerful beyond belief is preventing me from breaking out of”—he hesitated—“think of it as the gravity well of the planet. I cannot leave this world.” He held her gaze. “Ms. Evans, I am afraid we are stuck here. Worse yet, I can’t even send a message out to let anyone know about the plight of the biosphere here.”
She had been listening with rising dismay.
He noted her expression, and his voice softened, “Lee, for you this is something that just recently came to your attention. For me, it is something I’ve been wrestling with and have slowly come to terms with in the last fifty years.”
“Does it get any easier?”
“You mean life in exile, here on Earth?” He took a sip. “Easier, no. But one can get used to anything.”
“Is there something we can do right now?” Her voice was low and strained.
“Well,” Aratta said and put the teacup on the table. “The evening is still young. Can I interest you in a game of
chess?”
Chapter 10
Foothills of Organ Mountains, New Mexico
Lee had taken the last flight to El Paso. It was close to midnight when she approached her estate, and her bracelet glowed to life unbidden. She braked, pulled over, and turned off the headlights. She sat in the car and rubbed her clammy hands on her jeans. The bracelet activating itself could only mean one thing. Someone had broken into her house.
Lee had placed multiple security measures. And if she was within one mile of the house, the bracelet was able to pick up their transmissions. It seemed like at least one was tripped. She closed her eyes, reviewing in her mind’s eye the video recordings. There it was. At 5:23pm, a car had pulled in and parked somewhere outside her cameras’ range. At 5:34pm, a tall man holding a gun had entered her house. A hit man. A cold finger slid down her spine. Someone was intent on killing her.
For this exact contingency, Lee had installed hidden thermal security cameras, covering every part of her house. She now instructed the bracelet to scan the video feeds and seek out an infrared heat signature of a human inside the dark house. It did. She drew in a shaky breath. The bastard was still there. Waiting for her return, no doubt.
Lee had no illusion about her ability to survive a close encounter. It was all but certain that he was physically stronger and better with a gun.
It was time to see if her emergency plan was any good.
She pulled out night-vision goggles from the car trunk and strapped them on. Next, she was off, walking as quietly as possible, making a beeline to the ancient ironwood tree at the far edge of her property. It must have died decades earlier; its weathered trunk gleamed green under her night vision. Next to its base, she dug into the earth with her fingers until she felt the hard plastic shell. Lee sighed in relief. She quickly cleared out the dirt, then pulled free an elongated waterproof case.
The Earth Hearing Page 8
