Roswell's Secret

by Vannetta Chapman

  He reached for something below the level of the glass, brought up a walkie-talkie unit.

  “I want the lab room flooded with sleeping gas at maximum levels, repeat I want it flooded with sleeping gas at maximum level.”

  Dean raised the Glock, though it made every muscle in his arm scream. “I’ll give you one chance to rescind that order.” He pulled the slide, forced his arm steady.

  Dean sighted in the target. At that moment, another voice sounded in his ears.

  “Everyone stand down,” Martin bellowed. The soldiers lining the room immediately lowered their weapons.

  Martin stormed down the center of the room, wearing his dress uniform—and no bio-hazard suit.

  Dean felt relief wash over him. He released the slide, let the weapon fall into his lap. Martin peered through the glass, looked Dean straight into his eyes. “You all right, son?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Lucy still alive?”

  Dean nodded. The sudden lump in his throat kept him from answering.

  “Those the crystals?”

  Dean wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm, though it seemed to take the strength of giants to do so. “She disarmed all twenty-eight bombs before I could get inside to help her.”

  “You did well, Dean. We’re releasing the lock on the door and coming in now.”

  “You can’t.” Martin seemed surprised, but he waited. Dean waited too, trying to remember.

  “Interior lock. Lucy found an interior lock.”

  One of the men at the back of the room swore. He wore a bio-hazard suit like all the rest, but there was something familiar about him. Dean tried to focus, tried to clear his vision.

  “Who is that?” he asked.

  “Who’s who?”

  “At the back, against the east wall.”

  When Martin pivoted to look, the man went rigid and Dean knew.

  “He’s our man, Commander.” Dean could barely push the words out. “It’s Goodwin. He’s the one behind all of this.”

  Goodwin stepped up when Martin signaled him forward. He stood just inches away from Dean. Unfortunately they were separated by bulletproof glass. It didn’t stop Dean from wanting to murder him.

  “Your man has been under a lot of pressure, Commander Martin. Let me assure you, we will find all of the men responsible for this. I promise a full investigation—”

  “He is the man responsible. He’s the one Emily Middleton met with on at least three separate occasions. Her husband Joe has proof; he was supposed to contact you. He was supposed to call Aiden.”

  Martin shook his head, “I’ve received no communication from Aiden.”

  “Goodwin stood in this very room at five-thirty this morning. I watched him shoot his own man.” Dean’s voice shook with fatigue and anger. He would not watch this man walk away again.

  “Sir, if you can’t talk Dreiser down, maybe we should flood the room with the sleeping gas,” Goodwin said.

  “How did you know my name?” Dean asked.

  Martin’s shoulders tightened, and his hand went to his service revolver.

  By the time he’d removed it, two guards had flanked Goodwin.

  “You’re under arrest, General Goodwin. These men will escort you out.”

  “Are you insane? You’re taking the word of a field agent over me?”

  Martin never flinched. “Take him.”

  When they had reached the door, Martin called to the men to stop. “Goodwin, I never told anyone Dean’s last name. I’m curious as to how you knew it.”

  Goodwin didn’t answer. Martin whirled to face him. “Perhaps you intercepted a few communications. We knew someone was reading, and in some instances, diverting, my messages. Until today, we hadn’t pinned down who. Moles always rat themselves out.”

  He nodded for the men to continue, then shifted back to Dean.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “We knew the man was in this room. We were hoping you could provoke him into incriminating himself.”

  “I’m good at provoking people, sir.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I would have liked to shoot him.”

  “We needed him alive. He can and will tell us who else was involved.” Martin pulled himself up to his full stature. “How about you open the door now. We’ll care flight you both to Alamogordo.”

  Martin stepped closer to the glass, locked his gaze with Dean’s. “And we’ll make sure you share a room, but I need you to release the lock first.”

  Dean nodded, placed Lucy gently down on the makeshift bed, and pulled himself up. The door seemed a mile away. He stumbled toward it. The room tilted and swayed. He grasped at a rolling table to steady himself. It gave way, fell to the floor with a crash. He tripped, nearly went with it, grabbed on to a cabinet, and pulled himself back up.

  “You’re almost there, Falcon.”

  Dean heard again the voice of his father.

  Do what you need to, son. Figure out the rest later.

  He reached the door, stared at the panel, and tried to remember what he needed to do. He should enter something, but what? He had been so focused on keeping people out, but there was a way to let people in. If he could just remember how.

  He raised his hand to wipe the sweat from his eyes, and when he did he saw the numbers he’d written there—he didn’t remember doing that. 2727b. Slowly, he entered them. The first time, he got them wrong.

  Lucy’s voice came back to him, whispered before she slipped into unconsciousness. “Three chances then you can’t leave.”

  Drawing a deep breath that felt like shards of glass in his lungs, he tried again. This time, when he reached the end of the sequence, he saw the light turn from red to green.

  Air hissed. The lock released and the door opened, but he never saw the personnel surge through. Unconsciousness reached out its arms and claimed him. He tumbled backwards into the comfortable, black abyss.

  DEAN STOOD LOOKING out over the Flathead Valley. He wanted to shut his eyes to the boldness of the leaves falling to the ground. The roar of the water rushing down Three Forks River did little to quiet the questions in his mind. He could just make out the brightness of the first snowfall on top of Big Mountain. It all threatened to overwhelm him.

  Dean Dreiser had never considered himself a sentimental guy, but he’d been at Aiden’s ranch for two weeks. He still couldn’t take in the view without getting teary-eyed. The USCIS docs said it was normal to be sensitive after a near-death experience. His mom said it was part of maturing. Personally, he thought it sucked. He felt raw all over. How did people get through each day this way? Might as well walk around without any skin on his bones.

  Fortunately, Aiden interrupted his introspection. Analyzing his feelings resulted in more knots and no answers.

  “You ready?” Aiden slapped him on the back, then reached out to rub Dean’s bald head.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Great.”

  Aiden moved to go.

  “But...”

  Aiden stopped, turned back to his friend. “It haunts me, Aiden. I let Goodwin walk away.”

  “You did the right thing, Dean.”

  “But what if—”

  “You did the right thing. Your partner went down, you stayed with her. Goodwin is in prison awaiting trial. He’ll face a court-martial before the year ends. He’s given up over two dozen names—”

  “Do we know who financed him yet?” Aiden sat down beside him, stared out over the river, and seemed to weigh his words. “You know we don’t. Martin would have called you first. We will, though. The man has been in solitary for five weeks. We have the best interrogators in the world working on him. We’ll get the name.”

  “Why would he tell us?”

  “We’re offering him a deal—we get every ounce of information we want. In exchange we’ll seek a life sentence instead of the death penalty.”

  “And we will get it.” Dean thought of Lucy. The ache in his che
st still burned.

  “There’s no doubt we’ll get it.” Aiden stood.

  “I can’t believe Goodwin thought he could get rich and run the new political party that would emerge.”

  “He had enough evidence stored away to keep all the new power players in line—if in fact the two parties folded. Their research told them that would happen if the attacks succeeded. He’s slowly telling us where he stored the encrypted files. As far as the money, we’ve already confirmed over twenty million dollars in various Swiss accounts.”

  Dean stood, thinking of the money, the power, and what they had all sacrificed. Thinking of the choices he’d made and wondering again if he’d made the right ones. “What if he’d managed to get away?”

  Aiden stepped closer. They had worked together on too many ops, taken a bullet for each other more than once. Dean could trust whatever words came out of his mouth.

  “He didn’t, and I would tell you if you made a mistake. You didn’t.”

  “Right. You would.”

  “Everyone’s in place.” Dean nodded.

  Everyone consisted of less than twenty people, which was the way Lucy had wanted it.

  “Sunset’s in fifteen minutes. We’re cutting it a little close.”

  Dean felt the familiar lump in his throat and pushed it back down. Sunrise would have been one thing, but sunset? He could still hear her laughing voice, “Dean, all good things begin at sunset—it’s like God’s blessing on tomorrow, stars to wish on, you and me on a blanket watching as they appear.”

  He stumbled on the steps, and Aiden caught his arm. They locked eyes, and the fact his best friend didn’t ask, didn’t need to ask, spoke volumes of the way they knew each other and the trust they shared.

  “Let’s do this,” Dean said.

  Folding chairs were arranged around Aiden and Madison’s patio, pointed where everyone could watch the sun set over the Rocky Mountains. On this evening, like many others, the sight was a wonder to behold.

  Dean barely noticed the sunset.

  He made his way to the front, where his father clasped his shoulder. No words passed between the two men. His mother and dad had alternated time spent beside his bed at the hospital on Holloman Air Force Base for three weeks. They’d been through the worst imaginable together. Tonight, they would close the book on this chapter in Dean’s life.

  Dean fumbled in the pocket of his suit for the paper where he’d written what he wanted to say. Then he remembered he’d never been able to write the words. He’d tried. When it came to Lucy, what could he say? How would he manage to even speak?

  The preacher stood, nodded at Dean, and a cellist—a single cellist played softly. Dean would have rented an entire symphony orchestra, but in this, too, Lucy was to have her way. There had been moments of lucidity in the hospital room they’d shared, and she’d been quite clear about what she wanted.

  “One cellist, Dean,” she’d said with a smile playing across those lips he longed to kiss again. “Each time they draw their bow across the strings, it’s as if my heart is being pulled.”

  Dean felt as if his heart would burst, but Commander Martin chose just that moment to catch his eye. Dean realized he was still a government agent. He drew a deep breath into the scarred tissues that would have to pass for his lungs and stepped next to the preacher, turned to face the crowd. He had no idea what he’d say, but it didn’t matter. One look at Lucy and all thoughts tended to fly from his head anyway.

  She rolled out onto the patio as all the guests stood, and Dean felt again as if he’d been punched in the gut.

  How was it they’d been given another chance?

  What sort of charmed life did this woman live?

  And how lucky was he to be marrying the woman of his dreams?

  Ω

  If Roswell had taught Lucy anything, it was life was short and never to be taken for granted. She studied Dean, standing at the end of the patio and knew she could walk those few steps. The doctors had told her to wait until spring, but she needed to be married to this man today. And, she would rather not do it in a wheelchair.

  Smiling at her father, she reached up for his arm. Her legs trembled, and she stumbled, nearly fell. Her father caught her, steadied her, whispered in her ear, “Es bien. Que te tengo, Lucinda.”

  He had been there for her the past months—both her parents had and were there for her still.

  Tears pooled in Lucy’s eyes as Madison hurried closer to her side, steadying her.

  Together, the three of them covered the short distance down the aisle, and she finally raised her gaze to Dean’s.

  Emotion swelled in her heart for this man—pride, passion, need. All the nightmares paled when she considered even one night in his arms.

  When her father placed her hand into Dean’s, she knew she’d finally come home.

  Though she did have to stifle a giggle at the sight of his bald head. It was one thing she hadn’t quite grown used to. Of course she had one to match, both compliments of RSF32. Hair would grow back. She felt the final rays of the setting sun on her forehead as Dean lifted her veil, and thanked God they had both lived to see this day.

  “Are you okay?” He whispered.

  “I am happier than I have ever been.”

  Leaning heavily against Dean, she turned with him to face the preacher, and he began to speak. Lucy barely noticed, she was so entranced by the sight of the sun dropping beneath mountain peaks, a cello’s soft whisper of love, and God’s promise of tomorrow—at least one more tomorrow.

  The preacher asked, “Dean, do you have a ring?”

  Dean fumbled in his pocket, then pulled out a simple gold band.

  “Lucy, sweet, sweet Lucy.” Tears slipped down his face, tears he didn’t bother to wipe away.

  Looking in this man’s eyes was like drinking from a cool mountain stream. Blue eyes locked on brown ones, and it was like the first time when she’d met him in the Albuquerque airport. She knew now she’d loved him from that moment, and she’d go on loving him until the stars slipping into the night sky over his very broad shoulders ceased to shine.

  “With this ring, I thee wed.” Dean slid the ring on her finger, then leaned forward and kissed her, tentatively, carefully, as if she might break.

  Then they lost themselves in the kiss, as they so often did these days, and they didn’t remember where they were until the applause and the laughter broke the moment.

  Which was fine. There would be other such moments. Dean’s hand over hers, Lucy promised the rest of their lives would be filled with many more.

  As the ceremony ended and the reception began, they were surrounded by her family and Dean’s, by the few friends they’d invited up to this sanctuary in the mountains. Lucy thought about the many times she’d been warned about love, about how risky it was.

  Well, life itself was a risk.

  Every time you drew in a deep breath, you were taking a risk.

  She spotted her brother Marcos. He looked better—physically and emotionally—than he had in years. The bio-agent he’d been exposed to had left its scars to be sure, but he’d overcome. They were a family of overcomers.

  Standing beside Aiden, Marcos laughed at one of Dean’s stupid jokes. Marcos understood and accepted the risks they all willingly took. This month, he’d decided to go back on active duty—as an instructor. Her parents joined Marcos, pulled Dean into a hug.

  Lucy watched the scene play out and found tears again clogging her throat. She might have even succumbed to them, but she was interrupted by Madison, and her nine-month-old son, Dayton.

  Madison had pushed the wheelchair closer. Lucy sank into it gratefully. She reached out to play with Dayton’s toes, thankful for the distraction.

  “Can you believe I let Aiden name this child?”

  Lucy nodded, wiped at the tears threatening to fall. “The things we do for love.”

  “Half the people we meet think he’s named after a race. Actually he’s named after a town in Wyoming, w
hich I’m not sure is any better. Fortunately, I get to name the girls.”

  Lucy raised an eyebrow. “You’re planning on several?”

  “I’ve learned not to plan when it comes to Aiden.”

  “Right. Wise woman.”

  They looked toward their men—both tall, rugged, scarred by the sacrifices they’d made.

  Madison reached over and took Lucy’s hand, brought it to her lap and held it there with Dayton. “You’re a beautiful bride, Lucy.”

  Lucy touched her head and laughed. “You should have known me when I had hair.”

  “I will,” Madison said. “I’m glad to have you here at all—hair or no hair. I know Dean and Aiden are too. We all are.”

  Lucy nodded. “I’ve told myself a thousand times what a miracle it is. Everyone in the military is given a full barrage of vaccinations. Then when you enter the bio-weapons program, you’re given an even more intensive course of inoculations. But to have been exposed to the lethal doses within that lab...”

  “Do the doctors have any explanation?” Madison pulled Dayton’s toes from his mouth.

  “As far as the ricin, the inoculation I had was perfectly adequate. But we haven’t developed a good vaccination for the Spanish influenza yet. They think it might have been something in my family’s heritage that managed to combat that version of the Spanish flu.” Lucy smiled at this last part. It did seem somewhat ironic.

  “So, I suppose they’ll study you now?”

  “I’ve promised blood samples as long as they need them. In exchange for my choice of partners.”

  Madison and Lucy laughed until Dayton decided he wanted in on the joke.

  “Push me over to Dean?” Lucy asked.

  “Sure thing. If you don’t mind holding this guy.” Madison knelt down to tuck a blanket across Lucy’s lap before placing Dayton there. As she looked into her eyes, she asked the question that had been on all of their minds. “What about Dean, Lucy? How did he survive the exposure?”

  “The version they planned on using in the UAVs depended on direct skin contact or inhalation as it fell from the air. What Goodwin dispersed into the room had settled by the time Dean arrived, but taking care of me must have exposed him to residual amounts. I don’t understand it. He would have been inoculated for ricin, and five percent of the population is naturally immune to influenza. Or perhaps it was a miracle? He risked his life coming back for me.”