by Greg Cox
"Aren't you afraid that Morton will sneak away while you're not looking?" Michael asked him pointedly. He looked past Max at the Motel 6 across the way.
Max hesitated, looking back over his shoulder at the hated gunman's current lair. Clashing priorities warred behind his eyes as indecision caused his lips to twitch. Then he shook his head and turned his attention back to Michael. "Maybe if we hurry right back," he proposed uneasily.
Now it was Michael's turn to shake his head. "Not so fast," he said firmly. "I appreciate the thought, Max, old pal, but want to find out what's inside that damn briefcase, too." Moving slowly, to minimize the wear and tear on his sore ribs, Michael retrieved the binoculars from where they had fallen, a few yards away from the Jeep. One lens had cracked, but a moment's concentration repaired the glass, making the instrument as good as new. Next, he gingerly climbed into the back of the Jeep, gritting his teeth against the pain, and turned the binoculars on Morton's door, which appeared not to have budged an inch during the time Michael had knocked some sense into Max by letting Max knock the wind out of him. "Go get Alex or Isabel or somebody to take over the stakeout," he suggested, "and then we can apply some old-fashioned alien healing techniques to my ribs."Morton must be sleeping late, Michael deduced, after his late night hunting us through Slaughter Canyon. "So," he asked Max, before the other youth could go for reinforcements, "do you have a plan for getting at that case?"Of course," Max declared, as if that went without saying. "What do you think I've been thinking about out here, besides wanting to teach Morton what an alien abduction really feels like." His voice still held a trace of seething malice and resentment. "Don't worry, though, I'll run the details by you, just in case I've completely lost my mind, you know."Thanks," Michael said. "I'll let you know about that, after I've heard your plan."
16.
“Okay, what we need is a good distraction," Max declared. "Then, after Morton and the science guy have been lured away, I'll slip into their room to check out that briefcase."With the exception of Alex, who had volunteered to monitor Morton's hangout from the Jeep, the gang had crowded into a single motel room to work out the details of Max's plan. Liz sat at the foot of one of the unmade beds, determined to take part in the proceedings, despite the monster-size butterflies in her stomach and the panicky feeling that came over her every time Morton's name was mentioned. I can't let the others solve this problem for me, she resolved, not if I want to stop feeling like a helpless victim.
"The question is," Max continued, "what kind of distraction?" He sat next to Liz on the bed, his arm around her shoulders. An air conditioner hummed steadily in the background, beneath the curtained windows that kept out the late morning sun while also hiding their conference from prying eyes.
Slouching against the wall, her arms crossed atop her chest, Isabel sighed dramatically. "Just leave that to me," she suggested with a definite air of noblesse oblige, her weary tone implying that this was just one more burdensome task that only she was fully equipped to handle.
Maria snorted and rolled her eyes. "Let me guess, you're planning to bat your eyelashes and flirt them into a state of total submission." Seated on the other bed, next to Michael, she gave Isabel a trenchant look. "Is that, like, your only plan-ever?"Max's sister was unfazed by Maria's sarcasm. "It's never failed yet," she said with a smirk.
Liz saw a pithy retort forming on Maria's lips, but Max interrupted the two women's verbal sparring before it could escalate further. "No offense, Isabel," he stated diplomatically, "but I think we need something more ambitious, that's certain to keep Morton and his accomplice occupied long enough for me to make a thorough search of their motel room."Why you?" Michael objected. He exchanged a meaningful look with Max, which left Liz wondering what exactly she had missed. "Remember that little talk we had earlier this morning, Max? Under the circumstances, I'm not so sure that you're the one who should be taking point on this operation."To Liz's slight surprise, Max didn't seem to mind having his strategy questioned by Michael. "I see where you're coming from," he replied reasonably, "and I appreciate your concerns, but I really think this is something I ought to do." His tone was firm, but conciliatory. "Besides, in theory, I won't be the one dealing with Morton; that will be the rest of you, which is probably just as well."Why wouldn't Max want to meet up with Morton? Liz thought, puzzled. Yesterday he had been almost too anxious to confront die hated gunman. Once again, she had the distinct impression that she was missing something, maybe that "little talk" Michael had alluded to. Maybe 1 should ask Max about that later, when we haw a little more privacy.
"Okay," Michael agreed, nodding unenthusiastically. "But somebody should go with you, as backup," he insisted, clearly intending that he be that person.
A reasonable assumption, Liz conceded, except that she had other ideas. "I'll go with Max," she blurted quickly, before she had a chance to chicken out.
Her terse announcement caught everyone in die room off guard. No surprise, considering that she'd barely been able to string a coherent sentence together for the last day or so. "What?" Max exclaimed, shocked and appalled by the mere idea. He held onto her tightly, searching her face with dark, troubled eyes. "You can't be serious, Liz," he said softly.
"Max is right," Maria added forcefully. "You really don't have to do this, honey. We can take care of this on our own, I promise."Liz was tempted to give in, especially if it meant not leaving the relative safety of the rented motel room, but knew that she had to resist that impulse if she ever wanted to feel like herself again. "No, you don't understand," she spoke out, trying, with mixed results, to keep her voice from quavering. "I haw to do this, myself. It might be the only way I can put this whole, awful nightmare behind me." A thin cotton blouse concealed the glowing handprint on her belly, but Liz could still feel it tingling against her skin, a tangible reminder of her inability to escape her traumatic memories. "I need to face my fears directly, just like Alex said."Are you sure, Liz?" Max asked gently. She sensed that, somehow, he understood what she was going through, and why it was so important that she take an active part in this investigation. "It could be dangerous," he reminded her.
Liz nodded slowly. "I know."Okay, then," Max said decisively, sounding very much like the deposed ruler of an alien planet. "Liz and I will search Mortons room, while the rest of you create a surefire distraction." He took Liz's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "We'll get through this together," he promised her.
Michael looked uncomfortable with this arrangement, but must have realized that Max's mind was set. Instead of arguing, he just shrugged his shoulders and muttered, Tine. Sure. But we still haven't figured out what kind of distraction."A sneaky smile came over Max's handsome face as an idea occurred to him. "I think I know just what will do the trick." He leaned toward the others as he whispered con- spiratorially. "Listen "Yes, can I have room #19, please?" Michael said into the cell phone. He waited with sweaty palms for the Motel 6 operator to connect him with Morton's room. Isabel sat next to him in the back of the Jeep, chewing nervously on her lower lip as she looked with obvious trepidation. They were on their own now, the rest of the gang having already moved into position, per Max's plan. Michael felt uncomfortable making this call out in the open, in the Days Inn parking lot, but they had finally been forced to check out of their twin rooms, which, with any luck, they wouldn't need anymore after Max and Liz discovered what Morton was hiding in that black attache case. This had better be worth it, he thought.
"Hello?" Morton answered crossly. Michael recognized the gunman's raspy voice at die other end of the line. "Who is this?"My name doesn't matter, Mr. Morton," Michael stated in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. "The peint is what I can do for you."Wait a second," Morton barked, sounding increasingly agitated. "How do you know my name? Where did you get diis number from?"The temperature in the parking lot was unbelievably hot, but Michael kept his voice cool. "I believe we have a mutual acquaintance, Mr. Morton. A Lieutenant David Ramirez?"Ramirez!" Michael could easily imagine Morton'
s shocked expression. "That's impossible. I never gave Ramirez this number!"Oops, Michael diought. Still, the mention of the compromised test pilot's name had definitely caught Morton's attention. "Perhaps you've underestimated Lieutenant Ramirez's resources," Michael hinted ominously.
The alien teen thought he heard anodaer voice babbling worriedly in the background. No doubt the unnamed lab technician, wondering what was going on. "Shut up!" Morton snapped at his roommate before speaking over the phone again. "What's this all about?" he demanded savagely.
"I understand you're interested in certain 'merchandise,' related to a certain 'aviation accident' that occurred fifty- some years ago." Michael hoped his vague allusion to the Roswell Crash would pique the gunman's curiosity. Two can play the cryptic references game, he thought vindictively; such seeming discretion helped him to pretend that he knew more about Morton's mysterious business than he actually did. "Isn't that so, Mr. Morton?"Michael deliberately mentioned the killer's name at every opportunity, the better to unnerve Morton. Anything to keep him from hanging up, he resolved.
"Maybe," Morton said suspiciously. "But we shouldn't say anything about that, not now. This isn't a secure line." His gruff voice grew even more menacing. "Don't call this number again, you got that?"Sure," Michael said, "whatever." He refused to be intimidated. "Meet me at the Denny's across the street, ASAP. I'll be waiting." Morton started to protest, angrily refusing to be dictated to by an anonymous voice, but Michael silenced him by dropping yet another incriminating name. "Bring that science guy with you, the one from Las Cruces."Michael heard Morton gulp nervously. "Hey, how do you know about that?" he practically shouted. All of Michael's inside information was clearly getting to the paranoid gunman. "Who the hell are you?"Morton's flustered tone brought a smirk to Michael's lips. Figuring he'd baited the trap sufficiently, the youthful alien issued his invitation one more time. "Both of you. Denny's. Right now," he insisted. "Don't keep me waiting."He hung up the phone before Morton could argue any further. The minute the line went dead, a rush of relief washed over him; he hadn't realized how tense he'd been until the high-pressure call was over. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins, leaving him hyper and on edge. "Whew!" he exclaimed. Although he'd never admit it, he found himself wishing he could borrow one of Maria's silly aromatherapy bottles. Talk about performing without a net! Isabel watched him with wide, worried eyes. "Was that him?" she whispered hoarsely. "Is he coming?"Oh, yeah," Michael said with complete certainty. Morton couldn't pass up a meeting with a stranger who seemed to know so much about his illicit arrangement with Lieutenant Ramirez. "He's coming, all right."Okay, Max, he thought, taking a deep breath to come down from his adrenaline high. I've done my part. Now it's your turn.
17.
Max and Liz waited, hiding behind the ice machine, until Morton and the unnamed scientist hurried out of their motel room, looking nervous and sweaty. They piled into the blue Chevy and zoomed away from the parking bt, presumably heading for the Denny's on the other side of the highway. Michael's anonymous phone call had obviously done the trick, just as they'd planned. Max counted softly to five, then looked at Liz with concerned, caring eyes. "Ready?" he asked her tenderly.
As III ever be, Liz thought, nodding once. Her heart was ticking faster than a Geiger counter at Los Alamos, and she felt another panic attack scratching at the back door of her mind. The memory of the shooting tormented her, so that she could practically smell the gunpowder again, hear the two men's dishes crash to the floor only heartbeats before Morton's wild gunshot left her bleeding on the floor. Not again, she prayed, reliving the dreadful moment for maybe the thousandth time. Please don't let it happen again! "You can always wait with Maria and Alex," Max reminded her, giving her one last chance to back out. Their friends were parked in the Jetta several yards away, at the far end of the Motel 6's parking lot, ready just in case she and Max had to make a speedy getaway.
"No," she told him, shaking her head. A tremor in her voice betrayed her unsettled emotions. "Lets go."She closed her eyes to compose herself, then looked up at Max as he rose behind the ice machine and hustled toward room #19. She followed close behind him, focusing on Maxs comforting presence as an antidote to the violent specters plaguing her memory. The shooting wasn't a completely negative experience, she reminded herself as they scurried together down the walkway in front of the motel. If not for that alarming brush with death, Max Evans would have never entered her life in such a profound and unforgettable way. We turned that near- fatal moment into a new beginning, she remembered. I just have to have faith that we can do that again A do not disturb sign hung on the door to #19, but that didn't stop Max, who only had to lay his hand upon the doorknob to release the lock. The two teens looked around quickly, to ensure no one was watching, then slipped into the room, closing the door rapidly behind them.
The curtains were closed, to hide Morton's nefarious dealings from the world, so the room was dark and murky. Liz reached automatically for the light switch, but Max grabbed her wrist, shaking his head. Instead he raised his right hand and concentrated for a second; within moments, a silver glow emanated from his outstretched fingers, illuminating the modest motel room.
"Look," he whispered, pointing toward the corner table, where a portable laboratory had been assembled, complete with test tubes, slides, graduated cylinders, Bunsen burner, microscope, laser apparatus, titration setups, ammeter, spectroscope, bottles of chemical catalysts, and even a Geiger counter. Max headed straight for the table, throwing his personal spotlight onto the impressive array of equipment. "This has to belong to that science guy," he assumed. "The one from Las Cruces."Liz inspected the miniature lab, feeling a twinge of envy. All the instruments were state-of-the-art, and in much better condition than Roswell High's well- worn and frankly antiquated lab supplies. "Looks like he's conducting some sort of chemical analysis," she guessed from the arrangement of the equipment. She looked over die hardware curiously, being careful not to break or rearrange anything. "Probably metallurgical or mineralogical."Max gave her an admiring gaze. "Good thing you came along," he said. "As a bona fide space alien, I should be embarrassed that you know more about science than I do." They exchanged amused smiles before getting back down to business. "Last night at the canyon, Morton told Ramirez that he needed to authenticate the 'merchandise' before he gave the lieutenant the rest of his payment." He nodded at the tableful of lab equipment. "That must be what this is all about."Makes sense, Liz. agreed. "But where exacdy is the merchandise?" Although all the scientific instrumentation was on full display, there was no sign whatsoever of what was being tested. Funny, she thought, you'd think there would be some samples of the test subject lying around.
"Good question," Max said. Turning away from the mini-lab, he swept the rest of the room with a wide beam of lambent silver light, Liz kept her eye out for the infamous black attache case, but all she saw was the ungodly mess that Morton and his cohort had managed to make of the motel room. Beer cans, Domino's pizza boxes, and empty two-liter bottles of Coke littered the carpet, while the ashtrays were overflowing with stubbed-out cigarette butts. Sleazy porno magazines, some of them looking unbelievably gross, were piled on the end table between the two beds, which looked like they hadn't been made in days. The air-conditioned atmosphere, although pleasantly cool compared to the torrid heat outside, reeked of tobacco and dirty laundry, do not disturb, Liz recalled, guessing that no maid had seen the inside of the room since Morton and his techie buddy moved in.
Guess they take their privacy seriously, she concluded. No surprise. Apparently such concerns extended to hiding the briefcase, too; Max's searchlight probed every cluttered comer of the trashed motel room without falling upon the luggage they sought. Emm, Liz thought, if I was a briefcase full of extraterrestrial contraband, where would I be? Playing a hunch, she got down on her hands and knees and peeked under the nearest bed. At first, all she saw was darkness, but then Max crouched behind her, flooding the space between the bed and the floor with
his incandescent ray of light. Liz's eyes lit up as well when she spotted a matte-black case right in front of her. "Oh my God, Max, there it is!"Eagerly, she yanked the attache case out from beneath the bed and dropped it onto the dirty, disheveled sheets. It was surprisingly light; whatever was hidden inside obviously didn't weigh very much. The clasp was locked, naturally, so Liz stepped aside to permit Max to perform his telekinetic magic. The lock came open with a click and Liz held her breath, half-expecting to find frozen alien embryos within the mysterious case.
