Chapter 22
Everett Scarborough stood there at the edge of the A-frame cabin’s deck, paralyzed.
“Ev?” said Marsha, coming up behind him. “Ev, who are they?”
Scarborough recognized them well enough.
They were the men he’d seen in the Tower Records store in Manhattan; the men who’d killed Cindy Clinton, his book editor, at that grimy subway station. And now, looking at them, he realized he’d glimpsed them before. Somewhere in Washington, D.C. Somewhere in Montana.
They were the men who had followed him.
They were the men who had actually shot Woodrow Justine, the CIA assassin, there on Hoover Dam.
They were the men who had been by the supposedly broken-down Winnebago.
They were “the Others.”
Marsha saw the guns. “Oh dear.”
“Don’t worry,” said the older one, the spokesman. “We do not intend to harm you.”
“We’ve just come to tell you what is needed of you,” said the younger. “You are now in a position to understand...”
“Who are you’?” demanded Marsha.
“It’s them,” said Scarborough. “Them! My daughter! What have you done with my daughter Diane?”
Scarborough made to hurl himself at them, but was caught by Marsha’s firm hands on his right arm. “Ev! No!”
The men stepped back. One held up his gun, and the sight of the weapon threw some cold water on Scarborough’s anger.
“It would be a shame, Dr. Scarborough,” said the older of the men, “for us all to have gone through all this trouble to have it end abruptly, bloodily, and fruitlessly.”
“You wouldn’t kill me, damn you,” said Scarborough. “You’ve been protecting me, leading me like I had a ring through my nose.”
“These are the Others, Everett?” said Marsha in a monotone voice. “But they look...”
“Yes. Quite as human as you are,” said the older man. “And perhaps we are. In our own way. But come with us... we must talk to you.”
“Come... In your car... If you want to talk, what’s wrong with talking here?” Scarborough said indignantly.
“This is not the place we choose.”
“Well it’s the place I choose, goddammit!” He pulled again at Marsha’s grip.
The younger man looked at the older man. The older man nodded.
The younger man reached into a pocket and pulled something out. Some sort of capsule, Scarborough saw.
Before he could do anything, a crack sounded, a whispery issuing of some sort of gas.
“Ev!” said Marsha, slumping down at his side.
“Damn you!” he gasped.
He tried to launch himself at the men, but staggered instead, passing out just moments after Marsha.
Chapter 23
“A margarita, please,” said Jake Camden, leaning on the bar and grinning at the pretty young bartender of the EI Charro. “Plenty of salt and lime and love, please!”
He was a few minutes early, so he figured, what the hell. They usually made these things weak in these touristy Mexican joints anyway... No harm done.
“We’ve got the salt and the lime, sir,” said the girl, smiling coyly. “But I’m not sure about the love.”
She had long beautiful red hair braided in the back and a pale complexion... She must have to use Sun Block by the carton in this town to not bum to a crisp, thought Jake. He inhaled a fresh wave of Ivory soap-cleaned body, and lemon-shampooed hair. Yum! Delicious! Doubtless a student at the University of Tucson, Arizona, from the look of her. Ah yes, students, thought Jake Camden. He always had plenty he could teach students! Especially innocent-looking ones like this.
“I’ll pay extra.”
Her face changed. She looked around to see if anyone was listening to their conversation. The bar was empty except for a pair of suited businessmen in a dark comer, having a late lunch.
She looked at him, a slight smile crinkling her eyes. “Depends on what kind of love you want and how much you’ve got.”
Jake’s mouth dropped. It was his tum to be surprised, it seemed. For the first time in a long time he found himself incapable of speech.
“You provide the erection, I provide the condom,” the red-haired beauty continued as though she were listing what kind of imported beers were available at the bar. “It won’t be cheap, but you won’t be disappointed.”
Finally, she seemed to realize that this seedy-looking Mickey Rourke sort was a bit taken aback by her brazen negotiation. “Hey!” she said, cheerily. “School books are expensive! Think about it.”
She started making his drink.
More than a bit taken aback, Camden did just that as he watched her pour the Cuervo Gold tequila, the ice, and the mix into a blender, and then, as the blades spun making Jimmy Buffett’s “liquid concoction,” she salted the edges of a wide, stemmed glass.
He thought about it.
Damn fine pair of legs, nice rear-end—and sheesh, he had some money to spend now.
He could imagine the headline of the Intruder story:
“ALIENS FUND PROFLIGATE’S SEX FLING!”
He laughed to himself. He was tempted, yes. Despite the traumas he’d gone through recently, the old glands were still chugging away and hell, Scarborough and Manning were certainly getting it off, so why shouldn’t he?
The red-head brought the drink and a questioning smile back to the bar, a wordless “So?” in her eyes.
“I’ve got a meeting here in a few minutes,” Jake said. “Let me think about it?”
She shrugged and leaned against the bar, angling so that Jake could see a glimpse of the slope of her pretty young breasts. His mouth got dry, but he was able to take care of that by taking a couple of mouthfuls of the margarita. “So, you here in Tucson on business?”
“Yeah. Yeah, you could say that.” Another couple of hefty sips. “Looks like you are, too.”
“No, just a little something on the side. I’m studying architecture at the university.”
“I like your structure.”
“Thanks. It helps. I’m Gabriella.”
“Ja—” Oops. No real names here—and he couldn’t do the UFO reporter thing, either, not while he was on the lam. “Jack. Jack Morgan. I’m a... a talent scout from L.A.” Yeah, that’s the ticket. Maybe he could get between this babe’s legs for free. “I’m here to meet with the producer of that film they’re doing out in Old Tucson—Maximillian Schroeder.”
“Oh yes, I read about him.” She smiled slyly. “He’s coming in here?”
“Yes.”
He could see the telltale signs: stars in the eyes. It was working.
“Gee—you know, I’ve done a little theater work at school.”
“You have? You know, I was just thinking, this bartender here’s got herself a real photogenic face. Maybe Max should meet her!”
“I’d like that!” Suddenly, she wasn’t the sophisticated sexual tart who had just propositioned him; she was the star-eyed hopeful, wanting to be in a film. Jake knew how to handle this kind of situation.
“Okay! Well, maybe later on we can discuss that... But meantime, we’ll certainly be having drinks over there in that booth, and you can wait on us and I’ll be glad to introduce you to the producer and,” he cocked his head, “you know, Gabriella, maybe you won’t have to hustle customers anymore.”
She giggled, her eyes glowing softly. “Ah, that’s just a little sideline. I fool around for free, too.” She winked at him. “But you have to provide your own condom for that, Mr. Jack Morgan.”
Jake thought so. “You have a men’s room?”
“Right over there.” She winked at him. “I like the ribbed kind, Mr. Morgan.”
She went over to deal with something at the cash register.
Whooo! That old Jakey magic was shining through, yes sir! Jake Camden could never figure out exactly what it was about him that got him laid so much. It was like he gave off some kind of scent... Or maybe he just had good se
xual karma. Maybe it was the devil-may-care glint to his eye, the rakish charm of his voice and manner. Most likely it was his single-minded intent; he liked women, he truly did, and that message just broadcasted out like a loudspeaker system: “Hey babes. Good stuff here. Get it while it’s hot!”
He finished his drink, checked his watch.
Damn. Where was Schroeder? Five minutes late already... Maybe this watch was off or something... No, couldn’t be... He and Scarborough had calibrated watches yesterday with a radio and it was now five minutes after three and…
Almost as though Camden’s thoughts had opened the door, Maximillian Schroeder chose that moment to walk in.
“Max!” said Jake, hailing him a little too loudly. (Damn, maybe that drink was stronger than he thought.) “Umm, over here. What’s hap—”
He was caught midsentence when he saw that Maximillian Schroeder wasn’t alone. It wasn’t just the fact that Schroeder wasn’t alone, as he’d been requested to be—it was who he was with.
“Ah. There you are, Jake,” said Schroeder.
Camden swept down off his barstool, going to meet them. He’d have to inform the guy about his “Jack Morgan” persona, he thought vaguely. But still, he was so stunned by the person who was with Schroeder, he would be hard-pressed to remember, or even to care about the parsimonious red-head anymore. “Back here, this table, Max.”
Quite simply, the person was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen in his life.
And just his type to boot!
“Jake, this is Emily Elliot, a business partner from London—a most trusted partner.”
The woman extended a hand. Jake took it. The hand was smooth, sensuous, and yet it held his with a firm self-assurance. It was almost as though an electric charge passed through his hand as he shook it, diving straight down to his privates.
“A thorough pleasure, Jake Camden! Your project sounds like the most exciting venture for our company yet! And the fact that the adventure hasn’t played itself out yet makes it all the more—” she licked those red, red lips, pausing to get just the right word—“...thrilling.”
“Ah—yes,” said Jake, finding himself for the second time in a very short period uncharacteristically short of words. “Why don’t you have a seat? Ummm... What would you like to drink?”
She was a dark-haired beauty; greenish eyes alight with life, and with a lithe, sinuous body wrapped in jeans, cowboy boots, and a light silky blouse that caressed her torso as though tailored precisely to highlight her young, firm breasts.
“Let me think about that a moment, gentlemen,” Emily Elliot said, “Now, though, if you’ll excuse me... I have to utilize the little girls’ room.”
With a brief smile, her long, perfect legs scissored away, a black bag clutched to her svelte side, her hips wiggling provocatively.
Camden waited for a moment, and then turned to Schroeder, as though recovering from the spell when the woman was out of range.
“Max, I thought I told you... This was supposed to be just you and me, here.”
“Anything you tell me, you can tell Emily.”
That was all well and good, thought Jake. But did Emily want to be kidnapped too? How were they going to extract her from the equation?
He sighed. Of course, he couldn’t tell Schroeder what was going on.
He’d just have to wing this situation, play it by ear...
Eight minutes after. According to the plan, Marsha would walk into the bar in scarf and dark sunglasses, asking for the ladies’ room at about 3:25.
That would be the signal.
The Winnebago was outside and ready, and the plan was going on schedule…
Well, there was still time left...
“Okay, I suppose I’m going to have to accept this,” said Camden, “but it’s really not what I asked for, Max.”
What he should do, he thought, was to pull out. Reschedule the meeting... just Max... Or demand that that woman leave.
But he couldn’t help but be intrigued by her. She was, after all, absolutely stunning, and for some reason, he didn’t know what, Jake Camden just felt real lucky that day.
“I understand that, Jake, but you’ll see soon enough why I asked Emily along.”
“You getting a little extra-curricular activity there, old man?”
Schroeder’s eyes opened wide behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Jake!” Before, he’d generally favored horn-rimmed affairs, which gave him a much geekier, leftist intelligentsia look. Now, with his curly hair and his western-style clothes, he looked positively conservative! How appropriate, thought Camden, considering his true affiliation!
“What, you’re telling me you don’t fool around on the side, guy?” Jake leered licentiously.
“No, of course not! Melinda and I are very happy!”
“God, what a waste...” A little quirk tugged at his mouth. “Then I take it you won’t mind if I flirt a bit with your partner.”
“That’s entirely between you and her, Jake... but really, man, I’d think that a man in your predicament would hardly have time to—”
“Gotta take it where you can get it, Max. Besides, you are going to help me, aren’t you? I mean, you do have a considerable investment here!”
“That’s why I brought Emily along. She’s an expert at this sort of thing.” Schroeder leaned forward, his voice lowering to just above a whisper. “She’s got considerable international contacts, Jake. If you’d like, she can get Scarborough safely out of the country. We both can help you proceed with this story.”
That, of course, wasn’t what Scarborough wanted, although Jake could certainly see the wisdom of it. Hell, he wouldn’t mind flying down to Rio or something to let things cool off for a while, anyway.
That, however, unfortunately was not in the script.
“Well, that’s something we’re going to have to talk about. In the meantime—”
“Hello, gentlemen.”
Jake looked up. Hovering over them—a fresh dab of makeup highlighting her already pretty face, an extra whoosh of perfume layered over her bright hair—with her splendid body was Gabriella the bartender.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
She was giving Jake a significant look.
“Yeah, Gab. Another of those margaritas. Max, this is Gabriella—she’s a student at the university here. Gab, this is Maximillian Schroeder.”
“I’ll have a Scotch and soda, please... Glenlivet or single malt if you’ve got it.”
“Oh yes, Mr. Schroeder. You’re shooting exteriors for a movie close by, aren’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“Well if you ever need someone with red hair—”
Understanding faded into Schroeder’s eyes. “Yes, Gabriella, I’ll think of you.” He gave an amused look to Camden. “Now, we also have another guest here who’d like a drink, although I honestly don’t—”
“Just a Perrier with lime, if you please,” said Emily Elliot, returned from the ladies’, nose newly powdered.
The red-haired waitress scribbled on her pad, then happily retreated, giving Jake an “l owe you one,” look.
Jake just hoped he’d be able to collect sometime.
“Now then,” said Emily, sitting down. “I must say, I have been most entertained by your articles that Maximillian has showed me. I think that, whatever happens with this present situation, Mr. Camden...”
“Jake.” A twinkle manufactured in his eye. “Call me Jake, please.”
“Jake… Whatever happens, I believe that your services could well be used by my company.”
“You must understand that Emily is a director of a large pan-national publishing and media conglomerate. Hence our association.”
“No kidding!”
“Yes. We have publishing houses worldwide as well, and we’d be very interested in publishing that book you intend to write… as well as any articles.”
Jackpot!
“Well, the articles I’d rather have appe
ar in the Washington Post or the New York Times. I really think this is Pulitzer material and...”
Emily smiled confidently. “I believe that both publication and prize could be arranged, Mr. Camden. Ours are very influential companies.”
“That’s what you’re here for... Schroeder told you about the story...”
“I’m also very interested in being involved with the film,” she said. “We’ve also got a film company in the works in Los Angeles—a company that is working with Max on at least one future venture, and has provided considerable backing for this current project as well—”
“Hence our partnership.”
With considerable verbal skills and that killer British accent, Emily Elliot went on to outline the extent of the media empire she worked with. Jake quite simply could not take his eyes off of her. He’d always had this thing for brunettes with raw eroticism flashing from their eyes—and this one’s dark orbs were so bedroomy, it looked like they were lined with green silk. It was difficult to concentrate on the fact that, ultimately, Jake knew well that it was Maximillian Schroeder who had betrayed him in Albuquerque, it was Schroeder who had made that hellish experience at Kirtland possible, and he was about as trustworthy as a rattlesnake. So what did that make this sexy woman with him? True, the money for this production he was working on had to come from somewhere—and the stuff that Emily Elliot was rattling off all sounded truthful.
Which made it all the more painful when he realized that there was no way he’d be able to take advantage of it—he’d promised Scarborough and he was going to follow through this time. He was going to help kidnap Schroeder, you bet he was. The question was, what was he going to do with Emily Elliot? He knew what he’d like to do, but that hardly seemed feasible...
“Your drinks!” said Gabriella, and she cheerfully served them.
Camden sipped at his (even stronger this time!) and checked his watch. He looked around at the bar. No sign of Marsha Manning! Where the hell was she, it was twenty after, for God’s sake.
“Thank you,” said Schroeder, taking his and immediately starting to work on it.
The UFO Conspiracy Trilogy Page 95
