The UFO Conspiracy Trilogy

by David Bischoff

  “Fine,” said Scarborough. “I’ll trust your judgment on this one.”

  “I’ll arrange for a meeting tomorrow. A meeting here. I don’t think it would be wise for you to run around Washington unless absolutely necessary. I’ve got a secondary office upstairs with a phone that you can use. And Marsha, I’ve got my own modem line which you’re welcome to.”

  “That’s very thoughtful. I could well need it.”

  “Now then,” Steffan said. “Another matter of a delicate nature. Do you think, during these enterprises, that you might be needing a gun?”

  “I don’t know, I hope not,” Scarborough sighed. “But after what we’ve been through, I wouldn’t turn one down.”

  “Well then,” said Craig Steffan. “I believe I can help you out—with the request that if a trial develops you not reveal that I supplied a weapon to you. I really am dancing on the edge of my ethics here.”

  “It’s appreciated, believe me,” said Scarborough. “The more I think about it, the more I want a gun if I confront Brian Richards again. Or, for that matter, Mitchell Cranston.”

  “From the feeling I get from this fellow,” said Craig Steffan. “Especially Mitchell Cranston.”

  Chapter 32

  “You’re sure this is the place?” said Jake Camden, peering doubtfully from the passenger’s side of the rented Ford Capri.

  Mick Aragones nodded. “You bet. Like I told you, I been here a couple years before, casing the place. Even got in, disguised as one of a bunch of construction types doing work on the East Wing. That’s where I got the plans... And that’s how I figured out what I know about Schroeder’s activities here.”

  “That, and following him.”

  “Yeah. He comes here a lot. I figure he thinks it’s safe having his headquarters here. And I guess it is.” Aragones grinned evilly. “Except maybe from investigative reporters.”

  “You got that right, buddy!” said Camden.

  He wanted a cigarette bad, but he figured he could hold off till they got outside. Mick shouldn’t mind if he smoked outside.

  They’d hit Penn Station early this morning, streamlined on up to Boston, and there they’d rented this car from Thrifty. Jake figured there were much better things to do with the credit and money the Others had provided than rent quality cars. Besides, after that debacle with the Z in Arizona, no sense in wasting another good car in this farce. With Mick at the wheel, they’d tooled up past Cambridge, out to this area to the Schroeder estate.

  As soon as the structure reared up from the trees surrounding it, Camden was reminded that the Schroeder family had money. Old money.

  It wasn’t just that the mansion was big. It wasn’t just that it was sprawling. It was the sheer palatial quality, combined with the antique look. The place didn’t just look well-preserved, with its classic Victorian structure and its more modern Edwardian touches. It looked as though it had simply been ripped from the turn of the century, from the era of Teddy Roosevelt by a robber baron who had learned the secret of time-travel. Its sturdy redbrick and brown-stone walls were covered with ivy. It was surrounded by huge old oak and elm, along with well-tended gardens and clipped hedges. In the distance, Camden spotted a gardener weeding a flowerbed. The late spring smells simply swirled into the car on the wings of the incredibly gentle and fresh air.

  Sucking in the stuff made Jake want a cigarette all the more.

  “So, run this plan by me again. How the hell are we going to get in there?” said Jake doubtfully, looking over the stone walls and hedges surrounding the estate.

  “I know it looks imposing, man,” said Aragones, looking as though he wouldn’t mind having a cigarette himself. “But it’s not like this is crime city. They have a burglar alarm system and a community patrol that looks in from time to time, but there aren’t any armed guards.”

  “Glad to hear that. Thought maybe there would be, the way you’ve got us packing heat.”

  Aragones had supplied them with a couple of Smith and Wesson .38s. “In case things get hairy,” he’d explained.

  “Not real likely to be needed,” Aragones appended now. “I got inside connections.”

  “That call you made this morning.”

  “You bet.” Aragones examined his watch. “And we’re here just about on time.”

  “So what’s the trick? How come you wouldn’t tell me the whole thing?”

  “Wasn’t real sure it was going to work. That phone call this morning didn’t snag me anything. See buddy, I was just winging it. But while you were procuring this little automotive gem, I was on the phone again. And I hit pay dirt.” He pulled off on a side road and wheeled on up the driveway to the gate. He sidled up to a column with a security machine embedded in the brick. He reached out and punched a few numbers.

  “Yes?” a male voice said.

  “Jenson exterminators. One of your housekeepers called about a cockroach problem?” said Aragones, affecting a slight Bostonian accent.

  “You got a name?”

  “Yeah.” Aragones rustled a piece of paper to make it sound as though he were checking a tablet on a clipboard. “Eustace. A Martha Eustace.”

  “Oh yeah. Martha. Let me check.” A moment of silence. “Oh sure, right. Matter of fact, we’ve got you scheduled for about now. Come on in. Service entrance on down the driveway from the front entrance.”

  A buzzing sound, and the gate opened. Aragones drove the Capri through and onto the horseshoe driveway fronting the estate. They thumped over the cobblestones, sweeping past the entrance, then took a right down a narrow roadway. This took them on a circular path on around the side of the buildings to the East Wing.

  “Yeah, this is where I worked. I know it pretty good.”

  “What about our outfits?”

  “Outfits?”

  “Exterminator outfits.”

  “Naw. If anyone asks, we can say we’re just doing some preliminary checking for the actual exterminators. You know—estimation engineers or whatever fancy word you care to conjure up. But that’s all really okay, because Martha’s gonna meet me back there. “

  “I’m drawing a blank. How come this Martha’s helping you out so much?”

  “I developed a little bit of a dalliance with her, helped along by a few bucks here and there.” Aragones grinned. “Anyway, she really hates the family, especially Schroeder. I told her that we may have something that will not only kick him in the butt, but feather her nest.”

  “Aha. Yeah, I guess that would be a worthwhile investment.”

  Aragones’s eyes twinkled. “Just don’t you invest any body parts in her, Jake. She’s my little dalliance.”

  “Man, I am off women! Women, drink, and drugs are the ruin of me! You should have seen me resist temptation back in Arizona! I was absolutely incredible. Never knew I had such a will of iron!”

  Mick pulled in front of a pair of large sliding doors, stopped, turned off the engine, and put on the emergency brakes. “Yeah, right, Jake. Sure.”

  “No. I’m not kidding! And she was a knockout of a brunette! Offering me coke and a damned fine bottle of whiskey.”

  “What, they put a hole in your head back at that secret government enclave you were talking about?”

  “No. I was worried about Scarborough and Manning.”

  Aragones gave him an odd, reassessing look. He patted Jake on the shoulder. “I’m glad to hear that, Jake. Real glad. You got hope.”

  “Unlike you.”

  Aragones shrugged. “Giving up cigarettes is about all I can take for now. C’mon. My babe’s waiting for me.”

  To the side of the sliding doors, on the cement loading dock was a door with a black buzzer. Mick Aragones sauntered up to this and leaned against the button for a moment.

  The door opened. Standing there was a plump blonde on the wrong side of thirty. Not pretty, but nothing you’d kick out of bed in a pinch either, thought Jake. Blue eyes looked out fondly at Mick Aragones. Jake caught a whiff of dime-store perfume.

&
nbsp; “Michael! Haven’t seen you in a few months!” she said in a high-pitched, girlish voice.

  “I just couldn’t stay away, Martha. Oh, Martha, this is my buddy, Jake.”

  “Hi, Jake.”

  “So aren’t you going to invite us in?”

  “Sure, come on in. I got some coffee made. Want some?”

  “Sure, long as it’s sweet and creamy like you, Martha!”

  She giggled and beckoned them in, guiding them through a foyer to a servant’s pantry where she poured them two cups of coffee. She set some cream and sugar down in front of them.

  “I hope this means we can see each other tonight, Mick. I happen to have the evening free.”

  “Oh, yeah, kiddo. Yeah, sure. But right now, I was hoping you’d be able to help out my friend and me.”

  “Oh.” She scrutinized Jake with an amused expression. “You a sleazy investigative reporter too?”

  “You thinking about a yellow journalism sandwich in the sack tonight, sweetheart?” Jake said, with a mocking grin.

  She giggled. “Long as there’s lots of hot sauce!”

  “What Jake means, darling,” said Mick after a sip of his sweet and creamy coffee, “is yes. This is it, Martha. Pay-off time. We’ve caught the family scion with his pants down... Now all we gotta do is take a picture for proof.” Another sip. “So what we need now, sweetheart, is access to that room that you hinted at last time I talked to you.”

  The smile left her face. “Oh.”

  “You weren’t just blowing hot air, were you? It really exists, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s there. I’ve seen it. But I told you, it was something I could never show you, Mick. I mean, if I got caught, I’m not so sure that I would just get fired...”

  “Babe, no problem. You help us out here, and I’ll make sure you’re given not only a nice little chunk of money, a nice little chunk of me... but probably relocated somewhere where nobody can harm you.”

  She looked around furtively, and when she spoke, she lowered her voice. “Well, I can’t say that I want to stick around this place, that’s for sure. And I can’t say that I’m all that sure I’d be able to stay that much longer, anyway. There have been some strange people here lately along with Max Schroeder.”

  “Criminals. We’re looking at some serious criminal activity, kiddo. You know hon, that even though my methods aren’t exactly always kosher, I’m on the side of... well, if not precisely the law, then on the side of what’s good and what’s right.”

  “Oh, yes. Somebody should do a TV show about you, Michael Aragones.”

  “So you’ll help us then?”

  She looked at them, assessing them with an intelligence in her aspect that Jake had missed on first impression of her.

  “There’s no one around today,” she said. “You really picked a golden opportunity. I don’t know, though. Like I said, it could really sink me if anyone finds out.”

  Aragones winged his arm around her like a hawk nestling up protectively to its youngling. “Babe, I heard you tell those stories about Schroeder. The sexual harassment. The arrogance. Your guilt about complicity in possible criminal activities...”

  “Complicity... I never—”

  “Kiddo, this is your chance. I got a feeling that Jake and I are going to find stuff that’s going to nail old Schroeder to the wall.”

  Martha Eustace’s eyes shone with curiosity and a discomfiting female maliciousness. Just what had gone down between Max and this gal, thought Jake. Something pretty serious, from the looks of it. “What kind of stuff. What’s he been involved in?”

  “That’s Jake’s department. He’s the one who’s been involved up close and personal. Go ahead, Jake. You’d better tell her or we might not get where we want to get.”

  “Pretty simple, basically, though it does get kinda complex when you get to the details.” Jake scratched his nose and fell into dramatic oratory mode. “You know all this UFO abduction business that your boss has been involved with?”

  “Sure,” she said sarcastically. “I mean, how could I miss it?”

  “It’s all a conspiracy.” Jake sketched in the basic details, leaving out the existence of actual aliens. Scarborough had requested that he leave out mention of the Others to anyone but closest allies. Damage control, Jake supposed. Containment of modern mythology in the making.

  Martha nodded, hand on ample hip. “Uh-huh. I knew that bastard was up to no good. But I never realized the scale.”

  “So you see,” said Aragones. “You’ll be doing the whole country... no, the whole world a favor... by just showing us where this room is and letting us putter about for a bit.”

  The woman had already made her decision. Jake could see it in her eyes. “Okay. Put your coffee cups in the sink and let’s get moving. You’re not going to have a whole lot of time.”

  Jake sloshed the rest of his coffee down and placed the cup in the sink as directed.

  This was going to be interesting. Real interesting.

  The room was in another wing altogether, and in a basement as well.

  Martha Eustace led them down a back way, down large corridors and narrow corridors, through an area that, although its old furniture and fixtures were clean enough, seemed somehow desolate.

  “Not too many people come down here nowadays,” she explained in a low voice as their steps clicked and echoed down the hallways. “I don’t know why the family doesn’t open this whole place up as a museum. It sure feels like one.”

  Jake opened his mouth to say something, but she promptly shushed him. “No extraneous talking though, okay?”

  Jake nodded. He just wanted to get a look at what was down here.

  Martha walked along in silence for a while, then opened a door, turned on a light, and led them down some steps.

  She closed the door. “Okay. I think it’s safe to talk.”

  The basement area was slightly damp, smelling of mildew, old stone, and cement. Jake was surprised that it even had electricity; he’d half-expected Martha to fire up candles or a torch for the rest of the way.

  “Dungeon time!” said Jake.

  “How’d you ever find this?” Mick wanted to know.

  “Like I said, I’ve had it in for Max for a while. And whenever he’s here, I’d always notice him sneaking off someplace that wasn’t his own apartment of rooms. Well, that got me really curious. So one day, when I was sure that he wasn’t aware I was around, I followed him. He came down here.”

  This cellar was mostly empty, with a collection of old bricks and cinderblocks in one corner and a pile of rotting wood in another. Just up ahead, though, was a narrowing to a hallway composed of old stone adhered with ancient cement.

  Jake shivered. “Cripes. Is this where the family monster is kept?”

  “Looks as though it’s where he goes,” said Mick, who looked as though he’d been touched by the willies a bit here as well. “How come Schroeder chose a place like this?”

  “I mentioned that to Frakes, the butler, who’s about a thousand years old. He says that young Max used to like to play and hide in the cellars of the estate—and make his own private clubhouses. This must be one of them, hmmm?”

  “Psychologically it makes sense, I suppose,” said Aragones.

  “He feels safe, secure down here—so he keeps many of his private things here. Who would think to look here, anyway? It’s just sheer good fortune that we noted the possibility.”

  “My question is, what could be down here,” muttered Jake, almost to himself.

  “Whatever it is,” said Mick Aragones, “I’ve got the feeling it’s the key to old Max Schroeder. Have you looked, Martha?”

  “I took a look. It’s pretty weird, believe me. But you’re going to have to see that for yourself.”

  She pulled out a ring of keys, clinked one separate from the others, and held it up for them to see.

  “How’d you happen to get hold of that, Martha?” Mick asked, clearly impressed.

  “He
left his keys in his bedroom one afternoon when he went down to Cambridge for tennis with some friends. There’s a key machine over in the maintenance shop near the garage. One of my jobs is seeing about the keys in this place. I just made myself a copy.” The door was thick and oak, looking as though its lock might be the sort to have one of those old bulky locks. However, the lock on the thing was quite modern; even shiny in the light. Apparently, Schroeder was a bit of a locksmith and changed it regularly.

  Martha Eustace slipped the key inside, twisted it. Jake felt a little thrill go up his spine; a thrill of suspense. Absently, he felt in the pocket of the jacket he was wearing, his hand touching the .38 that Mick had given him for reassurance. It was equally comforting knowing that Mick had one himself. Jake just hoped that Mick could use it better than he could.

  The tumblers of the lock sounded. The latched clicked, and Martha pushed open the door. She felt around inside for the light and turned it on. A fluorescent light sputtered on and she stepped in, beckoning them to follow her.

  “Well, here we are, guys. I don’t know if this is what you had in mind, but I hope you find what you need. And in less than ten minutes, too, because that’s all I’m going to give you.”

  “Jake, I believe you are the master of this kind of investigative burglary,” said Mick, jauntily deferring to his companion.

  “Oh, thanks.” Jake stepped into the room.

  He was immediately struck by the smell.

  The place had a medicinal smell, like a doctor’s office, or maybe even an undertaker’s embalming room. At first sight, it seemed like a homey, comfortable, sitting-room den. The floors were covered by oriental rugs. There was a pipe rack upon a coffee table. And in the corner was a desk, along with filing cabinets. Built along the sides of the room were walnut shelves, and upon these shelves were books, pictures, and things that, Jake surmised, gave the room its scent.

  Jars.

  There were a large number of jars, of various sizes. They were all closed up tightly and filled with translucent fluid. Within these jars floated solid matter of various shapes and colors.