“There was a great deal of disagreement early on regarding how much the public should be told. Eventually the orders came down that any and all information about UFOs and aliens should be kept away from the masses. The various study groups of scientists and politicians and military leaders were ordered to write the whole thing off as nonsense, and were then dissolved. Blue Book was closed up. Files, artifacts, and biological materials were gathered in from every intelligence organization, every branch of the service, even NASA, and were either destroyed, or stored in a centralized location in Nevada, in what has become known as Area 51. Most personnel with ties to official agencies were removed from those assignments and brought in full-time. Some were ordered to maintain their dual positions, creating shadow bureaucracies within such groups as NASA and the CIA, since we knew that reports would continue to come to these official agencies. Years of disinformation campaigns, harassment, threats, assassinations, public ridicule, and bureaucratic bullshit made the whole process easy enough to carry out. By 1970, the government and military were officially ‘not interested’ in UFOs. The alien situation was left in the capable hands of our group, the People, with no links whatsoever to those government or military powers that would try to control the show.” Rice sat up straight and looked Linda in the eye. “We are invisible, unsupervised, and totally in control. We form the hub of that hidden elite who really run the world. All true power held by humans today is held by us.”
Linda looked Rice dead in the face. “You, Mr. Rice, are the most arrogant man I’ve ever met.”
Rice smiled. “I come by it legitimately, Mrs. President.” He leaned back again, crossed his arms over his chest.
“Really. And how did you end up in this fine little club, Mr. Rice?”
“Life chose me from the very beginning. Life prepared me, tested me, guided me, groomed me. And here I am now, having shown my worthiness.”
“Life prepared you? What the hell does that mean?”
“Life is that of which we speak. Life is that which has come to our planet to guide us from the fiery path.” As Rice spoke his eyes closed. “Life is that which leads us and loves us and shows us the way.” Rice stopped, his eyes still closed, his face a mask of pure bliss.
Gellow rolled his eyes. “He means the aliens, Mrs. President.”
Rice blinked away his bliss and flicked a hateful look at his colleague. “It is we who are alien,” he said sternly.
Linda interrupted. “So why are you telling me? Is that the rule? All the Presidents get to be in on the fun?”
Rice resumed his cheerful expression. “Not all, Mrs. President. Johnson was never told. Neither were Carter or Reagan. Funny, given that both of them claimed to have seen a UFO. Bush was brought into the loop as Vice-President, which helps explain how he won in ‘88.”
Gellow began to chuckle deeply. “A thousand points of light. If the voters only knew. He’d seen ‘em!”
Rice went on. “Clinton was told. And Bush Junior. But neither Obama nor Russell was brought in. Now you know.”
“I’m not sure that I really know anything,” said Linda. “All I have is your words and those pictures. The only thing I know is that I’ve been held against my will at gunpoint by a group of people who, if this works out my way, are in very deep shit.”
Rice rose from his chair, walked around the table, and whispered briefly with the General. Then he returned to his chair and faced Linda again. “That’s it for today,” he said cheerily. “You can go.”
Linda stared, unbelieving. “I can go? Who the hell are you to tell me I can go? I want some answers!”
“Nope. Sorry.” Rice shook his head like a father talking to his whining child. “We’re done. I’ll see you in the morning. Lots of time tomorrow for questions. We’ve got a big day planned.” With that Rice rose, gathered his papers, and left. The General followed without so much as a glance toward the President. Gellow rose and walked around the table, tapping Phelps on the shoulder. Phelps woke with a start, oriented himself to the situation, smiled at the President and rose to follow Gellow. They both left without a word.
Linda sat, dumbfounded. What was going on tomorrow? Nothing! To hell with them all, she was not going to play their game. She’d tell Bickle right away. Arrest these crazies. And she would not stop until she got to the bottom of this whole meeting. How could her own security have failed her so? How could these idiots do what they did?
Rice stuck his head back in. “Oh, yes, Mrs. President. Just in case you’re thinking of saying anything about this meeting to anybody, you need to know that your mother is, well, let’s just say we know where she is. If you know what I mean.” Rice’s smile faded, pushed aside by a look of utter sadness. “One other thing, Mrs. President. Some very sad news. Very sad.”
Linda rose from her chair. “What?”
“It’s Mr. Bickle, ma’am. He, uh ... met with a very tragic accident. Just twenty minutes ago. I’m afraid he’s dead.”
Linda flung herself at the door, shouting as she ran, and slammed into it with all the force she could muster. But she was unsuccessful. Rice had already pulled his head out of the way.
Chapter Five
5.1
Bob swept above the tree line, pulled to a stop at the sight of the massive objects drifting dark and mute over the house. Instinctively, she folded into a ball and dove back toward the house. She buzzed past the President’s face, through the window behind her, and back to the sky. The Prez was still a blur. Nothing to fix on. The tugging at Bob’s back grew stronger. She’d been gone long enough, and the woks were pulsing with an inscrutable menace she’d never before encountered. She looked to the stars above, preparing to reconstitute.
Something sparkled underfoot. She glanced down just in time to see a whirling form come crashing into her, flinging her high into the air. At the end of her energy, Bob didn’t stick around to see what had hit her, but let the cord pull her back. The Cosmos zipped past, a torrent of color and vibrations. In a moment she fell back into her body.
Bob opened her eyes. Mary was there, sitting quietly at the side of her bed, ready to hand Bob the glass of water from the night table. Traveling always made Bob thirsty.
“Ma Kettle’s got another guardian,” Bob said, her voice pebbly and poorly controlled. Her body never felt like her own when she first fell back.
Mary frowned. “How could she have a guardian? Ellen’s on a slow drip. Who else knows? And how could they ever find her?”
Bob shrugged, draining the glass. “Whatever it was ‘bout knocked me on my ass. Thought I’d regroup here before I took it on. I may need some help.”
“Don’t look at me,” said Mary. “I gave it up for Lent.”
“Maybe I’ll take Alice.”
Mary rose and walked to the window, switching the sim to a daylight pastoral that she always enjoyed. Forcing a smile to her face, she returned to her chair. “So, any luck?”
Bob lowered her eyes. “No. But Spud’s there. He’s got the whole gang out for a bit of fun, looks like. They didn’t seem happy to see me. But the Angels are gone, which is good. Anything from your side?”
“Badges all over the country are looking for that old Cutlass. We told ‘em it had been seen in connection with the kidnapping and that the driver may have important information. They’ll find it. We’ve also found a guy in the little town of Spalter, Pennsylvania, up near the northern state line, who swears he saw somebody that looked like the president come in to his station in the middle of the night and pay for gas. He didn’t see the car. Said it was after midnight. He didn’t think much of it until he heard the reports on the radio in the morning.”
“Pennsylvania. Knotweed. She’s heading north. Any way to step up the search in the Northeast without raising suspicion?”
Mary nodded. “We’re working on it. But we have to be careful. We don’t actually want the badges to find her.”
Bob agreed. “If they get to her first, she’ll have a chance to talk. Which would
make for one huge fucking mess. I wonder why she hasn’t gone to them herself?”
Mary turned away, sighing. “Whom can she trust?” she said, her voice low and cheerless.
Bob flashed Mary a pouty lip. “Poor Mrs. President.”
5.2
Rice opened the door wide before entering. “Good morning, Prez. How are we doing today?” He brushed a bit of lint from his gray, vicuña wool suit and walked in, closing the door behind him.
Linda sat in an overstuffed chair by the window, looking out over the city. She wore jeans and a yellow cotton blouse, and her hair was held back in a short ponytail. In the distance stood the Washington Monument, tall, unyielding and milky-bright against the clear blue sky, like the America she’d known as a kid. She spoke without turning around. “Why did you kill him?”
“Who, ma’am?” Rice walked across the room, took the seat opposite the President’s. He smiled and flashed his eyebrows, as if it were all a joke to him.
Linda gave Rice a look of studied contempt. His cool condescension, so over-the-top it felt forced, offended her at every level, as if the future of the whole world had been put in the hands of a spiteful child. Real power would not need to belittle her. Maybe there was a weak spot in the edifice of authority he seemed so intent on building around her. “Fuck you,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Is this about Bickle, ma’am?” said Rice, his face filled with concern.
“You know what I’m talking about. And don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ You don’t have an ounce of respect for me or my office.” Linda turned back to the window.
Rice crossed his legs, picked at something on the bottom of his shoe. “You’re right, you know.”
Linda held silence and continued to stare out the window.
Rice cleared his throat, waited for a moment, straightened his legs and smoothed his slacks. At last he went on, as if she’d taken his bait. “I think you’re a complete ass, Mrs. President: a dumbshit farmer’s wife who hasn’t got a clue about how the real world works. It still amazes me that you managed to get elected. And if it were up to me, you’d never be told any of this.”
Linda turned to face him again. “So who’s it up to?”
“Life commands it.”
Linda’s eyes narrowed. “Life! More bullshit. It looks to me like you don’t give a damn about life. I think Bickle would back me up on that assessment.”
A smile came to Rice’s face. “That was the problem, wasn’t it, girlfriend? Bickle backing you up, making things difficult. Life decided to remove him. It’s all part of the Plan.”
“I’d like to hear what his wife and daughter think of your plan.”
Rice shrugged. Linda glared.
“Where’s Mom?”
“The Queen Mother? Oh, she’s off sailing today with Mrs. Engle. Got a whole fun-packed day planned.” Rice grinned. “She could use a rest, don’t you think? All those parties and dinners and photo ops. The poor dear.”
Linda rose from her chair and walked to the worktable in the corner to retrieve the folder Rice had given her the day before. She dropped it into Rice’s lap. “Fuck you again,” she said quietly.
Rice leafed through the folder. “Did you read it?”
“Fairy tales.”
Rice slapped the folder shut. “Really?” he said, rising and walking toward the door. “C’mon, Mrs. President, ma’am. Let’s go meet your Fairy Godfather.” He stepped through the doorway, laughing. Linda listened as he walked down the hallway. After a moment, she pulled on her tennis shoes and followed.
5.3
Cole stood at the top of the stairs, breathing deeply. Grace was back in bed, out like a light. She hadn’t even awakened when he’d pulled her from the President’s embrace and carried her upstairs. The girls’ room was clear. He’d searched every dark corner of both bedrooms, every hiding space, even the attic. Nothing. And the windows were both locked. As were those in Iain’s room.
In the living room below, Linda Travis, the President of the United States, waited for him to return. Because she needed his help. Because there was more to the story. But Cole didn’t even know what to do with what he’d heard so far. Should he be scared because she’s crazy? Or because she’s right?
The memory of those orange-red eyes haunted him. His face twitched. His fingers stretched and reached and curled into fists. What the hell had been out there? What the fuck was that thing? Cole was scared. Scared for the kids. Scared for himself. Scared of screwing up. He had no idea what he was dealing with, what the President was dealing with. Just that it was big and powerful and dangerous. Tomorrow morning, he would take the kids up to his father’s house. Beyond that, he didn’t have a clue what to do. Maybe with the kids safe, he’d be able to think more clearly.
It was true, what the President had said about Bickle. The Chief of Staff had died back in June. Cole had read about it in the paper. Bickle had run his rented Lexus off a bridge.
Cole started down the steps, able to move now that he had a plan. He would protect his children above all else. If they could take out Bickle, why would they hesitate with his children? Or with himself? Or with anyone?
And just who the hell were they?
5.4
Rice drove the President for an hour, west, away from the city. How they managed to get her out of the White House and out of the district without raising a stink with her staff and security Linda did not know. But they’d left without a hitch, as though the President leaving in a Jeep Cherokee with a single Secret Service agent was the most natural thing in the world. It was their ability to do things like this that most impressed upon Linda the seemingly unlimited nature of the People’s power and influence. It should be impossible to do what they did. Impossible to take over a meeting within the White House and threaten her at gunpoint. Impossible to just drive away with her in the light of day. Impossible. Yet they did it.
Linda wondered at their methods. Why the cloak-and-dagger, why the gun, why the arrogance and anger, why the murder, if they were trying to recruit her to their team? She tried to imagine some other way they could have brought her in, but ultimately failed. What they were bringing her in to, if what Rice said was true, was not only criminal, it was … Earth-shattering. They said they’d done this before. No doubt they thought they knew what they were doing.
Rice drove on, unusually silent. Linda watched him from the passenger seat, staring at his face, his hands, watching the tiny movements of his arms and legs and head as he piloted the car through the traffic. She would not be intimidated by this man. Not if she could help it. Rice had seemed yesterday to revel in his power, smirking and laughing at the President like a playground bully. But not now. There was perspiration on his forehead and his skin looked pale and waxy in the early morning light. Nervous, Linda thought. A good sign. Maybe there was a chink in the armor. So Linda stared, attempting to add to Rice’s unease. It was something she could do.
The route Rice took was a mystery to Linda. He drove unerringly: on the freeway here, off to a side street there, down major boulevards and along silent residential streets, never once checking a map or doubling back, and never once getting snagged in the gridlock that could still haunt this city, even with gas at over nine dollars a gallon. Linda sighed her surrender. If knowing her location was crucial to her survival, she was screwed. She would never remember this route. She’d seen very little of Washington D.C., or its crumbling suburban buffer, before she had come here as the President. And in the months since her inauguration, chauffeured and flown everywhere she went, she still hadn’t seen very much of the city.
What she saw now amazed her. She’d known it with her head, of course. She’d read the reports, seen the photos, heard the briefings. And she’d toured Memphis after the March flooding, so it was not as if she hadn’t already seen for herself the full force of the past decade’s economic meltdown as it had manifested in a major American city. But driving through the streets of D.C., it was hard to believe she was still in the U.
S. This was far past decay. This was death. This was desiccation. This was desolation. The body of this great city had long since expired. And the spirit – still coursing through the hearts of those who walked and worked the city’s engines of government and commerce, still pumping through the lungs of the systems and habits that kept the city standing, still flitting through the minds of the ever-fewer men and women and children who remained in their homes and jobs and lives, eager for a miracle – that spirit refused to let go of the corpse. Away from its padded, peopled, postcard-preserved center, Washington D.C. felt like a ghost town.
City and suburbs finally gave way to more open country. From the frequency and low altitudes of the flights overhead, Linda figured they were close to Dulles, somewhat south and to the west. The road before them was two lanes, paved but not very wide, lined with newer homes and the occasional farm. They passed a sign reading “Kelton - 6 Miles.” Half a mile further brought them to an old gas station on the left, the defunct corporate logos plastered over with cardboard signs reading “Dave’s Oil Company.” There were two pumps, a single garage and a tiny store, all finely layered with dust.
Rice pulled into the station, parking carelessly between the cracked and faded white lines that defined the spaces in front of the store. An overweight man in a stained t-shirt and torn jeans stepped out from the door in front of them and walked past the Cherokee without a glance, climbing into the battered pick-up that sat at the pumps. Rice opened his door. Linda could see the beads of sweat on his forehead glisten in the cool morning sun. His hands twitched erratically at his side, looking for something to do. “C’mon,” he commanded in a low voice. Linda opened her door and stepped out of the Jeep.
All of the Above Page 9
