The man stared at Lance’s Sig Sauer. He raised his gaze to Lance’s face. Then he looked at Skyler. Recognition flashed. “Last time we met, you were pretending to be an FAA agent.”
Lance let out an easy laugh, sliding into his good ol’ boy persona. “You got a good memory, Mr. Meeks. In fact, that whole sorry mess is what we’re here to discuss with you today. So can we come in, or we gotta do this on the doorstep, like Jehovah’s Witnesses?”
“I suppose you can come in.”
They followed the wheelchair down the broad, ranch-style hall. Lance nudged Skyler in the ribs and grinned.
*
Jack slid down the rock face like a cat that couldn’t climb the curtains. He desperately tried to grab any protruding ledge to break his slide, but he was moving too fast.
A gentle, firm push in the small of his back arrested his slide for a microsecond.
His fingers locked on a horizontal rib. He dug in his fingernails. His grip held.
He hung by two fingers of his left hand, scraping his toes over the rock in search of purchase.
His right foot found a ledge. It was barely two inches wide. Just enough for him to put his weight on his toes.
He balanced there, his body flattened against the rock face, his breath coming in harsh pants.
“OK. Easy now,” he muttered. “Easy, easy.”
He descended another few meters, testing every handhold and toehold before he moved. Then he jumped the last bit.
He landed on the sandy slope at the bottom of the rock face and rolled. He lay on his back, panting, looking up at the sky. It was nearly dark now. Stars peeked out in the east.
He was lying on his daypack. It dug into the small of his back.
He sat up, only now realizing that his fingers hurt like hell. He couldn’t see the damage in the dusk, but he could feel the stickiness of blood. He took off his daypack and reached inside with his right hand—he’d brought a towel to use as a sweat-rag.
His fingers brushed his mother’s rosary.
Abruptly, he remembered the push that had seemed to break his fall for a split second.
He froze, scarcely breathing—and then swore impatiently at himself. Don’t be absurd, Jack. Your daypack bumped against your back. Or you imagined it. Anyway, what matters is that you didn’t fall and break your goddamn idiot neck.
He stood up, shaking with exertion and shock, and stumbled down the slope. He had brought a torch, which was just as well, for it was pitch dark by the time he reached the Toyota. He checked under the car for rattlesnakes. All clear.
He got in and sat without moving for a moment, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. Then he started the engine.
CHAPTER 26
“It’s like this,” Lance said. They stood in Meeks’s kitchen. Meeks sat in his wheelchair with his hands loosely folded on his lap. He struck Skyler as amazingly self-contained. He’d said hardly a word since he let them in. A laptop, a desktop, and piles of printed documents cluttered the kitchen table. Skyler had not managed to get a glimpse of the screens before they went to a screensaver of a green forested valley. “We need your technology, Mr. Meeks.” Lance leaned against the kitchen counter and waited.
A smirk flickered across Meeks’s lips. “Honestly, you’re going to have to do better than that. You can’t simply walk in, ask for something, and get it.”
“I understand your position,” Lance said. “That is why we’re prepared to make you an offer. Understand that this is very unusual. It’s only possible under these unique circumstances in which we find ourselves.”
Lance’s words evoked the alien spacecraft silently orbiting Europa. It was 600 million kilometers away and yet Skyler suddenly felt the oppressive sensation, which he’d had before, that the alien craft was close, close, right over their heads.
“Go on,” Meeks said.
“We will ensure the FAA drops all charges against Firebird Systems. I’m aware your company has suffered as a result of this legal mess …”
“Yes, it has.”
“That can all go away. Tomorrow. You can be back in your facility tomorrow. You’ll be able to resume doing business.”
“And in return?”
“Everything you have on the magnetoplasmadynamic drive,” Lance said. “We need it.”
They had to ask for everything. They couldn’t just ask for more detail on the steam generator, or Meeks would know that the Spirit of Destiny project was illegally using his technology already.
Meeks laughed. “I’m sorry. You have to be joking. You want everything I’ve got, in exchange for fixing a mess that you caused in the first place?”
Lance reddened. Skyler knew how difficult this was for him. He hated being in the position of humbly asking for cooperation. “Take it or leave it, sir.”
“If that’s your final offer, I’m sorry, the answer is no.”
Lance shifted his posture, pushing off from the counter. Skyler quickly spoke up. “It’s for the Spirit of Destiny project, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, Mr. Meeks. You must be aware of how crucial this is to the future of humankind. Please don’t let these petty legal considerations get in the way. Think of it—your technology could help to enable the success of the project …” He was thinking of Hannah, her strained face, her white knuckles. Work your magic, Skyler.
He was trying, but it wasn’t working. Meeks shook his head, his lips tightening in anger. He took a minute, as if to compose himself, before speaking. “Petty legal considerations? You’ve maliciously destroyed my company. That’s a petty legal consideration?”
Lance said, “I am saying we can fix that! You want money? We’ll give you money.”
Meeks wheeled across the kitchen and stopped right in front of Lance. He waited until Lance met his gaze. Then he pointed up. “Do you realize they’re watching us?”
Confusion chased across Lance’s face, followed by scorn. “The aliens? There are no aliens. Leastways, not live ones.”
“You have no way of knowing that. No. Shut up. You have no way of knowing that. You’ve promulgated this comforting lie so that people on Earth won’t go off their heads …”
“It isn’t a lie!” Skyler interjected. “It’s based on observations, so I’d advise you not to spread fear.”
“Apparently you believe your own hype. That is a very dangerous condition. If that belief is shared by everyone working on the project, there’s cause for fear indeed. But don’t worry; I’m not going to go on television talking about our visitors. There are enough people wanking on about that without the slightest factual basis, anyway.” Meeks shifted gears. He steepled his fingers and spoke in a measured, emphatic tone. “If they are there, they’re watching our television broadcasts. They’re listening to our radio programs. What sort of an impression do you think they’ve formed of us as a species? Is it any wonder they shot Juno down?”
Lance said. “You’re full of crap.”
Meeks’s eyes danced, mocking his witless response. “I take it you’re not a great believer in the importance of first impressions.”
“If you’re right,” Lance said, “which you’re not, but just for the sake of argument, that’s all the more reason we have to get out there. And so to get back to the point, we need your technology.”
“No, that isn’t actually the point. The point is that Earth is in danger.” Meeks spoke with building intensity. “Why do you think we have never detected any signs of alien life before this?”
“Because space is big,” Lance said.
“That’s not actually a scientifically sound answer. The likeliest explanation is because broadcasting your cultural vomit into outer space is extremely fucking dangerous.”
Skyler’s scalp crawled. Again he seemed to sense the alien spacecraft overhead, a dizzying sensation, as if the air pressure were dropping.
“I assume you’re aware of the Big Filter,” Meeks went on relentlessly. “It’s the theory, one of the possible explanations of the Fermi Paradox, that so
me obstacle prevents sapient species from gaining interstellar status. Some say it’s already behind us. The emergence of prokaryotes, for example, is a candidate for the Big Filter. Others say the Big Filter is ahead of us: like all other civilizations, we’ll destroy ourselves with apocalyptic weapons before we can reach the stars.” Meeks waved a hand as if to deflect such a risible idea. “I think the evidence now argues otherwise. We’re heading into the Big Filter right now. It is here. Orbiting Europa.”
Skyler had heard this theory before, but never put quite so persuasively. He said, “You think the alien spacecraft is here to destroy us.”
Meeks nodded. “Mm-hm.”
Lance said, “That’s fucking stupid. It’s a wreck.”
“Have you never heard of playing dead?” Meeks sighed loudly. He rolled away to the far side of the table and touched a mouse. The desktop monitor sprang back to life. The screensaver photo must have been taken from a lookout point above all that greenness. A sign said Rhondda Cynon Taf. Meeks clicked it away and began to type, pointedly ignoring Lance and Skyler.
“If you think Earth’s in danger,” Skyler said, “why won’t you help?” His voice sounded too loud.
“Oh,” Meeks said. “That’s actually got nothing to do with the other. I believe in doing business ethically, you see.” He looked up. “You lot come barging in here with guns, and expect me to roll over and sign on the dotted line. You’re worse than the bloody KGB! Sorry, I’m not surrendering to that.”
Skyler spoke before Lance could explode in rage. “We tried to do this your way, Mr. Meeks. We made an extremely good offer for your company, which your investors were happy to accept, but you rejected it.”
“Yes, you mentioned that before. Glad I didn’t fall for it.”
“Two hundred million dollars,” Lance gritted.
“That’s significantly less than you offered last year.”
“Your options have narrowed, if you’ve noticed,” Lance said. Suddenly, he seemed relaxed. Skyler knew why. Lance had had to go through the motions of offering Meeks options, but Meeks’s obstinacy had relieved him of the burden of taking that any further. All three of them were now being funneled towards the only option that remained.
Meeks reached down to the side of his wheelchair and released a brake lever. Sitting upright, he said, “If NASA wants to discuss a collaboration, I’d welcome the opportunity to speak with them. That’s really all I have to say on the subject. The door’s that way.”
“Mr. Meeks,” Lance said.
Meeks spun his wheelchair and rolled to the far side of the kitchen, where there was a connecting door leading to the garage.
“OK,” Lance said. “Guess this discussion is over.” He said to Skyler, “Grab the computers. Just unplug everything.” He drew his Sig Sauer.
Meeks turned his wheelchair 180° with an economical push on one wheel. The tartan blanket over his knees fluttered to the floor. He aimed a large-caliber pistol at Lance.
Skyler dived sideways.
Meeks fired his gun. Skyler knew it was Meeks because it made a noise fit to wake the dead.
Skyler crawled under the table.
Another gunshot roared out.
A window shattered.
Skyler could hear a thin and tinny keening tone in the distance, but couldn’t hear anything else. Maybe he’d gone deaf. He popped his head up to see what the fuck Lance was doing, at the same time as Lance levelled his Sig Sauer. Blood ran down Lance’s face, a terrifying shade of red.
Meeks fell backwards. For a second Skyler thought Lance had got him. That wasn’t it at all. The damn wheelchair had gone over backwards! Meeks had popped the wheelchair all the way over with a single large shove as he’d leaned backwards, leaving his legs flailing at the ceiling. He rolled off the wheelchair, his legs landing awkwardly on the floor. He dragged himself under the table, the pistol clattering against the marble-look tiles, and shouted at Skyler to run. Save yourself. Run. It was good advice, but Skyler couldn’t take it. Fear held him in place, flat on the floor. Meeks supported himself on one elbow and fired at Lance’s legs.
“Creeping cheetos,” Lance screamed, seemingly far in the distance.
Skyler hurled himself out from under the table. The computers, he had to save the computers!
Both Meeks and Lance were firing wildly.
A bullet pulverized the green Rhondda valley screensaver on Meeks’s desktop, shattering it into a psychedelic pattern of smashed LCD.
Coffee dripped onto the floor from a shattered carafe.
Blood pooled, spreading like water from a faucet that ran red.
*
Skyler drove.
Lance slumped in the passenger seat, holding his wadded-up Blue Devils hoodie to his head.
Meeks’s first bullet had scored a crease along the right side of his scalp. It had bled heavily.
Lance had no other injuries.
Meeks wasn’t that great of a shooter. An amateur.
A couple of miles out of Bunkerville, several police cars screamed past them, going the other way.
“Points off for poor response time,” Lance said. “To be fair, the Mesquite PD probably got there already. These guys would be coming from the tribal police department in Moapa.”
Bunkerville itself did not have a police department. They’d known that going in.
Skyler sped up to 90 mph. He wanted to put the whole country between them and Bunkerville. The headlights swept over endless, unchanging desert scrub.
After a little while, Lance started to talk about how it was all Meeks’s fault. He said that Meeks was probably working with the Chinese.
Skyler responded with monosyllables. He now realized that he hated and despised Lance. Maybe even more than he hated and despised himself. It was a toss-up.
When he’d talked his crackpot theory into the ground, Lance called Director Flaherty. They had a 24/7 number for the director of the NXC that was only to be used in emergencies. Lance explained what had happened. He yes-sired and uh-huhed. He was a completely different person on the phone with Flaherty.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “Yes, we searched the whole house. We’ve got everything. Desktop, two laptops, one iPad, and his phone.”
It was all in the trunk of the Escalade now, rattling around. The desktop’s monitor had been shattered and they’d left it behind, but the hard drive in the main case should be salvageable. Hannah would have the data she needed.
Lance hung up the phone. Wincing, he leaned forward and got a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol out of the glove compartment. He dry-swallowed several capsules.
“Flaherty’s got our backs,” he said.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. If there’s an investigation, he’ll make it go away.”
“What if they find our fingerprints?”
“You mean what if they find your fingerprints?”
“Fuck you,” Skyler said. He remembered the last thing that had happened at Meeks’s house. He remembered Meeks’s face. He wanted to un-remember it, to make it go away.
“You’re such a wimp, Sky,” Lance said. “Don’t worry.”
Skyler was silent. He knew he’d be worrying for the rest of his life, or at least as long as Lance remained above ground.
“Shit, I might even get promoted back to Langley for this. I hope not. Having way too much fun right here.” Lance laughed, bitterly. “Cheese and rice. That was a fucking disaster!”
Having secured Director Flaherty’s support, Lance was now free to chew Skyler’s ass off for screwing up their play. He called Skyler a fucking retard, a bump on a log, a five-legged dog, and other choice expressions. Eventually—Skyler had known this was coming—he cooled down and apologized.
Skyler apologized, too, for having failed to so much as draw his gun.
“You’re not cut out to be a shooter,” Lance said, excusing him. Skyler nodded—it was true. After that, there was silence in the car.
They reached the outskirts of Vegas. Ne
on defiled the night.
“Keep driving,” Lance said.
Skyler kept driving. Lance fell asleep. By the time they reached Phoenix, Skyler was smoking cigarettes to stay awake, using an empty Coke can as an ashtray.
He thought about what Meeks had said about the Big Filter.
Maybe Meeks was right. Maybe the aliens had come here to destroy all life on Earth.
If so, that put things into perspective, didn’t it? What was one man’s death, next to that?
Shame it hadn’t been Lance’s death, that’s all.
CHAPTER 27
Jack turned into their street and slowed down sharply.
Blue light splashed across the lawns and sidewalks.
Police cars blocked the driveway of Meeks’s house.
More police cars were parked on the lawn.
I just mowed that, Jack thought absurdly, struggling to process the scene.
An ambulance stood at the curb, back doors open. Paramedics loitered on the sidewalk, smoking cigarettes.
A uniformed officer waved at Jack, indicating he should carry on.
Jack stopped the Toyota in the middle of the street and jumped out. “What the hell is going on?”
“There’s been an incident, sir. You can’t park in the street.”
“I live here.”
Jack brushed past the officer and ran up the driveway. More officers intercepted him at the front door. “Sir, you cannot enter this residence. There’s been an incident.”
“Just tell me what’s going on!”
They wouldn’t tell him anything. He shouldered through them, panic fueling his strength. He lunged down the hall and skidded into the kitchen, where he expected to find Meeks.
Meeks was there, all right.
On the floor.
Supine.
Staring with open eyes at the ceiling.
His 1911 lay beside his outflung right hand.
Jack dropped to his knees. He slapped Meeks’s cheek.
A little bit of dark blood trickled out of Meeks’s mouth.
Meeks’s head rolled sideways, and Jack saw the exit wound gaping behind his right ear.
Hands fastened on Jack’s shoulders, hauling him away.
Freefall: A First Contact Technothriller (Earth's Last Gambit Book 1) Page 16
