Teramar: The Gathering Night

by Thomas Michael Murray

  “Sir, what do you mean, an indeterminate alien object? Another government couldn’t put something into outer space without our knowledge. That would be impossible.”

  The bull scratched his baldhead that was plagued by psoriasis. The affliction flaked all across the black suit coat. The condition grew worse when the pressure came. The incessant itch drove Jolly mad, although he never really sought medical treatment. With force of will, he pulled his hand off his head and looked hard at Agent Huber.

  “It’s nothing like that Kurt. When I use the word alien, I mean nothing human.” Jolly was serious. There was no customary smirk.

  “You are telling me that E.T. might be living with Shayne Wright? The basketball star?”

  “I guess that is what I’m getting at.” Jolly managed a weak smile and took another sip. The whiskey grew in importance here. But the warm liquid couldn’t change the facts to this case. The facts were the facts. “Aliens over New York City - impossible? Incredible?”

  With his practiced authority, Jolly continued in the firmest voice of the meeting, “Although this sounds far fetched, Kurt, we feel there is something genuinely unusual going on. Justine Martin at the space agency swears her investigation was thwarted until she moved her team into the NSA’s deep hole in Colorado Springs. Is that a coincidence? I mean she’s a resourceful girl and had her best people on this?”

  Everything Jolly said ended in a question. “That was the problem with the odd cases. Nobody wants to admit to believing any of it.”

  Dried sweat wafted across the marble divide. Jolly’s office was getting hot. Perspiration dripped down Huber’s back. Each of them sucked harder on the brown water looking nervous. The booze felt good. An infusion of lethargy was needed.

  Then sotto voce, the director whispered his finish, “Kurt, this is the most classified assignment you will ever receive. You are only one of a handful of people, including the president, who knows the real story here. From here on out, you report directly to me, not that pompous ass in New York. I’m giving you unlimited resources for manpower, air, boats -- whatever you need and wherever this goes. Feel free to hand pick your team. I don’t care who you piss off. But, I do ask that you try to not initially disclose the true nature of this investigation to the people who report to you. If this goes the way one’s imagination does, the story will come out whether we like it or not. So, lets not push the public timeline. For now, focus your attention on Shayne Wright.”

  When Jolly initially recommended an immediate seizure, Huber persuaded his old friend that they go in easy. “Sir, with all due respect, Shayne Wright can’t just disappear off the face of the earth. The young man stars in our media every damn day. He’s big business. His absence would be noticed. The president would get phone calls and quickly.” Huber took another sip from his tumbler and finished with, “A lighter touch works best when the subject isn’t a real criminal.”

  “You’re probably right. Go easy then with this Shayne Wright.” The bull shook his head in disbelief. “I tell ya, Kurt, this is beginning to look like the real thing – fucking first contact. The president, the Pentagon, they’re all nervous as shit and they are way up my ass. We need to get some answers.”

  Agent Huber’s baby faced partner, Eddie Dyson looked extremely young for thirty with a big frame and long legs, useful when they had to actually chase someone. Huber groaned when he crawled out of the dark sedan. A career in law enforcement was indeed a life-sentence to lumbar-less seats. Huber had always pined for one of those beaded back-rugs the taxi drivers used. “Why didn’t Eddie get me one for Christmas,” he complained? “God knows I talked about it enough.”

  Following the auspicious trip to headquarters, Huber wasted no time establishing a makeshift base near Shayne Wright’s luxury high-rise on the East River. Stubbing out a recently lit cigarette, Huber lurched toward the building’s entrance. Horribly stiff, he shuffled with the uneven gate of an old bird. Patiently, Agent Dyson waited for the older man just outside the building’s carousel entrance. Eddie looked somber. Normally, he would prod his boss about the creaks and groans. Today, he refrained. Everyone knew there was something odd about this case.

  After catching up with the younger man, the two agents slipped into character and confidently strode into the building. They approached the doorman in an unhurried manner. The humpty-dumpty man behind the desk immediately knew these people were not friends or relations with any building resident. He had already observed Huber’s car outside, safely residing in an illegal spot.

  “Can I help you gentlemen,” he asked in a nervous voice?

  Huber replied, “Yes, what is your name?”

  “Albert, sir.”

  Huber flashed his badge. “FBI. We are paying a call on Shayne Wright and are going up unannounced.”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

  Two more agents authoritatively followed Huber into the lobby, a clean-cut young woman and another young man. The marble floor clicked with their dress shoes. Huber brought this second pair to keep an eye on the doorman. “No calls to the basketball star,” were his instructions.

  Huber and Dyson assumed the stance of pious men as the steel tube raced to the penthouse. There was nothing to say. When the door hissed opened onto a lush lobby with four entrances, Huber knew exactly where to go. The suspect was currently at home.

  Inside the apartment, young Shayne Wright quietly languished on his king-sized sofa when suddenly he heard a loud wrap on the door. “Maybe this was Hadrian? That boy could always get around Albert.” In a rush of hope, Shayne jumped to turn the handle and took a step back when he saw two conservative looking men in trench coats. One wore sunglasses although it was a thin watery day. Disappointed and aggravated, Shayne impatiently spat, “What do you two want?”

  Used to these unpleasant receptions, Huber calmly replied, “Were you expecting someone else, Mr. Wright?” He ostentatiously presented his badge. “We’d like to ask you a few questions. May we come in?”

  Shayne was certainly not used to being told what to do outside of his team’s head coach. Rarely did the sports superstar ever have dealings with the police and certainly never with the FBI. When he was in high school, Shayne kept his nose clean. It was a forgone conclusion that professional basketball was his ticket out of the hood. Years later with celebrity and a substantial fortune at his back, Shayne Wright had no fear facing these men and continued to block the door. “Sorry. I’m confused. What’s this all about?”

  “Sir, it would be better if you let us in. We’ll come back with a warrant if need be.” Agent Huber studied the smooth round face, the soft brown skin and large eyes. “He’s big obviously. An intelligent face. And he has no idea why we are here.”

  Looking closely at each agent’s badge, Shayne had the good sense to retreat. Irritated, he barked, “Ok. Five minutes.” The athlete shuffled to the side allowing the outsiders to enter the penthouse. Shayne felt as if he invited two vampires into his home.

  Young Agent Dyson looked around and whistled in appreciation. “Nice place.” Enveloped in clouds, the grand view did not exist today. Instead, an eerie bleached light bore into the room.

  Huber took charge. “Shayne, do you mind if I call you Shayne?”

  The athlete didn’t answer. Nor did he offer them a chair. Shayne already had a natural distrust of the cops like any kid from a tough neighborhood. Refusing to engage with the G-men, he angrily repeated himself. “Like I said. You’ve got five minutes.”

  Rough as bark, Huber’s eyes tore into the subject. In a voice that carried the full weight of the U.S. government, Huber curtly addressed the athlete, “With all due respect, Shayne, we wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t important. We’re certainly not leaving until we’ve had an appropriate amount of time to speak with you.”

  Appearing exasperated, the star athlete said, “I have a game tonight and need to get over to the garden soon.”

  “And we don’t want to hold you up. I’m a big fan.” Huber of c
ourse had to truckle to the boy. Showing some sympathy at the appropriate moment usually moved the interview along.

  “What do you want to know?”

  Huber answered with a small smile, “The thing is… We are here for an odd matter. So odd I don’t even know how to properly ask questions about it… My god, is that a Constable landscape on that wall?”

  “Yeah it is. Most don’t even notice. It is a smaller one.”

  Huber could see a bit of pride shine out of the well-formed young man. “The painting is remarkable. You are very lucky.”

  “Thank you. I work with an art dealer. While a lot of the other guys are buying houses and cars, I purchased this Constable at an auction. I also have an ancient African sculpture and a minor Picasso. But, this one - pointing to the landscape - is insured for the most.”

  “The boy is obviously fresh to his money.”

  Keeping the tone conversational, Huber continued in an encouraging manner, “My name is Agent Kurt Huber and this is my partner, Agent Ed Dyson. Is it alright that I ask my questions now?” Huber firmly believed that it worked best to first secure permission to officially begin.

  “Sure, Kurt, go ahead.” Shayne appeared less stiff and made eye contact with Huber. When the young man leaned into his right hip, he finally appeared at ease. Huber cleared his throat as if he was preparing to give a speech. “Ok. Here we go… Have you had any new people enter your life? Specifically, individuals that have had access to your apartment?”

  Hadrian immediately came to mind. Suspicious of the ultimate motive here, the athlete carefully avoided a direct answer to the question. “Well, I do occasionally have people over after a home game. Often, I don’t know everyone who visits. Some of the women I fuck are strangers. Why are you asking?” He hoped the agent would get to the point.

  Agent Huber had been in the business long enough to sense that Shayne Wright’s answer was evasive. The young man’s eyes now shied away from them. “Alright, what I am going to reveal to you is classified. I can’t beat around the bush as you could never guess in a million years for what we are looking and we need to get to the bottom of this rather quickly.”

  Huber gave the sports star a hard look. “The NSA, the National Security Agency, has recently identified an incoming transmission from outer space.” Huber somberly pointed up at the ceiling. His eyebrows arched with emphasis. “Yes, from outer space.”

  He continued, “Simultaneously, one of our satellites recorded a large object hovering above the planet. We know for certain this thing - this UFO or whatever you want to call it - is the author of the unusual transmission. Here’s where you come in, Shayne. We’ve tracked that signal to your apartment. Our best scientists say someone up there is communicating with someone in here. In this very space.” Huber projected the essence of sobriety.

  Confused, Shayne shook his head. He wasn’t sure if he understood what the FBI agent just proposed. The suggestion was preposterous. “Please. You have to be smoking something.”

  “Do we look like we use controlled substances? I’ve seen the evidence. There is definitely something out there. And for whatever reason, it’s pointing to your apartment.” His normally dry voice got louder at the end.

  Dyson shifted his weight. Huber could tell even this brief back and forth was making Eddie uneasy. “Do you have something you want to say to me,” Huber asked?

  Shayne appeared nervous and shaken. He uttered a firm but guilty, “No.”

  Huber pressed, “As a sports superstar, you probably have many people in and out of this place. Does anyone come to mind that visits on a regular basis, someone who would be using advanced technology when you weren’t looking? When you were taking a shower or sleeping?”

  The afternoon was getting late. Shadows rolled onto the east river and Brooklyn. Game time was fast approaching. Shayne forcefully said, “Alright. You guys are nuts and I have a basketball game to play. I’m late for warm-ups and need to get cross-town. Time for you two to leave.”

  The two men didn’t budge. Huber admonished Shayne, “Sir, the President of the United States sent us. The situation is that important. Think for a second. Whoever is sending these signals might be very good at concealing their equipment? Possibly, they are using a device that looks like one of our own such as a mobile phone?”

  “Is that why all those black cars are outside my building?”

  “Can you answer the question? Have you seen anything unusual, inside your house? Maybe at one of your parties or dinners here?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  Agent Kurt Huber knew that was a bold lie. Usually, when the subject feigned a look of calm, the muscles around the jaw and neck would inevitably tighten giving it all away.

  The athlete knew he was a terrible liar. And by now, he could easily tie this tale to only one person. Shayne once asked to borrow the odd looking phone. An annoyed prince then handed him the ringing device and afterwards grabbed it with an awkward smile. At the time Shayne didn’t think much of this. But now with these federal agents here, a rush of questions spilled out.

  Huber went again, “Do you recall meeting any new friends with accents? Someone claiming to be of foreign birth?”

  “Yes, of course. I know people from other countries. Many basketball players come from other countries. My housekeeper. Some of my neighbors. There’s a Chinese guy just down the hall. They’re everywhere. This is New York.” He was stuttering now.

  “Can you provide a list of these people?”

  “No, of course not. I think the time has definitely come for you two to go. Or, maybe I should make a phone call to my lawyer who is the mayor’s best friend?” Shayne pulled open the front door in a grand gesture. “Get out. Now.”

  Huber was tired. There were deep trenches lining his forehead from a career of worry. The veteran agent said very seriously, “Alright. We’ll leave but we’re not going away. Think about what we just discussed. You have a duty to report what you know. And finally, please keep this information to yourself, as I know you will. Can I ask one last question?”

  “What,” Shayne almost shouted?

  “My nephew, he’s a huge fan. Could you sign an autograph?”

  Shayne broke into a cautious smile. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Agent Huber. Would you like a signed basketball instead?” Shayne also desired a redo of the disagreeable moment. Eddie Dyson, who had been silent for the entire interview, cracked his first smile. “Mista Wright, you know he wants it faaaaa himself,” said South Boston.

  “Are you a Boston fan, Agent Dyson?” Shayne could work both sides of a room.

  “Yes sir, Mista Wright. My hometown is gonna kick your collective asses in the playawffs.” The younger agent knew a sleaze bag when he saw one and Shayne Wright was no sleaze. “The guy needs time to think,” was Eddie’s easy diagnosis.

  “Gentleman, I have to run to the back of the apartment to get some basketballs - if you could wait a moment?”

  Huber quickly interrupted with genuine apology in his voice, “Wait, Shayne. We can’t walk out there with signed basketballs. The other agents would see. Just a note to my nephew who’s also named Kurt.”

  Immediately, the three of them broke to insincere smiles, nodding their heads. Huber didn’t smile often, but when he did, it was usually employed in an effort to seduce one of their marks. Staged displays like this still took Eddie by surprise. And for the most part they didn’t work. It was obvious Shayne Wright remained terribly uneasy and wanted them out of his home.

  Huber ended the interview by handing his card to the athlete. “My phone number if anything comes to mind.”

  When the heavy door closed with a loud click, Shayne let out a long deep sigh, but the tension didn’t go away. Rather, his head spun like a clicking carnival wheel. “Jesus Christ. What did that guy just say?” You didn’t have to be Sherlock Holms to connect the dots. Hadrian Capet was undeniably different - physically different. He could move with such superb speed. The boy was greased lightenin
g when they played one-on-one at the club. Although Shayne won those games, they didn’t come easy. Nothing made sense. Until now, Hadrian was some naïve, young guy who asked too many questions. “This can’t be the same story.”

  Shayne walked over to the terrace and pulled open the sliding door. The moist air was soft on the skin. He went to the edge and looked up at the grey New York sky. Shayne took another deep breath, reflecting on the recent past. He had no doubt for whom they were looking. Somehow it all came together at this very moment.

  “How could I have not seen it? He’s not one of us.”

  After listening to his friend’s cheerful outbound recording, Shayne left a heartfelt message. Now was the time to be honest. When he hung up, however, he realized the FBI was probably monitoring everything now. But somehow, Shayne innately knew Hadrian’s phone number could never be traced to any name or residence and that Hadrian would always be one step ahead of these people.

  Truly running late now, the star athlete had to hurry to reach the stadium on time. Tonight’s game was one of the last of regular play. Although New York had finally locked up their playoff berth, Shayne still looked forward to getting on court. A hard game always cleared his mind. As he casually sauntered through the players’ entrance, nodding at the familiar faces, he welcomed the bright lights and backstage bustle of the hometown stadium. The familiar smell of beer rolled out to greet him. The pregame commotion was almost soothing. Following tip off, Shayne scored thirty points that night, skipping up and down the hardwood and barely breaking a sweat. Normally, Hadrian would be sitting right there, up close. He loved watching the games. Then, the devastating possibility occurred to him – “He really could be gone for good?”