Thunder Road

by Thorne, Tamara

  She pulled into the camp and parked. Eric opened her door. “Have a good time?”

  “Wonderful. Um, would you mind if I left for a couple hours tonight? I’ll be back before UFO hours.”

  “I already told you I don’t mind, and I meant it. I have to work on my thesis, remember?” He smirked. “Got a hot date?”

  “Well, sort of. Carlo’s an interesting person. We share a lot of interests,” she added, feeling stupid and embarrassed. “He wants to cook me dinner.”

  “That’s great.”

  What she liked about Eric was that though he might tease her, he never went too far. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.” They walked into the shaded camp. “Are those yours?” Eric asked, pointing at a set of keys on the table.

  “Lord, no! My God, look at that foot. Wait, I know who they belong to—Justin Martin!”

  “Something funny’s going on,” Eric said. “I found these just after you left, and he showed up here an hour ago. He said he just stopped by to be neighborly, then he walked all over, out to the scope, around the rocks . . . where I found the keys, then he said he had to go. And do you know what?”

  “What?”

  “He suddenly couldn’t find his keys. I told him about these after he’d searched for a while, and he said they weren’t his. About a split second later, he bent down and came up with a key in his hand. I thought he had it palmed when he bent down. Now I’m sure.”

  “Eric, Carlo told me he gave the boy a ride home last night. That his car was broken down on the main road near our turnoff. He must have been spying on us—”

  “And lost his keys,” Eric finished. “I asked him how he found us, and he said Carlo told him.”

  Alex shook her head. “I got the impression that Carlo doesn’t care for Justin.” She paused. “The boy must have followed me up here last night. Maybe I shouldn’t leave you alone here if he’s going to be skulking around.”

  “No, Alex, you go. He’s just a kid. What’s he going to do besides annoy me to death? Besides, it’s you he’s interested in.”

  Alex frowned. “Carlo agrees with you on that.”

  “Men know these things,” Eric said with a subtle smile. “Trust us.”

  71

  Moss Baskerville

  “EXCUSE ME A MINUTE, COLONEL,” MOSS BASKERVILLE SAID, hitting the button on the intercom. “Yes, Shirley?”

  “Marie Lopez on line one, Chief. She says it’s important.”

  “Thanks.” Glancing at Dole, who had sat down but had yet to speak, he picked up the receiver. “Hi, Marie. What’s up?”

  “I was up in Rattlesnake Canyon a little while ago, and the two missing sheep are back.”

  “Alive?” he asked, aware that Dole was listening to his every word. Goddamn bastard.

  “Dead, I think, but that’s all I know. I was too far away to see if they were mutilated.”

  “I’ll come by to check on things as soon as Al comes on duty. Somewhere around seven.”

  “I’ll bet there’s someone in your office, right?”

  “It’s a problem.”

  “I see. Well, don’t bother coming by for now. I’m going back to the canyon, with my camera and some bags to get some samples for Alex.”

  “You sure that’s a good idea?” he asked, watching Dole watch him. Chances were very good that Dole recognized Marie’s name, he thought, since she was always up there in UFO country.

  “I’ll be fine, Moss. I’m just afraid the animals will disappear again if I wait. That tight-ass colonel will probably get wind of them and swoop down in his chopper.”

  “Interesting you should mention that.” He smiled at Dole.

  “What? The colonel?”

  “Right.”

  “He’s in your office?”

  “Ever thought of entering law enforcement? You’d make a fine detective.”

  “Thanks. All the more reason for me to get back up there now.”

  “Sure you don’t want me to check out your problem?”

  “You’d need a CJ-five to get into the canyon, that or a horse. Your cruiser won’t do. Do me a favor and have a nice long chat with that horse’s ass, will you, Moss?”

  “I’ll try, but no guarantees.”

  He hung up. “So what can I help you with, Colonel?”

  Dole, ramrod-straight in his blue uniform, his heavy jowls darkened with imminent five-o’clock shadow, smiled or spasmed, Moss couldn’t tell which. “Marie Lopez. She’s the sheep rancher near Thunder Road.”

  “I’m surprised you concern yourself with civilians, Colonel.”

  “I heard she claimed some of her sheep were mutilated, some nonsense like that.”

  Moss smiled enigmatically. “You probably know more about that than I do.”

  Dole glared at him but said nothing.

  “So what is it that you and I have to discuss?” Moss asked as he checked his watch. “I have work to do.”

  “I’ve been informed that your town has been experiencing unexplained sightings in the sky.”

  “Like I said, Colonel, you’d know more about that than I would. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to see you flying one of those saucers. Maybe taking one for a test flight once in a while, keeping your hand in.”

  “The military has nothing to do with any alleged sightings, Chief Baskerville; let me make that perfectly clear.”

  Moss half expected Dole to make a victory sign, but he didn’t. “Then what’s your interest in them?”

  “We have no interest. But you were overheard telling someone that you witnessed these alleged phenomena.”

  “Got spies, do you?”

  Dole remained silent. “It’s all over town, Chief.”

  “I’m sure it is. I wasn’t the only one who saw them, after all.” Moss thought briefly and realized that he’d probably admitted to a dozen people that he, too, had seen them. Most likely Dole or his flunkies heard him shooting the shit with Ray in the café yesterday.

  “What’s your point, Dole?” he asked bluntly.

  “You saw nothing.”

  “That’s untrue. And speaking of problems, I’m told some helicopters destroyed the camp of a friend of mine.”

  “Not to my knowledge.” Dole leaned forward. “You’re the chief of police in this town, and it won’t do for you to tell Madelyn’s citizens that you have seen these alleged UFOs. You will cease to do so immediately, and deny all knowledge of this conversation.”

  Cold rage filling him, Moss pushed back his chair and rose. “Or what?”

  “Or you’ll suffer the consequences.”

  “It’ll cost me my job?” Moss asked sarcastically.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Can’t be done, son.”

  A short smile tightened Dole’s features. “Yes it can. But your rumormongering might cost you even more. It might affect your loved ones.”

  Baskerville rose and stepped around the desk, then grabbed Dole’s lapel. “Is that a threat?”

  “A warning,” Dole replied calmly. “Chief, you must do what’s best for your country.”

  Nose to nose, Moss held the lapel. “A friend of mine is a close friend of the president’s,” he lied. “Maybe I ought to give him a call, have him speak to Bill about you.”

  Dole barked a gruff laugh as Moss let go of his jacket. “The president has no power in this matter, Chief.” He walked to the door, then turned back to Baskerville, his stern gaze contradicting a bare trace of sadness in his voice. “Everything will be just fine as long as you follow my orders.” With those words, he left.

  “Jesus Christ.” Moss flopped back in his chair. Several cops he knew had hinted at similar cover-ups, but he’d never believed any of it—America the free, that’s what he’d always thought. America with the Constitution and freedom of speech. Live here and you could say anything you pleased.

  “Goddamn it!” He punched the intercom. “Shirley, see what you can get me on Colonel Lawrence Dole, will you?”

 
; “Sure, Chief. A fax is coming in for you. I’ll bring it right in.” A moment later Shirley arrived with several sheets of paper. “It’s the info you requested on Jim-Bob Sinclair.”

  “Thanks,” he murmured as Shirley left. He leaned back, put his feet on the desk, and scanned the information. He’d been meaning to get it for some time now, but it was his meeting with the man this morning that had galvanized him. There was no doubt about it, Sinclair had been impressive, charismatic, and apparently forthcoming, but as Moss scanned the report, it became evident that he had something up his sleeve: magic.

  Born David King, he had changed his name to James Robert Sinclair when he started his ministry. As David King, he’d made his living as a magician. Prior to that, he’d been a theology student. There was no arrest record under either name.

  Moss shook his head. The report was virtually useless.

  The comm buzzed. “Chief?”

  He sat up. “Yes?”

  “I can’t get anything on Lawrence Dole. I’ve tried everything I know, but the files are locked.”

  Moss groaned. “Damn.”

  “I think it’s some sort of military lock, but I wouldn’t swear to it. Sorry, Chief.”

  “Not your fault. Thanks.”

  “Chief, I’m going home in a few minutes. Do you need anything before I leave?”

  “No, that’s it, Shirl. Have a nice night.”

  Setting the report on Sinclair aside, he leaned back and closed his eyes. He felt like everything was slipping away. He didn’t know where the missing persons were, or who was behind the vandalism. After visiting Sinclair, he’d gone down to the alleged satanic cult, and found nothing but three nineteen-year-old losers squatting in an old abandoned shed. Not a devil symbol in sight. So, having written them off, he was back at square one. Maybe things would improve Monday when the new officer showed up to help out.

  He sighed. Things were out of control, especially now with Dole’s unbelievable threats. The man’s granite-jawed dramatics would’ve almost been humorous if he had threatened only Baskerville: But he had to take him seriously because of the threats to Eve and Cassie. “Goddamn it,” Moss muttered, wishing he’d listened more seriously to the other cops’ UFO stories.

  The comm buzzed. “Chief, got a call from a Denise Cole. She says her son is missing.”

  “Christ.” For an instant the message was just one more pain in the ass, then his brain clicked in and he grabbed the phone.

  A few minutes later, he set the phone down. The boy, Billy Cole, was supposed to be home at four-thirty, so he was little more than an hour late. Hardly much to get excited about, especially since the mother had panicked and failed to check all his friends’ homes. He’d reassured the mother and asked her to start making calls while he went out and took a look around.

  He rose and stretched. Normally he’d never go looking for a kid who was an hour late coming home, but things weren’t very normal these days.

  Entering the outer office, he said good-bye to Shirley and hello to Ken Landry, the night clerk. Quickly he briefed him on the latest events, then walked out to the cruiser.

  There was at least an hour of daylight remaining as he left the station. With any luck, he’d bring Billy Cole to his mama before the boy’s dinner was even cold.

  In the distance, thunder boomed, and he saw a brief flash of lightning behind Olive Mesa. “Oh, hell, that’s all I need.”

  72

  Justin Martin

  “EVERYTHING’S LOCKED UP TIGHT, MR. MARQUAY,” JUSTIN told the old fart who was locked in the ticket booth tallying the day’s take.

  “Did some fine business today, son.” Marquay made an effort to smile. “Madge’ll be real pleased,” he added, getting that glazed far-away look in his eyes again.

  “See you tomorrow, Mr. Marquay.”

  Marquay nodded and Justin walked away from the mine ride, studiously controlling his urge to run. The boy in his trunk had been on his mind throughout the long afternoon, and he could hardly wait to see if he was still alive. He’d also had to figure out where to take the kid since he didn’t dare use the mine again, even if the weather had cooled. He decided to keep him in the garden shed in his parents’ backyard for a few days. The tomatoes will never taste the same again.

  He let himself out the rear gate and trotted across the parking lot toward his car, which he’d parked far away, in an area that was nearly always deserted. Halfway there, he realized someone was leaning against the trunk. Shit! He slowed, squinting through the diminishing sunlight, unable to identify the fat fucker. Then the man turned and saw him. And waved. A beam of the setting sun reflected against his bald head. Hannibal Caine, you fucking shithead!

  Justin waved and trotted across the lot. “Hi, Elder Caine!”

  Caine stuck his hand out and shook Justin’s vigorously. “I hear you passed our test with flying colors.”

  He leaned against the trunk again and Justin tried not to react. “Elder Blandings told you what I did with the goat?”

  Caine nodded, eyes twinkling, his chubby cheeks pink above his salesman’s smile. “Justin, I expect great things of you, though you do have to learn to follow orders.” He chuckled. “But when I heard that you ran that goat right up a flagpole, well, I nearly bust my gut. You’re going places, young man.”

  “Thanks.” Right now Justin didn’t give a rat’s dick about getting his ass kissed by Hannibal Caine. “I’m sort of in a hurry, Elder Caine. Could we talk about this later?”

  Caine’s smile faded. “We have a mission tonight, Justin, and we’d like you to be part of it.”

  I have a mission, too, Fat Ass. “You should have let me know sooner. I’m really sorry, but I’m taking my parents to dinner for their anniversary, and my mom hasn’t been feeling well lately, so I can’t disappoint her.”

  “Commendable.” The sleazy smile came back. “I understand completely and I think you’re an unusually thoughtful young man. Why don’t you come see me tomorrow morning? We have lots to do and little time to do it.”

  “I have to be at work tomorrow morning at ten.”

  Thunder boomed to the north, and Caine put his pudgy hand on Justin’s shoulder. It was hard not to flinch.

  “Do you know what that is, Justin? That’s the first herald of the Horsemen. The world is at an end. It might be worth your while to skip work, son.”

  “I work for Henry Marquay, the man whose wife is missing, and I can’t let him down. He’s really depending on me right now.” How dare this asshole suggest he skip out on a paying job to do his dirty work for free? “I could come by before work, though.”

  “Please do,” Caine said, studying him carefully. “Come directly to my office. It will be well worth your while.”

  “I’ll be there, sir.” Justin moved to the driver’s door, unlocked it, and slid into the seat. “See you tomorrow.” You fucking dickhead.

  Caine raised his hand, then walked away, and a moment later reappeared behind the wheel of a white minivan. “You cocksucker,” Justin whispered, then pulled through the Madland lot to Old Madelyn Highway, to go home and stick the kid in the garden shed. So much to do, so little time.

  73

  Eldo Blandings

  “YOU READY?” ELDO BLANDINGS ASKED APOSTLE MEL CAMPBELL.

  “More than ready,” Campbell growled. “Let’s do it.”

  Blandings and Campbell were on foot, dressed in their desert cammies, and for Blandings, it was like old times. They’d been out here smoking and talking, watching and waiting, on the edge of Tom Abernathy’s land for an hour now, hidden on a ridge dotted with Joshua trees. They were upwind of two dozen wild mustangs grazing only a few hundred feet south.

  Originally Eldo had planned a solo trip to make that bastard Tom Abernathy pay for the humiliation he’d suffered at his hands yesterday in the park. But Mel Campbell went through worse today, and had come to Eldo privately to tell him he wanted revenge. Campbell was Eldo’s best soldier, but he was also a hothead who had t
o be controlled, so Eldo had decided to include him in his own plans, rather than take the chance that Campbell would do something stupid, like going face-to-face. If he did, that would ruin all the other work the Committee had perpetrated because it would give away their identities.

  At first, Campbell complained that Eldo’s plan didn’t go far enough: Instead of shooting a wild horse or two, he wanted to go right into Abernathy’s stables and shoot his breeding stock. Eldo agreed that would be more satisfying, but maintained it couldn’t be done, since Abernathy or his redskin ranch manager were always around. Campbell argued a little, then Eldo reminded him how quick the rancher could move. If Abernathy caught them, chances were they’d be shot down before they knew they’d been hit.

  That insulted Campbell and he argued a little more, then Eldo reminded him who was in command, and that they’d do it his way.

  Now Campbell lay on his belly, rifle up, tracking a chestnut mare. Eldo had a white one in his sights. “On three. One. Two. Three.”

  Both rifles blasted. The chestnut went down, but Eldo missed the white, and it stampeded away with the rest of the herd. “Damn!”

  Two more shots rang out as Campbell kept blasting, cursing under his breath.

  “That’s enough, Campbell,” Eldo ordered. “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves.” A clap of thunder punctuated his words.

  “It’s not enough,” Campbell growled. “Not enough to teach that bastard his lesson.”

  Eldo considered. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  74