by R. D. Brady
Sanders frowned. “So what happened? Was there someone else out there?”
“If there was, they weren’t human. The homeowner did report seeing a tall, winged creature on the roof of her house. The son claimed that the creature saved him. But, sir, there’s nothing in the department database that matches that description. There are no winged creatures at all listed. So I’m not sure what to make of it.” She paused. “Unless some creatures were left out of the database.”
Sanders eyed her. “Of course not. The database is complete.”
“Yes, sir.” Norah broke off the eye contact. When she’d started working with the department, she had wholeheartedly embraced their stated mission—to protect the populace at large from any extraterrestrial or alien threats. And while it had admittedly taken her a minute or two to accept the reality that there were aliens, accepting the need to protect the populace at large had taken no time at all. And as a woman raised in a large extended military family, she answered the call of her government.
But lately she had to admit doubts and questions had begun to seep into her resolve. Not that she’d said anything out loud, but she had been mentally collecting all the incidents or information that didn’t quite add up—like the creature from the Gillibrand case that wasn’t in the database.
Sanders gave her a patronizing smile. “I’m sure she was mistaken. Adrenaline, fear—it can do that.”
“Sir, she was a Marine in combat in Afghanistan for two tours. She is used to adrenaline and fear. I don’t think she imagined this. She saw something with wings.”
Sanders eyed her over the desk before gesturing to his screen. “She has been out of combat for over ten years, according to your report. She’s out of practice. She was mistaken.” His tone implied she should not question him further.
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, cleanup wasn’t any issue, was it?”
“No. All parts were bagged. The house and field were sterilized.”
“Witnesses?”
“Assured that they were sick gorillas who escaped containment.”
“And the non-disclosures were signed?”
“Yes, and the settlements were made.”
That was the one part of this case that Norah had enjoyed. Sandra had been really shook up, and the settlement that accompanied the non-disclosure would go a long way to helping her and her son out.
Sanders’s gaze had drifted back to the screen and Norah took note of the new pile of orange manila folders on the corner of his desk. Orange meant new sightings, and Sanders tended to go through them every morning. The fact that there were still files on his desk meant there’d been too many to get through quickly. That and the fact that the creature Sandra had described wasn’t in the database had Norah frowning.
Sanders’s laptop beeped and he read a message there. He ran a hand through his hair, disturbing his normally perfectly styled do.
“Everything all right?”
The smile on Sanders’s face looked forced. “Yes, of course.”
But Norah knew the increase in sightings was taxing their resources. And Sanders must be getting pressure from the higher-ups.
“Any chance we might get a little extra help?”
Sanders nodded. “I’ll be speaking with some private contractors over the next few days who might be able to help take some of the burden.”
Norah tried to keep her face neutral. She’d had some bad experiences with private contractors in the service. Most were good people, but the rules never seemed to apply to them the way they did the rest of the soldiers, and that almost always led to an abuse of power. “That’s good, sir.”
“Yes. Now, I need you to head to Aurora.”
She frowned. “Aurora? Has there been another incident?” The incidents had spiraled out from the Vegas area but none had reached as far as Aurora, Colorado.
Sanders shook his head. “No. There’s an expert on these creatures that is briefing members of the President’s science committee. I was told to choose a representative, and I have chosen you. Your flight will leave McCarran in two hours. You’ll be back later tonight.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Sanders grinned. “Well, I can’t send one of these lugheads, can I?”
Norah wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, so she just made a non-committal sound. Sanders was always making those types of comments, as if he and Norah were the only intelligent ones in the department. She wasn’t sure if he was flirting or trying to be funny. Either way, it was awkward.
“Bob will give you a lift. Oh, and on your way, I want you to stop by Cole’s Gym.”
“Oh, okay. Why?”
“There’s a guy who works there now who used to be some big scientist.”
“And he works at a gym now?”
Sanders shrugged. “I don’t know. We just got his name. The higher-ups want him for the intelligence division.”
Norah frowned. All she knew about the higher-ups was that they were part of the Department of Defense. “So we’re recruiting?”
“Yes.”
“And you want me to take Bob?” She tried to keep the incredulity from her voice, but she was not sure she managed it. In a firefight, a barroom brawl, or when you needed a spot of intimidation, Bob was your guy. ‘Talking,’ however, was not really Bob’s strong suit.
Sanders sighed. “I don’t have anyone else to send. Everybody is out in the field or about to go out in the field. Just try to keep Bob’s interaction with the doctor to a minimum.”
Right. And then for my next trick, I’ll make him understand the importance of utensils when eating. And how to say please, thank you, and excuse me. But out loud, she said, “Sure.”
Sanders glanced at his watch. “You better get moving.”
“Yes, sir.” She turned and let herself out of the office. The meeting would take up the rest of the day. She’d been hoping to check up on the funds transfer for Sandra and her son. Guess I’ll do that on the way to the airfield.
As she headed back to her cubicle, she pictured Sandra Gillibrand’s face. The woman had not been hallucinating. She had looked Norah right in the eyes and very calmly recounted the whole incident from start to finish—as well as explaining that her son had been friends with Sammy for a week prior to the incident. Norah had left that last little part out of the report. She wasn’t sure why, but she just had a feeling it would only cause more problems for Sandra and her son. And she had warned Sandra to not mention that little detail to anyone, either.
Her partner, Bob Maxwell, appeared at her door. Five-eight with thick, muscular arms about the size of both Norah’s thighs combined, Norah had thought her partner resembled a bulldog when she first met him. But as she got to know him better, she realized that was an insult to a bulldog’s good looks and personality. “Hey, you ready? Apparently I’m your chauffeur for today.”
Norah struggled not to roll her eyes. She and Bob got along well enough, but he always acted like he was in charge even though they were on equal footing. Actually, due to her college degrees, Norah was pretty sure she got paid more than him, not that she’d mentioned it. After all, if giving her a ride to the airfield was putting him out, she couldn’t imagine what a pay discrepancy would do to the man.
“Yeah, let me just grab a few things. Meet you downstairs in five minutes?”
“Will do.” Bob headed down the hall.
She watched him go, glad that he hadn’t been part of the interview with Sandra and her son. And again she wondered why she’d kept the son’s interaction with ‘Sammy’ from her report. She also wondered what it meant that ‘Sammy’ wasn’t in the database. But mostly she wondered why Sammy had helped the boy. According to everything she had been taught about these creatures, they were violent and lethal to humans. But Sammy had left Sandra and her son unharmed. So was it possible that not all the creatures meant them harm?
The idea did not sit well with her. She herself had helped take down twelve creatures, a
nd they had not been taken alive. But they’d been classified as highly aggressive and dangerous to humans.
She sighed, clearing her head. Now was not the time for these thoughts. She pulled her weapon from the desk drawer. She tucked it into the holster at her waist and then grabbed her pack from under the desk.
The weapon was probably unnecessary, but she felt naked without it.
She headed for the stairs, nodding to a few of the other agents at their desks. There was a new agent who’d joined just yesterday. He grinned at her, looking extremely happy to be there. Norah had felt much the same way when she’d first been offered the position as a lead agent in a new, presidential-appointed agency. Finally it seemed like all her work was paying off. But now, now she wasn’t so sure.
Now she was having doubts about what they were doing, or at least how they were doing it. So all things considered, she was looking forward to speaking with the President’s alien expert. Hopefully they could ease some of her concerns.
She pictured Sandra and her son, imagining all the ways that could have gone badly. It was lucky Sandra was trained and that she kept a loaded shotgun handy. If those Blue Boys had shown up at someone else’s home, well, the outcome would probably have not been as happy.
And that was the other part of her job that bothered her—they were keeping information from the public. And while she didn’t want to scare the public, she thought they should probably know they were at risk.
She opened the door to the stairwell and started down the five flights. But that’s not my call. I’m just a soldier in this army.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Greg Schorn lay on the weight bench, eyeing the weight bar above him. “Um, so the bar’s forty-five pounds, right?”
“Yes, same as last week.” Frank Cole, owner of Cole’s Gym, sighed as he stood with his legs braced, his arms akimbo, ready to spot Greg whenever he got around to pushing the bar off its resting place. And Greg noticed with more than a little envy that even without flexing, Frank’s arms were practically three times the size of his own.
Greg eyed the ends of the bar. “And those are sixty pounds on each side.”
“Yup.” Somehow even with only a one-syllable response, Frank’s Bronx accent came through even thicker.
“So, we’re talking 165 pounds.”
“Your math is correct, Doctor. Now quit stalling and lift the damn thing.”
Greg blew out a breath. Okay, I’ve got this. He gripped the bar and pushed up. One rep, two. Greg managed to reach eight reps without too much difficulty. But at nine, the bar started to get heavier, making Greg wonder if Frank had added weights or was pushing down.
“Come on. You’re almost at twelve. Don’t quit on me,” Frank said.
A picture of a creature, part alligator, part alien popped into his mind, and his muscles gave out for a second. The bar dropped quickly to his chest.
“Hey!” Frank reached down, his eyes wide.
“No,” Greg barked out through gritted teeth, keeping the bar from slamming into his chest. “I got this.”
Frank leaned over him, ready to grab the bar. But Greg focused on his breathing and slowly pushed the bar back up. He managed three more reps before tilting it toward the brace.
Frank grabbed the bar, helping lower it down. He grinned as Greg sat up. “Thought you might be in trouble there for a moment.”
“That’s not trouble,” Greg muttered.
Frank’s gaze flicked to the front of the weight room before he leaned down. “Hey, heads up. Government dudes at the door. You good?”
Greg sat up. “Yeah. Go on.”
Frank headed to his office with a quick, worried look back at Greg. Frank had done a little time when he was younger and stupider. His words, not Greg’s. And he did not like being around any agents, local, federal, or otherwise—which made the fact that he still allowed Greg in his gym a pretty good indicator of what a decent guy he was.
Greg grabbed his towel and wiped his face, then draped it around his neck. He picked up his water bottle and took a swig as the agents made their way across the room toward him.
One male, one female. Both wore dark suits, his black, hers a charcoal gray. Her dark, curly hair was down, and he was a Mr. Clean type. Greg glanced down at their shoes. Both wore dress shoes, but they leaned toward casual—shoes that they could run in.
Probably DEA.
In the last three months, he had been visited by almost every law enforcement agency in the continental US. A few had stopped by more than once. It had gotten to the point that he was getting pretty good at figuring out who was who. Footwear seemed to be the factor that differentiated them the most. The more white-collar agencies—NSA, DOD, and FBI—tended toward shiny work shoes. The agencies that actually worked with their populations, DEA, local and state police, tended to wear shoes that would allow them to break into a sprint if necessary.
Greg sat and waited for their approach. “Dr. Schorn?” the female agent asked.
He gave a weary sigh. “Yup.”
“I’m Agent Tidwell and this here is Agent Maxwell.”
“Tidwell and Maxwell. You guys rhyme. Cool.” Greg walked past them and took a seat on the rowing machine.
“Dr. Schorn,” Agent Maxwell said, his face serious. “Your government needs your help.”
Greg grinned as he began to row. “I’m sure they do.”
“Dr. Schorn, we need to speak with you privately,” Tidwell said.
“As soon as I’m done. I’ve got another thirty minutes.” When the agents had first started showing up, Greg had spoken with them immediately. But there’d been so many that they really began cutting into his life. So now he made them wait.
Maxwell took a step toward him. “I don’t think you understand—”
Greg’s eyes flashed at him, annoyance creeping into his voice. “No, you don’t. You all have been sniffing around me for months. I cannot tell you anything. But if you want to ask me some questions, you will have to wait another”—he glanced at the big clock at the back of the gym—”twenty-eight minutes, and then I can speak with you.”
Maxwell’s mouth turned to a thin line. But Tidwell grabbed his arm before he could speak. “All right, Dr. Schorn. We’ll wait for you in the lounge.”
“Great.” Greg watched them walk away and shook his head. Ever since everything had happened in Area 51, he had people coming out of the woodwork trying to get him to reveal what had happened. But he was sworn to secrecy. And he didn’t get why all these government agents didn’t get that. Besides, as difficult as it might be for these government types to understand, he really didn’t enjoy reliving the most terrifying event in his life over and over again.
He sighed, pushing the agents from his mind. He needed to finish his workout. That was one thing he had added to his daily life after 51. It’s amazing how being nearly killed by government-created aliens could inspire you to a healthier lifestyle.
Greg finished his workout and decided to grab a shower before speaking with the agents. After all, the interaction was already going to be unpleasant, no need to literally stink up the place as well. He stepped out of the locker room, his hair still wet, and Tidwell and Maxwell stood waiting for him.
“All right. What’s up?”
Maxwell glared, but Tidwell spoke before her partner could. “As I said before, we need some privacy for this conversation.”
“I know just the place.” Greg walked down the hall and headed up the stairs. At the third floor, he opened a door that led to a narrow staircase. He headed up and shoved open the door to the roof. A group of birds scattered as he stepped out. In the middle of the roof was a utility shed and next to it was a rug of turbo grass and four folding chairs. A kiddie pool leaned against the shed. An old fridge served as both a side table and beverage center.
Greg opened a large umbrella that had been propped up against the shed and took a seat next to the fridge. He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a diet soda. He turned to th
e agents. “Anyone?”
“We’re good, Dr. Schorn,” Tidwell answered.
Greg popped open his can and took a sip. “Ah, nothing like a cold beverage after a workout.” He eyed Maxwell, whose suit jacket looked like it was straining to contain his biceps. “You know what I mean, right, buddy?” Greg flexed his bicep.
Maxwell growled.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, let me guess. DEA?”
“No,” Maxwell growled again.
Greg smacked his leg. “Damn it. You broke my streak. I had the last four agents correct. Well, for one I did guess local police but they were Nevada State Police, but you know, I think I can give that to myself.”
“Dr. Schorn,” Tidwell interrupted, taking a seat. “We need to speak with you about a matter of national security.”
“Yup. Got that before. But like I’ve told everyone else, you do not have clearance for whatever it is you are going to ask me. So I think we’re done here.”
“We’re not,” Maxwell said, pulling a sheet of paper from his pocket. He handed it to Greg.
Greg scanned it in surprise. It was an executive order from President Wilson ordering that all individuals involved in the Area 51 incident cooperate with the agents of the Department of Extraterrestrial and Alien Defense.
“Well, that’s new,” he muttered, tossing the letter on top of the fridge. “So, agents of the Department of Extraterrestrial and Alien Defense, what exactly is the goal of this here new department?”
Maxwell puffed out his chest. “We have been charged with tracking down any and all escapees from Area 51. We have been tasked with bringing you in to aid in that effort.”
“And when you capture the subjects, what’s the plan? Kill on sight?”
The female agent’s jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before her partner answered. Maxwell crossed his arms over his chest in what Greg knew was an intimidation move. “There are levels of risk. Situation and risk level determine the appropriate response to a target.”
Greg snorted. “Sure.”
