The Roswell Conspiracy

by Boyd Morrison

  “Could the Moai have been created by the same people who drew the Nazca lines?”

  “Supposedly the Moai came hundreds of years later, but who knows? Maybe the statues were created by their descendants. The height of their construction was in the 1600s until it came to an abrupt halt and the island’s population crashed.”

  Tyler nodded. “I remember there was a book called Collapse a few years back. The theory was that the natives cut down all the trees on the island to transport the statues, and when that happened, they didn’t have building materials for canoes or shelter anymore.”

  “Right. Jared Diamond popularized that theory.”

  “Theory? Looks like a slam dunk. I didn’t see more than a couple of trees when we were coming in for a landing.”

  “They’ve replanted some trees in the center of the island, but it’s still mostly barren grassland. They could have used trees to move the statues, but that’s just one theory.”

  “Really? I thought it was pretty well established the islanders transported the Moai on rolling logs.”

  “There have been arguments about that for decades. Another theory is that they may have been moved by human sweat alone by dragging the statues with ropes made from the trees.”

  Tyler chuckled. “Come on. Dragging rocks weighing over a hundred thousand pounds?”

  Jess smiled. “Which is why some of the more out-there ideas include alien intervention and tractor beams.”

  Tyler grinned at that. “There we go with the aliens again. Fay sure seems convinced that we’re dealing with spacemen.”

  “She’s got me doubting myself. What about you?”

  “I’m a skeptic, but I’m also open-minded. However, I’d like some more evidence before I conclude that the Nazca lines and the Moai were created by beings from outer space.”

  “Right now, theories are all we have to go on. Another bizarre hypothesis for how the statues were moved comes from an old woman who told the first European explorers that the Moai walked to their current positions.”

  “Now you’re just trying to make the aliens seem reasonable.”

  “No, really. A man named Pavel Pavel tied ropes to one of the smaller twelve-ton Moai and by rocking it back and forth, he and a crew of seventeen men were able to move it, covering ground at a rate of six hundred and fifty feet per day.”

  “Sounds possible if the base were shaped correctly and the statue had an optimal center of gravity—not so low that it would be hard to rock, but not so high that it would topple easily.”

  “The problem was that it chipped the base, and none of the Moai show that kind of damage.”

  Tyler scooped up the last of the curry. “The Moai were moved from quarries. Do you think the wood engraving is leading us to something like that?”

  “It’s possible, but Nana had an alternative theory. The map is steering us toward the northwestern edge of the island. Rapa Nui’s ocean-side cliffs are riddled with caves that were painted by the natives. Her guess is that we’ll find one at that location.”

  Tyler groaned. “More caves?”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’ve just had a lot of experience with caves lately, none of it good.”

  “Suck it up. We’ll get some ropes and flashlights in the morning in case Nana’s right.”

  Their main course of Chilean sea bass arrived along with another round of drinks.

  Tyler took a bite and then saw that Jess was only staring at her food.

  “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “I was just thinking how odd it is to be here—on Easter Island of all places—having dinner with you like this after all these years.” She picked up her fork and began eating. “It seems so normal.”

  “Especially after the last few days.”

  “Do you remember that time during that snowstorm right before Christmas when I dared you to run across the quad naked with me?”

  Tyler laughed. He hadn’t thought about that night in more than a decade. “I remember thinking that you were crazy.”

  “Why wouldn’t you do it?”

  He shrugged. “I was a ROTC cadet. I couldn’t afford to get caught doing something like that.”

  “Are you still that uptight?”

  “Uptight? Just because I wouldn’t freeze my ass off running around campus in my skin?”

  “Nobody would have seen us.”

  “I just didn’t want to do it.”

  “That’s what I mean. You were—are—charming, smart, competent, stable. You’re also logical to a fault. You measure the pros and cons of everything you do. Every action is an equation with you. I just wanted you to be more impulsive sometimes. Like when you saved Fay in Queenstown.”

  “That wasn’t impulsive. That was necessity. Two men were shooting at us.”

  “What about coming to Australia with us?”

  Tyler focused on his food before looking at Jess again. “You and Fay needed help.”

  Jess smiled. “You always were a sucker for the damsel in distress.” She picked at her food. “Nana told me the details about your wife’s car accident. That must have been rough.”

  “Thanks. It’s not something that’s included in my Gordian Engineering website profile.”

  “Did you ever wade back into the dating pool?”

  Just like the Jess he recalled. Never one to beat around the bush. Tyler downed the rest of his drink.

  “Since Karen died I’ve met a couple women I got close to,” he said, “but unfortunately we couldn’t make it work. My job takes me all over the world. Makes it difficult to maintain a relationship.”

  “Is that on purpose?”

  “A consequence.”

  “Huh.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You were so adamant about settling down right away,” Jess said. “I just never figured you for the love-’em-and-leave-’em type.”

  “A lot’s changed since college,” Tyler said.

  “I see that.”

  “But not with you.”

  “I tried marriage once. Not a good match.”

  “Was he too logical?”

  “The opposite. He was a pretty surfer boy. Mooched off me for two years before I called it quits.”

  “And now?”

  She shrugged. “I used one of those online matchmaking services, but after the fourth drooling weirdo showed up to meet me at some coffee house, I gave up trying to find a soul mate. Now I just use it for sex.”

  Tyler gaped at her, dumbfounded, until she let out a huge belly laugh.

  “Kidding! Boy, maybe you really haven’t changed.”

  Tyler shook his head and smiled. Then he ordered another drink.

  * * *

  They lost track of time and didn’t stumble out of the restaurant until eleven p.m. Reminiscing about college days had resulted in lots of laughs and an extended period at the bar.

  Tyler had realized too late that his five drinks were more pisco than sour. He downed a couple of waters before they left, but the walk back to the hotel only accelerated the absorption of alcohol into his system.

  Not that Jess was any better. She’d had the same number of cocktails that he did and weighed about half as much. They leaned on each other as they veered down the hall toward their rooms.

  Jess stumbled and Tyler barely caught her, causing them both to stifle guffaws.

  “This is what I should’ve done,” she said.

  “What? Gotten me drunk? I still wouldn’t have run around naked in the quad.”

  “How about now?”

  “No way.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  They reached their doors, which were right across from each other—Fay and Jess’s room on one side and Tyler’s on the other.

  Jess patted her pockets, then said, “Dammit.”

  “What?”

  “I left my key in the room.”

  Tyler’s head cleared for a moment. He didn’t think Jess would try such a transparen
t ploy. “You did not.”

  “If you don’t believe me, search my pockets.”

  “I believe you.” He raised his fist, but Jess grabbed it before he could knock on the door.

  “If Nana’s sleeping, I don’t want to wake her.”

  In some distant part of Tyler’s brain, a little voice screamed that what he was about to say was a terrible idea, but his alcohol-lubricated id put the cautionary alarm on mute.

  “Sleep on my bed,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “I’ll take the couch.”

  Jess went motionless. “I … I can’t.”

  He took out his key and raised one hand like he was swearing on oath of office. “I promise I’ll be a gentleman.”

  She grinned. “Impulsive.”

  “Practical.”

  “Right.” Jess took a long look at him, but her eyes eventually flicked back the way they’d come. “I think I’ll go get another key from the front desk.”

  Tyler nodded and tried to laugh his way out of the situation. “That would also work.”

  Jess gave him a hug. “I had a great time tonight.”

  “Me too.”

  She let him go and headed to the lobby. Tyler waited until she was out of sight. She never once looked back.

  Tyler opened his door and went inside, where he planned to bang his head against the wall until his id was in a coma.

  THIRTY

  With Easter Island sixteen hours behind Sydney, Grant thought Tyler was probably asleep by now. Too bad he was missing the view.

  The steel arch of Sydney Harbour Bridge, its spine dotted with tourists partaking in the BridgeClimb experience, provided the backdrop for the three-way intersection below. The sunny afternoon meant that the street was crowded with strolling pedestrians who’d wandered away from the nearby waterfront attractions in search of food or window shopping along the tree-lined streets. Well-maintained brick buildings, common to The Rocks, as the area was known, provided a quaint respite from the bustling business district only a few blocks away.

  Grant didn’t need binoculars to see the planter at the corner of Hickson and George where Kessler was supposed to drop off the xenobium, but he used them anyway. Morgan, lithe in a sports bra and Lycra leggings and pretending to be out for an afternoon jog, stretched her legs on the planter, surreptitiously depositing a fist-sized metal container into the box of geraniums.

  When she peeled out of her stretch, she threw a pointed glance at the window before she trotted away. Morgan knew Grant was watching her through the blinds and wanted him to know it.

  Eh. He didn’t care that she knew he was staring. Grant had been sitting in the third-floor apartment for six hours now. He didn’t mind Morgan’s fine form spicing up the day, even if she had been nothing but a pain the entire time.

  She’d picked a room at the Holiday Inn high enough to give them a good view of the area, but low enough that it wouldn’t take them long to reach ground level if they spotted the target. Their luggage lay on the beds and Chinese takeout containers littered the small kitchen nook.

  Two tactical squads of the Australian national police waited in vans around the corner, ready to move in if Grant recognized one of the targets.

  But they’d decided they needed bait. The scientists at Pine Gap rigged up a small device that would emit just enough radiation to set off a detector. Now all they had to do was wait until midnight to see if their trap would snare any varmints.

  Five minutes later, a key rattled in the door and Morgan walked in.

  “Have a good run?” Grant said cheerfully.

  “Did you get a good look while I was down there?” she said with a deadpan expression.

  “Of you? Bird’s-eye view.”

  “You’re not around women much, are you?”

  “Are you kidding? I grew up with four older sisters. There were nothing but women in my house. That’s why I appreciate them so much.” He waggled his eyebrows at Morgan, then smiled and turned back to the window.

  As she rummaged in her bag for a change of clothes, Morgan said, “If you’re trying to bother me, it won’t work. After spending time in a squadron with fifteen guys, this is a breeze.”

  “You were a pilot?”

  She sighed, as if she were sorry she’d brought it up. “F-16.”

  Fighter jockey. Grant was impressed. “Then what are you doing in the OSI? You get drummed out of the service?”

  “I still hold a rank of captain in the reserves, Sergeant.”

  “I’m not in the reserves, so you can just call me Grant. Although I like the way you say ‘sergeant’. Very authoritative.”

  She ignored him and took her clothes into the bathroom. When she came out, she was dressed in her suit again. Disappointing.

  She picked up the second pair of binoculars and peered at the street.

  After a few minutes of silence, Grant sat back in his chair, thinking to himself how boring stakeouts were. Well, that was easily rectified.

  “So what happened?” he asked Morgan. “Did you sleep with a colonel and his wife found out and they bumped you down to investigator?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Come on, Morgan. Lighten up. We’re going to be here for a long time. And don’t forget I saved your life yesterday. Might as well tell me your story.”

  Another sigh. “If I tell you, will you shut up?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Fine. It happened when I was stationed in South Carolina at Shaw. I had an old Corvette—”

  “Sexy.”

  “Do you want to hear the story?”

  “Sorry. Continue.”

  “It was late one night. I was on my way back from leave at my grandparents’ house in Atlanta when a deer jumped onto the road. I missed it but lost control and spun off the road into a tree. They tell me I hit my head on the steering wheel and blacked out. Because it was down in a ravine, I was unconscious for an hour before someone spotted the skid marks and found me.”

  “You look fine to me. And I mean that in the health sense.”

  “I was in the hospital for a couple of days with two broken ribs and a concussion.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I was cleared to fly the next month, but when I was up in the air and performed some routine maneuvers, I got severely dizzy. I tried to shake it off, but on landing I nearly ran off the runway. When I got out of the plane, I tossed my cookies all over the tarmac.”

  “Because of your head trauma?”

  Morgan nodded but didn’t look at him. “A rare form of benign paroxysmal positional vertigo. In my case it only shows up under high-g maneuvers. The doctors tried everything, but they couldn’t find the source. MRIs. Exploratory surgery. Even did tests inside a centrifuge at Brooks. Nothing worked. After a year of not flying, my career was stalled, so I asked for a discharge. Since I majored in criminology in college, I applied to the OSI. Been there five years. Now you know the story.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your flying status. I just dabble. Got my helo license a few years back. But Tyler’s logged a couple thousand hours in jets. I know he’d be crushed if he could never fly again.”

  “There’s nothing I can do about it, so there’s no sense dwelling on it.”

  Morgan went to her bag and pulled out two pairs of night-vision goggles. She handed a set to Grant. He recognized them as thermal imagers, but they seemed to have been modified.

  “You really think we’ll need those with all the streetlights?”

  From her coat she removed a vial of what looked like gray dust. She took off the cap and dipped the tip of her pinkie into it.

  She nodded to his goggles. “Take a look.”

  Grant donned them and flipped the switch. Most of the room was a cold green, and Morgan glowed yellow. The end of her pinkie, though, was covered with bright red crosshairs.

  “What’s going on here? I thought I knew all the latest toys.” He reached out to touch her finger. He just barely brushed agai
nst it, and when he withdrew his index finger, it too had red crosshairs on it.

  “This technology is still classified top secret, so you can’t discuss it with anyone else.”

  He removed the goggles and looked at his finger. The dust was now invisible.

  “Is this ID dust?” He’d heard about it, but he thought it was still in the testing phase.

  “Yes. Because we suspected a leak, we didn’t tell the team that we coated the inside of the Killswitch containers with tracking dust. Pine Gap internal sensors are configured to identify the RF signature of the dust. We were planning to see if any unauthorized personnel were accessing the containers. Anyone handling the open container would have been tagged with the ID dust.”

  “So why didn’t you track it?”

  “The range is limited. No more than a few hundred yards. These goggles are tuned to sense it. If someone walking by down there has it on his hands, we’ll see it.”

  “What if they wash their hands?”

  “The nanoparticles are so small that they embed themselves in skin and clothes. It would be like trying to wash off the markings of a Sharpie. Because it transmits a radio-frequency ID, the signal is even visible through walls and thin metal casings.”

  Grant wiped his finger on his clothes, but all it did was transfer a few of the particles. “Is it safe?”

  “It’s not FDA approved, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m not worried.” But he couldn’t shake the sensation that the motes were pricking his finger.

  “Just keep an eye on the street. Our target may not have handled the Killswitch crate, so we need you to identify anyone who might be one of Colchev’s operatives.”

  “Got it.”

  He took off the goggles and scanned the street with the binoculars.