Davis blinked, paused, and looked above Eric’s head. “I warned the fuckers. Now I’m going to the Pentagon.”
“Warned who?”
“The group of slimes who brought us Sparrow. I’ve talked to three of them, but there are more. A lot of phone calls, and half the time I don’t know who I’m talking to. They’re having disagreements among themselves on how fast to give us what we need to get Sparrow into space. When I complained yesterday I was told getting the plane to a hundred thousand feet was the necessary next step.”
“You knew the manual was still incomplete?”
“Yes, but I thought our people might get a clue from what we’d received. Getting Sparrow to open up was a surprise, Price. A big surprise, and not just for me. They already know about it. I got a short but nasty call not ten minutes ago, telling me to use whatever means possible to find out how you got inside that plane. And the call was not from the Pentagon.”
“Only Nutt and I were there when it first happened. That’s a couple of hours ago.”
“They have eyes and ears everywhere. That’s not news. They said if I don’t find out what your information source is, they’ll do the job for me.”
“A threat?” said Eric.
“That’s the way I took it. I didn’t recognize the voice. It wasn’t either of the people I regularly deal with.”
“Do you have a way of contacting them?”
“Yes, but I can’t tell you what it is.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’d call them right away, and see if they know about the call you just received. They might have a rogue in their group. The mercenaries and political entrepreneurs I’ve had experience with don’t deliver a product, collect the money, and then try to prevent the product from being used. That caller might be the source of the accidents you’ve been having. He might be Johnson’s killer, Colonel. Get after him.”
Davis gave him a hard look, but nodded. “All right, but in the meantime you don’t do things without telling me, Price.”
“You, too. Your friends aren’t friendly. You’d better find out which people you can trust.”
Davis paused, thinking, then, “Sit right there,” he said, walked around his desk, picket up the telephone and punched in four numbers.
“Davis,” he said. “Are you alone? Good. I want to clarify something. Did one of your people call me a few minutes ago? No? Well, I got a call from someone in your group, and I’m thinking about reporting it to the Pentagon.”
Davis described the call he’s received, and told about Eric’s success in opening up Sparrow. He listened, then, “How long will that take? One more ‘accident’, I’m dumping the blame on you people, and you can explain it to the Pentagon before you go to prison.”
There was a reply, and Davis’ face flushed deep red. “I don’t give a shit. I won’t be kept in the middle. Yes, I’ll tell him. Don’t call me again until you have something.” Davis slammed down the receiver as if to emphasize the point, leaned back in his chair and looked at Eric over steepled fingers.
“He claims they didn’t call me.”
“Do you believe him?”
“No. But I think I shook him up. I’m writing this up and sending it to the Pentagon right now. You’d be wise to do the same for whatever agency you’re working for, before someone starts shooting.”
Davis pulled a sheet of paper out of a drawer, and looked away from Eric. “Interesting that our foreign friend didn’t ask how you figured out how to open up the bird.”
“And what does that mean to you?” asked Eric.
“Nothing, I guess. But it might explain why he wants to meet you, Doctor Price.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
NATALY
Eric’s life had gone from mysterious to bizarre overnight, and it was apparent the so-called ‘hidden base’ in the backcountry was leaking information like a sieve.
He called Gil on his secure line and told him what had happened. Gil told him not to say anything to Leon about it, and refused to explain why. “I’ll get back to you soon,” he said, and hung up.
Gil was no sooner off the line than the phone was ringing again. This time it was Coulter. “Heard you made a big breakthrough yesterday,” he said. “I hope Leon has convinced you by now that I can be trusted.”
“I suppose,” said Eric, “but I’d like to know your information source about yesterday.”
Coulter laughed at that. “Company confidential. Cost is not an issue. And my offer to you still stands if you’ll meet me again. No contracts, just a handshake, if you like, but you’ll be held to it once you’ve been paid. No more worries about living on a government pension when you’re too old for field work.”
“You presume a lot, Mister Coulter.”
“Just tell me you’ll meet me again. A man has to think about his future, and we live in a dangerously insecure world. Money can buy you security and safety, Eric.”
“You think I’m in danger?”
“We both know the answer to that.”
“Maybe I’m in danger from your client.”
“Exactly the opposite. His network can look out for you without you even knowing it. Come on, now. Meet me.”
“Okay. Same place and time. You name the day.”
“Tuesday. I get back from Phoenix the night before.”
“Busy, busy.”
“Yes, I am, and more than some of it is in your behalf.”
“Tuesday, then, and one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“No more phone calls, not on this line,” and Eric hung up before the man could answer.
He was surprised when the telephone rang again a minute later. “Christ, I just told him,” he said, and picked up the receiver.
It was Nataly.
“My, but you’re busy this morning.”
“The phone has been ringing off the wall. All business.”
“Well, I’m not business. I wanted to remind you about tonight, my house.”
“It’s on my calendar. Should I bring wine, or something?”
“Just yourself. I hope you’re adjusting to the pace of our little town. Not too boring, I hope.”
“I’m too busy for boredom. A quiet, relaxing evening will be a nice change for me.”
“Then that’s what you’ll have. See you at seven, Eric. Bye.”
“Bye,” he said, as the line went dead. He suddenly remembered his first date. He was in junior high school, and he’d had a terrible crush on a girl named Gracia Cole. She had a twin named Gloria, but Gracia was the quiet one of the two, and he was crazy about her. He’d finally worked up the nerve to call her up and ask for a date, and she said yes, and they chatted a while, and when he’d hung up the phone his heart had been pounding so hard he could scarcely breathe.
His heart was pounding like that right now.
A deep part of him that hadn’t been used for a long time seemed to find that amusing.
He sat down at his desk and wrote a long report for Gil, with details of what he’d seen inside Sparrow, and also the new call from Coulter. Encrypted, it left for satellite link with the strike of a key.
It was very quiet in the house, only an occasional creak here and there as the temperature outside rose and then began to drop again. He was aware of each small sound, a kind of hypervigilence he found distracting until the report was out and he was actually doing work for his cover. He spent over an hour studying several portfolios submitted to him on disk. The week before, thanks to NSA imagination, he’d actually placed nine paintings by a young, local artist. The works had been shipped to Berlin, and would never be seen again, but an advance in the low five figures meant rent and food for the artist for over a year, and word of the sale had gotten around quickly.
Leon called at two. “We had a visitor today.”
“Oh?”
“Nataly. Just stopped by to say hello, she said, but I think she was looking for you. Asked where you were, and I told her what days you were off.”
“I talked
to her this morning,” said Eric. “We’re having dinner at her place tonight.”
“Just the two of you?”
“I think so.”
“Well, there’s no accounting for a woman’s taste in men. If she only knew, oh my. Be good to her, Eric. She really is a sweetie.”
“We’re just having dinner, Leon.”
“Of course. Any other news, maybe something dramatic that happened at the base yesterday? I hear the inside of some strange bird was revealed.”
“You’ve been talking to Davis?”
“We’re very close. Of course, you were going to tell me all about it.”
“Not until I reported to Gil. It just went out.”
“Must be quite a breakthrough. Davis is scared. He warned me to watch myself, said you might be in danger. Someone is upset with what you did. Want to talk about it?”
“Not until Gil gets back to me. Everyone talks to everyone around here. Security is a joke. Coulter called again, and already knew what happened yesterday. He practically offered me protection.”
“Probably got it from Davis,” said Leon.
“I’m meeting him again. He’s signing me up, and I still think he’s working for a government, not a corporation.”
“Maybe. We’re in a position to find that out. Davis is really scared, and the guy who shot Johnson is still running around. My bet he’s military. Davis and I are searching files for people with sniper training. You coming in tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll talk more then. Here comes a client. Got to go.”
Leon hung up on him before Eric could answer.
Lies, lies. Eric knew his own, and wondered how many Leon was telling. The man had been around for over a year, was likely deeper than Eric suspected, and there had been more than enough time for corruption. Eric knew all about corruption, sometimes wished he’d availed himself of it early enough to retire and save a marriage. And Coulter was giving him a new opportunity. Maybe.
Eric checked e-mail; saw the message from Auntie, the text a single exclamation point. His report to Gil had been received and logged. He clearly heard a car drive by outside. His state of hypervigilence lingered on, and he felt anxious. It was more than anticipating the dinner with Nataly, not simple nervousness. Perhaps his sub consciousness was dealing with the danger Davis was warning of, or the identity of Johnson’s killer, or even whom Coulter could be working for. And then there was the manual, written in Russian, but not by a Russian, and who else could make such an aircraft in the east? And why would a mercenary or turncoat leave out information when their money had already been paid? No more coffee, he thought. Too much banging around in my head. I’m getting jumpy. He heard every small sound, imagined blurred movement in his peripheral vision.
Enough of this. Eric stripped down, took a long, hot shower, and shaved. Nataly had said casual. He dressed in black slacks and a terra cotta sport shirt, and inspected himself in a mirror. The sight of his own, grim face disturbed him. I’ve forgotten how to smile. Why can’t I put things behind me, and just let go? The smile he tried looked forced, and didn’t show in his eyes. Oh, I’m going to be great company tonight.
For an hour he cleaned up the kitchen, the magazine and newspaper mess in the front room, and made up his bed for the first time in five days. The stalling was sufficient; in traffic, it was twenty minutes to Nataly’s place. The sun was low, and the buttes east of town glowed yellow to orange-red. There was the usual snarl at the Y, the crawl across Oak Creek, then acceleration out of town. A few minutes, and he turned on Back ‘O Beyond and wound his way up into the high rent district, then the turn on the unmarked road that was a driveway and wound his way up to the entrance gate. The guard there smiled and waved him through the opened gate. Four hairpin turns, and he parked in the gravel lot near the pool. Suddenly he was anxious again. I should have brought flowers, or some little thing for her. I should have asked Leon about it. By the time he reached the massive front door of her palace, his heart was hammering hard.
Nataly opened the door before he could knock on it. Her long, black hair fell over one shoulder, held in a tail by a band of gold filigree, and her dark eyes were lined in purple. A golden, sleeveless dress clung to her figure. “Eric,” she said, in a tone that made him feel welcome and missed, and she extended both hands as she said it, and her grip was warm and firm and lingering. His hammering heart slowed in an instant as she led him inside and shut the door behind them.
“It’s such a beautiful evening. I want to watch it on the balcony.” Nataly hooked her arm in his and led him across her vast living room to the balcony overlooking the pool, and looking out at the nearby peaks of Cathedral Rocks. Spires glowed red there. Where the angels come through their portal from another dimension, he remembered.
They sat down at a table covered with a tile mosaic of a red rock scene. A servant arrived, a young Native American with a finely arched nose. Nataly ordered tonic water, and Eric asked for a beer. Nearing sunset the view was breathtaking: deep red spires close by, and a sky painted in yellow and orange.
“I’ve never seen views like this anywhere but here,” said Eric. “It seems to me these so-called vortex sites are really just beautiful places that inspire people with romantic notions.”
“Have you read any of the books from my shop?” asked Nataly.
“All of them are interesting, but I don’t believe in a magnetic grid, or real vortices. The rocks have enough iron grains to make a nice rust, but that’s it.”
Nataly smiled. “Well, you did warn me you’re a skeptic. Any good scientist is.”
“I’m an art dealer, not scientist,” said Eric, then thought to add, “but I read about lots of things, including science. Art, mathematics, music, science, it’s all right-brain activity.”
Nataly gazed at him. Near dusk, her dark eyes seemed black. “I suppose you’re right, but I’ve never met an art skeptic before. Art either moves you or it doesn’t, but it still exists.”
The servant came with their drinks. Nataly raised her glass. “To sunsets,” she said, and their glasses clinked.
His apprehension was gone. Eric was mystified by how relaxed he suddenly felt. “Thanks for the invitations. In my normal routine, I just don’t get out much.”
“Neither do I,” said Nataly. “It’s self-inflicted, of course. I have nobody to blame but myself. Having a party in my own house is somehow different. I’m in control, and it’s my own territory. I get many invitations, but it’s usually for some charitable cause. My money is always welcome.”
There was a sorrow in her voice that touched him. “Well, I don’t have that problem, and I don’t get many invitations. I’ve always been busy, and away a lot. It’s hard to make friends that way, or—or to keep a family.” Eric looked down at his hands.
There was a pause, then, “I’ve never been married, or had any family other than my father,” said Nataly. “My mother died when I was very small; I don’t remember her, but I look like her. Father used to say that. He missed her terribly.”
“And you miss him?”
“Yes, I never felt alone when he was here.”
“Some people like to be alone. I thought I was one of them until my wife left me. I miss my daughter, too. I wasn’t there while she grew up, and so she didn’t want me at her wedding. I wouldn’t want me there, either. I know I can’t do anything about it, now, but I wish things had been different. And it’s my fault, all of it.”
Eric jumped when Nataly leaned over and put a hand on his. “I’m sorry,” she said.
He didn’t move his hand, felt her warmth flowing into it. He smiled, and said, “This is no time to hear my sad story.”
“I disagree. Anytime is good. Stories get less sad with the telling, and we all have them. Do you believe in auras, Eric?”
“No. It’s another new age thing.”
“Well, I can see yours. It’s quite clear against the dark background out here, a touch of red, but mostly blue. I saw
it the first time I met you, and it hasn’t changed.”
Eric bit his tongue, avoiding an answer that might offend her. Nataly leaned closer, her hand still on his. “I want you to do something for me tonight.”
“What is it?” he asked, and looked into the dark depths of her eyes.
“Tonight I want you to put aside what has happened in the past. Tonight there are only the two of us, good food and drink and pleasant conversation. I want to know the real you, Eric, without the sadness, without the dangers you see in life.”
“Dangers?”
“It’s in the aura, all of it, the fear, the vigilance. I want you to let go of it, just for a while. I know you don’t believe this, but humor me.” She lowered her chin, and smiled a smile that made his heartbeat quicken. He felt a warmth creep up his arm to his shoulder, and over to his chest.
“Okay,” he said, “but only to humor you.”
She patted his hand, and withdrew her own. “Good,” she said. “Now, tell me how you became involved in the art world. Are you an artist yourself?”
“Hardly. I’m too left-brained for that. I’m better with numbers, statistics, that sort of thing. I have an M.B.A. I’ve done some actuary work. After the divorce I wanted something new that would keep me in one place. I met Leon through a friend, and he got me into sales. I’ve had to learn a lot about art in a hurry.”
“And here you are,” said Nataly. Her eyes seemed to change shape when she smiled.
“This town—this place, it still seems unreal to me.” Eric gestured at the dark spires of Cathedral Rock as he said it.
“There are many mysteries here,” said Nataly.
“Oh, I’ve been reading about those. I’ve even thought about looking up Bob Terrell, the guy who wrote some of the books. I hear he lives uptown.”
“I know Bob well,” said Nataly. “He often signs books in my shop. I can introduce you to him.”
“As long as he understands I’m not a believer.”
“What, in UFOs?”
“In all of it: UFOs, hidden portals to other dimensions, angels, the whole bit. People see something strange, and then their imaginations run away with them.”
Sedona Conspiracy Page 13
