Event

THIRTY-FOUR

Gus was still sitting on the hard rock beside the still form of his friend; he hadn't allowed anyone to help him or remove Matchstick's body. Julie was standing and holding Billy as he cried. Ryan was there with one arm on Julie and the other arm supporting the still-shaken Collins. Sarah was on his other side, staring at the fallen alien.

Collins watched the old man holding the small being's hand. Mahjtic was still lying facedown in the rocky soil where he had landed after his forty-foot plunge from the cliff behind them forty-five minutes before; he hadn't fallen all the way thanks to another of the many rock ledges that lined the mountainside.

"He was as brave as any soldier I've ever served with, Gus," Jack said, looking down. "He saved my life."

Gus just nodded his head and continued holding the small hand.

"Sonsabeeeeech."

Gus heard it and slowly looked up at the others. Jack was looking astounded, and Sarah had her mouth frozen momentarily open and Ryan mumbled, "Holy shit."

"Matchstick?" Gus said as he squeezed the small hand.

"Gussss, I hurting badly" said the cottony voice.

Jack looked around quickly; besides themselves, there were Billy and Julie, but they hadn't heard yet.

"Gus, listen to me," Jack said in a deadly serious voice.

The old man was smiling with tears in his eyes when he looked up; then he saw the serious look on the major's face and the smile faltered.

"They'll come for him, Gus. They'll want Matchstick, dead or alive." Jack winced as he stepped closer, dragging Sarah and Ryan with him. "He's dead, do you understand? He didn't make it and the body cannot be recovered," Jack said, holding the old man's eyes. "Damn it, Gus, do you understand me?"

Gus swallowed and nodded his head, looking around.

"Only my people can know about Matchstick being alive. We'll debrief him and help you keep Matchstick hidden, but, Gus, right now you have to get up and get the hell out of here or people will come for him and there'll be nothing we can do to stop them. He was a part of an attack on this country, they'll want to know what he knows. I think our people can get that information without keeping him locked away. I want you and Julie and Billy to get him the hell out of here."

Gus nodded and mouthed the word Thanks.

"Ooooh, Gusssss hurt Mahjtic's hand"

"Oh." Gus eased up on squeezing the small hand. Then he looked at Jack again and lost the words he wanted to say in the emotion of the moment.

"Go now!" Jack hissed.

An hour later at the crash site, Jack and Sarah were watching the bodies of all the Event staff and soldiers being removed with reverent slowness when Carl walked up to them.

"How are you doing, Mr. Everett?" Collins asked.

Everett lowered his head and adjusted the sling on his broken arm, then he looked up into the eyes of the major and at Sarah, who couldn't stand the haunted look in his eyes, so she looked away and once again fought her tears.

"Look, we can stand here and cry about Lisa until the sun comes up, but I really don't think she would like that too much," Everett said. Instead he pulled out a note one of the security men had just given him. "We don't have a lot of time, Jack. I just heard that the president is going to officially turn the remains of Matchstick over to the CIA. Compton and Lee, well, they're throwing a fit about it, but it looks like they're going to get outmuscled."

"The hell you say," Collins said, standing a little straighter, gasping a little in pain, but angry enough to shrug Ryan's arm away.

Everett smiled slightly, all he could muster after officially finding out about Lisa. "The senator said you would know how to handle it."

Eaten?" the field officer from CIA asked, hands on hips.

Collins watched the agent. Sweat was freely rolling down the man's face as he stared incredulously at the major and Ryan. Collins took a step forward menacingly.

"That's right. Tell your director he has the sincere apology of the ground commander, but as I said, the extraterrestrial was eaten by the mother creature."

The man removed his sunglasses and looked the two men over in the fading sunlight of a day most here would never forget. "Where's the old man... this Gus Tilly?"

"Went home," Collins answered, taking another step toward the CIA messenger boy with the sweat stains covering most of his white shirt.

The field officer took a step back and looked the haggard soldier in the eyes, then as quickly looked away. "Then may we speak to him there? You know, to debrief?"

"No, no debrief. The president of the United States said, I quote, 'Anything Mr. Tilly wants, he can have,' end quote. Mr. Tilly wants to be left alone." Jack came within an inch of the other man's nose. "And he will be left alone. He's under the protection of our department, and if there is any debriefing to be done, we'll do it."

The intelligence man stepped back and stumbled on a rock, caught himself, then straightened. He looked around at the remaining 31 soldiers, Event staff, and state troopers of the 152 who had fought the battle under-and aboveground. They were ail watching him. Some were badly wounded, lying on stretchers, and the doctors treating them were also watching. Others were standing dirty-faced and injured to one degree or another. The surviving state troopers didn't know anything about Matchstick but were downright angry about everything else and looking to kick the hell out of him or anyone giving the soldiers a hard time. Though the different groups were all in disarray, the one thing they were all doing was staring at him, he noticed. To the men who'd survived, all involved in the battle were now a part of themselves, comrades, many fallen, few alive, and all deserving of each other's protection.

The man placed his sunglasses back on and turned to face Collins. He nodded his head, then turned and left. He would let the director of the CIA fight his own battle later. Right now, the agent thought, discretion was the better part of valor.

Everett watched, blank-eyed, as they loaded the body bag containing Lisa's battered remains onto a stretcher and took her to a waiting Blackhawk. He blinked and tossed the XM8 down upon the littered ground of the crash site.

Sarah and Collins watched from a short distance away as Everett's proud form followed the stretcher.

Sarah quickly swiped a tear away and looked at the major. "You think it's over?"

"That can only be answered with time, I guess. God only knows what would have happened if that damn saucer had been forced down in some other part of the world where the response wouldn't have been as quick." Jack looked down at her with a sad smile. "I guess we'll all be looking for the monster in the closet or under the bed for quite a while."

A red-eyed Virginia Pollock interrupted them. "Jack, have you seen Mr. Tilly? The director would like you to bring him back with us, we have some information Niles wants to give him."

Collins shook his head sadly. "He went down the mountain with Ryan, Miss Dawes, and her boy. I'm afraid Mr. Tilly wants nothing more to do with us, at least for a while."

Virginia's eyebrows rose. "But, Jack, he..." She stopped and just lowered her head.

"How's Sergeant Mendenhall?" Sarah asked, trying to break the tension.

Collins looked from Virginia back at Sarah. "He'll make it. The docs say he has four broken ribs to my two and a pretty good gash to his head. He's still able to say we officers were too slow in our reactions." Collins smiled. "Personally, I think he's still trying to get out of OCS, which I've decided to send him to."

Virginia stepped up closer to Collins and Sarah. "Jack, I do want to see Mr. Tilly at least one more time before we head back." She paused and held her hand into the lighting that had been turned on at the site. "I was checking the mother animal and... well, look at this."

She held her hand out to the major, and on it was a substance that glimmered in the light. Jack and Sarah stared in amazement as the large particles of gold filtered through Virginia's fingers.

The last tunnel the Destroyer had dug had cut right through the no-longer-mythical Lost Dutchman Mine.

The president of the United States had flown out for the memorial service for the Event personnel that had been lost. He meandered through the milling crowd, shaking hands and giving his thanks for the job that had been done. All told, they had lost 32 Event staff on the Site One team and another 41 of the geology and security staff in the tunnels, and all this didn't account for the 99 other soldiers, airmen, and state troopers involved in this catastrophic encounter with life from outside this world.

Earlier the president had met with Lee and Niles, and they had explained in detail the items Europa had uncovered about the Centaurus Corporation, the Genesis Group, and the Hendrix family. The president had made certain calls and the teams in New York and Virginia were awaiting the personnel additions for the final chapter in the Roswell Incident, which had covered the past sixty years. The president had a copy of the e-mail that had been sent to Senator Lee from the Group's number one enemy.

My Dear Senator Lee & Esteemed Company--

We have been at odds for several years now and I fear all good things must come to an end. I must intrude upon your organization this one last time to assist me in breaking an obligation to a man and organization that may hold some interest for you. In a cavernous basement on Seventh Avenue in New York, a basement that has only one entrance, I believe you may find the very items you have most desired since a stormy night lo these many years ago in New Mexico.

For cooperation in allowing me egress from your wonderful country, I am forwarding two gifts of goodwill. First, for Senator Lee, if you examine the relics from the past, you may find one that interests you the most in the previously mentioned building in New York. Second is the gift of knowledge I myself have only learned of recently. I must insist you understand that this information has left a terrible taste in my mouth, as it reeks of amateurism. At a spot not three hundred paces northwest of the exact impact center on a ranch once worked by Mr. Mac Brazel, you will find buried the sad finale of the Roswell Incident and Operation Purple Sage.

I must admit I am tempted to offer these gifts for free, but alas, I do need to leave, and you have the power to allow that to happen.

Until we meet again, you have my fondest thanks.

Regards,

Colonel Henri Farbeaux