Sedona Conspiracy

CHAPTER TEN ^WARNINGS

“We’re honored to have a special guest today,” said Chairman Brown. “He arrived early this morning, and will join us in a moment.”

“This was not on the agenda,” said Mister Smith, his faceless figure cloaked in a brown robe on the television monitor. “We were going to discuss the manual for the Americans.”

“We are going to discuss it. Our guest requested time to explain certain changes he insists we make in the document.”

“Insists? If we have no autonomy here, and the Green Party is truly in charge of everything, then I fail to see why the rest of us are even involved with the project unless it’s only for information purposes.”

The translator failed to pick up the hard edge in Smith’s voice, but all could sense it in the original speech coming from the monitor.

“The technology is ours to share as we see fit, Mister Smith, but we’re aware of the political impact of giving it all at once to the Americans. The advice of our friends and neighbors is desired by us, and considered necessary. That’s why you’re here.”

“Acceptable, if true,” said Smith, but then all heads of the men at the table turned when there was a soft knock, twice, on the door.

“Ah, he’s here,” said Chairman Brown. He arose, went to the door and opened it. The man standing there had to duck his head slightly when he came through the doorway. He was dressed in sports coat, slacks and turtleneck, all in black, and followed Brown back to the table, sitting down at his right hand.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Good to see you all together again,” he said, and smiled unpleasantly with thin lips in a long, bony face.

“Our pleasure, Minister Watt,” said Mister Smith. “We have missed your presence at our meetings. Your new duties have kept you far too busy, it seems.”

“There are times when I yearn to be an ambassador again,” said Dario Watt. It was the name they always called him, and although they knew his true name they respected his desire for a small disguise.

“The manual has been prepared, and will be delivered to the Americans in the morning. There are certain omissions in it, and I wanted to personally explain my logic in making those omissions.”

There were gasps around the table. “Please do,” said Chairman Brown. “I thought we were ready to move ahead with full disclosure. Has something new happened to discourage our trust?”

Watt steepled long fingers in front of his face and looked directly at the television monitor, the cloaked and hooded figures there now silent. “It’s not so much a lack of trust as it is a new reason for caution. A new player has arrived on the scene; his agenda is undetermined, as is his agency. We already have corruption among the agencies involved, and now sabotage. Until these problems are resolved, there will be no full disclosure. This does not come from me, gentlemen. It comes from my president.”

“Excuse me, Minister Watt,” said Mister White, “but our president signed off on this project before it began. The continuing delays in full disclosure have slowed progress to a crawl, and eroded our credibility with the Americans. Does he know this?”

“I send him regular reports,” said Watt.

“I think it’s appropriate that we receive copies of those reports.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I think he means that as field members of this project we should have direct input to the reporting process,” said Chairman Brown.

“That, and to check the validity of the reports our president is seeing. This is a government-sanctioned technology transfer intended to establish good relations with a world power, and I do not believe our head of state would do anything to disrupt it. I suggest we file our own report as quickly as possible.”

Watt’s eyes narrowed. He leaned over the table, and hissed, “You’ve just suggested the right hand of our president is a liar, Mister White. I fear you’ve been away from home too long. You’ve also forgotten your station in this project. I am minister; you are not.”

There was a sudden screech from the translator box, and then the metallic voice saying, “You can intimidate your own people, Minister Watt, but not us. We share the concerns of Mister White. There have been too many delays, and for no valid reason. That and recent events involving sabotage have encouraged suspicions among all of us in the Blue party. If we decide to withdraw from this project, our reasons will be made known to your president without going through you.”

Mister Jones broke in instantly. “This is all so unfair. We all understood the Greens were in charge; it is, after all, their technology. The Reds and Blues are here only for consultation. We advise. We do not interfere, or make threats in order to get our opinions accepted. I do hear dissention among the Greens, however. Minister Watt must deal with that as befits his office. I personally support the logic of a cautious approach. It was not our intent to put this technology into commercial hands. We already have two players involved in such connections, and possibly a third. Until we get rid of them, we should proceed with caution. I speak for the Red Party when I say I support the views of Minister Watt.”

“A voice of sanity. Thank you, Mister Jones,” said Watt.

“You can have my resignation if you wish,” said White. “I will not participate any further in this sham, and the president will be told my reasons.”

For a moment there was a terrible silence in the room, then, “I think that would be most unfortunate,” said Watt. “What would it take to keep you with us, and satisfied?”

“Full disclosure,” said White. “At least enough material so that significant progress can be made, and rapidly.”

Another pause, Minister Watt stroking his long chin with one hand while he thought. “Very well, I will tell you the omissions I wish to make, and why, and then we will hear your opinions.”

Watt outlined the omissions he intended to make, and there were immediate objections from his Green colleagues and the Blues, Mister Jones remaining silent and looking uncomfortable.

“The Americans must be able to activate the field generator and obtain a minimum of vacuum state energy to achieve escape velocity. For now it’s not necessary they understand the energy source. but know how to use it at low levels. Anything less is not acceptable to me,” said Mister White.

“We concur,” said the machine voice of the translator.

“Respectfully, sir, I also agree with that,” said Chairman Brown. “All the delays have put us in a critical position. It’s a poor way to gain political allies; surely you can see that. President Troik has argued the case for this project before the Peoples’ Congress. Failure would be a great embarrassment to him, and we all have some knowledge of what the possible consequences could be.”

“That is not our concern,” said Mister Smith of The Blues. “But it’s not our habit to support activities doomed to failure because of poor judgments.”

“The danger is real for all of us,” said White. “Our governments have made agreements on this. Our failure will be theirs, and I’d rather not spend the rest of my life hiding from them in some desert.”

There was a long silence. Internally, Minister Watt seethed with violent plans for these men who dared to oppose his judgment, but he could not risk a direct report by them to his superior, not at this time. Step back, then, and wait for an opportunity for more direct action.

“Very well, ten percent power as a maximum for now. This will give them planetary capability, but not extra-solar, enough to occupy them for decades.”

“Well,” said Mister White, amazed.

“Excellent,” said a relieved Chairman Brown.

“Your choice,” said Mister Smith. “We only advise in these matters, and I must compliment your wisdom, Minister Watt.”

“Thank you,” said Watt, “but I ask that you respect my position in communicating with our president. Our positions must appear to be unified at all times.”

“Of course,” said Chairman Brown, and heads nodded in apparent agreement.

“It’s settled, then. The manual, minus the section on tensor stress modulation, will be delivered in the morning, with copies for all of you. I think we’re finished here, and I thank you for hearing me out.” Watt smiled, his murderous hostility now totally masked. At a great distance, not even The Blues could sense it.

“You honor us with your presence, Minister. Please convey our respects to President Troik for us, and do come again at your pleasure.”

“That is a promise. Perhaps next time we can share some of the local culture together. Until then, gentlemen.” Watt stood up, made a nodding bow, and left them. He closed the door behind him, and walked quickly to the van waiting to take him to port. And in his head he made plans, dark plans for all of those who had just confronted him.

Back in the room Watt had just left, there was a long silence before Mister White said, “Will he do it?”

“Yes,” said Chairman Brown. “He cannot risk a complaint to the president. But I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he’s behind the sabotage we’ve been experiencing.”

“That is a serious implication for a man who has always given full support to the project,” complained Jones.

Brown glared at him. “Your support of our Minister has been noted, Mister Jones. Might we regard the Reds as his ally, or is it just you?”

“I represent my state, sir, not Minister Watt, and I resent the inference.”

“Then allow me to share a confidence with you. It’s important enough that betrayal will mean death to the betrayer. This meeting today was, in fact, called specifically for a deliberate confrontation with our State Minister.

“Mister White and I have suspected for sometime that Watt represents certain members of congress who share his initial opposition to relations with the Americans. In his heart he’s a conservative; it’s recorded in his entire political career. Suddenly he shares the views of a liberal president, and it has taken him to the foot of the highest seat of power. We have been warned by congressional staff about views he has voiced in private to his fellow conservatives. He seeks the powers of the presidency, and failure of this project could be a big step in that direction. Despite what he said today, we will be sending a report directly to the president, and informing him of our difficulties. Mister White is writing it.”

“This is outrageous,” said Jones. “I will not take part in this.” He stood up, and moved to leave.

White struck like a snake, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him back down on his chair.

“Don’t even move,” White snarled.

The door opened, and a guard was there, responding to a silent alarm sent by Chairman Brown.

“Enough, Mister Jones,” said Brown. “Your communications have been monitored for weeks, and the evidence shared with your government. You’re going home. Ensign, please take Mister Jones down to level one for transportation off base. Staff will take charge of your prisoner at area four.”

Jones sat stunned. The guard stood him up, shackled his hands behind him and led him away.

There was a strange sound from the television monitor, and then from the translator box came, “Nicely done, and without subtlety. It is a good start in cleaning our house, but you must not expect our help in saving your lives when the good Minister seeks them.”

“The letter to president Troik will be sent in the morning,” said White.

“Indeed,” said Chairman Brown.

Eric didn’t tell Leon about the message he’d received from Neal. A vague distrust of the man nagged at him. He waited until Leon had gone out on a call, and dialed Gil’s private number on his cell phone. Gil answered quickly, and Eric told him all that had happened, including the note from Neal.

“Have you told Leon?” asked Gil.

“Not about Neal, but he knows what I saw at the base, and what I think about it. The project is being deliberately delayed by whoever brought the plane to us. I need to talk to them, but it seems that Davis is the only one they talk to. Face to face, I can identify their nationality. Probably Russian. I can’t think of anyone else who could even approach making what I saw.”

“Don’t tell Leon about Neal.”

“Why? Isn’t he one of ours?”

“No. He’s CIA. They’re more interested in finding out which commercial people are trying to get their hands on the aircraft. Remember that when you share information with him. Make another call to Neal and meet with him quick. Take a gun with you; that’s an order. Some people who’ve helped us with information in the past have disappeared, transferred out if we believe what Davis says, and we don’t. Ask Neal about the foreign nationals who came over with the plane. Maybe he can identify one for you. We hear that one of them initially briefed the engineers.”

“I’m calling him again tonight. I’ll get back to you.”

“Anytime. If I don’t answer, expect a return call. Watch your back.”

Gil broke the connection. Eric spent the rest of the day assembling a phony list of international galleries as part of a brochure for interested artists. Leon did not return to the office, so Eric locked up and drove home. The house had not been disturbed, no strange odors in the air. He ran the surveillance tapes fast-forward, and nothing showed up in visible, the IR camera only turned on at night.

Dinner was two potpies and mixed vegetables. He read, and watched television. At exactly midnight he dialed the number Neal had given him.

“Yes?” The voice seemed muffled.

“Eric. I was given this number to call. Nobody answered it last night.”

“Sorry. I left out the date you should call. I was at the lab. I assumed you’d call again tonight. Do you know where the high school is?”

“Yes.”

“I’m parked in the lot in front of the auditorium. In thirty minutes I’ll have to leave. Get here fast, and come alone. I’m not armed.”

“On my way,” said Eric, and hung up.

It was a ten-minute sprint to the high school, no traffic on Dry Creek Road, a few stragglers on 89A heading south towards Cottonwood. The high school was just off the highway, nestled in red rock; Eric turned in to a large parking lot and saw a single car parked in one corner overlooking the football stadium. The area was dimly lit with sodium lights.

Eric pulled in two spaces away, towards the highway from the lone car, turned off his lights, then the engine. And waited. Whoever was in the driver’s seat of the other car did not move to get out, but sat perfectly still.

Eric felt the familiar stirring of hairs on the backs of his hands and neck. His hand moved automatically to the grip of the Colt Modified at his waistband, two extra clips in a pouch hooked next to the weapon. Seconds became minutes, and still there was no movement, yet someone was there behind the wheel; even behind a dirty window, the silhouette was clear in light coming from in front of the high school’s auditorium.

He opened the door and stepped outside, gun in hand. Knees bent, he quick-stepped to the car, coming up on the passenger side. Before he was halfway there, alarms were ringing in his head. The car window was worse than dirty; it was splattered with something dark. He reached the car and looked inside. Neal was sitting rigidly behind the wheel, looking straight ahead, eyes open. The window on the driver’s side had a single, neat hole in it and there was a bloody wound the size of a golf ball in Neal’s right temple.

Eric instinctively ducked, and tried to open the passenger door. It was locked. Back door, too. He risked another look. The locking knob on the driver’s side was up, only the one door unlocked. Something strange about that, but he had to get to Neal’s body. The man might have something on him, even a note, a phone number, anything. At the moment that seemed most important. At the moment he did not think that Neal’s assailant would have dared to remain in the area. Still, he was a moving shadow when he went around the car in a crouch, keeping below window level and jerking the driver’s door open with one hand. As he swung the door open his eyes moved towards the shadowed entrance to the high school auditorium. A bright flash there was nearly simultaneous with a popping sound, then a crunch in the window above his head. Neal’s body toppled out of the car on top of him, pushing him to the ground, as there was another flash from the shadows. Neal’s body jerked.

Eric sucked air, eyes focused on where the flash had come from. He extended his arm and grabbed his gun hand, lining up the fluorescent dots on front and rear sights, and locking his shoulder. He squeezed off five shots rapid-fire, the roar of the Colt shattering a peaceful night.

He pushed Neal to one side, his eyes fixed on his target, and saw a shadow move. A man ran from the auditorium entrance, heading towards the red-rock scree hill on the other side of the stadium. He carried a rifle by a handgrip. An M16. Eric had recognized the sound of it with a silencer. He’d used the same weapon with deadly purpose, and now he was the target.

Eric took careful aim and squeezed off another shot. The man jumped, but didn’t slow.

Eric chased him, but at one mile altitude found breathing at full-sprint more of a challenge than he expected. The man he chased widened the gap as he headed towards the highway, and disappeared over a hillock. Eric got to the brow of the hill just in time to see a small van pulling away from the other side of the highway and heading south. He squeezed off his last shot, and was gratified by a loud clang coming from the van before it drove out of sight.

He reloaded, and waited a while in case the van doubled back, and then he walked back to the car to inspect the body of a man who had probably had important information for him. He searched both the body and the car.

And found nothing.

He had to move fast. Surely there were routine police patrols around the high school. Gil was too far away, too many delays using intermediaries. Davis could be involved in Neal’s murder. That left one man.

Eric called Leon on his cell phone. The man picked up after seven rings, and sounded groggy. Eric told him what had happened, “I have to get the body and his car out of here. We don’t want the police involved.”

“Stay right where you are,” said Leon, fully awake. “I’ll make a call, and be there in ten minutes.”

Eric could only wait and hope the police didn’t arrive first. He used the time to find the seven spent cartridge cases from his Colt, and squirreled pistol and spare clips under the front seat of his car. He tried to rehearse a reason for being there. I was driving home from Cottonwood, officer, and my window was down. I heard loud explosions, and saw flashes of light from the school. I thought there was a fire, but when I drove in I found this. Poor man. No I.D., no wallet. What a terrible thing to happen here.

He heard the roar of the Humvee before it turned into the lot. Leon jumped out and pointed to Eric’s car. “Get out of here. Go to my house through the tunnel, and wait for me. We’ll clean up.”

As he said it, two black vans pulled into the parking lot and drove right up to where Eric was standing. The four men who got out wore butch-cuts, and were dressed in slacks and woolen sweaters. Two of them picked up Neal’s body and dumped it into the back of one van while the other two rummaged in the man’s car.

“I’ve already checked it,” said Eric. “It’s clean.”

The men ignored him. “Go on, Eric,” said Leon. “We’ll handle it.”

Eric got into his car and drove away. Before he even got out of the lot he saw that Neal’s car had been started and was backing up. He was suddenly conscious of possible police patrols, and drove carefully just under the speed limit down 89A and back up Dry Creek Road. He garaged the car and holstered the Colt again under his left arm, went down to his basement and used the tunnel to Leon’s house. It was a twelve-minute walk, and when he tried the door to the house it was locked and he’d stupidly left the key behind. What now? His nerves were edgy. He settled them by jacking a cartridge into the forty-five and holding it loosely in one hand.

The wait seemed long, but wasn’t. Eric knocked on the door every few minutes. After several tries there was a thump from the other side, and the door opened.

Leon was there, and looked angry. He glanced at the big Colt in Eric’s hand. “No weapon, huh? Now get in here and explain to me what this was all about tonight.”

They went upstairs, past the odor of gun oil and powder residue. Leon put coffee on, and opened a package of cookies. Eric told him Neal had said he had important information for him, had given him a number to call and when. He didn’t say anything about Neal’s note.

“The guy’s a civilian engineer. What could he know?”

“Whatever, someone made sure we wouldn’t know it,” said Eric. “So you knew Neal.”

“I knew of him,” said Leon. “Project engineer since the start: Wright Patterson, NASA, MIT graduate, very capable, but still an engineer. A hardware man.”

“Maybe he knew someone we need to talk to.”

“Could be. Anything he said could give us a lead. Have you told me everything? We’re supposed to be working together, Eric. Are we?”

“What reason would I have not to?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Interagency rivalry, something I’ve said, my after shave, could be anything.”

“You CIA?”

“My, we’re blunt tonight. Did they teach you that in NSA school?”

“Wrong bait. Keep fishing.”

“Don’t need to. I looked you up in our mutual database. I’m sure you’ll find me in there, too, if you already haven’t. You know what they have listed for you? On leave for special assignment. That means you’re black as hell, dear boy. Deep, deep. Well, so am I, and it doesn’t make any difference what special ops units we’re assigned to. We’re both here to save this project. We’re working for the good old US of A.”

“Okay, then I’ll go first. I know that commercial interests are trying to get hold of this plane. Are you involved with that in a personal way? Maybe a little something to pad a federal retirement?”

“Is this going to be twenty questions?”

“If you don’t answer the first one, I’ll call my operations director and get one or both of us pulled.”

“I’m involved in it up to my ass, and you are, too. You just don’t know it yet. I heard my party acquaintance call you for lunch, or was it a cookie?” Leon waved a cookie at him.

“Lunch. We meet tomorrow.”

“Don’t believe his business card. I’ve checked, and it’s a phony. I think he’s someone’s lawyer. See if you agree. The offer will be tempting, since you’ll actually be working with the aircraft. His name is phony, and so is the company he’s supposed to own. We traced the so-called executive secretary that answers his calls to an unemployed schoolteacher in a Jersey apartment. I’m still trying to find out what company or conglomerate he’s working for, and how they found out about the plane in the first place. They’re probably aerospace. Davis will be up for retirement soon, and what better golden parachute than a fat consultantship.”

“So Davis is in on it.”

“He is the man. When I started digging he came up with an offer I couldn’t refuse. Do I actually appear to be corruptible? Dear me. He doesn’t seem to feel the same way about you. As a matter of fact, I think you frighten him. Which brings me to my first question. My turn, now. I wonder how a career military man could fear a data analyst like you, unless you’re more than that. Your entire career is special ops and deep cover with a few visible assignments for tech transfer, but I’ve checked your academic degrees and they are real. So, Mister Price, why are you here? To analyze data on something that doesn’t work yet?”

“That’s two questions.”

“Yuck, yuck. So answer the fucking first one first.”

“I’m here to save the project, and that includes data analysis. It includes identifying our tech transfer friends, and their country or countries, and why the technology has come without documentation. It includes identifying corporate spies trying to steal said technology, and the saboteurs trying to slow or stop the project. And now we can add the murderer of Neal Johnson to the list. That enough for you?”

Leon reached out and tapped Eric’s shoulder holster at his armpit. “Identify—and eliminate. You didn’t mention that.”

“First things first,” said Eric.

“I can accept that.” Leon pulled back his coat to reveal the holster there, a black grip with an extended magazine protruding from it. “At least we’re on the same page. The corporate spies are mine. We find them; they die, all the way up to any CEO involved. The saboteurs are yours.”

“A bit extreme. My orders don’t read like that.”

“Mine do, so don’t interfere if we get to that point. We’re supposed to be allies.”

“Fair enough. Now what do we do?”

“Business as usual. Neal has disappeared, and you wonder why. We’ll do an autopsy and check the slugs in his body.”

“They’re from an M16.”

“We’ll check it out, and I want to get Davis’ reaction to Neal’s disappearance. This could even have been a corporate hit, or it could be the saboteurs we’re chasing. We have to separate out the bad guys, and then kill all of them.”

“And somewhere along the way I want to see that airplane doing something that tells me this entire project isn’t a waste of time,” said Eric.

“Now, now, keep the faith. Someone high up thinks this is vital to national defense, or you and I wouldn’t be here.”

“A hired killer, and a data analyst?”

Leon smiled. “Make that three hired killers, at least. And one of them isn’t working with us.”

Eric had to agree with that.