Sedona Conspiracy

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.”

“If you’ve read the books, you’ve seen the photographs.”

“Could be fakes, or real phenomena, I don’t know, but it’s all become mixed up with new-age commercialism.”

“Including auras, and crystal resonances?” Nataly said softly.

Eric suddenly realized he was treading on dangerous ground. “More phenomena that could be real or faked. I’ve heard of respectable scientists who claim to have seen auras, but I’ve never held a crystal in my hand and felt anything other than rock. I know crystals can have vibrational resonances; we used to use them in radios. It’s the idea of resonances tuned to a person that I find hard to believe. I’d have to have physical proof to be convinced.”

“I’ll take that as a challenge,” said Nataly, and her eyes sparkled with delight. “You’ve just told me some things I can use to entertain you after dinner. Would you like another beer?”

“I’m fine,” he said, then, “I’m curious about your house. It must be custom built.”

That was good for ten minutes of conversation without Eric having to think of anything clever to say. It was also informative. Nataly’s father had not been some rich industrialist. He’d arrived in Sedona in the forties, a kid with a few dollars in his pocket. He’d worked for a grower for several years, living a Spartan existence, bought land and become a grower himself. By the time he met Nataly’s mother Maria he had a hundred acres of fruit trees and grapes, and had purchased the property overlooking Cathedral Rocks. Maria was part German, part Havasupai. She was barely out of high school and working in a grocery store when her itinerant family moved on without her. For Nataly’s father Donald it had been love at first sight. For Maria it had been survival first, then love. They were married after a courtship of three months, but Nataly had come along much later. She grew up in a doublewide mobile home where her mansion now stood, went to school in Sedona, some college in Prescott, then home again to start her business.

“You’ve lived your entire life in Sedona?”

“Yes,” she said, and then, as if reading his mind, “All that I know about the world has come from schooling and reading. I’ve felt no need to travel, but it might be interesting someday.”

“I’ve traveled in business, spent most of my time in meetings and hotel rooms, alone, and little time for sight seeing. Traveling on vacation, without appointments or even a cell phone is the way to go.”

The servant arrived to announce dinner. Eric moved quickly to slide her chair back as she stood. Again, she hooked her arm in his and walked him to the dining room. Two places facing each other had been set at the end of the massive oaken table that seated fourteen. Small salads awaited them. They sat. In candlelight, Nataly’s eyes seemed amber, her arms copper and glowing.

“I wish you could have met my father,” she said suddenly.

The tone of her voice when she said it made Eric’s face flush, and he hoped she didn’t see it in the dim light.

“Being missed so much is a tribute to the person. I’ve never experienced that.”

“He’s only been gone four years. To this day we don’t know the cause. Some kind of rapidly developing pneumonia that killed him overnight. He was a healthy man.”

“Did you have an autopsy done?” Eric felt a crawling in his stomach, but took a bite of salad and chewed thoughtfully.

“Yes. There was no sign of viral or bacterial infection. The doctors were mystified. They say he died of natural causes, but can’t tell me what they were.”

Her eyes hadn’t left his since they’d been seated, and she hadn’t taken a bite of food or even lifted a fork. “What else could it be?” he asked.

Nataly smiled meekly. “Delusions of a daughter who can’t accept the death of a father she thought would live forever. I even thought of murder, but who would want to kill a retired man who spent a lifetime growing fruit? I was silly with grief at the time.”

Now Nataly began eating, and didn’t look at him. She took two bites, then said softly, “It was only weeks later when we began hearing reports of strange sounds and lights in the canyons. People were reminded of the military base rumors from twenty-five years before, and I found myself trying to connect it somehow with my father’s death. I’d driven myself to the edge of something very dark, and dangerous. I sought help with several spiritual practitioners in town, and began meditations. It brought me back from a bad place, and I’m grateful for it. Do you practice any kind of meditation, Eric?”

How easily she changed the subject, he thought. She had presented him with a mystery she thought he should hear, but why would she think that of a man who sold art, a man she’d only recently met? He seemed to intrigue her, and though flattered, Eric wondered about it.

“No. I run each morning, and have a small set of weights I use at home. I sleep well at night. That’s it.”

“Well, if you’re going to live here, someone is going to have to introduce you to our culture, and I’m volunteering if you’re willing to learn something new.” Nataly rested her chin on steepled fingers, her face glowing in the candlelight.

“Sounds interesting,” he said.

“Oh, that was a nice smile. You’re finally relaxing.”

They both laughed at that, but Eric’s mind was still dwelling on what she’d told him moments before. She was beautiful, sophisticated in an ethereal way, and intelligent. He did not think she would reveal a negative about her character without reason, knowing full well that her suspicions about her father’s death might be interpreted as a negative.

Soup arrived, was consumed, and taken away. The main course was a prime rib that filled his plate. They ate leisurely. Mostly he listened. Nataly talked about the local tourist industry, and the reasons Sedona was considered by many to be the new age capital of the country. “Many come here to relax and be pampered. For others, it’s a place to find something higher than themselves, and to discover who they really are.”

“Or who they want to be,” said Eric. “I guess I’m still working on that.”

That look again, a steady gaze, her dark eyes looking for a way into his soul. For one instant it seemed like she was inside his head, studying him.

“We all have things to hide, Eric. Some of them are dangerous things, but it doesn’t mean we can’t change. It doesn’t mean we don’t deserve what we want.”

Whoa, he thought. Here we go again.

Nataly blinked, looked down at her plate. “I’m sorry. That was too personal. I shouldn’t have said it.”

“No problem. You say what you think. Most people don’t. Most people are hiding out. At least that’s the kind of people I usually deal with: the collectors, gallery owners, even the artists. They’re all playing a part, like life is a stage play. I do it too, when I’m with them. I don’t think I have to do it with you, Nataly. Why is that?”

She smiled. “Oh, now you’re looking serious.”

“I am serious.”

“And I can’t answer your question. I like talking to you. You’re a good listener. I sense intensity in you, a hint of danger, but you have an emotional, vulnerable side. You show it in your eyes, you know, when you talk, when you listen. You’re not as deep as you might think. I like that.”

“Now I’m flattered,” he said.

“Well, you should be.” Nataly turned and beckoned to her servant, who was waiting at the doorway with a silver tray holding two plates of baked Alaska lit by candles. He served them, and went away.

The ice cream made his sinuses ache for only a moment. Eric was full, but not uncomfortable. He leaned back and sighed. “I haven’t eaten like that in a long time.”

Nataly stood up, held out her hand. “There’s brandy in the living room.”

It seemed so natural to take her hand in his, to feel her fingers squeeze. She led him to the front room, now illuminated dimly by four bulky candles, one in each corner, and there was the odor of sweet grass. Curls of smoke drifted from a closed, brass pot with holes in its cover. A window was decorated with a stained glass panel lit from below, showing stars and a crescent moon. A soft, rhythmic sound came from overhead, a beat of drums, and a high-pitched harmony of voices far away.

Nataly let go of his hand as they sat down close together on a plush sofa. She poured brandy for each of them from a crystal bottle. “Do you hear the drums?” she asked softly.

“Yes. And singing.”

“Yavapai singers. Close to my mother’s tribe. She didn’t practice the old ways, but taught them to me. It’s part of who I am.”

“Then Boynton Canyon is sacred to you?” said Eric, trying to show some local knowledge. He was rewarded with a smile.

“Yes, it is. The first people came from there, if you follow tradition.”

“Lots of UFO sightings in that general area, too.”

“Yes.” Nataly leaned closer, put a hand on his arm. “Would you like to see an aura?”

“What?”

“You’re skeptical about auras. I want you to see one.”

“Oh—that. Well, sure. My mind was going in another direction just then.”

“Brandy first,” she said, handed his glass to him. They drank. “First, another candle.” She lit a tall candle on the table in front of the sofa, blew softly on it, and the flame wavered. She leaned up against him, her head touching his shoulder, and he smelled a pine scent from her hair. She blew ever so gently, and the candle flame danced in the breeze. “Watch the flame,” she whispered.

He looked at the flame to please her, saw the black wick, the wavering glow around it, felt Nataly’s warmth creeping into his arm and shoulder. The sound of the drums seemed to fade until he could actually hear the occasional sound of air escaping Nataly’s pursed lips. His heartbeat slowed, and his right hand, which had been clenched, now opened up and lay as if paralyzed on the sofa beside him.

“That’s it, Move with the flame. There is nothing else. Keep your eyes on it, now, while I move.”

Eric lost concentration for one instant as Nataly stood up and stepped around the table. She was watching him, and he immediately moved his eyes back to the flickering glow now blurred in front of him.

“Keep looking,” she said in a near whisper, and Eric went with it, feeling himself sink deeper and deeper into the sofa. Time seemed to stand still. There was a faint rushing sound in his ears, and he thought of molecules colliding. His fingertips began to tingle, and then his legs, then higher, nearing erotic pleasure until Nataly spoke again.

“Now look at me,” she said.

Eric raised his eyes from the glow of the flame. Nataly was kneeling on the floor three feet from the table, and facing him. Her eyes were closed, and her arms were crossed over her chest. Behind her, bookshelves and a sand painting were barely visible in gloom. The candle flame dully lighted the front of her, and at first there was nothing else to see but her serene beauty.

But as Eric watched her, Nataly began to glow in a new way.

Her skin first glowed faintly golden, but then the glow moved outwards and took shape like a gold fog, dynamic, with tendrils reaching out from it. Now the tendrils grew, and there were new colors: yellow, red, and a touch of blue. In seconds a beautiful pattern with cloverleaf symmetry surrounded her kneeling form, swirling in gold and shades of orange and red, with faint wisps of deep blue.

“My God,” said Eric, so softly it was less than a whisper.

And Nataly opened her eyes. The glow of emerald green there gave her eyes an almond shape, and Eric’s breath escaped him.

“See me,” she said, and it was the sound of a singing, crystal bowl, “and remember.”

She closed her eyes, and the colors faded, the glow dimming. The candle flame itself seemed to dim, and Eric was floating away as his own eyes closed and there was darkness, then a spot of light, and he was moving towards it. The light grew, and became a man, a golden man, sitting in lotus position, eyes closed.

Eric saw himself sitting there, naked, with golden skin and hair, and then there was a voice, saying, “This is who you really have been, and will be again,” and the seated man opened his eyes and smiled. He gestured with a hand. “Please sit for a while, and I will teach you what I can, for the moment.”

Eric vaguely remembered that he sat down in the vision. He could never recall what happened next. But he remembered a warm feeling when something soft and moist brushed his lips.

He opened his eyes. There was a faint beat of drums, the high-pitched sounds of an ancient song. Nataly was sitting close to him on the sofa. Her eyes glistened in candlelight as she leaned forward and kissed him softly on the mouth.

“I think you drifted off there for a while. Did you see my aura?”

“Yes. I never could have imagined the colors, and then they faded, and I guess I dozed. That was incredible, Nataly. You were beautiful.”

She kissed him again, longer this time. “We’re all beautiful, Eric, but sometimes we have to look for it. Would you like another brandy?”

“Better not, if one drink could put me to sleep.”

“I’d like to talk a lot more, but I suppose you have to get up early in the morning.”

“Oh, it’s not so late,” he said, and then glanced at his watch.

It was twelve-thirty.

“My watch is off,” he said.

Nataly looked at her watch. “It’s just after twelve-thirty. You were sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Two or three hours? I’m so sorry. This is worse than embarrassing.”

Nataly squeezed his arm. “I allowed it because you needed it. I watched you the whole time. Now we have an excuse to get together again.”

Her face was close, and Eric looked straight into her eyes. “I’d like that. I want that.”

“When?”

“I’ll call you tomorrow at your shop. I’ll know my schedule, then.”

Nataly nodded, and Eric leaned close. “I had a wonderful time tonight. Sorry I nodded away.”

“Don’t be. It was wonderful to be with you, Eric. I felt very comfortable.” Without hesitation, Natalie put a hand on the back of his neck, drew him closer, and kissed him firmly and long.

Eric heard his own intake of breath as Nataly made a little sound in her throat.

Their lips parted, breathing quickened. Nataly touched her forehead to his. “You’d better go.”

She waved goodbye at the doorway, and Eric drove home in a kind of daze. He went straight to bed, and slept soundly.

But that night, he had another conversation with the golden man.