attract more attention, so they were housed nearby. Besides, Bertram didn't want to let this group out of his sight.
He was convinced that at least one of the detainees was a fugitive the Special Unit was looking for. Bertram was not a part of the S.U., but he had served with Matthew Margolin back in Vietnam, and had stayed friends with him during the three decades since. The secrets both men carried of atrocities committed by their group during the war were binding enough, but in addition Bertram actually liked Margolin.
The colonel wasn't ultimately clear on what it was that the Special Unit did… other than covert ops… or why it wanted these kids, but the things he had seen this morning told him that whatever it was, it was something very unusual. The teenage boy had actually appeared to change his face, and he had knocked down several agents with a gesture of his hand. And then there were the strange ash-piles the troops had found in the warehouse, heaps of dusty residue that apparently had been human beings at some point not too long before.
Bertram wasn't sure whether the kids were some kind of psychics or experiments run amok. Sure, the idea sounded like some kind of science-fiction story or something. Hell, he had loved Stephen King's Firestarter, but he was reasonably certain that The Shop and Lot Six didn't actually exist. Though if it does, it's exactly the type of thing that Margolin would be involved with, he thought. And Matt does look a little like George C. Scott from the movie. He chuckled to himself.
Several minutes later, the caravan arrived at the underground 'office,' and the three captives were placed in solitary cells equipped with reinforced steel bars.
Bertram put the soldiers who had been in the transport on guard duty. They knew what the kids… or at least the boy, when he was conscious… were capable of, and would be more alert than new assigns. He made his way back to his office and sat behind his desk. Using a series of protocols and passwords, he logged in to a database from his desktop computer.
He and his men had been led to the warehouse by an anonymous tip, and had arrived to discover that the police were already on premises. According to these files, the tipster appeared to have been right on target. One of the girls was wanted in conjunction with the destruction of Rogers Air Force Base near Roswell, New Mexico, in May 2002. Tess Harding. The report was vague about the extent of her involvement, but clearly marked her as a person of interest who should be detained for questioning. Agents were referred to a number that Bertram recognized as a Special Unit line.
Very interesting, he thought. What could a small blond teenage girl from New Mexico have to do with the immense explosion that had decimated Rogers? She doesn't exactly fit the al-Qaeda profile.
Bertram scrolled down the page to see if he could discover any further clues to the mystery before calling Margolin. A few lines onto the second page, he felt a shot of adrenaline hit his system. Linked to Tess Harding were six other names of possible accessories, and fellow persons of interest. He clicked on the first two files to open them.
Maxwell Evans opened first. Doesn't look familiar.
Isabel Evans. His mouth opened, and he shut it with a snap. That was the other girl they had captured. Her hair was wilder now, and she looked as though she had lived a lot of years since the picture was taken, but it was undeniably the same girl.
He hurriedly clicked the other files open.
Elizabeth Parker. Nothing. Maria DeLuca. Nothing again. Kyle Valenti. Nada.
And then Michael Guerin. Bertram smiled. Another hit. This was the kid they had zapped into submission. The one who had changed his face and used the weird powers against them. Guerin had quite a file built up as well, including several brushes with the law, and a murder trial at which he'd been found not guilty. Since he was a juvenile, his record was supposed to be sealed and expunged, but this was a military intelligence file. We don't expunge anything, Bertram thought.
He noticed that all of the kids were from Roswell, which made sense, if they were connected to this Tess Harding girl. The only thing he knew about Roswell was the myth about UFOs and a supposed government cover-up of the existence of aliens and…
The thought hit Bertram like a shot. What if this Guerin kid isn't some kind of Lot Six psychic mutant, but a real, live alien? He knew the notion was absurd, and yet it could almost make sense. This could be what the Special Unit is about.
There was only one way he was going to find out the truth, and he knew just the man who could tell him.
He picked up the phone and dialed Margolin's number.
Washington, D.C.
Matthew Margolin was pleased. A few minutes ago he had heard from Agent Harrison that the Roswell group had been located in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and local agents from the field office had been dispatched to capture them. He paged Bartolli, then grabbed some of the things he'd need.
He stepped out of his office and spoke to his assistant. 'Ellen, please send out a Code Seven alert. I want a plane waiting, and eight armed agents. “
'Yes, sir, Mr. Margolin,' she said, and began simultaneously punching keys on her computer and tapping a code into the phone. Her ambidexterity made her a highly valued assistant.
Margolin's cell phone rang, and he flipped it open. 'Dale? “
There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a familiar voice. 'Not Dale. This is Colonel Grant Bertram. Do I have Matthew Margolin? “
Margolin ducked back into his office and closed the door. 'Yeah, this is Matt. Hey, Grant. What's up? “
'Are you still in charge of that Special Unit?' Bertram asked.
'Why? “
'Because if you are, then I'm about to make your day. “
Margolin's interest was piqued. 'Yes, the Unit is still mine. What do you have for me? “
'Very early in the A.M. we got a tip that some fugitives would be at a certain location here in New York City. When we arrived, the local cops were already there, and the scene was a disaster. We're talking gas, guns, and the whole shebang. “
Bertram paused for a moment, as if to accentuate what he was going to say next. 'There were three people captured. The rest seemed to vanish or something. All they found were piles of ash where the suspects used to be. “
Margolin nodded. 'Who were the captures? “
'I believe they're some kids you're very interested in.
Some kids from Roswell. Isabel Evans, Michael Guerin, and Tess Harding.' Bertram's words hung in the air.
Margolin tried to contain the excitement in his voice, but knew he hadn't quite succeeded. 'You have them in custody? “
'Yeah, here on-site. They've been separated, and one of them's been juiced. He gave us quite a bit of trouble during capture. He displayed some… unusual abilities. You got a clue what I mean? “
'I might,' Margolin said, keeping his tone as noncommittal as possible. 'Were there any others with the three you caught? “
'If there were, the cops didn't get them,' Bertram said. 'The troops seemed pretty freaked out, on the whole. A few said they saw people turning to ash, but there was a lot of smoke and gas in the air, so who knows what they really saw. And there was some kind of explosion in the basement of the building. Apparently the RD. was on-scene because there had been gunshots reported. It looked like some sort of gang war was going on. “
Bartolli appeared at the door. He looked as slick as a shark in his dark suit, and even though he carried only a briefcase, Margolin knew that the man was armed for serious hunting.
