Russell rode silently in the backseat of the car, listening absently to the drone of the conversation, two soldiers discussing various trading commodities, cottonseed oil, poultry, their minds focused on ways to make a killing. Their world was ordinary, Russell thought, just a couple of guys trying to figure out some way to get ahead. He yearned to feel as they did, live an ordinary life, plan ahead in a world where the future was predictable, and nothing watched you from behind the overhanging stars.
“Here we are,” the driver said as he brought the car to a halt in front of Utah Bob’s Used Cars.
Russell pressed his face closer to the window. Utah Bob’s was a run-of-the-mill auto lot presided over by a small trailer. There was nothing to distinguish it from a hundred others he’d seen.
“Okay, let’s go,” one of the soldiers said as he opened the door.
Russell got out of the car and, escorted by the two soldiers, walked to the trailer, opened the door and stepped into a state-of-the-art medical theater, all stainless steel and spotless tile and gleaming light. Two medical technicians stood waiting by an operating table. Along the walls, variously colored lights blinked efficiently from softly purring banks of dials and screens.
A doctor stepped forward from the group. “Good evening, Mr. Keys,” he said. “I’m Dr. Kreutz and I want to thank you for letting us take a closer look at that tumor of yours.”
Russell glanced about. “Where’s Crawford?”
“Colonel Crawford has left this phase of his operation to me.”
Russell’s voice hardened. “I don’t do anything until I talk to Crawford.”
Dr. Kreutz’s warm bedside manner chilled. “It doesn’t appear to me that you’re in any position to make demands, Mr. Keys.”
Two armed soldiers suddenly appeared.
“Prep him,” Dr. Kreutz said.
Russell summoned the last reserves of his strength, wheeled around and kicked one of the technicians just as the other swept forward and sank the needle into his side.
“Stay away from my boy,” he cried, the words coming from him like something screamed from the stage as the curtain falls.
“All right, let’s begin,” Dr. Kreutz said.
The two soldiers lifted Russell onto the table while the surgeon waited.
“Good,” Kreutz said. He looked at the surgeon. “Be very, very careful.”
The surgeon nodded, then made an incision in Russell’s forehead, peeled back the skin, and with a surgical saw, took off a large section of the skull. Then he took a probe from a metal tray and gently inserted it into Russell’s brain. “There it is,” he said after a moment.
Kreutz smiled as he watched the surgeon draw out a small, darkly glistening mass. “At last,” he whispered. “Physical proof of…”
Suddenly the table rattled as Russell’s body heaved and began to thrash about.
“Seizure,” the surgeon cried. “Get me the retractor!” He glanced at the technician who stood beside him and saw that he was in some kind of trance. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” he shouted.
The technician dropped to his knees and in a quick, slashing motion cut his own wrists, red torrents gushing from the severed veins.
Kreutz stared about, his face frozen in shock and terror. They were all moving like robots now, soldiers and technicians, responding to nothing but the inaudible commands inside their own heads. In stricken horror, he watched one soldier step up behind the surgeon and cut his throat. The other soldiers suddenly raised their rifles and fired in all directions, shooting mindlessly, filling the room with fiery sparks and thick smoke, until a bullet hit the oxygen tanks and a blast rocked the building and the trailer exploded in a single ball of flame.
Jesse startled as an MP entered the cell. “Come with us,” one of them commanded.
“What’s going on?” Jessie asked fearfully.
“We got orders to move you. That’s all I know.”
Jesse followed them down the corridor, then out of the building. He could see military personnel scattering in all directions, a frenzy of activity.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Russians shot down one of our U2s,” the MP said as he ushered Jesse into another building. “You’re being taken to a bomb shelter.”
Inside, the room was pitch black, save for a single naked bulb.
The MP stared at Jesse threateningly, then stepped out of the room,
Jesse slumped down on the bare floor. He could hear the two MPs talking beyond the door.
“You hear what happened to Henderson and Slide? They were transporting some guy for a secret surgery, and the building blows up.”
Jesse got to his feet, rushed to the door and pressed his ear against it.
“Killed the guy.”
Jesse felt the world empty, all brightness dim. “Dad,” he whispered as he slumped to the floor.
“Did you hear what happened?” Owen asked as Marty and Howard took their places before his desk.
“Happened, sir?” Howard asked tentatively.
“To Russell Keys.”
Howard and Marty exchanged glances.
“Where the hell have you two been, anyway?” Owen demanded.
“ Montana,” Howard answered shakily.
“You told us to bring you a smoking gun, sir,” Howard said, “We were following a lead and…”
“And?” Owen asked.
“Dead end,” Howard answered.
Owen eyed Howard suspiciously.
“All right,” Owen said. “You can go.”
Howard and Marty headed for the door.
“Oh, Howard,” Owen said suddenly. “Can you stay for just a minute, I need your help with something at home. Personal.”
“Yes, sir,” Howard said, then stepped over to Owen’s desk as Marty left the room, closing the door behind him.
“Something going on with Marty?”
“How do you mean?”
“He feels to me like someone who’s about to try an end run,” Owen said. He looked at Howard sternly. “Keep an eye on him. I rely on you completely. You’re my eyes and ears out there, Howard.”
Howard came to attention. “Yes, sir.”
Anne took the photo that showed her husband standing on the tarmac at Roswell and hurled it against the wall. Drunkenly, she tottered to Owen’s desk. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she sang blearily.
Outside the room, Eric and Sam huddled by the door, listening as their mother ransacked their father’s office.
“I’m calling Dad,” Eric said urgently.
“He’d just make things worse,” Sam replied. “Let me try to talk to her first.”
“Talk to her if you want to,” Eric said dismissively. “But I’m calling Dad.”
He rushed down the hallway as Sam opened the door to Owen’s office and stepped inside.
“What are you looking for?” he asked his mother.
“Evidence,” Anne said. Her head tilted slightly, like a vase about to topple.
