“Mr. Andreason! Sir!” he called out in an American accent. “My name is Virgil Carter. I just flew in from Washington. I’ve got vital information for you about the abduction. I know where they were held. I know a man who was held there at the same time.”
13
Virgil Carter was in his seventies. His hair and bushy beard used to be redder, but he favored the color, and along with his suspenders, his belt and the monogram on his shirt pocket were red. After he was stopped by the policeman, he waited patiently while Mickey and Marcus had a word.
“See what this guy’s going on about,” Mickey said.
“Why do all the nut jobs like red?” Marcus said.
When Mickey turned his back, Carter called after him, “Mr. Andreason, you really ought to speak with me.”
Mickey walked on and said, “My security man will talk to you.”
With that, Mickey headed for the elevators with Dr. Spara, the Cutrìs, the girls, and their nurse.
Marcus told the policeman that he’d handle this Carter fellow and introduced himself.
“I’m Marcus Handler. What can I do for you?”
Carter said, “I know that important men like to delegate. Here’s my card, Mr. Handler.”
Virgil M. Carter, Lt. Colonel, US Airforce (Retired), Silver Springs, Maryland, www.u_an.org
Celeste drew near enough that Marcus felt compelled to introduce her.
“Do you work for Mr. Andreason as well, Ms. Bobier?” Carter asked.
“I don’t, no. Perhaps, like you, I came to Italy to help him find his son and daughter-in-law.”
“Are you in the alien-abduction field like me?” he asked.
“Not at all. I’m a psychic.”
“Well, different strokes for different folks,” he said with a loud chuckle. “Far be it from me to judge.”
Marcus’s patience was nonexistent at this point. “No, I’ll do the judging,” he said. “Look, Colonel Carter, we need to get situated in our hotel. You’ve got thirty seconds to tell me what you want.”
“Going to take more time than that.”
“Starting now.”
“Well, be like that. Okay. I run one of the largest citizens’ networks in the States on UFOs and alien abductions. A year ago, I interviewed a fellow named Ruben Sanchez from Arizona who disappeared for five months.”
Marcus looked at his watch.
“Now, I told you it was going to take more time. Just hang in there. You won’t be disappointed. Sanchez told me he was abducted from his truck one night by Grays.”
“What are Grays?” Celeste asked.
“Aliens with gray skins—sound familiar? Well, he was kept on board their craft—more on that later—and while he was there, he communicated by tapping on the wall of his—get this—his white room, with an Earth woman by the name of Helen, he said. I understand the girls’ mother’s name is Elena. Do I have your attention yet?”
Celeste sucked air through her red lips and nodded emphatically.
Another nut job, Marcus thought, but Mickey was going to be livid if he didn’t at least talk to him. “Why don’t you come with us to our hotel?”
*
Some of the media broke off and followed Marcus’s van to the hotel. It was a very short ride to the five-star resort adjacent to the Vatican. Once the photographers saw that the girls weren’t there, they took off. Carter followed Marcus and Celeste into the lobby, a study in cool, white marble, and gave out a whistle.
“I saw this one on Booking.com,” he said, “but it was way out of my price range. Air Force pension, you know, and not a lot of money in the alien-abduction game.”
“I’m not surprised,” Marcus said. “I’ve got to deal with the bags. Be right back.”
“You really a psychic?” Carter asked Celeste when they were alone.
“I really am.”
“Well, you’re the prettiest psychic I’ve ever met.”
“Have you met many?”
“You’re the absolute first.”
“And you’re my first alien-abduction gentleman.”
He seemed delighted by the innuendo. “Know what they say,” he said. “You never forget your first. So, what’s a psychic doing here, if I may ask?”
“It seems we have a confluence of interests, Mr. Carter. I’m here because shortly after the abduction, I had a vision of the girls on a spaceship with gray beings.”
He sprouted the widest of grins. “You want to know something? I am liking you more and more.”
When Marcus returned, the three of them repaired to a shaded terrace that overlooked the Vatican walls and the Castel Sant’Angelo. Carter asked if it was okay if he had lunch and Marcus told him that Mr. Andreason would spring for it. The fellow ordered half the items on the menu, while Marcus and Celeste contented themselves with coffees.
Munching on a breadstick, Carter said, “Marcus, no offense, but you seem a tad on the old side for a bodyguard. Am I missing some mad kung fu skills you possess?”
“I’m a security consultant, not a bodyguard.”
“Oh yeah, what kind of a background does a fellow need to get into that line of work?”
“I worked for the government.”
Carter drew out the words, “I see,” and laughed at himself. “In my experience, when a guy says that, he worked in Langley.”
“Something like that.”
“What is Langley?” Celeste asked.
“CIA headquarters in Virginia,” Carter said, helpfully. “Mr. Handler, it seems, was a spook. We’ve got a bunch of you guys who’re members of U-AN.”
“And that is?” Marcus asked.
“UFO Abduction Network. I founded it the day I retired from the Air Force. Want to hear my story?”
“My guess is it would take a bullet to stop you.”
“Well, you’re right about that. I spent fifteen of my twenty-two years in the Air Force at the Pentagon. I’ve always been in logistics. I was never a pilot—hell, I don’t even like to fly. Logistics isn’t sexy, but if the Air Force needed to get X materials to Y place, I was their guy. I was always vaguely aware of the subject of alien abductions—I mean, who doesn’t know about the famous cases like the Betty
