Taken

Chapter One

As he made his way to home plate, Jacob Clarke knew what the other kids were thinking, that he was an easy strikeout.

He picked up the bat. It felt tremendously heavy in his hands, as if it were made of steel. He placed the bat on his shoulder and looked at the pitcher. For a moment he felt too weak to swing, his pale fingers barely able to hold the bat in place.

“You all right?” the coach asked.

Jacob nodded.

The pitcher wound up and threw a fastball. Jacob watched the ball whiz past him. He didn’t move.

Strike.

A second ball cut past him in a straight line across his chest.

Strike two.

Jacob noted the cocky smile on the catchers face. He squinted slightly, focusing his concentration, stared the pitcher right in the eye, and for an instant, the pitcher seemed captured in his gaze.

The ball came hurtling toward home plate and Jacob felt a terrible strength gather in his arms. He swung hard and fast, the bat cracking loudly as it connected to the ball.

Kids were yelling at him madly now, but their voices were distant, and he stood in place, unable to move as the ball lifted in a wide arc over the field, soaring higher and higher, the earth tilting oddly as it rose… or so it seemed to Jacob as his knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground. The next thing he knew, he was in the school infirmary, lying on a hospital bed, light streaming through the window, bright and engulfing, but a different light than the one before, mere ordinary sunlight rather than… some other kind.

“Jacob, do you know who I am?”

Jacob opened his eyes to see a man standing before him. He was dressed like a doctor, but his eyes were black pools, intense and unlighted.

“You have certain capabilities, Jacob,” the man said. “But you shouldn’t use them again. They’re making you weak.”

“I’m sorry,” Jacob whispered.

“We’ll find another way,” the man told him.

As if on command, Jacob closed his eyes.

“Jack! Jack!”

Jacob opened his eyes, and everything had changed. Time had gone by. Perhaps an hour. Perhaps an age. Now a different doctor was at his side, with different eyes, soft and full of care.

“I’m Dr. Benson. I’m sorry it took so long to get to you.” He smiled warmly. “Now, let’s take a look at you,” he said.

Jesse Keys felt the wind in his hair. He was moving fast, pedaling rapidly, the bike speeding along. He felt his teenage legs pumping hard, but the bike seemed to float beneath him, surging ahead under its own power, as if it were alive.

He wheeled into the alley, braking slightly at the sight of an old truck. The truck was pulled over to the side, and as Jesse went around it, he noticed its painted sign, TRAVELING ATTRACTIONS.

A carnival van, Jesse thought. He pumped the pedals and glided past the cab of the truck, where a man sat behind the wheel. The carny turned to Jesse, nodded briefly, and offered a dark smile.

Jesse pumped again, harder this time, and the bike lurched ahead. From behind, he heard the engine of the truck, glanced back and saw that it was following him.

He slammed down on the pedals, his legs pumping fiercely now, but the truck continued to bear down upon him, the roar of its engine growing louder and louder as it closed in.

He wheeled around, and gasped as two orbs of light swept toward him from the far end of the alley. He glanced back, and the truck was gone, replaced by a third light. Frantically he whirled around, then back again, all the lights closing in. He could feel them like arrows, coming at him faster and faster, the light building to a blinding radiance that suddenly engulfed him and lifted him, the world falling away as his bike rolled down the alley, staggered and finally collapsed, riderless and abandoned, its front wheel spinning in the fading light.

Owen sat at his desk. Marty and Howard stood in front of him, waiting to hear the results of President Kennedy’s visit.

“He doesn’t think our visitors are a threat,” Owen sneered. “We have one month to prove to him that they are. If we don’t, he’ll shut us down and give our money to the space program.” He sat back for a moment and considered the years of effort that were about to go up in smoke, the two sons he barely knew, the wife who’d become a drunk and a pill-popper he dreaded seeing at the end of the day.

“There’s this couple,” Marty began cautiously.

Owen looked at him. “Go on.”

“Named Betty and Barney Hill,” Marty said. “Encounters in 1961. On their way back from Niagara Falls. He’s a postal clerk. She’s a child welfare worker. Very solid people, both of them.”

“Very solid people who claim they were taken aboard a craft,” Howard added.

“Taken?” Owen asked. His eyes brightened. “What else?”

“They’re being treated by hypnosis,” Marty said. “Like they use on amnesia victims.”

Owen nodded. “This could be what we’re looking for.”

Marty handed Owen a picture of the couple.

Owen’s face soured. “No Negroes,” he said as he handed it back. “That clouds the issue.” He glanced from one man to the other. “Keep trying. There must be somebody else.”

Russell Keys pulled himself out from under the ‘56 Buick Special. His boss, Mr. Kennelworth, was already headed home for lunch. Over the past five years, he’d gotten the man’s trust, proven that he wasn’t a bum or a criminal, just a middle-aged guy who needed steady work, and was willing to stick to it.

He walked to the workbench, where he’d left a can of soda before climbing back under the Buick. He took a sip, and suddenly felt a searing blade of pain across his brow. He placed the can against his head, hoping the cold would help, and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again Jesse stood before him, tall and slender, as handsome at sixteen as Russell had been at the same age.

Russell felt his eyes grow moist. “Hey, Jesse,” he said. “How did you know I was here?”

“I heard Mom talking to Bill. She said you’d gotten a job as close to us as you were legally allowed.”

Russell looked at Jesse, a sad smile on his face. “You grew up.”

Jesse was quiet for a moment, then seemed to remember his purpose. “I’ve been reading these books where the government knows about flying saucers and they’re afraid if they tell us there will be a panic.” He drew the book from his pocket and handed it to Russell.

Russell glanced at the book. On the cover, two shadowy men faced an illustrator’s version of a flying saucer. The title was equally melodramatic: conspiracy- WHAT THE GOVERNMENT DOESN’T WANT YOU TO KNOW ABOUT UFOS.

Russell glanced up from the book and saw it in Jesse’s eyes, an unbearable dread. “They started taking you again,” he said.

“Yes.”

Russell drew his son quickly into his arms.

For a time, Jesse remained in his father’s embrace. Then, like one returned to his purpose, he pulled himself out of it. “It says it’s mostly the Air Force that knows about this sort of thing,” he said. “I was thinking. You were a pilot, so why don’t we go talk to them?”

It was a naive idea, Russell knew, the desperate hope of a frightened young boy who’d suddenly found his world dissolving around him. It was born of a need to find the truth, and Russell suddenly felt in league with his son, no less desperate to try anything, even the most far-fetched connection. “Yes, why don’t we,” he said with a quiet smile. “We can start with the son of my old bombardier. He’s in the Air Force. We can go talk to him.”

They’d done just that a few days later at Hill Air Force Base in Ogden, Utah, and with the result Russell could have easily predicted. Lieutenant Wylie had been nice enough, polite and open until the first talk of flying saucers. He’d tried to be indulgent after that, but Russell had seen the dreadful conclusion in his eyes, falling like a hammer: Wylie’s certainty that Russell and Jesse Keyes were a father-and-son nutcase. Still, Wylie had kept listening, and even offered to make a report. But there would be no report, Russell knew. Nor should he have expected Wylie to react any differently than he had. The problem was that there were moments when your own loneliness and desperation made you briefly hope that something might change, that someone, somewhere would believe you. Jesse had roused that hope in him. But Wylie’s response had returned him to reality, the sheer fact that only those who had truly been taken knew the truth, and that it was this anguished certainty that kept them in permanent isolation from their fellow man.

“He didn’t believe us,” Russell said now as he and Jesse sat in a local diner. “No one ever believes us.”

“Then what can we do?” Jesse asked.

Russell started to answer, but the searing pain in his head abruptly returned, silencing him. It was like a fire moving through his brain, a blade of boiling steel. “I… I…” He felt the room close in and then expand, the walls tip and slide. The last thing he saw was Jesse reaching for him as he fell.

It was night when he awoke again. Jesse stood beside his bed, along with a tall man in a white coat. He could see the worry in his son’s face.

“Tell me,” he said to the doctor.

“You have a brain tumor,” the doctor said. “In the frontal lobe.”

“Can you take it out?”

The doctor shook his head. “I’ve never seen one quite like it,” he said.

Jesse’s face tightened, and Russell realized just how deeply and permanently his son’s world had changed. Fear was the ever-rising water Jesse swam in now, fear and bafflement and the overwhelming sense that the visible world was little more than a whirling montage, film on film, the flickering windows of a passing train.

“What is it, Jesse?” he asked. “What are you thinking?”

“That if you have a tumor, I may have one too,” he said. He looked at the doctor. “Can you give me the same tests you just gave my dad?”

The doctor seemed to see Jesse’s fear and desperation. “All right,” he said.

The tests were conducted the same afternoon, the results displayed in stark black and white a short time later: two brains, each with identical spots at the front.

“Exactly the same size,” the doctor said. He seemed hardly able to believe his own eyes. “And in exactly the same place.”

Howard and Marty strolled alongside the vast gray hangar.

“One month,” Howard said. “One month to find Owen something he can give to Kennedy.”

Marty peered about glumly. “What are we going to do?”

“Do you remember Jacob Clarke?” Howard asked.

Marty stopped and looked at him, puzzled. “Sure. The only person I’ve ever seen that scared the colonel.”

“The day after the… incident, the kid’s brother drove to Montana,” Howard said. “He had no business dealings there, no known friends. I did a little research. Jacob Clarke disappeared right after Owen tried to nab him. The thing is, his mother still lives in Texas.”

“So where’s the kid?” Marty asked.

Howard smiled. “Turns out there’s a school in Wallace, Montana, for ‘special’ kids. Run by a Dr. Ellen Greenspan.”

Marty grinned back. “Let’s find out what it is that scares the colonel so badly,” he said.

Owen listened carefully as Dr. Kreutz concluded his report.

“Seventy-six encounters with our little gray friends,” the doctor said. “The nature of the encounters seems to be changing. We have stories of missing time. In a few cases, hypnotherapy has filled in those hours, and they appear to be abductions.”

“Missing time,” Owen said thoughtfully. “They’re exposed during this time?”

“Probably.”

“But in the past, exposure to more than ten minutes was fatal.”

“So they’ve learned from their mistakes,” Kreutz said. “Something has changed in their agenda. Or, if not in their overall view, certainly in their methodology. They are ‘upping the ante’ as I believe you say.”

“Why now?” Owen asked.

“Why not?” Kreutz replied.

“Can we prove this?”

Kreutz shrugged.

“I need the most credible of these people,” Owen said, almost to himself. “I need evidence that I can drop in Kennedy’s lap before he pulls the plug.”

Dr. Ellen Greenspan stepped into the corridor and faced the two men who’d accompanied her to the classroom. “I don’t know what else I can tell you,” she said. “He’s gone.”

Howard and Marty exchanged glances, then Howard turned back to Dr. Greenspan. “Do you generally just let your students go off like that without checking on them?”

“Of course not,” Dr. Greenspan replied. “Two federal officers came here. Their credentials looked every bit as genuine as yours… shall I notify the police?”

Marty shook his head. “We’ll take care of that.”

“Maybe I’d better,” Dr. Greenspan said. She looked at Marty pointedly. “Do you generally just let two sets of government agents do the same job without checking on them?”

Marty bristled. “Dr. Greenspan, we are from the United States Air Force. This is a matter of the utmost security. We need your cooperation.”

Dr. Greenspan shrugged. “I’m doing my best.”

The two officers stared at her silently for a moment, then turned and headed down the corridor.

Dr. Greenspan waited until they were safely outside the building, then walked quickly to her car, got in, then turned to the backseat.

“Jacob?” she said softly.

The small body rustled under the blanket. “Yes.”

“You’re going to have to stay under there a little while longer. I’m not sure I convinced our friends that you were already gone.”

She turned to the wheel, hit the ignition and pulled away from the curb. In the rearview mirror, she saw an old brown Ford draw in behind her.

“Dr. Greenspan?”Jacob said.

“Yes, dear.”

“Those men are following us.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Go a little bit farther. Don’t worry. I won’t let them hurt you.”

Dr. Greenspan continued until she reached Highway 12, then headed west, the air darkening around her as night fell.

From behind the wheel of the old Ford, Marty watched Dr. Greenspan turn west on Highway 12 while Howard studied the map spread out on his lap.

“If she hits eighty-seven and turns north, she’s heading for Canada,” Howard said.

“I hate driving in the dark like this,” Marty told him. “It makes me nervous.”

Howard continued to study the map. “If she goes south, she could be heading for Billings.”

“What if I hit a deer?” Marty said worriedly.

Howard looked at him sharply, then reached under his jacket and pulled out his pistol. “Pull up alongside,” he said. “I’ll shoot her before she gets going too fast. The kid won’t get hurt.”

Marty glanced at the pistol, then pressed down on the accelerator.

“Here they come,” Dr. Greenspan said, her eyes fixed on the rearview mirror.

Jacob pulled free of the blanket. “On three, stop the car and then lie down flat on your seat. It’ll be all right.” He drew in a long breath. “One… two… three.”

Dr. Greenspan slammed on the brakes and dove down against the front seat.

Jacob waited, listening as the men brought their car to a halt behind Dr. Greenspan’s car, got out and came forward. He could hear the crunch of their feet as they approached. When he knew they were at his window, he turned his gaze upon them. “Look at me,” he said.

Jesse knew the moment he entered Wylie’s office that the man didn’t want to see him, thought he was a nut, a chip off the old blockhead.

“I want you to put me in touch with whoever runs the UFO program,” he said.

“There is no UFO program run by the US Air Force or any other branch of the government.”

“I don’t believe that,” Jesse said. “My father’s in a hospital,” he continued. “He has a tumor in his brain.”

“I’m sorry,” Wylie said.

“The doctors found an identical tumor in my own head,” Jesse said. “I believe the tumors were put there by…”

“Jesse, listen…”

“Put there,” Jesse continued emphatically, “by whoever comes in those UFOs the Air Force knows nothing about.”

Wylie got to his feet. “Jesse, you can’t…”

“Our fathers fought together,” Jesse said. “That ought to count for something. I don’t expect you to believe me. I just expect you to help me.”

Wylie stared at him for a moment, then released a long breath. “Okay, but if you ever say that you got this name from me, I’ll deny it.” He wrote the name on a piece of paper and handed it to Jesse.

“Thanks,” Jesse said as he took it from his hand.

Outside he looked at the name, Owen Crawford.

Wylie had not actually said the name, but Jesse had noticed the dark veil that had fallen across his features as he’d handed him the card. Because of that, he’d expected to see a far more sinister figure than the one he observed from his hiding place in the bushes outside Crawford’s house. From that limited perspective, Jesse could see only an ordinary man who had two sons and a wife who seemed at times unsteady on her feet.

He waited until Crawford left the house, then stepped before him, blocking his way to the car.

“My name is Jesse Keys,” he said. “My father’s name is Russell Keys. He was a pilot over Germany in the Second World War. He and I have both had encounters with UFOs. We have both been inside them.” He waited for a response, but the man merely waited silently for him to go on.

“They have come for us,” Jesse told him. “And they have taken us and they are going to come for us again.”

The man nodded and Jesse could see that, unlike Wylie, he was seriously considering what he’d just been told. He smiled softly. “Take me to your father,” he said.

On the way to the hospital, Jesse gave the man more details, so that by the time they stood at his father’s bed, he was fully informed.

“Whatever they did to me killed all the members of my crew,” Russell said. “I don’t know why it didn’t kill me. I tried to run from it. Then they started chasing Jesse. They seem more interested in him now, than in me.”

Crawford nodded. “You’re talking about the tumors?”

“They’re not tumors,” Russell answered. “They’re something they put in our heads. In a place where the doctors say it can’t be taken out.”

Jesse shook his head disconsolately. “If someone put it in, then someone ought to be able to take it out.”

“They can take it out,” Crawford said with certainty. “But it would kill you.” He smiled at Russell. “You have a very brave son, to be willing to go head-on at danger. To ‘fly blind.’ ” He turned back to Jesse. “I’m impressed. Especially by your initiative. In finding me, I mean.”

Jesse glanced at Russell and saw it in his father’s eyes, the first hint of a dark suspicion.

“The fact is, I’m in command of a very secret group,” Crawford said. “There are several of us. We pose as regular officers, but our real mission is to gather stories of people who have been… taken.”

“So Lieutenant Wylie works for you?” Jesse blurted.

Crawford smiled. “Wylie, yes, he’s one of ours.”

Jesse looked at Russell and saw the silent command in his father’s eyes, Say nothing.

“Jesse here did the right thing in coming to me,” Owen told Russell. “You’re right, they are after him. Because it’s been passed down to him, whatever kept you from dying like the others. It’s a trait that probably runs in your family. But you’re not alone.” He glanced back toward Jesse. “There must be others, too.”

Russell saw a sinister flash in Crawford’s eyes. “Jesse,” he said. “I need to talk to Colonel Crawford in private.”

Jesse looked at Russell apprehensively.

“Just for a moment,” Russell added.

Jesse nodded, then reluctantly left the room.

Russell leveled his eyes on Crawford.

“You’ve seen them, haven’t you?” he asked.

Crawford nodded.

“Don’t hurt my son,” Russell said.

Owen released a dismissive chuckle. “Hurt your son?”

“I know you want the… tumors,” Russell said coolly. “The things they put in our heads. You can have mine, but not his. I want your word that you’ll never do anything to my son.”

“I would never hurt Jesse,” Owen assured him.

“We have a deal then.” Russell asked. “I’ll give you the tumor.”

Owen smiled. “Thank you for volunteering again to help your country.”

Dr. Greenspan pulled over at the crossroads, got out and leaned against the side of the car. The plain seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions. The road was deserted, and for a moment, she enjoyed the stillness. In the backseat, Jacob slept soundlessly, a little boy, exhausted.

She glanced to the left, and saw a truck approach from the distance. She watched silently as it drew in upon her, then hurtled by, followed by a car that drew over to the side of the road and pulled up behind her.

“Jacob’s in the backseat,” she said, as Tom and Becky got out. “We were followed, but Jacob stopped them.”

“Is he all right?” Becky asked.

“He’s in a lot better shape than the men who followed us,” Dr. Greenspan answered.

Tom glanced into the backseat of the car. “Thank you, Dr. Greenspan,” he said. “From my family.”

“He’s a very special boy,” Dr. Greenspan said. “Take care of him.”

“There’s a family he can live with,” Tom told her. “An older couple. He’ll be safe there until he’s ready to go out on his own.”

In the backseat, Jacob rustled slightly, then opened his eyes.

“Hey, Jake,” Tom said.

Owen and the wing commander stood at the end of the corridor as Jesse Keys was led toward the cell where, only a few hours earlier, Lieutenant Wylie had been taken.

“That’s the boy,” Owen said to the wing commander as the two MPs stopped before the cell door, each holding firmly to one of Jesse’s arms. “I saw Lieutenant Wylie giving him specific figures. Numbers and types of planes, payloads.” He shook his head as if appalled by such treachery. “At the time, I didn’t realize what they were doing, but when the Defcon order came through…”

“You tricked me, you bastard,” Jesse cried. He tried to break free of the MPs, but they held him in place. “You were supposed to help us and you tricked me.”

Owen smiled coldly. “Kind of young for a spy.”

“A spy!” Jesse shrieked. “What the hell are you talking about? What about the UFOs? What about the flying saucers?”

Owen shook his head, as if in astonishment at such lunacy. “He must be hopped up on something to give him the nerve to do what he did,” he told the MPs. “I just pray to God he didn’t manage to deliver his information.”

The wing commander nodded. “I’ll notify the Pentagon, let them know we have a breach.”

“Where’s my father?” Jesse demanded as the two MPs pushed him into the cell. “I want to see my father!”

Owen stared briefly into Jesse’s desperate face. Then he turned, walked out of the brig and headed toward his car. Jesse Keys was now well in hand, he thought, absolutely secure. And as to Russell Keys, what did it matter? He was worth no more than the tumor that was about to be taken from him, no more than whatever it was the visitors had sunk into his brain.

Chapter Two

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.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked. “Evidence of what?”

Anne studied Sam’s face briefly, then said, “You’re your father’s favorite. Do you know that? You always have been.” She paused. “I hope that doesn’t ruin your life.” Something flashed in her eyes and she walked to the wall safe. “That’s it. Your birthday,” she said. “Seven twenty-eight fifty-one.” She dialed the numbers.

The door opened, and she peered inside. The interior of the safe was bare save for a small piece of metal. She turned the metal in her hand, her gaze fixed on the odd markings that had been carved into it.

“What is it?” Sam asked.

“Part of your inheritance,” Owen replied.

Sam turned to see his father standing massively in the doorway.

“Your mother and I need to talk,” Owen said.

Sam obeyed immediately, though Anne hardly seemed to notice. She was peering at the metal. “My father told me about this. It came from a spaceship.”

“Anne, your father had a drinking problem,” Owen told her. “He imagined things.” He took a small step toward her. “I’m an intelligence officer. If there were a spaceship, I would have heard about it. That piece of metal is from an experimental plane the Air Force is working on. I thought I’d get it mounted for Sam.”

Anne’s gaze remained riveted on the metal.

“Anne,” Owen said, taking another small step toward her. “Do you remember the first time I took you riding?”

Anne gave no indication that she heard him. Her gaze remained fixed on the metal.

“I want it to be like that again for us,” Owen said. He gently eased the artifact from her fingers and set it down on the desk, then took her hands and held them tenderly. “Anne, we have to do something about the pills and the liquor.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes slightly glazed.

“There’s a place in Minnesota. A six-week program. You can leave tonight. I’ll have Howard drive you there.”

She released a weary breath, and he saw that she had no will to resist him.

When Howard arrived Owen escorted Anne to the car, placed her on the passenger side, then gave Howard the necessary instructions and watched, waving sweetly to Anne, as they pulled away. See you soon, he thought coldly, both of you.

A short while later Owen pulled his car across Highway 50 and waited. Howard would have to drive down this narrow, lonely road to get to Minnesota with Anne. Finally, he saw the lights, heard the country music playing on the radio as Howard brought his car to a halt.

Owen got out and walked over to the driver’s side, where Howard sat, looking at him quizzically.

For a moment, he stood by the door, reminding himself of what it was all for, and that these were not the first to be sacrificed. Then he drew the pistol from his back pocket and fired,

Howard slumped to the right, a small hole in his forehead.

“He was always a little simple, that one,” Owen said to Anne.

She stared at him, her eyes wide with terror. Then she jerked open the door and rushed down the deserted road. Owen stood in place, drew her calmly into his sights, and pulled the trigger.

She fell like something from a great height, crumpling lifelessly to the ground. He picked her up, carried her back to the car, placed the gun in Howard’s dead hand and pulled the trigger a third time.

The blast seemed to echo among the mutely watching stars.

Jesse lifted the model of a spacecraft he’d fashioned out of small strips of torn paper plate. He didn’t know how the design came to him, only that it had risen spontaneously into his mind.

He looked about the bare shelter, the wall of sandbags that rose to the concrete ceiling, and thought of his father, how sad it would make him to know that his son was here, alone, imprisoned, waiting… for whatever they were going to do to him.

He heard a whispery rustle, like the sound of wind through winter corn, glanced toward the far wall and saw the upper line of sandbags move slightly, as if rocked by earthquake. But the floor of the bunker didn’t move. The earth was still, and yet a single sandbag suddenly shifted, tilted forward and fell to the floor, lifting a wave of dust into the air.

Jesse leaped to his feet and stood, powerless and terrified, as another sandbag toppled to the floor, then another, and another, bright shafts of light shooting into the dark bunker, so that the interior now glowed softly, the light building steadily as one by one, the sandbags fell, a wall crumbling to reveal a medical room, stainless steel tables ready and waiting, with four small creatures facing him, their slender arms dangling far below their waists, and a tall figure in between, lifting his arms in welcome to his son.