Alien Deception (39 page)

"Yeah, Doc," Kerlov drawled. "I was told to come down and pick up some lab reports?"

"Which ones?" The doctor was beginning to sound more perturbed.

"How should I know?" Kerlov said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Well, who sent you?" The doctor started to turn red.

"Doctor Blake in administration."

The doctor angrily turned away and placed his hand on the phone. Kerlov moved toward him and swung his arm in an arc, his fist coming down square on the man's head, knocking him unconscious and out of the chair.

He moved toward the body on the table. Kerlov didn't look at it very closely. He didn't care who it was; besides, the guy was already dead. He removed a small device from his pocket and placed it on the corpse, then used his fingers to press the keypad. When he finished a green light glowed.

Kerlov turned, took two steps and had to stop. It felt as if his body weighed a tremendous amount. He struggled against the immobility and felt it strengthen as the intensity of his effort against it increased.

Double-crossed.

He had heard rumors that the creature paying huge sums of money for jobs was insane—or maybe something even worse. There wasn't any proof, but some said those he hired were killed to avoid any link between himself and the crimes, but they were just rumors. Even so, the sum of money offered had stroked the flame of greed in many, including Kerlov. He had thought he could avoid any pitfalls after the job was done, but he had not anticipated anything would happen until then. Whoever his generous employer was, he was well connected. This type of device was not sold on any open market, even on Acuba. The only place Kerlov imagined something of this advanced technology could be had was from the UCDW.

"May whatever God that watches over you rip off your head and spit down your neck, as he sends you to whatever Hell there is," he cursed his employer.

The explosion ripped through the morgue, disintegrating everything in the entire wing. It ensured, however, that sufficient remains of the incendiary device would be left to be detected, even by the simplistic Terrans’ methods.

Chapter Eleven

“Sometimes we refuse to see with our eyes what our heart is telling us.”

Greg Carlson

Leumas picked up the note Greg laid on the table, trying to handle the piece of paper without touching the bloody areas. Finally, he gave up as he saw that the majority of the paper had absorbed the blood, its pinkish-red color seeming to flow within the fibers of the document.

His eyes scanned what it said in a matter of seconds and then he read it again. After the third time, he placed it back in the center of the table. He felt his confusion flow over his face.

"What does it mean?" he asked Greg as Sarah picked the bloody note up and began her perusal of it. Edward peered over her shoulder.

"I'm…not sure," Greg said, shaking his head.

"It's like a riddle," Sarah stated. She read the note aloud.

"Before there was one.

Then there were four.

Now there are three.

If the reunion is a warm one

then all will be right.

But if not—all will end.

The one shall be as it was before."

 Leumas rose from the table and exhaled strongly. "A rather strange one, I might add. I'm not good at these little ditties, so I won't be much help."

Edward picked up the note. "And this was attached to the body?"

"Yes, in his hand." Greg said.

"It doesn't even hint at why the agents were murdered," Leumas noted, "but it does mention the number three in it. There were three agents."

"Nor does it seem to refer to the reporter's claims that were made today," Sarah added.

Greg reached to take the note from Sarah. "I don't think that the ‘three' has anything to do with the agents. In fact, I think killing the three was just a way to get our attention and create a media nightmare." He paused. "Look at the results. Earth is running around wondering about the alien body revealed by the reporter. The Council has a dead body brought right into its midst and is crazily speculating in all different directions about what is going on."

"Total chaos," Sarah said.

Leumas began to pace. "But, again, the question is ‘why?' And if the note doesn't pertain to the agents or what else is happening, then what does it pertain to?"

"I don't know," Greg admitted. "But I'd be willing to guess another message will be in our future. I don't think anyone would send something like this unless they were planning to draw the suspense out. Taunt us with these so-called clues, no matter how meaningless we may think they are. Until we figure something out from this, we need to settle the brush fires that have already been set."

He rubbed his eyes, red from exhaustion.

Sarah looked at him, concerned. "You need some rest."

"I know."

Sarah thought perhaps his fatigue was the reason their mental link had been broken. She wanted to talk to him alone, away from the others. She thought she could suggest a break or something and was about to when the president's secure communication laptop indicated an incoming priority message.

Edward keyed in his code and read the message. As he read, his eyes and facial expression reflected it was not good news.

"Not good," Edward said unnecessarily as he typed in his response.

"What is it?" Leumas asked.

Edward looked up from the computer. "The body of the agent that was in the morgue?"

"Yes?"

"It's been destroyed. Some type of explosion blew up the morgue and half of the hospital wing. Destroyed all the evidence that had been gathered, killed the security guards, a doctor and possibly an orderly. They have no idea what kind of device was used or how it was brought into the facility. The blast zone is something they've never seen before."

"Perfect," Leumas grumbled. "More of a mystery."

"Not a mystery. More like a conspiracy," Greg stated.

"What do you mean?" Leumas asked.

Sarah understood the meaning of Greg's comment. "Who had the most to fear from the body if it was real?"

"We did," Edward replied. "And now it will look like we set off the explosion to get rid of the evidence. I'll have Agent Brahm check the site and get samples."

Greg rubbed his hands over his face, and then grimaced. "And the unknown device will add to the accusation that maybe there is an alien or outside source directly involved in Earth affairs, thereby giving credence to the reporter's claim."

Sarah bit her lower lip. "Whoever it is, they're keeping us on the defensive."

"Which is—" Greg sighed, "—exactly where they want us."

* * * *

The FBI, Secret Service and local law enforcement officials were sifting through the remains of the wing of the hospital that had been destroyed. It consisted mostly of ash and small debris. However, it was devoid of any evidence an alien body had been there.

One of the Secret Service agents, Special Agent Charles Brahm, was one of the president's personal guards as well as one of the four secret attachés for the Council. President Samuel had requested Brahm investigate and report any significant findings to him so the president could, in turn, relay the information to Greg and the Council.

"Not much left, is there?" Agent Brahm asked the fire marshal who had responded.

"No, not at all. This'll be a tough one to figure out," Fire Marshall John Hanna said, scratching his head. "We've sent samples to the lab to try and determine the type of explosive used. But I can say this much. I've never seen this type of destructive force before or this type of incineration, and I certainly have seen my share. Spent some time in Desert Storm, saw a lot of explosions, but none come close to the devastation of this one."

"Neither have I." Brahm, however, suspected evidence would reveal the explosive was a substance familiar to him and the UCDW.

"Whatever it is, you can bet the press will be all over this and the president will be in some deep shit."

"What do you mean?"

"It's too convenient. All this shit at the press conference and now this. I wouldn't want to be in his shoes."

"I see your point. You'll let me know if you come up with anything."

"Sure."

"Thanks."

Deciding it was time to head back and make his report, Brahm moved in the direction of his car. As he walked, he noticed a gaggle of reporters were massed just outside the cordoned-off area, waiting for the opportunity to unload their barrage of questions at any passerby who might possess some information and be willing to share it. Agent Brahm gave them a wide berth.
They have the scent of blood already,
he thought,
and they're ready to leap at anything that seems vaguely interesting.

There was nothing else he could do here except forward his report immediately and get the sample of debris for analysis to the Council. The president would have to come up with something. Not only were the people of the United States looking for answers from him, the rest of the galaxy also wanted to know from the Leader of the Council what was happening.

* * * *

Raymond Schume stood in the front of the crowd as he jotted descriptive comments in his notebook as to what the site looked like, and described in words what the stench of the burning debris smelled like. He couldn't see much because the cordoned area was several hundred feet away from the nearest activity. Out of the corner of his eye, he recognized Agent Brahm heading away from them.

One of the President's personal guards here? That's kind of unusual.

"Agent Brahm," he shouted. "Can you talk with us?"

Brahm kept walking, not acknowledging him or the other reporters.

"Asshole," one of the reporters said, causing a chuckle from the group. Although they would gladly cut one another's throat for the big story, they still managed to share a moment of occasional humor.

Schume knew no one would be talking for a while. In cases like this, where there were many investigating agencies involved, the coordination of releases took much longer. Everyone got nervous about stepping on the toes of one agency until it was confirmed by at least three separate independent sources. He decided to walk back to his car where his laptop and other associated equipment were. He could use the time to think and plan his next move in light of this most recent event.

Sliding behind the wheel of the Ford Explorer, he closed his eyes for a few moments.

This couldn't get any better. I'm just rolling in credibility. I have them all scrambling around their assholes to find out what I know. Big pay raise time! And just in the nick of time, too, with the creditors talking about suing. Damn women keep me in hock, but that's about to change also. I'm going places. Book and television contracts will be coming my way after I break this baby wide open.

Two months earlier when he'd turned fifty, he'd learned that not only was he half a century old, but on the verge of losing his job, being sued by several credit card companies and being thrown out of the apartment he shared with the cockroaches. How had his boss put it? No job in his future unless he got hot—real quick.

As usual, Ray took the shortcut approach. He bought a gun. Just as he had convinced himself that suicide (after he shot his two ex-wives) was the way to go, he stumbled onto—no, not onto but
into
something.

About a month ago, he had started receiving email messages from an anonymous source. He thought for sure it was a prank when this person said they didn't want money or their name mentioned in any of the stories. In fact, his caller offered him money, lots of money, if he would help. Schume gladly accepted. What did he have to lose? All they wanted was for the truth to come out about President Samuel and how he, along with others, was misleading the American people.

Schume was skeptical at first, but the money showed up in his checking account so he checked out what he was being told. In the beginning, the information was nothing earth-shattering, but each tip turned out to be correct, proving the credibility and the reliability of the source.

His latest tip about the new space-drive engine was disturbing. He interviewed several of those involved and found "gaps" in who was actually responsible for certain phases of the project. Scientist One would claim Scientist Two had done something, and Scientist Two said he actually hadn't. The end result was they created an engine years ahead of schedule, but couldn't tell you how.

Then, about two weeks ago, new information had come via the telephone with the caller's voice scrambled. Short and to the point, the details his anonymous informant laid out were precise about the secret collusion between humans and aliens. The list of personnel and agencies involved in the conspiracy was long, but the top names included President Edward Samuel and Sarah McClendon. The caller referred to a secret alien organization, the UCDW, and how it was being purposely kept out of the public eye. Not even the top investigative services knew about it. The reason for this was clear—total domination and takeover of the planet Earth.

After that phone call, Schume had been ready to dismiss the whole thing as a hoax, regardless of the accuracy established up to this point. Frustrated at losing what he had come to consider a great source and the money he received, he went out for a breath of air and was standing in the alley behind the office building. He always thought best when he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against a wall. He called it meditation.

"Got a smoke?" a voice said to him.

"No. Gave it up. Sorry," Schume said, not paying attention to this member of the endless parade of homeless alcoholics who always managed to find him. He continued his meditation.

"How about a quarter?"