Anaz-Voohri (7 page)

Lobo halted behind him.
“The Feds?"

 
“They didn’t waste any time." Zack wondered how they found out about the interview. He’d taken every precaution.

“You said they weren’t going to like it." Lobo sounded scared. “What can they really do?”

“Almost anything they want. They are the Feds.”

“So, what now?"
Lobo’s voice shook. “We split?" He was a pacifist by nature.

Zack threw the keys to Lobo. “Take the Kawasaki and run! I’ll keep them busy. It’s me they want.”

The back doors of the van burst open. Zack anchored himself in a karate stance. Five or six men in black gear and ski masks erupted from the vehicle and rushed toward him.

Instead of running away, Lobo moved closer to Zack. “Dude, I may not be a big shot black belt, but I won’t let you down.”

Thankful for his friend’s loyalty, Zack nevertheless wished Lobo had escaped. He didn’t want to be the cause of unnecessary harm. Emptying his mind, as the men in black charged, Zack turned sideways to offer a narrow target.

Blocking a high kick, Zack grabbed the foot and sent his opponent flying in a twist. He blocked and threw punches as fast as his attackers rushed him and remained untouched. It seemed almost as if the assailants didn’t really want to hurt Zack. His tireless training finally paid off.

In his peripheral vision, Zack saw Lobo taking a few hits. A drop kick from a Fed sent Lobo to the concrete floor. As Zack retaliated to protect his friend, he heard the sharp sound of the bolt cocking an automatic weapon.

“Enough!” a male voice boomed.

Zack stopped in mid-movement and the men in black stepped back, forming a wide circle around Zack and Lobo. On the floor, Lobo struggled to get up then rushed the closest FBI agent. The man fired a taser that sizzled. Halted by the shock, Lobo twitched under the electric charge as sparks danced around his body. He finally fell to the ground.

Livid, Zack controlled his urge to pounce and hissed, “Don’t you dare injure him.”

The FBI leader who held the automatic motioned to his men to retreat further. Under the ski
mask
 
Zack
thought he recognized the striking pale blue eyes. Then it came back to him. Agent Tolek Michalski,
who’d
visited him over two years ago, right after Ashley’s abduction. Zack had researched him for his book and found out he was a retired Marine colonel, the son of Polish immigrants as attested by his cold blue gaze. The man walked toward Zack and sneered. “So, the young pup couldn’t keep his trap shut." It was Michalski all right.

Zack wished Michalski would come closer so he could kick the weapon out of his hands, but the seasoned agent didn’t make that mistake.

“What do you want?" Zack hated being on the defensive.

“Just talk." Michalski seemed to relish his advantage. His deliberate attitude was probably meant to intimidate.

“I’m listening." Zack struggled to remain calm on the surface but his body buzzed with adrenalin.

“Not here." Michalski motioned toward the van’s open doors with his gun. “Hop in here without protesting, and we’ll let your friend go unharmed.”

Zack scoffed. “I’m not sure I can trust you on that.”

Upon Michalski’s signal, his men retreated toward the van. “Do we have a deal?”

Lobo sat there, stunned but alive. Zack didn’t want him to suffer needlessly. Nodding, Zack held up his hands. Two men stepped up and handcuffed him.

As they guided him toward the van, Zack turned and stole a glance at Lobo, who struggled to his feet.
“Anything broken?”

Lobo grimaced and rubbed a bleeding lip. “I’ll live." His dark gaze smoldered with anger.

Guessing Lobo’s intention to follow the van, Zack shook his head slowly. “Don’t do it, dude. I’ll be fine.”

Inside the van, black molded plastic seats lined three sides. No windows, just a white opaque roof that filtered daylight. His captors pushed Zack on the far side and strapped him down on a seat. Agent Michalski sat next to him and took off his mask, revealing his blond hair.

“I knew it was you.”

Michalski smirked. “Shut up.”

The whole team eased up on both sides, but the men kept their masks on.

Zack heard Lobo starting the bike and prayed he would get safely home. The van backed out then sped down the exit ramp, tires screeching on the slick concrete.

“Where are you taking me?" Any kind of conversation would help calm Zack’s raw nerves.

Michalski averted his blue gaze, as if disturbed by the question.
“Somewhere safe and private.”

“Right."
Zack grunted. “Funny, I never feel that safe with you guys around.”

When an agent pulled a black hood over his head, Zack protested. “Is that necessary? There are no windows in this box."

“Just in case,” agent Michalski said gruffly. “It’s standard procedure.”

Zack wondered in case of what? Why would they keep their destination secret? If they didn’t want him to remember, at least it meant they didn’t intend to kill him, or they wouldn’t bother. He found the thought vaguely reassuring.

The van traveled fast, probably weaving in and out of traffic, eliciting vibrations that jostled Zack against strong shoulders on each side of him. For a while, he heard the unmistakable sound of his Kawasaki following them, but the van driver must have been experienced in high-speed chases. Soon, the motorcycle engine faded away. Relieved, Zack leaned against the backrest.

The men around him merely exchanged a few meaningless words punctuated by grunts, stirring, the shifting and clicking of gear, and the rustling of rough uniform material. They smelled of vinyl and antiperspirant. Over the quiet engine, the noise of LA traffic after dark filtered in, then the van must have entered a freeway, but Zack couldn’t tell where they were headed.

After what seemed like an hour, the van stopped and Zack’s captors led him out, still blindfolded. When he stepped off the van, his feet met smooth concrete. Their footsteps echoed as they walked through what sounded like a vast empty building smelling of stale dust.
A warehouse?
A hangar?
The short elevator ride definitely went down rather than up
,
 
as
the floor dropped from under him. When they stepped out, someone pulled the hood off his head. Zack squinted, briefly blinded by the bright fluorescent lights.

The brushed aluminum and glass space had rubber floors the color of putty that bounced slightly underfoot. Through the glass walls, Zack could see agents in black uniforms, encased in their offices like so many black fish in their aquariums. They studied files, stared at monitors, or consulted each other. Around them, state of the art equipment Zack had never seen before blinked in a surreal silence. The whole place seemed soundproof.
A secret underground FBI facility?
“Cool place.”

Agent Michalski almost smiled.
“This way."
He took the lead along the central corridor, followed by Zack and the masked agents. Other personnel in the hallway saluted Michalski, and that intrigued Zack. The FBI wasn’t military, so why the salutes and the uniforms? Was this a paramilitary branch?
The legendary Men in Black, notorious among UFO researchers?
That would explain the extreme secrecy.

When Michalski opened an office glass door etched with his name and the title of Special Agent, Zack was impressed. In order to have his own office in a super secret facility, the man must be a big shot in the Bureau. He sat behind the brushed aluminum and glass desk and motioned for Zack to take a chair while the masked men remained at the door.

Zack wiggled his cuffed hands. “Could you take those off?”

Michalski called one of his men, who un-cuffed Zack and left with the other agents, closing the glass door. Zack rubbed his chafed wrists and looked around in awe. A loud click told him the door had locked.
So much for escaping.
The facility looked as tight as a bunker.

Michalski smiled. “It’s just you and me, we can talk freely." He pointed to the chair.

Zack shook his head, too nervous to sit. He scanned the room. He didn’t trust the FBI. “No recording devices?”

“None whatsoever.
You have my word." Michalski opened a drawer and dropped a copy of Zack’s book on the desk. “Your little story makes for an interesting read. “

”It’s not a story, it’s the truth."

Michalski smiled coldly. “I happen to be one of the few people in government who know that for a fact.”

“So what are you doing about it? Instead of harassing honest citizens, you should be looking for these alien freaks.”

Michalski leaned back in his chair. “What makes you think we aren’t?”

Taken aback, Zack paused. “What are you doing exactly?”

“That’s classified.”

“Of course it is." Zack felt like a fish being battered, ready to go into the frying pan. He paced the closed aquarium. All this glass made him claustrophobic. “That’s your excuse for hiding your little schemes, maybe even your lack of real action.”

“Enough, Mr. Duncan.
There are limits to my patience." Michalski made a visible effort to relax. “We brought you here to reason with you." He opened a silver box on his desk and offered Zack a cigar.

Zack shook his head. He didn’t smoke and hated the smell of cigars. “Are you trying to buy me out?”

“Hardly."
Michalski leaned over the desk, his steely eyes staring right into Zack’s. “See, right now you are an infuriating tick on the big dog, and if you don’t pull out, the big dog is going to scratch real hard, then
bite
your head off." He cut the end of the cigar, and it dropped into the ashtray.

“Are you threatening me?" Zack suddenly realized that the FBI could easily make him disappear.

“Just a warning.
We have a very discrete holding cell with your name on it at Guantanamo Bay...unless you pull out the book, close your website, and stop all subversive activity immediately." Michalski took his time lighting the cigar, as if savoring the effect of his threat.

Zack’s frantic mind raced. He couldn’t possibly abandon his research. He had to save or avenge his sister, and he couldn’t do that while rotting in a forgotten jail overseas. “Don’t be so quick to get rid of me. If you are serious about going after the Anaz-voohri, what I know could be invaluable.”

Michalski let out a fat puff. “We already know what you know." He tapped the book with his index finger. “And we’ve been monitoring your web site.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in telepaths." Zack waved the stinky smoke away from his face and stepped back.

“We have used them on occasion.”

“Well, not everything is in the book. Do you think that two years of research and extended daily contacts with my sister could fit in two hundred pages and one Web site? That’s only the tip of the iceberg. I spent hours, day after day, watching them through her eyes. I understood much more than she did.”

“And how big, exactly, is that iceberg?" Michalski squinted, but his tone turned eager.

“Huge. Anatomy, religion, military power, physical and psychological traits, weaknesses..." Zack realized he’d just saved his hide, and now held a bargaining chip. “But if I work for you, I want access to all your classified files on UFO sightings." He’d give anything to get his hands on these secret files.

Michalski cleared his throat and set the cigar on the ashtray. He wove his fingers together and sighed. “We could certainly use the kind of information you are offering."

“But the deal has to go both ways. I want to know what you know.”

Michalski chortled. “Don’t worry. If you work with us, we’ll share as well. The extent of what we discovered might even astound you."

Zack savored his unexpected triumph. He couldn’t believe how different the world seemed from the other side of the fence. Working for the FBI was the last thing Zack had ever imagined. Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier? Was it even ethical? In some twisted way, it made sense. With the FBI on his side, Zack might finally stand a chance to succeed. “So, how much do you know?”

Michalski leaned back in his chair. “What if I told you alien spacecraft have been sighted in the vicinity of Earth quite recently and several governments are in alert?”

“Anaz-voohri ships?"
That changed everything. If they’d come back, maybe they’d return Ashley.

“That’s what you keep calling them in your book.
Interesting name, Anaz-voohri.”

“That’s what they call themselves." Zack still didn’t quite trust the man. “What guarantees do I have that you’ll keep your end of the bargain?”

“Listen." Michalski picked up his cigar. “We are desperate against a powerful aggressor, and if you can give us an edge, I’m prepared to make you a sweet deal.”

The thought of Lobo crossed Zack’s mind. What would his friend think of such a sudden reversal? What would he do in his place? Lobo always strived for wisdom, peace, and cooperation. What was more important? Following the old path or getting results? The fate of the world could be at stake. Zack took a deep breath and released it slowly. He wasn’t totally comfortable with the idea, but it was his best shot. “I’m in.”