[The Fear Saga 01] - Fear the Sky (2014) (30 page)

It was a possibility, and one which depended on several assumptions they had made using the excellent but still limited information John Hunt had given them to date. Not least of these assumptions centered around the defensive capabilities of the satellites, and their ability to maneuver around the munitions being thrown up into their path.

Those assumptions, among other things, would be confirmed, or denied, tonight.

A week ago Neal had received another letter from his enigmatic contact within the alien conspiracy. The letter had said that, for the first time since the brief visit to Madeline and Neal’s hotel room a few months beforehand, John Hunt was going to be able to return to the States. In the letter, the double agent had expressed the need for Neal and Madeline to discreetly get to a specific small airfield in Virginia. They would meet in a hangar at that airfield, at a set time and date laid out in the letter.

Using two different classified ads, one in the
New York Times
and one in the
Enquirer
, both of which Neal arranged from separate pay phones, Neal used the code words Ayala had given the team to instruct them all to meet. He used the codeword for an all-hands meeting request, and another that referred to a predefined covered car park in DC. He then added a phone number, which, translated per Ayala’s instructions, would tell them the date and time for the meeting. Finally he added ONO, which Ayala had asked that they use just to say if all was well. She would come loaded for bear either way, as she did to any meeting, but it was wise to let folks know that this was not some dire situation. It was best to minimize any additional stress on their, some might say, slightly fraught psyches.

It was time, thought Neal, as he glanced at the system clock on his screen.

Standing, he went to the empty clothes rack near the door and removed the clothes he was wearing down to his T-shirt, underwear, and socks. He then donned jeans, a sweater, and sneakers from the full red rack to his right.

Stepping to the basement identity chest, he pulled his own credit card and ID from his wallet and left them in the drawer, just in case, and replaced them with his English alias’s driver’s license and Visa card.

A wad of cash from the drawer in his pocket, a pair of thick, plastic-framed glasses he had bought recently, Orioles cap, moustache, a chuckle at his appearance in the mirror, and moments later Mark Jones was stepping out of the basement entrance, his jacket collar up, his cap pulled down, and setting off down the street at a brisk walk.

He would take a taxi to the local U-Haul and rent a moving van under his pseudonym. Then he would meet his friends at the specified car park, and drive them all to the meeting with John.

* * *

Sitting in the rental van in the parking lot of a nearby mall, Neal considered his new life, and how quickly he had become inured to the constant threat he now found himself under. While in disguise, he had to constantly be on guard. If he glanced upward when outside, or took off his cap, or his face was caught square on by a security camera or the like, it was very possible he would die … unpleasantly.

The concept was profoundly disconcerting. Neal felt he had some small idea of how people felt in war zones, or in London during the blitz, or Sarajevo under siege. Somehow, he was not sure how, you just got used to it. Death might well come at any second. So why waste a moment worrying about it? Sure, whiskey and cigarettes had helped. After all, the need for healthy living seemed somewhat less important when you knew all the things that Neal now knew. In truth, he had really wanted to buy some weed as well, but the risk of getting arrested either in disguise, or as a White House advisor, was simply too great.

So here he sat in a rented U-Haul van, the window ajar, the engine off, smoking a cigarette for want of something stronger. He had parked deliberately in front of the small parking lot security camera, using the van’s bulk to block the camera’s view of his colleagues as they arrived.

Ayala was the first to turn up. She surprised him by quietly coming down the driver’s side of the van, approaching from the back.

As she stepped up to the window stealthily, her hand lashed out and whipped the cigarette out of his hand.

Neal, focused on the door to the mall across the parking lot, spun around in shock. “Shit! Ayala, you scared the living crap out of me.” He breathed a sigh of relief and laughed.

“These are very bad for you,” she said self-righteously in her sultry Mediterranean accent, then she took a long drag of the cigarette and flicked it away. He smiled, opened his door, and stepped out. As he did so, she glanced up at the camera on the pillar next to the van, noting how Neal had planted the big rental right in front of it. She smiled.

“Nice work,” she said, returning his hug. The hug was strong and genuine. Sharing deadly secrets and living with the threat of annihilation made for strong friendships, and over the last few months the four of them had started to think of each other as family.

“Am I the first to arrive?” she asked, and he nodded. “Well, let’s get back in the van and you can tell me why you’ve summoned us all.” They both climbed back in, Ayala sliding over into the passenger seat.

“You’ll have to excuse the lack of chairs,” he shrugged, indicating the open flatbed behind them.

“Not at all,” she said thoughtfully, and then smiled, “there are two very comfortable chairs I can see, so you and I will be just fine.”

He chuckled. Then, just as Neal was starting to explain why he had called the meeting, another car approached, this one clearly a government van, black with darkened windows.

Ayala went quiet, tensing almost imperceptibly, catlike.

When the car pulled up alongside, they saw Barrett’s unflinching visage through the driver’s window, but two men they did not recognize were in the car with him. After the three had shuffled into the back of the van leaving the locked government SUV to wait for their return, Barrett made brief introductions. They all greeted each other somewhat reservedly, and then an awkward silence fell while they waited for the final member of the team. Fifteen minutes later, Madeline walked out of the mall elevator dressed like a college undergrad. They did not even recognize her till she approached the van and took off her huge sunglasses. It was disturbing how effectively she had disguised herself, not least of which to Neal, because of how much he had been admiring her figure as she walked up.

* * *

It was a three-hour drive to the airfield. The group was hesitant to talk at first because of the two new men the colonel had brought along. But soon their trust for Barrett’s judgment, and the obvious fact that the men already knew a lot of key information, allowed the group to relax their guards a little.

By the time they approached the small private airfield, they had all gotten to know each other fairly well, but the anticipation of meeting the mysterious John Hunt silenced the group once again as Neal pulled up to the main gate.

“Hi,” he said to the attendant there, producing one of his fake driver’s licenses from his pocket, “my name is Mark Jones, I’m meeting a friend here.”

“Yes, Mr. Jones, I have you on the list.” the guard nodded, after checking a handwritten sheet on his clipboard. He walked to the single gate and raised its red and white bar, allowing them through. Neal shouted a thanks to the guard, his friends remaining out of sight in the back of the van.

Neal drove across the small and antiquated airfield, dotted with small two- and four-seater propeller planes in various states of upkeep. It was a strange sarcasm of circumstance that while owning a plane would appear to be the pastime of the rich and the famous, the truth was that the wealthy owned private jets, and those far more often flew out of larger airports. So despite the alluring moniker, ‘private’ airports were usually fairly relaxed affairs. These airfields weren’t for people who wanted to own planes as status symbols; they were for the people that wanted to pilot them. Many of the small planes here were owned by two or three people in a kind of timeshare, and they were all owner maintained, owner piloted, and all loved like the proverbial Harley or well-used sailboat. Amongst these labors of love, Neal drove the team over to the two slightly dilapidated hangars that lined the far end of the airstrip.

As they approached, Neal saw that the first hangar contained two men working on an old four-seat Cessna, so he drove on to the next. The fact that the two small planes inside it were covered by tarpaulins told them that the roof probably leaked, which pretty much defeated the point of a hangar, but at least it reduced the ravages of the sun on the paint on the planes’ wide wings. Most important for the team was that it was bereft of people, and as it was already 8pm it was unlikely any would arrive anytime soon.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. They were a little early. Then Neal thought of something.

“I brought some snacks, a flip chart, and a few reference binders for the meeting.” The group brightened at the thought of a distraction. “Shall we get set up?”

They all nodded and Neal got out and opened the big doors in the back of the van allowing his five groaning fellow conspirators to tumble from its confines and stretch their aching limbs. They were wary, unsure of what to expect from the coming meeting. Only he and Madeline had actually met John Hunt before and they had so many questions, so many preconceptions. Neal smiled, knowing that they could not be prepared for what they were about to see. This was going to be interesting.

It was starting to get dark. The day was at that strange point where the ground is darker than the sky, as if in anticipation of the coming night. The airfield was quiet, as was the group, who were all staring off toward a point in the evening sky. Off in the distance the twilight was punctured by two small lights, wobbling slightly as the small plane they were attached to adjusted its approach.

Ayala had reminded the expectant group that they should all remain under the roof’s proxy shelter, keeping their presence safely hidden under the cover of the hangar’s old corrugated iron sheeting. So they all stood behind this invisible but nonetheless tangible line, facing the approaching plane. They could see it clearly now, its wings were mounted above the cockpit, typical of smaller models, and it was clearly a civilian plane.

The small plane swooped down the runway in a textbook landing, its precision giving some clue to the abilities of its pilot. In truth, until that day, John had never flown a plane, but personal experience was hardly the measure of him or his peers. At the end of the runway, the plane turned sharply and began to taxi back to where the group stood in anticipation. Any doubt they had of whether this was their contact was assuaged when it came to a halt in front of them, its right wing stopping just under the roof of the hangar, over their heads.

Everyone but Neal and Madeline literally held their breath as the small door of the four-seater opened. With the engine still cooling and hissing after the long flight, John Hunt leapt expertly through the small door and landed, standing under the plane’s wing for a moment. Then he walked, staying under the wing, into the hangar, without ever stepping into the view of the satellite eye he knew was even now scanning the earth from above.

Once under the shelter of the hangar roof, he went up to Neal first, reaching out his hand. “Neal, how are you?” he said, shaking the now White House science advisor’s hand firmly. To everyone’s surprise, he then turned to Madeline and gave her a big hug.

With the rest of the group exchanging confused glances, he turned to Barrett, “You must be Colonel Milton.” he said, “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The colonel’s confusion was clear as he shook the Agent’s hand, unclear of the protocol when talking to a machine, a fact he had to keep reminding himself now he was face to face with the handsome, charming, and seemingly very human John Hunt. Ayala was just as baffled by the young-looking man, but also quite fascinated.

For his part, John smiled at the confusion of his hosts. They had clearly been expecting some fake human, some inherently flawed imitation of themselves. Maybe even some burly weightlifter with a heavy Austrian accent and fake tan. To think that the young, attractive, engaging man in front of them was a machine must indeed be very disconcerting.

No, the stares of the group were not lost on John, but he chose to relish it, taking no small amount of encouragement from Neal’s obvious amusement at it all. Yes, thought John, you should learn to deal with it. Because if you think this is strange, my friends, you should try waking up one day in an alien body, feeling every bit like the person you had always been, but now having these strange hands, flexing your legs and having the knees bend unnaturally forward. If you knew how disconcerting that was you wouldn’t complain at having to just meet a humanoid robot for the first time, John thought. He’d had to deal with
being
a robot.

But the strangest thing had been meeting himself, the real him, the Mobiliei who had volunteered to have his personality inserted into this machine to govern it. They had exchanged a few code words. The real John Hunt had needed to check that this copy of his personality retained the secret purpose it had been put there to serve. It had been the strangest of days for both of them.

Of course there were perks. There are few people, either Mobiliei or human, who would not enjoy the power the machine body gave the Agents. Never hungry, never tired, never struggling to recall a memory. The weapons, the speed, the sheer unadulterated power. It was a heady feeling right up to the moment you remembered the genocidal purpose behind all those abilities, and the danger of your mission, not only to your quarry, but, in John’s case, to everyone he knew and loved, were he to be discovered.

Setting the thought aside John turned to the three remaining members of the group, “While the colonel had been mentioned by Neal and Madeline when last we met, I am afraid I do not know the three of you at all, which, no doubt, is a very good thing.” John said, inducing frowns on the group’s faces.