The Reality Conspiracy (25 page)

"I'll see him, of course. The hour's open, and now I'm curious."

Laura flashed a grateful smile'. "Thanks, you're a pal. I'll get him." She turned away and spoke to the man in the waiting room, "Please come in, Mr. King."

Karen watched the door, eager to find out about her mysterious appointment. When the man walked in, she stiffened with surprise, then anger.

Jeff Chandler closed the door and took three swift steps to the chair beside Karen's desk. "May I sit down." he said.

She nodded once and he sat. Not knowing what to say, her eyes automatically scanned him head to foot. Jeff looked much changed from the man she had met in Boston. There was no sign of the tailored three-piece suit, the styled hair, the careful professional grooming. Today he wore jeans, running shoes, and an oversize T-shirt advertising Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream. His dark hair was wild; springy curls uncoiled in every direction. He had shaved his beard, then let it grow back for a day or two, giving his face a rough, almost unsavory look.

Jeff's body language told her he was uncomfortable. It took a few moments of fidgeting before he could start talking.

"Karen," he began, "I know how you must feel. I was unforgivably rude to you on the phone the other day, and I know it. I knew it while it was happening, but I had no choice. I sincerely apologize, and if I may, I'd like to explain. Will you listen to me?"

"That's my job," she said, feeling the icy edge in her voice. Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm a professional listener."

His eyes left hers as he lowered his head. "Okay, I had that coming. But can we have a cease-fire for a few minutes, at least until you hear me out?"

Karen allowed the muscles in her face to relax. "Okay."

"Thanks." He took a breath, momentarily appearing confused and hopelessly lost. Karen studied every subtle look and gesture.
Something's terribly wrong
, she thought.

"Wow," Jeff said. "Where to start?" His ultra-blue eyes explored the office until they again met Karen's. "Let me begin by explaining why I'm here. Remember, I told you about my work at the Massachusetts Technological Academy?"

"Sure. You debunk UFO sightings."

"Right. I do that and lots of other things as well. But UFOs make the most entertaining dinner-table conversation. They're also the most public of our many activities. In reality, the Academy is involved in all sorts of . . . well, arcane research. Most of it's highly classified. UFOs are just the visible tip of the proverbial iceberg."

Jeff stood up, paced over to the window, and looked out on the lake. "Late last week I got word that I'm being considered for some kind of promotion. Ian McCurdy, the executive director, called me in and spoke quite candidly about some of the other things the Academy is involved in. It's stuff I didn't know about, scary stuff. Scarier than I would have imagined."

"So you're not upset about the promotion, but you don't think you can be a party to these . . . other things?" Karen heard herself being the psychologist when she knew Jeff needed a friend.

"I
know
I can't. But I'm upset about the promotion, too. I'm afraid it, like everything else at the Academy, is not just exactly what it seems."

"How do you mean?"

Still facing the window, Jeff spoke, never looking at Karen. "I have a friend there, an administrative assistant. She tipped me off, told me to be careful. I think she did it because she's somewhat sympathetic to my stand on . . . certain of the Academy's policies . . . ."

Karen leaned forward, elbows on her desk, listening with greater concentration.

"While I was talking with Dr. McCurdy, I had the feeling he was sizing me up, testing me, trying to get me to tip my hand about something. He was probing into areas that have nothing to do with my skills as a researcher, administrator, or scientist. The whole interview just didn't seem to be . . . on the level."

"So what exactly did this administrative assistant tell you?"

"That she'd noticed a pattern. That promotional interviews often resulted in firings."

"Firings? Why do you think they'd fire you?"

He turned from the window to face her. "I don't fit in. I'm too much of a maverick. And I've made the mistake of articulating certain . . . ethical concerns—objections, really—about what the Academy is hiding from the general public."

Karen nodded, careful to appear interested but not too sympathetic.

"But I'm getting ahead of myself," Jeff paused, as if collecting his thoughts. "Dismissals at the Academy are rare. That's because employee compatibility is measured in advance by intense pre-employment screenings followed by absurdly in-depth reference checking for security clearances. But when somebody gets the boot, believe me, it's serious business. As I understand it, firings are always sudden and normally they're a complete surprise. When they occur, the sacked employee gets a couple months severance pay and is hustled out the door."

"So why all the game playing? Why this promote or dismiss business?"

"Just a trick to get me to drop my guard. They want to find out what I really know. What I believe. How likely I am to be a thorn in their side."

"Are you hiding something?"

"No. Well, yes, in a way. No big deal. I don't have a record or anything like that. When I was in college I was into computers. I programmed a virus and set it loose in the ROTC data bank. Wiped out a lot of records, replacing them with the names of all my favorite albums. Stupid, I know. I could have been expelled. Could have been convicted. But I got off with a slap on the wrist and a good talking to. They weren't storing anything vital and had a backup my virus couldn't touch."

"Does the Academy know about that?"

"Probably. But I didn't tell them. There was no conviction; it's not part of my record. Maybe McCurdy just wanted to see if I'd fess up."

"If they're not confident of you, why don't they just give you some kind of warning or put you on notice or something?"

Jeff shrugged. "Same thing as sacking computer programmers, I suppose. What if you fire one who's really into retribution? If he continues on the job, he can sabotage your operation, do stuff that'll cost you thousands of dollars to correct. He can delete irreplaceable data or disable programs, he can mess up files, input bogus information, cause all kinds of general damage that can be irreparable."

"Right, I see."

"In my case, not only do I have access to computers, but also I have access to lots of classified information unrelated to UFOs. And they know I don't go along with their secrecy. Right now they're probably thinking, What if this guy goes to the press . . . ?"

Karen stared at him for a long time. "I still don't get it, Jeff. Why avoid the inevitable? Why didn't you just report for work today? Why come here of all places?"

Jeff dropped into one of the easy chairs by the window. From her desk Karen watched him slouch, long legs stretched out in front of him, nearly horizontal. He combed his fingers through his hair.

"I didn't go in because I'm afraid."

Karen waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she prompted, "Afraid?"

"Yup. Here's something else my friend told me. About two years ago, right after I started work, a guy named Vince LoBianco was fired. He was a research assistant and not involved in the UFO project. Then last year a woman named Merrilee Hubbard resigned, a protest resignation." Jeff straightened in the chair, crossed his legs. His foot tapped nervously. "Today, both of them are dead. They died within two months of leaving the Academy. LoBianco had a heart attack. Hubbard wrapped her car around a tree."

He raised his head looking Karen in the eyes. "You're thinking, coincidence? Maybe. If not, you can see why the woman who tipped me off has taken a tremendous risk. Thank God she gave me a little time to get the hell out of Boston, to disappear. By warning me, she put a lot more than her job on the line."

"I see that, if what you say is true. But what I don't understand, Jeff, is why you came here? Why are you telling all this to me?"

Jeff tapped his fingertips together. "Karen, I didn't have time to think about it. I didn't have time to plan. On one level, I realize I may have put you in danger by coming here, but on another level, I hope to God you can help me."

Karen felt herself softening. Recognizing the outward symptoms of Jeff's tension and fear, she thought a moment before speaking. "Okay, maybe I can help you. Tell me how."

When Jeff blinked, relief was evident on his face. "I think there may be a couple of ways. First, you're safe; no one at the Academy even knows you exist. So they have no way of knowing you and I are acquainted. Think about it: we met by chance; there's no record that we went to dinner together; I didn't even put it in my calendar, and the restaurant doesn't take reservations. And another thing, I paid in cash—no credit card, no written transaction. I've thought about this, Karen, and I'm pretty sure there's no record that I know you or anyone at all in Vermont."

"Record? What kind of record?"

"Their so-called personnel records, in depth, highly intrusive files kept by the Academy."

"They actually keep a record of your friends?"

"Wow, do they keep records! They maintain extensive files that include pre-employment security investigations conducted by—get this—the FBI. And the bureau continues its involvement with ongoing random checks and updates. Man, there's more people looking at us than at the Dallas cheerleaders. I know how this sounds, Karen, it sounds paranoid as hell, but it's true. If they ever want to find me, they can produce a list of everyone I've ever known since I was, Christ, fifteen years old."

Karen shook her head. "This . . . this is all so . . . weird!"

"Yup. See, Karen, it was just dumb luck that you and I ran into each other, even dumber luck that we didn't leave any kind of a trail. Shortly after we had dinner, I got word what might be coming down. I didn't know how else to behave on the phone when you called. I wanted very much to talk to you; I know I was terribly rude, but I just didn't dare have a conversation. I was afraid my line was bugged, or something. This way, maybe they know I got a call, but at least I didn't let you give your name."

Karen sat quietly, studying the end of a Bic pen. Finally, "That's reason number one: I'm an ally the Academy doesn't know about. What's the other reason?"

Jeff smiled a long, sad smile. "You're a psychologist."

Karen raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean? What's that got to do with it?"

"Well, when you give me the go-ahead, I'm going to tell you the whole story . . . ."

"Yes . . ."

"If I told it to anyone else—the police, the press, even some of my closest friends—they'd think I was nuts, totally paranoid, delusional. You, on the other hand, have the professional expertise to hear me out and diagnose that, okay, I may be a little stressed out, but I'm perfectly sane."

"And . . ."

"And if you believe me, maybe you'll help me. Maybe we can decide what to do?"

Karen stood up and walked from behind her desk. She took a seat in the armchair across from Jeff, searching his eyes for any suggestion of deceit. "Okay, Jeff, I'm with you so far, at least I think I am. For now, anyway. But for my own piece of mind, just tell me one more thing."

"Okay. Sure."

She looked away, momentarily losing her resolve. No, she thought,
I won't back down
. "When I phoned you at your apartment, a woman answered . . ."

The guilty, caught-in-the-act expression she expected didn't occur.

"That's exactly the reason I'm so scared, Karen. And it's the reason I'm running away. That woman is my sixteen-year-old daughter, Casey."

"Your daughter?"

"Yeah. I'm scared for myself. Scared as hell. But I'm more scared for her. Right now she's out in the car, waiting. I haven't told her much about this, but she's a bright kid, she knows something's up. At the moment she just thinks I'm in here seeing a friend. And . . . Look, Karen, if I could leave Casey with you, just a day or two, until—"

The look on her face must have stopped Jeff midsentence. Karen hadn't been prepared for anything like this: first a fugitive friend, now the possibility of a teenager in the house.

"Oh, Jeff, I don't know . . . ."

"It's a lot to ask, I know, but—"

"Let me think about it, okay? I'll have to think about all this. But now I've got appointments. Tell you what: Can you meet me back here at the end of the day?"

Jeff nodded. He looked more than a little disappointed.

"I've just got to process this," Karen said, forcing herself to smile. "I'll let you know at five. In the meantime, I don't want you or Casey to worry. As I told you at the restaurant, any discussion with me is strictly confidential."

Hobston, Vermont

T
he shotgun roared.

The flying disk exploded into a cloud of white dust.

Alton Barnes placed another stack of clay pigeons into the mechanical launcher. Holding his weapon ready, he hit the switch with his foot. The white and black disk shot into the air like a bird taking off.