“So who are you?” Xandy asked Emerson.
“Emerson Knight.”
Xandy took her aviators off and focused her pale blue and bloodshot eyes on Emerson. “The Emerson Knight? Better known as Mr. Mysterioso?”
“Technically, I suppose, I am Mr. Mysterioso,” Emerson said.
“And you do the blog,” Xandy said. “That blog changed my life. Before I read it I was just an average dental hygienist. That blog gave me the courage to follow my bliss.”
Riley raised her eyebrows in question.
“Following UFOs, of course,” Xandy said. “Wait a minute, how do I know it’s really you?”
“You don’t,” Emerson replied.
“That is such a Mr. Mysterioso thing to say,” Xandy said, her voice dripping with admiration. “You know you’re wanted by the police, right?”
“Does that bother you?” Riley asked.
“Hell, no,” Xandy said. “I’ve got a few traffic tickets in my background too, if you know what I mean.”
“How does this diner stay in business?” Riley asked Xandy. “It’s in the middle of nowhere.”
“A fair number of tourists and UFO trackers show up on weekends. There’s another diner down the road a ways that’s a famous UFOlogist watering hole. This place gets the overflow. If you’re trying to stay off the grid this is the place to hang.”
“We need to get to Groom Lake,” Emerson told Xandy.
“No problem,” Xandy said. “I’m your girl.”
The waitress returned with the food plus the apple pie and coffee that Xandy had left on the counter.
“Eat up and I’ll take you to the back gate,” Xandy said.
They left the GTO at the diner and took Xandy’s beat-up Volvo down a narrow road that wound through scrub desert. Xandy stopped at a black-and-white-striped gate that was bordered on either side by towering metal poles bristling with floodlights and video cameras. A sign said WARNING: MILITARY INSTALLATION. NO TRESPASSING. PHOTOGRAPHY OF THIS AREA IS PROHIBITED. USE OF DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED. There was a guard shack with a Ford F-150 parked beside it, and armed sentries lounged against the shack, soaking up sun. A chain-link fence stretched as far as the eye could see.
“Intimidating,” Riley said. “How are we going to get through this?”
“We aren’t,” Xandy said. “I just wanted you to see it. We’re going to sneak in at night going over hill and dale where the Cammo Dudes can’t see us.”
“The Cammo Dudes are the guards?” Riley asked.
“You got it,” Xandy said. “Around here we call them the Cammo Dudes.” Xandy pulled a U-turn and headed away from the gate. “We can hang out at the inn and rendezvous at twenty-one hundred.”
“How are we going to get over the chain-link fence with the razor wire?” Riley asked.
“The fence stops at some point,” Xandy said. “You can just walk into the restricted area.”
“And no one’s going to shoot at us?”
“Hard to say,” Xandy said.
—
Emerson rented one of the tiny bungalows behind the diner and retreated into it with Riley. The thin blinds were drawn against the blazing sun and the air conditioner hummed to keep the temperature down to a crisp eighty-five degrees. A full-size bed with a sagging mattress took up most of the room. A small wooden table and two ladder-back chairs hugged one of the walls. The bathroom contained a vintage toilet, small sink, shower stall without a shower curtain, and two large roaches that were sneakers up.
Riley gingerly sat on one of the ladder-back chairs. Emerson stood in the corner, folded his arms across his chest, and closed his eyes.
“What are you doing?” Riley asked him.
“Communicating.”
“Communicating with whom?”
“The universe and beyond.”
“Are they talking back?”
“At the present moment you’re the only one talking back.”
Riley blew out a sigh and looked around. No television. No radio. No phone. No computer. No magazines or books.
“I haven’t got anything to do,” Riley said.
Emerson didn’t answer. He was at one with the universe.
The sun was low in the sky when Emerson opened his eyes and unfolded his arms.
“Did you talk to any aliens while you were in the zone?” Riley asked. “We seem to be in the neighborhood.”
“Nothing specific,” Emerson said, “but it was a refreshing trip.”
Riley thought it was a good thing one of them had had a refreshing trip. It for sure wasn’t her. She was terrified that if she closed her eyes a roach would crawl up her nose.
“Do you think they have room service here?” Riley asked.
“Doubtful, but I can fetch something from the diner. What would you like?”
“Surprise me.”
Emerson returned with meatloaf sandwiches, a bag of chips, a box of wine, and a bag of Skittles.
“Impressive,” Riley said. “You even thought to get dessert.”
“It turns out that one of the campers is actually a bar and a convenience store.”
Riley peeled the wrapper off the meatloaf sandwich. “I’m worried about tonight. Do you think we can trust Xandy?”
“I trust she knows how to get into the restricted zone. Beyond that we’re on our own.”
“What are we going to do once we get into the restricted zone?”
“Look around.”
“That’s it? We’re just going to wander around and keep our eyes peeled for your gold?”
“More or less.”
“What’s the more?” Riley asked.
“The more is a question mark. It acknowledges the future unknown.”
—
The slivovitz brandy sloshed back and forth in Werner’s tumbler as he looked through the little window at the clouds and the landscape far below. Were they passing over Kansas? Missouri? What was the difference? Both flat, dull states, meant to be flown over.
He looked over at his brothers. Manny was relaxed, watching a movie on his iPad. Hans was going over paperwork.
“I don’t see why we all needed to make this trip,” Werner said to Hans. “We have people to take care of security breaches. Security is your area.”
“This is more than a security breach. This is a potential disaster,” Hans said. “And it’s family.”
“We aren’t even certain of their plans. For all we know they could be going to Vegas to shoot some craps,” Werner said.
“Hans is right,” Manny said. “This is family and we need to take equal responsibility for what must be done. We all know they aren’t going to Vegas for a night on the town. They’re in Nevada to destroy us, and we have to make sure that doesn’t happen. We should have taken care of this when we first recognized the problem, but we’re all a bunch of softies.”
This got a laugh out of all three of them. Truth is, they weren’t soft. They’d underestimated the enemy.
“Do you really think Günter is working with Emerson?” Werner asked.
Hans shrugged. “No way to know for sure, but it would make sense. Either way, if they’re a team or working separately, they need to be stopped. Permanently.”
“And you think they’re in Nevada?” Werner asked.
“I know they’re in Nevada,” Hans said. “My men have seen them.”
They all looked toward the back of the plane. The door to the rear compartment was closed. It was the old man’s private lair. He and his nurse. He was along for the final kill.
—
At precisely nine o’clock, Xandy showed up at the door to the bungalow and loaded Riley and Emerson into her Volvo. She drove them several miles down a very dark road, parked behind a piñon tree and a rock formation, and passed out night vision goggles.
“Are these so we can spot Cammo Dudes?” Riley asked.
“Mostly they’re so you don’t step on rattlers,” Xandy said.
They left the Volvo and set out on foo
t over the uneven ground, following Xandy through the Tikaboo Valley. There was barely a sliver of moon in the sky, and Riley was happy to have the goggles. Snakes aside, it would have been difficult to travel without assistance.
They’d walked for a little over an hour when Xandy pulled up. “If you look straight ahead you can see the surveillance towers on the next ridge.”
“I imagine they support cameras and lights,” Riley said.
Xandy adjusted her goggles. “That’s what they’d like you to believe.” She lowered her voice. “The cameras are decoys. They look like cameras but they have special technology that can fry your brain. You get too close and Zzzzzzt, your brain leaks out of your ears and you’re left with nothing in your head.”
“That would be unfortunate,” Emerson said.
“Yeah,” Riley said. “I bet you hate when that happens.”
“The ridge marks the perimeter of Nellis Air Force Base. Beyond that you’re in Area 51. We’re close enough now that I’m sure the Cammo Dudes are watching us. I’ll swing to the northwest and draw their attention. Then you can cross over.”
“What will they do to you?” Emerson asked.
“Nothing. Just point their guns at me, make a lot of threats, and then send me on my way. We’ve done this dance before. They think I’m a harmless nutjob alien hunter.”
Emerson adjusted the duffel bag on his shoulder. “I’m sure you’re not harmless,” he said to Xandy.
“Thank you,” Xandy said. “That means a lot coming from Mr. Mysterioso.”
Riley and Emerson watched Xandy trudge off to the right and continue trudging until she was a small figure on the horizon. Suddenly she turned and raced toward the AFB perimeter screaming like a banshee. Within seconds a Ford F-150 truck zoomed over the hill toward Xandy, headlights blazing. Men in camouflage spilled out and rushed around her.
Emerson and Riley took off running and scrambled to the top of the ridge, past the cameras, the motion detectors, and the brain liquefiers. Headlights from a distant truck swung in their direction and the truck sped toward them.
“Incoming!” Riley said, catching sight of the truck.
Emerson spun her around and pushed her toward the higher ground of Groom Mountain. “Run!”
Riley ran flat-out, reached the upward slope, and kept going. Rocks shifted under her feet, and she stumbled but pushed on. The goggles weighed her down so she ripped them off, tossed them aside, and kept moving, crawling up the hillside, judging the ground by the feel of it under her shoes and hands.
She lost all trace of Emerson in her mad rush. When a floodlight beam cast from a Cammo Dude’s truck swept up and across the mountainside, Riley pressed herself into the ground, wrapping her arms around the base of a juniper tree. She quieted her jackhammer heartbeat and willed herself inside the rough wood. I am the tree, she thought. Be one with the tree!
The beam of light passed over her, but she didn’t move. She saw the light sweep the mountainside again, the blood pounding in her ears. The light blinked off, and she strained to hear the sound of the engine. When all she heard was the whisper of wind in the juniper she lifted her head and looked around. The truck was gone. Or maybe it had just extinguished its lights. The landscape was barren. No sign of Emerson. She hadn’t heard shouting or gunshots. She told herself that was a good sign and that Emerson was most likely as safe as she was. As safe as anyone could be alone in a desert at night in a top-secret military installation.
She didn’t think going back was an option. They would be looking for her. From her vantage point she could see headlights crisscrossing the desert floor in the distance. The only way is up, she thought. Climb to the top of the ridge and look around. She supposed Emerson was doing the same. He was looking for his gold. She just wanted to find a way out. She climbed as carefully and as quietly as possible. She didn’t have the night vision goggles to help her find her way, and her hands were raw from grasping at bristlecone branches and pawing over rocks. Periodically she would stop and listen for the sound of someone else slipping on gravel or breathing heavy. No sound carried back to her.
A pulsing glow, like the vibration from a neon light, was coming over the top of the ridge in front of her. The diner had featured a satellite photo of Area 51 on the wall behind the counter. It had shown the salt flat and the airstrips and the various buildings. Riley thought the pulsing light most likely was coming from the airstrip.
She heard the drone of an approaching plane and saw its lights in the night sky. The lights drew closer, dipped below the hill, and disappeared.
Riley reached the rocky knob of the summit and lay there catching her breath, feeling the wind on her face. It was colder up here, but at least the earth was even and she didn’t have to worry about falling backward. And she could see what they didn’t want her to see.
She carefully walked to the edge of the ridge and looked over. Far out across the desert floor, there it was. Groom Lake. A salt flat of almost blinding whiteness, lit by a cascade of floodlights. It was illuminated like a football field, but there were no spectators, no players. No one at all. It was eerie, and Riley could see how the sight would give rise to thoughts of flying saucers and extraterrestrial vehicles. The plane that had just landed was parked at the end of the runway, close to a cluster of hangar-type buildings.
She pulled back from the edge and turned at the sound of a footfall. Something was moving toward her. Difficult to see in the dark. Her first thought was bear, but then she realized it was a man crouching down in an attempt to be less visible. Not Emerson. This man was unsteady.
She had her father’s gun tucked inside the waistband of her jeans, rammed into the small of her back, but she didn’t want to use it. She didn’t want to put a bullet into a body, human or otherwise. Even more, she didn’t want to give herself away with a gunshot.
“Stop where you are,” Riley said. “I have a gun.”
“You’ve come for me, haven’t you?” the man said. “I didn’t think it would be you.”
Riley squinted at the man. His hair and clothes were unkempt and he had a beard. “Günter?”
“You might as well shoot me,” he said. “I don’t want to face what lies ahead for me when you bring me in.”
“I didn’t come looking for you,” Riley said. “I’m here with Emerson. He’s looking for the stolen gold.”
Günter managed a humorless smile. “He’s come to the right place.”
“Why are you on the run?”
“To stay alive. There was a time when that seemed to matter, but I’m not so sure anymore.”
“Your brothers say you stole six hundred thousand dollars.”
Günter gave a snort of disgust. “They said that? They actually said that? The bastards!”
“So, it’s not true?” Riley asked.
“Of course it isn’t! I stole much more than that,” Günter said.
There was the sound of an object brushing against a piñon tree, and Riley and Günter turned toward the sound. Something or someone was creeping uphill following the route Riley had taken to get to the summit. Riley and Günter dropped to the ground, and Riley quietly drew her gun. A man appeared in the near total darkness. Riley recognized the silhouette. A tall, lean man wearing night vision goggles with a duffel bag hooked over his shoulder. She stood and tucked the gun back into her jeans.
“I was worried about you,” Riley said to Emerson. “I didn’t know where you were.”
“I was just below you when they swept the hillside with the spotlight. I had the benefit of the goggles, and I knew there were men left behind. I stayed hidden until the men were picked up and the truck drove off. Then I followed your trail of dislodged rocks and broken branches.”
“Did the Siddhar teach you tracking skills?” Riley asked.
“I didn’t need tracking skills. It was like a herd of buffalo had rushed uphill,” Emerson said. “Is that Günter Grunwald?”
Günter stepped forward and extended his hand. “Please excu
se my appearance. This has been a trying experience.”
Emerson shook Günter’s hand and looked beyond him over the rim of the bluff.
“Area 51,” Emerson said. “Easy to imagine aliens down there. The salt flat is quite impressive.”
Riley nodded agreement.
“I’ve been down there and I didn’t see any aliens,” Günter said. “Unless you count Rollo.”
“Why are you here?” Emerson asked Günter.
“Good question. I don’t have a good answer. I’m trapped. I can’t get out of the country. I don’t have a passport. I can’t get help from law enforcement. I don’t know whom to trust. My brothers are hunting for me, and they’ll kill me if they find me. I guess I would like to do something to expose what’s going on here, but I haven’t a clue how to go about that. So I hang here and watch.”
“How did you get into this mess?” Riley asked him.
“Did either of you know Yvette Jaworski?”
Emerson and Riley shook their heads no.
“You wouldn’t have liked her,” Günter said. “No one did. She was not a likable person. She was disagreeable, negative, argumentative, opinionated, and belligerent. And I don’t say this just because she was a strong woman. If she’d been a man, people still would have called her a jerk.
“But there was something about her that touched me. Maybe it was that despite how intensely unpleasant Yvette was, all she really wanted was to be liked. To have friends. She just didn’t know how to go about it.
“So when she came back from Munich with a wild story about the gold trade being compromised, people didn’t pay attention, not only because the tale was wild and unbelievable, but because no one wanted to listen to anything Yvette Jaworski said.
“I was assigned by my brother to deal with her. He always gave me the bad jobs. It was his way of reminding me that I was lower on the totem pole than he was. What he didn’t understand was that I didn’t want to be higher on the totem pole. I didn’t want to be on the totem pole at all. I just wanted to make enough to live comfortably. And collect gold.