dragon
© 2001
Disclaimer: UFO belongs to Gerry Anderson, Century 21 Productions, and whoever else helped create it. Just borrowing the characters for some introspection.
She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, emotionally drained. Silly for an interview to have exhausted her like that, but it had. So many questions so obviously aimed at people half her age. She took a deep breath and let it go. It was shaky. She felt like crying. Resolutely, she shook her head to get rid of that feeling and walked into her flat.
She put her coat and purse away. She was hungry. What time was it anyway? Half past noon. Well, no wonder. She'd skipped breakfast in this morning. Too nervy by half. She set the kettle on to boil. Tea. That was the ticket. And a sandwich - or salad? Something light.
At least she hadn't burst into tears in the personnel manager's office, she'd managed to spare herself that humiliation. She sipped her tea and browsed her mail. This looked official. The Blackwood Foundation. Her eyebrows rose in curiosity. What in the world?
A little more than half a world away, a man with skin like rich milk chocolate sat in his mechanized wheelchair and glared at the man on the other side of the table. "So now my personal mail is suspect?"
"Norton -" The hawk faced man with the excessively military bearing was trying to be reasonable. Unfortunately, military black ops security reasonable and civilian working for organization needing military black ops security measures reasonable were not always playing on level ground, reading the same page or even in the same book.
"Look, I wrote to an ex-student who has an eye for things. She looks at things - differently."
"Harrison looks at things differently," the other exploded. He caught himself and took a breath. He would control his temper; he would manage to get through to Norton without the two of them losing their tempers. He really would.
Norton sighed and leaned back. Sadly, he did understand their keeper's problem. "Look, Harrison, Suzanne and I are too damn close to the problem. I know there's a solution here somewhere, but I can't see it because I'm too close, I'm too involved. So's Harrison. So's Suzanne. And so are you, Col. We need an outside look."
"Did you consider asking?"
"I just did."
"Before you sent the letter?"
Norton grinned. It was an infectious splash of white in his dark face. "Yes. But I thought I'd better find out if that nasty husband of hers would let her come for a visit before I started counting my chickens."
"Husband!!!"
Norton feigned ducking the Colonel's wrath. "Husband," he agreed with a laugh. "Not the sort to come with, I suspect."
"Great. Just great." Colonel Paul Ironhorse, full Cherokee Indian, West Point graduate and security head for the Blackwood Foundation stomped off into the house fuming. He passed a bemused looking Dr. Harrison Blackwood, the eccentric astronomer/astrophysicist for whom the project was named. He scowled at the man and stomped onward muttering about protocols and chains of command.
Harrison looked in on Norton, his mild blue eyes filled with curiosity and laughter. "And just what did you do this time? Spend our entire budget on coffee again?"
Norton emitted a crack of laughter. "No. Preliminary inquiries to an ex-student about a visit. If she can -"
"She? Is it? Tall, striking Nubian maiden?"
Norton gave him a look. "Try glacial English. Ice blonde, blue eyes, in need of constant comforting and support."
That netted him a look of his own. "Sounds - "
"Not exactly, I know. Mary has a way of looking at things that is - unlike those of us who've been immersed in them."
"Tech?"
"Scads of talent, no training. At least, not until she took my 'how not to be terrified of the computer' course a couple of years ago."
"That would be just before I hired you."
"Yes, it would."
"So, you're going to steal this sheltered English rose child -"
"Harrison, she's not a child. Probably in her 40's, although she doesn't look it."
"You really think she can help?"
"Yeah. I do."
"Think she'll approve of the danger?"
"Maybe we'll lie to her?"
"Right. Big help you are. I'll see what I can do with Ironhorse."
"Thank you."
Mary Rutland read the letter for the third time. It still seemed to be saying the same thing. Norton Drake, the incredibly intelligent, patient man who had taught a computer class she'd taken two years ago, was asking her if she'd like to visit California and maybe take a look at a problem he had. Norton Drake, with a knee wobbling smile and the kindest dark eyes she'd ever met, was asking her, Mary, the complete computer illiterate, to come --
She was dreaming. That was it. The stress of the interview and the move and losing John and --- And - well. He'd given her a phone number. She'd call and make certain this wasn't one of his more impractical jokes. That could be a really expensive joke. She looked at the ticket voucher on the table. First Class reservation on a flight leaving in a week. Such a temptation.
She set the letter and the ticket aside and looked through her list of things to do. Phone calls first. She made several, making appointments to come in to fill out paperwork and more paperwork. Why couldn't they just e-mail her the forms, she could fill them out and return them the same way. It would save so much time and running about. She almost laughed.
The next call, she asked if they could e-mail her the forms. Shocked silence. Well, no. They had to be filled out. In triplicate. By hand. Ah. Well. Then she'd stop by and pick them up, thank you. She hung up and frowned at the phone. That was odd. What difference did it make as long as the forms were legible? She took a sip of tea and discovered it was cold. Very cold. Bleh.
After dinner, she sat down to tackle the job of sorting out what keepsakes she wanted for herself and which ones to send to Ed. It was hard to choose. There were so many memories she wanted all to herself, but she knew now just how selfish that was. She resolutely separated photos into two piles. Anything with her late husband and her son stayed. Then there were the photos with strangers in them, people Ed wouldn't know. Unless Johnny was doing something particularly engaging, she kept those.
Two hours passed in heart searching to make certain she'd done the best she could on the split. Then came the models. There were only five out of the dozen or more he'd had. This was so hard. She didn't want to part with any of them, remembering how hard he'd work to put them together. Tears trickled down her face as she looked at them. It was too much to ask. She - she sniffed and wiped her face. No. It was only right. She'd keep three. That was - No, it wasn't enough. Only having him here, watching him grow up, only that would be enough. But Ed didn't even have this.
She let herself cry again. It still hurt so much to have lost him. Her baby. Her son. Their son. So much pain to have lost him, and now to realize that the loss was preventable. If she'd let him wait. If she'd stood up for his rights to see his son. All the ifs of a lifetime of hurt for both of them welled up and overflowed. She sobbed into the pillow she was holding.
Eventually, the sobs dwindled down to hiccoughing sniffles. She sat up and looked at the models again. This time it didn't hurt quite so much. She washed her face and made another cup of tea before returning to decide which to keep and which to send. She liked the ships better than the spacecraft and the airplane. All right, Ed would get those and she would keep the ships. That was done. Now, all she had to do was pack things up and send them off with a letter of explanation.
Oh.
Dear.
She frowned. All right. Pack things up and the letter would wait - for a while.
She made herself some dinner, poured a small glass of white wine to go with it, and found herself idly reading Norton's letter again. What was the time difference between California and England? Let's see. Five hours to New York. That meant six to - to - the next time zone. That should put California at seven. She frowned at that.
If it was 8pm now, then it was 3 in New York, and 2 in - wherever - and 1pm in California! That worked. She picked up the phone and dialed the number on the letterhead. Wait. That wasn't going to work. She disconnected as she got the reminder that a country code was necessary. Oh, right. Country code. She chuckled to herself.
This time she dialed the number with all of the prefixes and the phone rang. And rang. And rang. And rang. She frowned at the phone. She set the receiver in its cradle and continued frowning. She glanced at the letter again. Email address! Of course.
She logged onto the Internet, fired off an e-mail telling Norton that she was curious and yes, she could probably manage to visit California and what in the world did he need her for? She read her incoming email. Not a lot of that. And then she went web surfing for a bit to take her mind off the day, the package for Ed and her curiosity.
Midnight. Oh, dear. That late? She logged off the Internet and started to shut down her computer when she decided she'd best get the letter to Ed written. She stared at the blank document page for ten minutes trying to organize her thoughts. This was not working. What was it her professor had said? Just start somewhere and go back and organize.
So, she did.
Two days later, Mary Rutland handed her ticket to the passenger steward at the boarding gate to the Concorde heading for New York. She was still a bit dazed, but Norton was offering to pay her to come to California and take a look at some data with which he was having a problem. She'd packed enough clothes to get to California and back, with a change for one day there. If she needed anything else, Norton said he would provide. Or, and she could hear his impish grin in this, the Foundation would anyway.
She found a window seat and settled in for the trip. She looked out at the pale skies. For just a moment, she wondered when she would see her home again. She set that foolish thought aside and settled in to do some reading. She almost smirked at the cover of the book she'd bought on her way to the loading gate. The man on the cover was entirely too unrealistically good looking in a very muscular way. The woman was an ethereal blonde who couldn't seem to make up her mind whether to faint or sink her claws into the man. A good old-fashioned bodice ripper romance, she thought with a chuckle. Not the sort of thing that took a lot of concentration to enjoy. Just one of life's little guilty pleasures.
She took one last look out the window, catching her own reflection in the glass. Ed should be getting his package today, she thought. Well, regardless of his reaction, she would be on her way to California and she could deal with repercussions when she got back. That smacked of the coward's way out, but it was that or wait until she got back to send it. The latter didn't seem quite fair. She opened the book and started reading as the airplane took off down the runway.
* * *
Ed Straker walked into his secretary's office to find her puzzling over a package, which had just been delivered by courier. She didn't recognize the return address, and that was worrying her.
"What is this?"
"I don't know, sir. It just arrived. I don't recognize the return address. It's for you."
He frowned at it. "Well, let's get it open and see what it is. It's a bit large to be a bomb."
She smiled and gave a slight laugh at that. She handed him her letter opener to dispose of the tape. The tape proved resilient, requiring a pocketknife to slice through it. He pulled out the paper filler at the top of the box, then something bubble wrapped. Carefully, he sliced the tape holding the object secured and unwrapped it. The half scowl on his face altered as he recognized the space shuttle model he was holding.
The years rolled back. He was admiring his son's handiwork as he held the model while Johnny put the last touches on it. Not quite centered, but beautiful to them both. He took a slightly shuddery breath and placed the model back in the top of the box.
"It's all right. I know what this is. I'll take it in." He picked up the box and walked through the door into his office, closing the door behind him.
Miss Ealand picked up the packing paper and looked down as an envelope dropped out. It was also addressed to Ed Straker in a fine feminine looking hand. She buzzed him on the intercom.
"Yes?"
"There's a letter, sir. It was mixed in with the packing paper. Shall I bring it in?"
"Yes. Thank you."
He was sitting behind his desk perusing a report when she handed him the letter. She turned and walked out, gently closing the door behind her. Given the look on his face, she locked the door so that he wouldn't be disturbed for a while.
He waited until he heard the latch click on the door, then he looked at the envelope. He knew the handwriting. Even without a return address, he knew Mary's writing. He sliced the envelope open and pulled out the single sheet within, his face stony.
Dear Edward:
How formal that sounds. I'm sorry. I know, it isn't much after all these years. But I don't know how else to say it.
I've sent you some of my photos and keepsakes - Johnny's models. If I'd thought instead of reacting I'd have sent you all of the models when (he could almost hear her shuddering sigh) he died. You'd think that would get easier to say with time. It doesn't. But you know that, don't you?
I've sent some other old photos along. I kept one to remind me not to get to cocksure of myself in the future. You may not know John Rutland died two months ago. Massive brain hemorrhage. We were on the brink of a divorce. He wasn't contesting. I had proof. Real proof.
Oh, Ed - I am so abysmally sorry. I know it's too late to do more than apologize, to let you know that I finally woke up and recognized that - that what I thought and what I was assured had no basis in reality. I don't know what it was and I don't want to know. I wish I had been just a little more perceptive and not so tied up in myself.
Well, still being tied up in myself a trifle, I'll be on my way to California by the time you read this. I've been asked to look at a problem a teacher of mine has. That sounds awkward, doesn't it? I took a computer class - several - a couple of years ago, and the professor for one of them just contacted me and asked me to come take a look at something for him. He's even going to pay me. He's not teaching any more. He's with something called the Blackwood Foundation. Sounds a bit non-profit. I should be back soon.
Take care of yourself.
Yours truly,
Mary Rutland
He sat and stared at the letter for several minutes, re-reading it. Mary. He shook his head. Mary had sent him Johnny's models. He frowned at the box, stood up, letter still in hand, and took a look. One space shuttle. He unwrapped the other one. One jet airplane. A box came next. Photos. Lots of photos of Johnny. A distant part of his mind noticed that there were none including Mary's late husband.
And at the very bottom, the photos that had ended their marriage. He felt cold when he saw those. So very cold inside. He read Mary's letter again. What could she have possibly seen now that she had not seen then.
"... on the brink of divorce. ... proof. Real proof."
Mentally he could see it. Photos of Rutland with another woman or women. Pictures of a man enjoying himself. Compared with these photos - how much could she extrapolate from her new perspective? How much danger was she in with what she had figured out already? He had to - California. Damn. He'd just have to wait until she returned.
He crumpled the photo of himself and Gay Ellis. After all this time, Mary knew the truth. What was he going to do about it?
Alec Freeman walked through the outer office and tried the door to Straker's office. Locked. He looked around at Miss Ealand and cocked an eyebrow upwards in curiosity. She looked bland. She was so very good at looking bland. Sometimes Alec wondered if Ed had hired her for the bland look and her incredible ability to stay chronically unattached to any of the males in the vicinity.
"It's locked."
"Yes, it is."
"Why?"
"He got a package. It seemed to be something he needed to deal with undisturbed."
"Open the door."
Their eyes locked for a moment. She acceded to his order gracefully. "Mr. Freeman's here to see you," she told her boss over the intercom.
"It's all right. Let him in."
Alec didn't quite charge through the doorway as it unlocked, but it was close. Ed sounded tired. Ed never sounded tired. Not that way. Alec shelved his chaotic thoughts and tried to read Ed's face. The pale eyes looked up from the piece of paper in his hand.
"Ed -"
He held the letter out for Alec to read. He scanned it. He blinked. He read it. He read it again. He finally looked at Ed. "What the Hell?" he said succinctly. A gesture to the box. He looked. Oh, hell. He'd heard about that shuttle model, at length, once. He caught sight of the damning photos Mary Straker had used as a basis for divorcing Ed. He looked at the letter again.
"Oh, hell." He threw himself into the chair opposite Ed and waited. Silence. Very long silence. Extremely long silence. One of them had to say something. But what?
"I know. A hell of a time for her to finally put the correct two and two together."
"Yeah."
Pale eyes shimmering with unshed tears met Alec's dark gaze. "We deal with it when she gets back."
"Ed -"
"When she gets back," he reiterated softly.
Alec nodded. Damn the woman. Why couldn't she leave well enough alone? But he had the answer in his hand. Whatever he thought of Mary Straker, she was basically an honest sort. Realizing the kind of pain she had put Ed through, she had to let him know that she was sorry for it. Damn her. How the hell were they going to get through this? Ed had spent years believing the break up was all his fault, that his son's death was also his fault. Mary may have meant to try to ease some of that guilt, assuming she had an inkling it existed, but she'd reopened wounds Alec had thought were finally beginning to heal.
Maybe he should have just broken her neck when he had a chance. A glance at Ed told him different. No. Then Ed would have blamed himself for what happened to Mary as well. When she got back. If she got back. Blast all women to hell. Except, of course, Miss Ealand and Gay and - Oh hell.
* * *
The Concorde landed in New York with a four-hour layover before continuing on to New Orleans. Mary stayed the night at a hotel near the airport before continuing her journey to California. The last leg of the journey was on a 747. Not so new, but definitely comfortable. She finished the book she was reading and looked out the window to watch clouds go past the windows.
The sun was shining as the plane landed. She debarked, walked out of the gateway and saw Norton sitting there waiting for her. He smiled up at her, white even teeth in a handsome chocolate colored face. She smiled back and waved. It was warm. She joined him.
"I wasn't expecting you to meet me."
"Ah, would I abandon one of my favorite students?"
"Might. You have one of those hand equipped cars so you can drive?"
"Better. I have a driver."
Mary laughed. "You've come up in the world. Is this the chair you said you were going to design?"
"Yep. Voice coded and controlled. Gertrude, 90 degrees right. Move forward with the pretty lady."
The motorized wheelchair kept pace with Mary as they went to collect her luggage. He raised his eyebrows at her modest pair of bags. One small toiletry bag and one overnight bag, both of which she could carry easily.
"You travel light."
"You didn't indicate that this would take much time, Norton."
"No. I didn't. But it might," he told her honestly.
"Then I'll just have to go shopping."
He grinned at that. "I'm certain the Foundation can cover anything you need. Can't it, Paul?" he ended with a look up at the tall, compactly muscled man standing next to the van toward which Norton had led her. Dark hair close cropped, dark eyes with an unfriendly look, military bearing, Mary looked at him and frowned. He reminded her of someone. She tried a smile and held out a hand for him to take.
For just a moment, she thought he might not shake her hand. Then he relaxed slightly and did so. A warm, firm handshake. His eyes warmed slightly. He smiled. White even teeth in a tanned face with coppery undertones. She wasn't certain which smile was more devastating, his or Norton's.
"Mrs. Rutland -"
"Mary - please?" She cut across whatever he was going to say. One of these days she would make it officially Rogers again.
His eyes flickered slightly at the insistence, but he found only a wistful sorrow in her pale eyes, as though some thought had caused her pain. "Mary. I'm Paul Ironhorse."
"Ironhorse? Native American?"
"Yes."
That got a genuine smile from the lady, lighting her eyes. "Somehow, I wasn't expecting this. I hope you don't mind curiosity; we don't get to meet many of your people in England. And most of us get all our information from old western movies. Not the best source of information, I suspect."
"No. Entertaining, but inaccurate." He checked his watch. "If you don't mind, we do need to get moving. Norton -"
"Halfway there." While Mary and Paul had been talking, the ever-on-top-of-things Norton had been loading himself and his chair onto the lift at the side of the van. He pressed a conveniently located button and the hydraulic lift rose to deposit him level with the floor of the van. He neatly rolled into the van and looked back at the other two with a grin.
"Are you two coming?"
Mary set her bags in the van with a laugh and stepped up into the passenger side of the van while Ironhorse walked around to the driver's side. They drove out to the Blackwood Foundation. Mary watched the scenery in fascination. When they arrived at the gates of the mansion where the Foundation made its home, she was struck speechless. Acres of neatly trimmed lawn seemed to stretch on forever dotted by old growth shade trees, a paddock in which a pale horse was stretching its legs. The house was huge and beautiful.
"You - work here?" she said uncertainly.
"And live. It's an interesting project."
"So I can imagine."
She was given an hour to settle into the room prepared for her. Then she joined Norton and his friends at lunch. Harrison Blackwood, for whom the foundation was named, was a tall, curly haired, slightly vague looking man. Suzanne McCullough was lovely and dedicated seeming, although Mary wasn't exactly certain to what she was dedicated. The housekeeper was a pleasant older woman and the groundskeeper was a slightly surly older man. The two of them seemed to have an understanding of some sort as they traded polite insults.
Mary was aware of being under intense scrutiny from everyone except Norton who kept up an even flow of mindless chitchat during lunch. She learned that Harrison was a vegetarian, that Suzanne was a microbiologist who was not in favor of using her talents for the military or the government and Paul Ironhorse could keep his mouth shut.
After lunch, Norton took her upstairs to his rooms to look at the data he wanted her to think about. Paul came up an hour later to find the two heads together, Mary's soft pale hair a stark contrast to Norton's nearly shaved nap. He considered walking away again, but Norton seemed to sense his presence.
"Paul. Just the man I wanted to see. Mary's isolated a grouping for us. Look."
Paul raised an eyebrow and walked over. Just what had Norton told the woman? He looked at the map on the screen. Points clustered together. He shot a look of inquiry at Norton.
"You know all those old test transmissions we bounced around to make certain that the equipment was receiving correctly?"
"Oh, those."
"Yeah. We got that strange echo on some of them. Well, they all seemed to have bounced in this general area." Norton gestured to the topographical display. "Now, all we have to do is compare this to the information to the maps and we'll have an answer as to which frequencies bounce where."
"Excellent." He caught Mary's eye as she looked back at him. He reminded himself to smile pleasantly. Was that a glimmer of curiosity? He hoped not. He nodded to the two computer techs and went out.
Mary laughed suddenly, getting a look from her companion. "Sorry. I just realized who he reminds me of."
"And that would be?"
"My ex-husband. Sostiff, military."
Norton frowned. "You didn't mention him being military."
"No. Not my late husband, the one before that." she got the giggles over his look. "I'm sorry. It was it was a youthful mistake. We weren't married long." Just long enough not to know each other very well and to make a baby, came the intrusive thought.
Norton caught the sadness as she looked away from him. He reached over and took her hand. "I didn't mean to pry."
She met his gaze again and smiled. "It's all right. It was fifteen years ago. He was in the Air Force, a new Colonel. He looked so very -- striking in his uniform. There is something about uniforms. Not long afterwards he was in a bad car crash, he was thrown out of the vehicle. He was invalided out, or he chose not to re-enlist. I'm not sure any more exactly what it was." For a moment she looked as though her mind were thousands of miles away. She came back to the present and smiled again.
"Anyway, he went into the movie making business and, well, I was a jealous cat about some of his employees, accused him of affairs and finally demanded a divorce. I really was quite badly behaved."
"You still love him?"
"What? Oh, I don't know. Realizing after John actually did have affairs during our marriage, I suppose I feel really guilty about what happened between me and Ed. Ed and me? Whichever." She laughed at her sudden attempt at proper grammar. "I, I suspect I may have been harsh where Ed was concerned. I was pregnant. My mother was not particularly fond of him. Things just escalated and I have some suspicions now that I was wrong. He was just doing his job."
"I wouldn't want to insult you, but I think the man was crazy to let you get away."
Another sunny smile. "Thank you." She returned the pressure of his fingers and then seemed to discover that they'd been holding hands all this time. She flushed slightly, but still smiled.
Norton found his throat miserably clogged up suddenly, released her hand gently and tried to find some innocuous subject to change to just as Harrison entered the room with his usual lack of knocking.
"Harrison! Did Paul tell you about our discovery?"
Later that night, after Mary had decided she'd had a very long day and retired early, the others had a meeting to decide what to do about Mary. Paul provided the security check information. He looked less than pleased with the information. Suzanne, watching his face as he talked, thought he seldom looked completely pleased with much of anything around them.
"So, what you're saying is that her background is entirely unremarkable and you can't find a really good reason for denying our request to add her to the team," Harrison summed up.
Paul frowned. "Give me another couple of days. There's something off, somewhere."
Harrison grinned at him. "Our jobs tend to make the world look that way, Col.," he pointed out gently.
"I know. There's something about the first husband."
"The movie man," Norton supplied.
"Owner and CEO of a fifteen year old studio that seldom breaks even. They've had one successful, profitable year in all that time."
Norton, Suzanne and Harrison exchanged glances.
"Aliens?" Harrison asked impishly, knowing that the answer to that one was negative. The aliens had only been conscious for a matter of months since the incident at Jericho Valley. There was no way they could be using a movie studio as a front. The thought was jarring. Harrison sobered as he considered the implications of what he'd said. "I hope not," he said seriously. He met Paul's dark gaze, a hint of worry in his eyes. "It would make a very good cover for them."
Paul looked struck by this, as did Norton and Suzanne. "No one questioning mysterious comings and goings, even the radiation sickness the host bodies develop could be covered by 'special effects' and 'makeup'."
"Ironhorse. Harrison. Down. The lady's ex is not an alien. Besides, she says you remind her of him. There's not an alien in the bunch who can manage that stiff backed military stance of yours." He softened the crack with a grin.
Paul relaxed. He kept his reservations to himself. Until he knew every last detail of Mr. Edward Straker's life, he would have a hard time clearing Mary Rutland to join the Blackwood Foundation. Too much rested on their remaining a secret from the aliens. The fate of the world. He looked back at the two men and the woman sitting near the fireplace. It was too heavy a burden for the three of them to bear alone, yet it was not a burden they could share. Sometimes he wished he had never heard of Jericho Valley or Harrison Blackwood. Others, he wished they could find a simple, final way to stop the opposition cold.
"He's got that look again," Norton announced quietly.
"The one where he wishes he was somewhere else?" Harrison asked.
"Or the one where he wishes he could commandeer the entire of the US Military and squash the aliens so we could go home?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, one chasing the other. Bad news."
Suzanne chuckled. "I'm for bed. Good night."
Over the next few days, Mary continued to examine data as Norton released it to the computer in his quarters upstairs. She was aware of some suppressed emotion around her, but decided in the best of British good breeding that it was not her business, unless someone decided to let her in on it. She talked Norton into taking a break and taking her for a drive so she could see the countryside. He advised Paul they were going and took her up the highway to the Napa Valley for a tour of the wineries.
In England, Alec Freeman was wearing a frown. He'd spotted two governmental types on the premises but couldn't seem to get close to them, or find out what was going on. He gave it a couple of hours and then went to Straker with his suspicions.
"I think we have a problem."
Straker looked up at him, closed the report he was reading and waited. Briefly Alec described the two men he'd spotted.
"Spooks from the look of them. Any idea who we've annoyed on the Commission this time?"
"No one. Except Henderson, of course."
Alec shook his head. He still wasn't certain how the old goat had gone from supporting the formation of SHADO to opposing it most of the time. Senility could have some odd aberrations, he understood. He was beginning to hope that he didn't live long enough to find out. "Not his style. He usually breezes in unannounced looking for dirt himself. Corral them?"
"Give 'em a nice long lead. Assign some of our more unobtrusive personnel to keep an eye on them. If they get in the way, deal with it."
"Yes, sir," Alec agreed with a smile.
A thought seemed to strike the commander. "Alec."
"Yes?" Alec stopped on the way out the door. He wasn't certain he liked the touch of smile playing around Straker's mouth. It wasn't a nice smile.
"Moorecock and Osato. It'll give them some time outside."
Alec opened his mouth and shut it. He had his reservations about the two, still. But he didn't think opposing Straker on this was worth the effort. Or that it would do any good.
"Yes, sir."
* * *
"Johansen."
"Yes."
"Anything?"
"No."
"Two more hours and we call it a day. The computer work should be done by then." The agent who wasn't Johansen wriggled his shoulders to ease the tension between them. He wasn't happy being bait. Especially not with the feeling he was getting off some of the permanent personnel here.
"Right. Johansen out."
The other man turned and nearly collided with a petite Japanese woman with large dark eyes. "Excuse me."
A flood of Japanese hit him. Whatever she was saying, she was definite and excited. He couldn't tell if she was asking for assistance or just sharing with him the wonderful experience of being in the studios. After a few moments, it seemed to dawn on the lady that she wasn't being comprehensible. The broken English cut in at that point.
"You are the so wonderful producer, hai? I am being Tanaka Midori. I am visiting England, verrry firrrst time! I am soooo wonderful to be here. I am so enjoy your studio. I am very happy to meet you, Mr. Straker-san."
He quickly disabused her mind of her misidentification. Well, he tried to quickly disabuse her of her misinterpretation of the data at hand. It took a while. And a lot of patience. And he was very, very tired of being at Harlington-Straker Studios by the time he was through.
While he was disentangling himself from "Midori Tanaka", Johansen was having his own troubles in the shape of a tall, wildly maned, well dressed man who stalked up and began telling him exactly what was wrong with the studio, the staff, the actors, the cameraman and the head of the studio. The man's personality was forceful. His air was one of command. His accent was not so Deep South as to attract more than the notice that it was well suited to his looks and vocal ability.
And he talked.
Eventually, both men managed to escape the clutches of the "movie people" holding them captive. They fled to their vehicles, departed the studio grounds in opposite directions and met up in a pre-designated pub where Johansen found his partner downing a shot of good Kentucky Bourbon. He slid onto the stool next to the man, ordered a pint and looked over curiously.
"Bad day?"
"Japanese Tourist," came the terse response.
"Ah. Director. Pissed off Director."
They looked at each other, downed their drinks and ordered again. Several hours later, they took a taxi to their respective hotels and agreed to meet later in the day and compare notes. In both their minds, the current investigation was a fiasco.
Two hangovers later, they compared notes. Aside from the final couple of hours, they had seen nothing untoward and had found out nothing about Mr. Edward Straker that was not common knowledge. They filed their reports, took more aspirin and agreed to call it a day, for the next few days.
And Harlington-Straker Studios shrugged off six hacker attacks in as many hours. The studio computers were uncompromised. Security below was annoyed. The computers at SHADO were, as usual, inviolate. But the dedication of the hacker was worrying. They went looking.
Alec broke off laughing at Miki's description of her use of her cousin Midori's mannerisms to derail her target as a Lieutenant came in, whispered something in his ear, and left again. Miki sobered and shot a look at Caleb who was looking bored. Alec got to his feet and nodded a dismissal.
"Trouble?" Caleb's soft voice followed him.
"Possibly. We've been having trouble with someone trying to hack into the studio computers all day."
"Need some help?"
"Why?"
"I'm bored. My stitches itch. I need something to take my mind off it. Or the doc will tape mittens on my hands to keep me from scratching."
"Sounds good to me."
Caleb leaned back in his chair and just stared at the man until his gaze shifted fractionally. "You know where to find me."
Miki frowned at the two men as Alec left. "You don't like Alec-san?"
His look was bland. "Does it matter?"
The soft voice sent chills along her spine. "Yes," she blurted out.
"Why?"
"I like him," she said in a very small, self-conscious voice.
Was she truly afraid of him, he wondered? "Come here."
She came over, sat on his lap and leaned against him. He put his arms around her. "Leaving me?"
She looked up into his unreadable eyes. "You do not mind." It was not a question.
"As long as it is your will and not someone else's, no, I don't mind."
She snuggled against him comfortably. "Yes, I like him. But he does not know that he likes me. Not yet."
"Be careful," he cautioned, stroking her hair with one hand.
"I'm always careful," she responded promptly, a grin dimpling her cheeks. "Except when I'm not, of course."
"Of course."
Paul Foster, not Caleb, led the assault on the hacker's apartment. There was no answer when he knocked on the door. He kicked the door once, twice, three times and got a sore ankle for his trouble. He motioned to one of the more stoutly built men with him to take the door. The door splintered and broke.
Cautiously, Paul entered the room beyond. He looked back at the door. He blinked. There was a row of locks down the side of the door. Only the door latch and one of the deadbolts was visible from the outside. He looked around at a dusty, empty set of rooms. He got a really disgusted look on his face as he realized the only thing in the four bare rooms was a dusty looking relay station sitting there cold and unused. Damn. Wherever the hacker was, he wasn't here.
Several days later, Paul Ironhorse, Lt. Col. US Marines, Special Forces and security for the Blackwood Foundation, read the reports. He mulled over the information. He realized that there was really no reason not to pass Mary Rutland's security clearance for the project and agreed to let Norton and Harrison brief her at their convenience.
Unfortunately, Mary was in the middle of getting an up close and personal introduction to the horrors that dogged Harrison Blackwood's dreams while the Colonel was kindly deciding to let her in on the secret.
The Napa Valley in California, USA is known for its vineyards. They cluster thickly along the valley, giving it a quiet, undisturbed look as you enter the valley. Norton and Mary had tried three of the smaller vineyards on their last trip up. Today they were attracted to a small vineyard boasting an excellent burgundy. They drove into the parking area and took a moment to enjoy the quiet, shady lane feel of the place. Old trees spread shading branches over the parking lot. There was an expanse of green grass between the rustic, railroad tie edged gravel lot and the entrance to the winery.
They got out, got Norton situated in his chair and rolled across the gravel to the door. There were only a handful of cars in the lot, but they had called ahead to make certain this was one of the days the winery had tours. Thus it was odd to find the door locked. Mary and Norton exchanged a look. She checked either side of the doorway to see if there was a notice that the place was closed. Nothing.
"Norton?"
He shrugged his well-muscled shoulders. He used the handrails on the wheels to back up. Gertrude, his voice activated chair was not suited to uneven terrain. Or to areas in which he had not had a chance to measure distances. He took a look at the building. It was silent.
Inside, a trio of men watched the two new comers at the door. They looked concerned. As one, they went in search of counsel. They joined a number of other men and women back in the body of the winery.
"There are visitors."
"The door is locked?"
"Yes."
"They will go away."
The trio nodded in understanding. "There is nothing in the front of the building, except areas to receive visitors."
"It is sealed off?"
"Yes."
"Good. Then join the others. We must make certain the horrible use they make of these grapes is properly blended with the bacteria."
"As you wish. To Life Immortal."
"To Life Immortal," the three apparent commanders of the force in possession of the winery responded.
Outside, Norton's curiosity was getting the better of him. He rolled around the side of the building looking for answers. Nothing. Mary followed nervously. The silence was beginning to bother her.
"Norton," she whispered, not quite knowing why.
He looked up at her. "I'm just taking a look."
She frowned. "Be careful."
He grinned at her, nodded and rolled on to the back of the building. Caution raised its head and he stopped before he rolled around the corner. Instead, he crept close to the corner and peeked around. What he saw puzzled him, then chilled him to the core. Triads. They were working in threes. Damn. He rolled swiftly back to where Mary was standing.
"Let's get out of here." He rolled past her toward the parking lot.
She ran to catch up with him. She caught up just as the gravel tried to make him tip over. "Whoa! Not so fast! You'll fall over." She helped steady his wheelchair.
"Yeah. Bad idea. Very bad idea." He chanced a glance back over his shoulder. Good. So far, no one had noticed them. He hauled himself into the driver's seat of the car they'd used. He debated leaving his chair where it sat. But Mary was already efficiently folding it up to stow in the back. "Hurry."
She threw him a concerned look, finished folding the chair into its travel configuration and managed to get it stowed before running around to the passenger side and getting into the car. She was pulling the seat belt around her when Norton threw the car into gear, spun the wheels on the gravel as he backed up and practically flew out of the lot.
"Norton!"
"Call Paul."
Mary regarded him seriously for about 10 seconds, pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and hit the speed dial number he'd showed her earlier. She set the phone in a holder on the dash board.
"Ironhorse."
"Paul. Trouble. We're at the Gandini's Winery. Or leaving it. They're here."
Paul's face froze. "On my way. Keep moving."
"Don't worry, I am."
"Keep this line open."
"Done."
"And, Norton,"
"Yeah?"
"She's cleared. Whatever you think she needs to know to survive."
"Thanks, man." He turned his face to look at Mary who was regarding him steadily. "Can you handle a gun?"
"What?"
"A gun? Glove box."
She hesitated for only a moment before opening the glove box. Inside were three guns, to be exact. A Smith and Wesson six shot revolver and two military issue semi-automatic pistols. She pulled all three out. Cautiously she confirmed they were loaded. She took a deep breath, released it and took the safety catches off all three.
"Smith and Wesson --" she mused. "The original point and click interface," she muttered.
"What?" Norton asked with a laugh.
Mary blushed slightly. "Sorry. Vivien's sig line for a while."
"She would."
Mary giggled. She could feel a rising tide of hysteria just below the surface. She sat on it. Maybe later. "Norton -- this is -- dangerous?"
"Very." He checked the rear view mirror. Nothing. Maybe they were home free. He found a place to pull off the road, under some overhanging branches he hoped would conceal their presence from anyone coming down the road. He turned off the engine and sat for a moment. Then he turned to the trusting woman at his side.
Her pale eyes were fastened on his face. She was waiting for the explanation that would make sense of all of this. Dammit, did he even have the right to ask her to involve herself? Worse, did he have the right to make the decision for her, now that she was very close to being involved right up to her pretty neck?
"I don't know where to start."
"How about with what you saw back there."
"This is gonna sound crazy. It wasn't all that out of the ordinary, unless you know what you're looking at. They were loading a truck. Simple. But they were doing it in threes."
"Threes?"
"Triads. Three -- people -- working as a -- team. Sort of. This is really sounding nuts."
She reached over and placed her hand over his. "It's OK. I've known there was -- something more? -- since I got here. Mr. Ironhorse cleared me to be told, didn't he?"
Norton nodded. "Yeah. The Blackwood Foundation is --" he sighed.
"A cover story?"
"Yeah." He gazed at her in wonder and worry. "How?"
"I -- I knew someone who -- who was -- not exactly what he was supposed to be. It took me forever to figure it out, but it gets easier."
He wondered if that "someone" was part of Paul's problem with Mary. "Ok. We're the good guys. They're the bad guys. They're not even 'guys' really. They're -- how old are you?"
She laughed at that. "Seriously?"
"Yeah. Seriously."
"Forty-one."
"Hmm. I like older women."
"Norton!" She giggled destroying the 'outraged' use of his name.
"Yeah. So, you weren't around in 1953."
"No. What's that got to do with -- "
"Shh. Harrison was. Back in 1953 there was an -- invasion. Nobody seems to remember much about it. Harrison has nightmares, but they're vague. He was about two and a half. Old enough to be scared, but not to remember clearly."
"An invasion? Norton, the States haven't been invaded since -- since the War of 1812."
"Not by anything human."
Staring into his eyes, she knew he was telling the truth. She shuddered. She felt cold. Freezing. Her mouth and eyes rounded into O's. "Oh, Norton. But -- "
"They didn't finish what they started. They died. Earth's bacteria took 'em on and took 'em out. Or so we thought. Six months ago, we discovered the military was wrong. They weren't dead. They were in some sort of illness induced anabolic state."
"Anabolic?"
Norton considered this. "Airless. The bacteria needed air to survive. The aliens went into a dormant, sort of hibernation state. We stuffed them in drums and stored them. Out of sight - "
"Out of mind," she finished the old saw for him. "Something -- happened?"
"Jericho Valley. A bunch of pantywaist terrorists took out the garrison, small garrison, there and were going to blow clouds of toxic waste everywhere. Instead, the waste apparently activated the aliens, killing the bacteria that plagued them, and letting them wake up."
"Norton, you're not telling me you 'saw' aliens back there, are you?"
"Not exactly. They work in trios. They have a three lensed single eye, hands with two 'fingers' and a 'thumb', three toes on each foot and a sort of stubby tail thing so they can balance without sitting down. And they are uuuuuuuuuuuu -- gly."
"That's what you saw - "
"Best, or worst, for last. They can take a human body for a host, meld with it, become indistinguishable from it."
Mary paled. Whatever the truth was, Norton believed this. She glanced at the phone. And so did Paul and Harrison and Suzanne. She shuddered and struggled to deal with the information. Questions. There had to be something she could ask to get through this.
"How - ?"
"Do I know they're back there? Trios. They were working in trios."
"This is crazy," she said softly.
"Tell me about it."
Their eyes met again. She reached out and brushed the side of his face with her fingertips. "The transmissions. They weren't bounces. They were -- alien?"
He nodded his agreement. Where the hell were Ironhorse and the cavalry? He ignored the illogic of that thought since Paul and help were still at least an hour away. He heard the thrum of a diesel engine in the distance. He looked up. It was coming from the winery. Shit.
"Paul!"
"Lt. Orpheus, here Mr. Drake. The Colonel is finishing up getting us moving. What can we do for you."
"Fly. There's a truck coming out of the winery."
He heard the Lieutenant yelling at the Colonel, advising him of the situation. A moment later, Paul's familiar voice came through. "Follow it."
"Follow it? Paul -- "
"Don't endanger yourselves. Track and let me know where we're going."
"You'll have to split your forces. We don't have the manpower."
"Don't argue with me, Drake," the Colonel snapped.
"Yeah, yeah. Right. OK. We'll do what we can."
He turned on the engine, hoping none of the aliens would be observant enough to hear the thing. What if they haven't left anyone behind? What if I can't get this damned car to start? Start, dammit~! The rumble was getting closer. The engine caught. The car lurched forward. Damn! He'd left it in gear! The engine conked out again. He looked up. The truck was lumbering forward, carefully down the lane. It had wooden slat sides and he could see both people and barrels in the back. A quick look told him that most of the aliens he'd seen were in the truck. He caught a glimpse of a van behind the truck. They were bailing.
He slammed the gears into park, started the car again and pulled the most idiotic stunt of his life. "Mary, jump."
"What?"
He threw the car into drive, holding the brake. "Jump. Out. Now."
"Norton -- Oh, Hell!" she exclaimed, as she realized that jerking her seatbelt open was not the wisest maneuver she ever made. It jammed. She took a breath and tried to relax, to ignore the truck bearing down on them and what she presumed was going to be Norton's next move. "Norton, can you pop your door? We can both go out that way. Unless you want them to miss us?"
Norton grinned his admiration and slammed the car into the middle of the road. The truck was slowing, but not fast enough. Elementary physics like momentum seemed to escape the aliens on the ground. He pulled Mary across him; shoving her out the door once she freed her seatbelt. He felt the impact of the truck shoving the car sideways as he tried to follow her.
He felt her hands on his arms, pulling. Somehow, she managed to get him free amid the sound of metal and plastic and glass being stressed beyond belief. Mary shot a glance at the truck. Several of the people had been thrown out of the truck on the impact. She scrambled to pull Norton away from the still moving wreckage. She stumbled over something, kicking it away. Then she and Norton were clear of the wreck, falling onto the lush vegetation at the roadside.
She watched wide-eyed as the car, sparks flying, ignited. Flame engulfed the cab of the truck. The doors were apparently jammed closed. The flames licked hungrily at spilled wine, making it sizzle and pop. The barrels, wooden and soaked with wine on the inside, were slow to burn, but resin oozed and trickled out of the slats of the barrels. The people not damaged by the crash were trying to get away from the flames. The van behind the truck had stopped, but not fast enough. The front bumper seemed entangled with the back bumper of the truck. The flames were spreading, fed by the leaking gas from the car.
Something shambled out of the smoke cloud on the road. Mary screamed, her hands scrabbling for something, anything to throw at the horrible thing coming toward her. Norton mumbled something. He opened his eyes for a moment, then passed out. He'd hit his head getting out of the car.
Her hands found something cold, metallic. She grabbed it. Took a quick look and sobbed with relief and fear. Thank god the things were slow. She took aim and fired. And fired again. It took three shots to stop the monster. It fell to its knees, then toppled forward, almost touching the tips of her shoes. She pulled her feet back from the thing as it began to dissolve.
Ironhorse and the Omega Squad arrived half an hour later. Mary was sobbing quietly, cradling Norton in her arms. He was beginning to come back to consciousness. Four puddles of alien goo lay within six inches of them. The diesel truck was sending a cloud of thick black smoke into the clear California air. There didn't seem to be any alien survivors. Both of the semi-automatic pistols were empty.
"Mrs. Rutland. Mary?"
She looked up at him. For a moment, she didn't recognize him in his full field kit. She gulped, took a shuddering breath and nodded. "I think -- I think Norton has a concussion. Maybe."
"I think she's right," Norton echoed from her lap.
She looked at him, smiled and burst into tears again. Two of the Omegas carefully removed Norton to the van and checked him out. Ironhorse squatted down beside the distraught woman and was not surprised when she threw her arms around him and finished sobbing out her fright. He didn't even look particularly uncomfortable about it when Harrison and Suzanne joined him.
Suzanne helped unwrap Mary's arms from around Paul. The blonde hiccupped a couple of times and seemed to be calmer. She gave each of them a searching look. "That's what you're -- Just -- Why aren't there more of you?" she whispered.
"We can't afford to spread panic," Harrison answered her.
"And you -- you want -- me? To help?"
"That's the idea," Suzanne agreed.
Mary nodded, not as though she was agreeing, but to signify her understanding. She met Paul's gaze directly. "I am not field. OK?"
He kept from smiling and nodded solemnly. "I do not do well --," she gulped and let the new fall of tears wash down her face. "I'm sorry."
"I think you did quite well," Paul told her, recovering the empty pistols. "Quite well. But you were under consideration as office personnel, not field."
"Good. I think I can do that." She looked around at the devastation. "Yes," she said softly. "Oh, God. There is no way I would let this get to him -- not after everything else," she said more to herself than to those surrounding her. She realized she wasn't making a lot of sense. "They're not in England, are they?"
"We haven't had any incidents reported," Harrison assured her.
"Good," she said, nodding. "Then we keep them here. We stop them here. God, they're ugly," she said, and wiped the tears from her face. "I'm sorry. I can't seem to stop crying -- "
"It's understandable," Suzanne assured her, helping Mary to her feet and putting an arm around her shoulders. "I feel that way a lot of the time."
Their eyes met. Mary straightened, squared her shoulders and nodded. "I'll try to keep it under control. How's Norton?" she asked, looking around.
"Asking for you, ma'am," a youthful lieutenant said as he walked up.
She nodded and went to see her friend. Friend. What a wonderful word, she thought as she stepped into the van to be met with that wonderful smile.
End
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