Roswell's Secret Read online

  But there was something else...She walked to the end of Main and stopped to study the Hondo River. Her eyes adjusted enough to make out reflections of starlight twinkling on the water’s surface. She considered those thousands of pinpoints of light, and she suddenly knew without a doubt what the terrorists were doing. The answer came to her in brazen certainty.

  She grabbed her ribs, unable to breathe. Panic seized her so fiercely, she sank to her knees—right there on the corner. She put her head to the ground, forced deep breaths into her lungs, and tried to push the knowledge away. She could be wrong. Maybe they didn’t have the capability yet, or perhaps she and Dean could stop them. If they could tell Commander Martin in time...

  Only she knew, as surely as she knew the boardwalk behind her would be stained with blood, the planes she saw tonight would deliver their payload over the citizens of Roswell. It wasn’t a vision now. The facts had come together like pieces of a lab experiment—data that couldn’t be disputed any more than tomorrow’s sunrise could be denied. Knowledge tore at her heart, until she felt compelled to rub at the pain in her chest, as if that could end it. But she knew she couldn’t erase the panic rising within her.

  There was nothing she and Dean could do to stop the terrorists, the method of delivery, or the bio-agent that would soon rain from the sky above them.

  DEAN HEARD THE SOFT fall of footsteps when he should have heard the crunch of tires. The hour—four-thirty in the morning—did nothing to improve his disposition. Leaving his makeshift post, he circled around the parking area leading to their rooms. Spying Lucy, he holstered his Glock and came up silently behind her—though apparently not silently enough. She had her weapon pulled and rammed into his stomach before he could identify himself.

  “You’re going to shoot me?”

  “Dreiser.”

  The meager parking lot lights allowed him to make out the fire in her eyes, note the quick rise and fall of her chest. Turning away she stepped back into the shadows. He followed, giving her space and time to bring her adrenaline down. After several deep breaths, she reached down and replaced the weapon in her ankle holster. When she still didn’t turn around, he slipped behind her, closed the space between them.

  He knew he shouldn’t touch her. They hadn’t really spoken, hadn’t touched since the fight over Jerry, but her shoulders were drawn up and tense. Alone and forlorn, she stood in the deep darkness before dawn, so close the smallness of her hit him as hard as the feel of her firearm in his stomach. The top of her head didn’t even reach his chin. Putting his hands on her arms and bringing his lips down to her hair, he inhaled the clean scent of her, felt her muscles tremble ever so slightly.

  He didn’t ever want to let her go. Holding her in the darkness, all of life came back in its vibrant heart-stopping color.

  She relaxed into his hands for a moment, then pulled away.

  “I’m sorry I scared you.”

  Instead of answering, she searched his face in the starlight. “We need to talk.”

  “Why were you walking?”

  “The boys were too drunk to drive.”

  “So, you had to walk home?” Dean didn’t know where Bubba and Billy lived, but he could wake up Eaton and find out.

  “Easy there, Dreiser.” Lucy reached up and touched his face with both hands. “I played designated driver and dropped the boys off at their house. Their truck is parked at the bar.”

  “What’s wrong?” He again felt a twisting in his gut, afraid to hear the words she would say next and knowing no way to stop them.

  “Not here.”

  She kissed him once, ran her fingers through the hair that curled at his collar. It scared him more than anything she’d done so far. All of the anger from the last three days had completely left her. It had been replaced by resignation and sadness. It filled him with a dread unlike anything he could fathom. If Lucy had decided things had gone horribly bad, and she was the optimist, they were in worse trouble than he’d thought.

  Ω

  Once in her room, Lucy booted up the laptop and retrieved a bottle of water while they waited on it. She gave Dean the modified version of her ride up to Long Canyon. The last thing she needed was Bubba and Billy maimed. If Dean ever saw the road they’d used, the boys would have their licenses permanently revoked.

  Pulling up the UAV files she’d studied, she selected two and split the window screen, so they were displayed side by side.

  “They’re using a hybrid of the RQ-E Dark Star and the RQ-7 Shadow.”

  “How can you be sure?” Dean glanced at Lucy, then back at the screen.

  “I saw it.”

  “Did it land in front of you?”

  “It didn’t land. It hovered for approximately two minutes, then turned and left.”

  “And, in the darkness, you could identify the model?”

  Lucy pulled up a chair beside Dean’s and manipulated the images on the screen, so they could view a side display of the robotic planes. “They had bright lights on most of the time while they hovered, so I couldn’t see them. When they turned to go, though, I had a clear view. See the lattice fins on the Shadow? They’re shaped like paddles and very distinctive. Now, look at the Dark Star. There’s no mistaking this design, although I’d estimate the size at approximately fifty percent larger.”

  “There have been rumors the Dark Star became a black project.” Dean leaned back and glared at the screen. “Supposedly production terminated in 1999, but I’ve never seen any proof. All right. So you think these two designs have been combined into one new super UAV, and the bad guys have some. Why this particular combination of vehicles for this terrorist attack?”

  Lucy leaned forward, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders. She stared at the floor, not to find the answers, but to find the courage to utter them.

  Dean tucked her hair behind her ear, cupped her neck. “This has spooked you. Tell me, and we’ll find a way to stop them.”

  Somehow his touch had brought her strength. She pointed at the monitor. “The Dark Star is fully autonomous, which is one point in their favor. Even if we catch them, their attack will go off as planned. Secondly, by design, this model incorporates high altitude endurance and stealth technology.”

  “Catching the planes will be close to impossible,” Dean said, beginning to understand. “Because we built them to be undetectable.”

  “The Shadow launches from a rail, which could have been what the military truck was pulling. What Jerry couldn’t see. It has a digitally stabilized electro-optical/infrared camera.”

  “EO/IR video in real time.”

  “Which explains how they followed him for two days.”

  “Wait,” Dean said. “The endurance of a Shadow is only eight hours. Another reason Jerry’s story doesn’t line up, and don’t get mad at me for pointing it out.”

  Lucy smiled at him, wishing with all her heart he had found a fault line in her reasoning. “We’re not talking about a Shadow though. We’re talking about a hybrid. The Dark Star had an endurance of twelve hours, seven years ago.”

  Dean studied her. The pieces were coming together, but they weren’t all there yet. She’d know when they were, because he would look as hopeless as she felt.

  He shook his head, ran his hands over his face. “What am I missing?”

  “The Shadow can carry a payload. Up to twenty pounds.”

  Ω

  Dean felt as if Lucy had pulled the trigger. It didn’t take long for the full weight of her words to sink in.

  “Maybe you’re wrong.” He knew she wasn’t, but he needed to believe she might be.

  She didn’t argue with him, but she didn’t offer any false hope either.

  “We’d never know when it happened would we?”

  “The weapon itself is microscopic. We’d know as the casualties started adding up—”

  “Which would create mass panic.”

  “Or there would be an increase in flu-like symptoms and then deaths.” Lucy met his gaze
now, held it until he reached for her hand.

  “Or there might be more UFO sightings.”

  “Yeah.” She continued to stare at him.

  “And people go up there like lambs to the slaughter.” Dean closed his eyes, as the last piece fell into place.

  She came to him then and curled up on his lap. He held her close, needing to know they at least had each other. For the moment, it helped to revel in the touch and presence of each other.

  Dean knew then they might never agree on the methods of this business—Lucy would always want to trust someone. It would be her blind spot, the one thing that could get her killed, and it was where he needed to cover her. He would have never put this puzzle together in a split second of new moonlight. The head cradled against his shoulder held a brain that functioned on a different level than his, and he’d do well to recognize he needed her as much as she needed him. The thought humbled him, and Dean wasn’t used to being humbled.

  Lucy pulled away, stood and stretched. He heard the shower running, looked in surprise at the window and saw the darkness receding from the sky. Why didn’t the light bring him any comfort? He sat contemplating their next move, watching the day push back the night.

  If the terrorists held to their original timeline, they had four days to stop them, maybe seven. And what terrorist had ever been known to keep his word? More than likely, the first deadline they’d given was a red herring. The real attack could be any day, any moment. It could have already taken place.

  “Do we send all of this to Martin?” She stood in the doorway to the bathroom, wearing clean clothes, all of the energy drained out of her.

  “No. We can’t trust any of our communication channels at this point.”

  “We could ask for a meeting.”

  “Yeah, we could.”

  She pulled back the sheets on the bed. Running a hand over them, she stared up at Dean, as if unsure what she should do next.

  “Lie down,” he said. She curled into the sheets, one hand tucked under the pillow, eyes still wide open.

  When she finally lifted her gaze to his, he read her trust there. Somehow she believed he would know what to do.

  He sat beside her on the bed, touched her face. Thought again of life in color.

  “Do you ever wonder why?”

  “It doesn’t matter why,” he said.

  She struggled to keep her brown eyes open. He bent over her, kissed each eyelid shut. “You can’t stop them if you don’t sleep.”

  “What about you?”

  “Soon.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yeah. I promise.” He had one ace in the hole. If he planned to use it, now was the time.

  He kept the phone in the inside pocket of his leather jacket, because the jacket stayed with him at all times. Walking down to the river, he glanced at his watch, though he knew Aiden wouldn’t give a thought to the time. Five-thirty wasn’t too early to wake up an old friend, especially if it meant saving lives.

  They’d bought the phones after Operation Dambusters. Their unit had been compromised then, too. Dean had been the one to figure it out, and he’d only been able to get word to Aiden through Madison’s personal phone. That day they realized the need for a backup plan. One even USCIS didn’t know about. They’d purchased two prepaid phones after Aiden and Madison made it off Mt. Gould. After they’d killed three terrorists. After the terrorists had killed thousands in Virginia. All the rules had changed that fateful day, and they’d changed with it.

  Dean hated to bring Aiden into this, but knew he had no choice. He leaned against a tree. As a light breeze stirred the leaves, he punched in the number he’d memorized three years ago—the one he’d hoped he’d never need to use. Aiden remained the one person on this chunk of rock he knew couldn’t, wouldn’t be compromised. Dean stared out over the Hondo River, then he pushed talk.

  The phone rang twice. The voice that answered should have been muffled with sleep, but somehow wasn’t. “You never write. You never stop by.”

  “And you never send flowers.” Dean felt the weight of their friendship cover him like a cloak. He might not have superpowers, but he felt stronger.

  “Long time, man.”

  “Too long. Are you alone?”

  “Negative. Most beautiful female in the world is curled beside me. She sends her love.”

  “We can assume she’s not compromised.” Dean no longer saw the Hondo or the New Mexico desert. He saw Madison and her laughing eyes.

  “Affirmative.”

  “You’re in the mansion?”

  “Looking out on the river, as we speak. What’s up, Falcon?”

  “I’ve got more than six hybrid UAVs carrying biologicals. My partner identified them as a cross between the RQ-E Dark Star and the RQ-7 Shadow.”

  “Both are still in production, but I have no knowledge of a crossbreed program.”

  “Well, they’re zipping over the night skies of Roswell. Forecast says they’ll spread out over six other major metros in the next fourteen days.”

  “How many vics have they shown you?”

  “I’ve seen three.”

  “How badly has your unit been compromised?”

  “We were ambushed five nights ago, at a rendezvous with Martin.”

  Silence filled the line as the gravity of the situation sank in for both of them. Neither Aiden nor Dean had thought himself James Bond, and Roswell was not a movie set in Hollywood. But if they didn’t stop this, then who would?

  “Burn the phone, and pick up a new one. I’ll do the same and send the number to IP 4.13.87.56. Give me twenty-four hours, and I’ll either be there or have you some solid information.”

  “Copy that.” Dean hesitated before clicking off. “I’m sorry to bring you into this.”

  Dean had seldom heard anger in Aiden’s voice, but a touch crept into his response. “These people deserve the two of us. We knew something big would come after Virginia.”

  They both waited, not willing to sever the connection while their memories sifted through the images. “If it weren’t for you, she wouldn’t be lying beside me today. I wouldn’t even be alive. Those twelve boys you saved—most of them have graduated. So, don’t insult me by apologizing. It’s an honor to serve with you.”

  A silence settled over the line as the space between Montana and New Mexico shortened until it almost ceased to exist. “Besides, I’ve been on a leash too long. It’s about time I get to

  see some action. Now, watch your back, and take care of the girl.”

  Before Dean could ask how he knew about Lucy, the line disconnected, and he was left looking out over a beautiful, ordinary sunrise.

  LUCY WOKE SNUGGLED safely in Dean’s arms, afternoon sunlight streaming through the window. As she stared at the shaft of light, she tried to block the truths of the night before a little longer, but even Dean’s arms couldn’t maintain an illusion of safety. As the facts of their mission tumbled one by one into her consciousness, her heart rate accelerated, and every muscle tensed, until she’d broken out in a cold sweat.

  Dean stroked her arm, whispered in her ear. “Breathe, Doc. Try to relax.”

  “I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was, until you transformed into a crouching tiger.”

  She tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a sob, so she bit it back. This would be a long day if she didn’t get control in the first three minutes.

  “Missions overwhelm you sometimes. Every agent has felt that way.”

  Lucy twisted so that she was facing him but still didn’t look up. Instead she concentrated on the stitches in his arm that she needed to remove, traced them with her finger. “Even the Falcon?”

  Dean’s laughter felt like a balm to her soul, easing her tension ever so slightly.

  If he could laugh in the face of death, she could at least stop crouching.

  “Someone ratted me out.”

  “You do have a reputation.”

  “Yes, Doc Brown. Even the Falc
on has his moments of panic.” He gently touched her lips, tugged her chin so she pulled her gaze from his arm to his eyes.

  His gaze was as steady and calm as his voice. His blue eyes reminded her of the sea after a storm—quiet, clean, a haven. They might not hold all the answers, but they didn’t hide anything either. She burrowed deeper into his arms, the embrace of a man she knew she could trust. Someone who would have her back through this day and through tomorrow. It would be enough to get her out of bed. Or to keep her in bed, come to think of it.

  “Too bad we can’t stay here, Sleeping Beauty.”

  “You’re becoming a mind reader.”

  He kissed her then, and she let herself forget, for a moment, that they needed to accomplish the impossible today.

  As she burrowed in the cocoon inside his arms, she found the strength to utter the words that tore at her throat. “What if this is all we get?”

  Dean traced his hand down the length of her long, dark hair.

  “I know you’re not afraid of dying, Lucy. I saw you at Bitter Lake. You stood up in the line of fire. You never blinked.”

  “I’m fine on the battlefield. I know a lot of people worry about women, but our training takes like any agent’s.”

  When Dean didn’t speak, she added, “I did what needed to be done.”

  “Not everyone does.”

  Lucy considered that for a moment and shrugged.

  “You work with scarier situations in a lab than most agents deal with in a lifetime.”

  “A calculated risk which you accept in order to do your job.”

  Dean’s laughter welled up and spilled over. “Ebola, Marburg, Smallpox? You call those calculated risks? Give me bullets. I can see them coming, or at least I hear them the moment a shot is fired. Whoever saw or heard a virus about to attack?”

  Lucy tried to answer, needed to explain what she felt, but she wasn’t any good at this. She’d managed to avoid caring for too many years. She flipped over on her back and stared at the ceiling.