Final Disposition (41 page)

      “Never heard of freshwater sharks having feet, but why take the chance when I’ve got all this ammo to burn?”

      Fudd’s voice … cold, distant and protective.

*     *     *

      Cellars was still standing at the edge of the shoreline, frozen in place and staring at the rippling surface of the lake where the dorsal fin disappeared, his mind churning through the new data, when three more concussive explosions suddenly roared overhead.

      He whipped around, dropping to his knees as he brought the Sig Sauer up to a point-shoot position — expecting to see the three shadows coming in fast on his position — but all he saw was falling chunks of snow from three distant trees about forty yards away.

      “More warning shots,” Fudd said conversationally.  “They were getting a little — BEHIND YOU, WATCH OUT!”

      Cellars spun around on his knees with the Sig Sauer still in the point-shoot position, saw the bright green sighting laser snap onto the center of a dark head rising up out of the water ten feet away … and then screamed “NO, DON’T SHOOT!”

      The darkened figure hesitated, seeming aware of the bright green laser beam now flickering back and forth across its all-too-human-male facial features in time with the vibrations of the hovering Kiowa … and then continued to come forward until he was standing at the edge of the shoreline, staring calmly at Cellars and the barrel of the Sig Sauer pistol aimed at his forehead.

      “If you don’t mind, Detective-Sergeant Cellars,” the figure said in a voice that — to Cellars’ jarred analytical mind, was cold, dangerous and inviting all at the same time — “it’s time you and I talk.”

CHAPTER 33

      They were seated now on the two stumps, staring at each other from the eight feet of space that separated them as Cellars hesitated and then slowly holstered the Sig Sauer pistol.

      The outer edges of the purple-violet spotlight circle now brushed the toes of Cellars’ boots and the webbed tips of the dark figure’s feet that appeared to be equally functional for walking and swimming.  From Cellars’ perspective, the creature appeared to be encased in a very tight-fitting black wet-suit … except that there was no clear indication of where the ‘wet suit’ ended and the dark human-like head began.

      
As if the front end of a seal had suddenly been morphed into a human
, Cellar thought.

      “You are that trusting?” the creature rasped curiously; its voice sounded rusty, as if seldom used.

      “No, I’m not,” Cellars said, shaking his head slowly, his eyes fixed on his inquisitor, “but I have a lot of faith in my guardian angel up there.”

      “If you mean the helicopter pilot, he does seem efficient and … effective,” the creature said.

      “I think it’s fair to say that if I go down, so do you … and I wouldn’t count on there being much left of your stone,” Cellars said evenly.  “So what do we have to talk about?”

      “You,” the creature said.  “We find you are a very interesting human.  But also your friends, Dawson and Byzor; we think they are very interesting as well.”

      “I’m sure they’ll be delighted to hear that,” Cellars said.  “But that’s not why we’re sitting here on a pair of tree stumps, is it?”

      “No,” the creature agreed.  “I know you don’t remember our prior conversation —”

      “— because you managed, somehow, to destroy my memories,” Cellars finished.

      “We did not destroy your memories,” the creature said, shaking his head.  “We would not do that.  It is as I told you, we find you and your friends very interesting members of your species.  Destruction of the data elements that make you so interesting would be a waste.  But it was a comment that you made to me — before you destroyed our sanctuary with your glass jar — that has brought us together today.”

      Some kind of dense and oddly refractive glass fragments.

      “Something I said?”

      “You became aware that the encounter you and Dawson had with one of our kind — you know her as Allesandra — resulted in a serious and unfortunate leakage.”

      “Leakage?”

      “Yes, your primitive brains are not suited to the mental and emotional intertwining that our species finds pleasurable.  As a result, you and Dawson and Allesandra experienced a cross-sharing of fragmentary memories — much like you might have experienced in a biological sense if one of you had entered the relationship infected with a disease vector.”

      “I get the general picture.”

      “I’m not surprised.  You were the one who realized that a scientist who works with memories might be able to detect and document the evidence of that damage.”

      “And you can’t let that happen, can you?” Cellars said.

      “No.  Our rules are very specific about such … errors.  We cannot leave evidence of our presence on your planet.  As you humans say, we must clean up after ourselves before we depart.”

      “So, as part of that cleaning process, you … excised our memories?”

      “In a manner of speaking,” the creature said.  “The explosion you created in our sanctuary caused a great deal of confusion and gave us little time to complete our work.  Because of that confusion — and our need to depart quickly from the collapsing sanctuary — we didn’t realize your clever friend Malcom Byzor had escaped … along with that Special Agent Boggs and … some other things.”

      “I don’t know anyone named Boggs, but I suppose that’s not too surprising, is it?”

      “No.”  The creature shook his head slowly.

      “But you didn’t get Malcolm’s memories?”  Cellars cocked his head and smiled.  “Gee, that’s a shame.”

      “Yes, it truly is,” the creature agreed.  “We very much wanted … the point is: you still have evidence of our visit.  We must get it back … and we have something of yours — a human female that you and Dawson desire returned.”

      “So, we make a trade?” Cellars finished.

      “Yes.”

      “And what if we don’t want to trade?”

      The creature’s rubbery eye-lids slowly blinked — a sight that Cellars found deeply disturbing.

      “Why would you
not
want to trade?”

      “I don’t know,” Cellars shrugged.  “We might like what we have better.  You know: secrets of the universe … things like that.”

      The creature smiled.

      “I’m afraid you would end up being disappointed when you realized how little you gained … and how much you lost.  Do you understand what I am saying?”

      “Yes,” Cellars replied.  “We humans call this ‘establishing negotiating positions’.”

      The creature cocked his head, bemused.

      “Yes, that would be a fair description.”

       “Which leads me to the critical question,” Cellars went on.  “I understand now that you have Jody … and we do want her back.  So tell me, what things — what
specific
objects — do we have that you want back in exchange?”

      “The five stones,” the creature said.  “We must have them back … and the green tubes.”

      “But I’m only aware of four stones, not five,” Cellars said.

      “Yes, you would have no way of knowing that your Agent Boggs escaped the sanctuary explosion with the stone of Allesandra’s mother after he and Dawson … killed her.  We must have that stone back.”

      “Allesandra’s … mother?”  Cellars blinked in astonishment.

      “It’s not a
precise
definition,” the creature said.  “Allesandra’s ‘source’ is more accurate.  But I repeat: we
must
have the stone of Allesandra’s mother back, that one above all the others, because her ‘mother’ is the only one among us who can control her.  Please believe this: you want Allesandra ‘controlled’ during our entire exchange … every moment of it.”

      “Ah.”

      Cellars remained silent and thoughtful for a few seconds.  Then:

      “I do take your warning about Allesandra seriously.  But how can I acquire her mother’s stone when I don’t know who has it?”

      “Leave here, right now, and contact your friend Malcolm,” the creature said.  “He is not far.”

      “You’ll wait here?”

      “In the water,” the creature said, pointing to the lake.  Waiting for your return.”

      “All right,” Cellars said, standing up, “I’ll try to be back as quickly as I can.  I assume that all of you would like to be … going?”

      “Yes,” the creature agreed.  “But before
you
go, there’ is one more thing.”

      “Yes?”

      “Your friend Malcom Byzor is a very smart and inquisitive individual.”

      “I’ve gotten that impression.”

      “Because of that, he may not want to make the exchange.  You and your friend Dawson may have to work hard to convince him to be patient.  He will gain access to our technologies in due time.”

      “And you think we’re capable of doing that … convincing him to be patient?”

      “Yes … by using the strong friendship you all share.”

      “So you intend to threaten him with what … our lives?”

      “No,” the creature said.  “We are offering to renew the friendship that you, Catlin, and Dawson have enjoyed with Byzor since your early childhood.”

      “And how do you propose to do that?”

      “By giving all three of you back your memories.”

CHAPTER 34

      “Were you able to hear all of that?” Cellars asked when he was strapped back inside the Kiowa’s cockpit and feeling the accelerated pull of gravity as Fudd quickly brought the recon/light-attack helicopter around and up to an altitude of five hundred feet over the lake.

      “I heard,” the pilot responded.  “And I agree with your negotiating buddy.  General Byzor will need convincing to make that kind of exchange.”

      “So do you know where he and Dawson are at now?”

      “Roger that,” Fudd replied as he quickly made some adjustments to his console monitor, “but first, let’s go back and check on your friends.”

*     *     *

      Two minutes later, Fudd put the Kiowa into a circling pattern a hundred feet overhead as Cellars stared down at a scene that completely defied his understanding.

      In the center of the open field below, ten members of the Alliance of Believer were crouched down in a tight circle on one side of Fudd’s fifty-caliber-machinegun-generated trench, holding what appeared to be radios in their outstretched hands, while two additional individuals — Eleanor Patterson and Ace Bellringer? — stood up in the middle of the circle and waved frantically.

      On the other side of the trench, and in a seemingly random distribution, fifteen unmoving bodies lay sprawled face down in the snow.

Fudd had the bright purple-violet spotlight sweeping through the surrounding rocks and trees, but there was no sign of any shadowy figures … or any movement at all.

      “Looks like you’ve got another crime scene to work,” Fudd commented as he continued to slowly circle the Kiowa.  “Want me to set you down?”

      “No, we’ve got more important things to do right now,” Cellars said.  “Can you get them some help?”

      “We’ve got four Blackhawk transport choppers with Delta rescue teams on standby about five minutes from here,” Fudd said.  “They can scoop everybody up, and clear the area, no problem; but you won’t have much of a crime scene left when they’re done.”

      “That’s okay,” Cellars said, “I think we’ve got just about all the evidence we need to start putting the puzzle together ... and I seriously doubt that the pieces we’re missing are down there.”

      “Copy that,” Fudd said as he reached across to Cellars’ console and flipped a pair of switches.  “Okay, sergeant, your helmet mike is hot to the external speakers on this bird.  Let your friends know help’s on the way.  I’ll call in the cavalry.”

*     *     *

      Twenty minutes later, Fudd brought the Kiowa Warrior around to the opposite side of the lake and put it gently down onto a make-shift landing pad next to what looked like a bustling military camp that was concealed from the rest of the lake by a high ridge of mountainous rocks and tall trees.

      “Welcome to Camp Boggs,” Fudd said, going through the mechanical steps of shutting the Kiowa’s four rotors and single engine down as three uniformed soldiers came running toward the pad form a nearby shed.

      “Named after Special Agent Boggs?” Cellars asked absentmindedly, his mind still churning through the accumulated data as the doors of the Kiowa were pulled open, and a pair of gloved hands began to help him unlatch the snug flight harness.

      “Informally,” Fudd shrugged.  “Tell you about it in the hanger.  Go on ahead; I’ve got some things to do out here first.”

      “Let me help you out of that helmet, Major,” the young uniformed specialist said, and proceeded to assist Cellars first with disconnecting and removing the flight helmet, and then with working his way out of the Kiowa’s relatively small cabin.

      “Thanks, appreciate that,” Cellars said as he pulled the small green duffle bag out of the storage area behind his seat, and then stood up cautiously under the still-slowly-rotating blades, grateful to be on flat ground again.  “Do you know where I can find General Byzor?  I need to talk with him ASAP.”

      “Yes, sir, I do.  Just follow me … I believe the General’s anxious to talk with you also, sir.”

*     *     *

      Cellars followed the young specialist from the helipad over to a relatively large, net-camouflaged warehouse structure that — from the open doorway — looked like a combination of three car garage, machine shop, dive shop, electronics repair shop, kitchen and logistics center.

      “Go on in, sir, the General’s waiting,” the specialist urged, and then turned and disappeared.

      As Cellars entered the warehouse, he saw four field-uniformed men standing around a large map table positioned in the middle of the open floor space.  The smaller of the three — a man of broad shoulders, dark curly hair, and indistinct Mediterranean features — looked up at the sound of Cellars’ boots on the rough concrete.