Plot Line (10 page)

“But why keep it secret?”

“That was their idea. I don’t have all the
details. It’s not my project. I had a little to do with the initial
contact, but mostly I worked on keeping it secret. It appears
they’re a little shy.”

“What are they called? What was the
waterfall all about? Do they have to stay in there? Why was
Rehnquist so upset? Why did he try to kill them?”

Devlin raised a hand. “Easy, buddy. That’s a
lot of questions.” He paused, looked at his shoes, and then
returned his gaze to Ray. “I can’t answer your questions, Ray. I
feel bad about it. You handled yourself like a pro. No panic, no
emotional breakdown, just professional detachment. I’m
impressed.”

“I was frightened beyond belief,” Ray
confessed.

“So was I. No shame there.”

“How’s the side?” Ray asked.

Devlin raised his arm and slowly moved it in
a circle. “It’s okay. It’s just a scratch really. Took three
stitches to close it up, but I’ll live.”

“That’s good,” Ray said.

“I wish I could tell you more about all
this. You’d find it all very interesting, I’m sure.”

“I understand.”

“There’s something more.” Devlin leaned back
in the chair and crossed his legs. “You have already been sworn to
secrecy about the work you do. I must remind you that you can’t
talk about any of this. Not the base, not the shooting, and not the
aliens.”

“I figured.”

“I want you to sign another nondisclosure
agreement.”

“Is that necessary?”

“It is. This is very serious. You now know
things that senators, cabinet members, and the vice-president don’t
know.”

“So the president knows?”

“I can’t talk about that. Just assure me you
will never mention this to anyone—ever.”

“I’ve already made that promise.”

“You’ll need to make it again, Ray. If you
do talk about these things, you could be charged with treason, or
worse.”

“What could be worse?”

Devlin rose, ignoring the question. “Someone
will be in with the document.” He turned to leave.

“Devlin. The woman in the lab, the one I ran
into when Rehnquist shoved me through the door. She looked familiar
to me. She was the one at the bookstore, wasn’t she? The obnoxious
one.”

Devlin shrugged, smiled, then exited the
room.

Part 3

Do you not know that we
will judge angels? How much more matters of this life?

—1 Corinthians 6:3

Ten

The moon was a sliver crescent in a
cloudless sky.
Stars hung in the black
velvet night. Ray watched as a high-flying commercial plane floated
leisurely across the black sky, its red and white running lights
blinking on and off as if winking at him.

Ray felt watched, studied by an unseen
observer as he sat at the picnic table in his backyard. A chill,
unrelated to the cool night, ran icy fingers down his spine.

It had been three weeks since the bloody
conflict below the desert soil of New Mexico. Three weeks of
distance and separation, but it seemed as if it happened yesterday.
For him it was not a one-time event, not a singular occurrence. It
repeated. Every night—every time he closed his eyes—it happened all
over again; a horrific videotape stuck in an endless loop. The
images were so real, unlike any nightmare he had ever
experienced.

The gun battle replayed
itself; the dead bodies splayed on the concrete floor; the
enigmatic cylindrical curtain of water in its endless cascade from
the high ceiling; and the face.
Oh, dear
God the face
. It was a phrase Ray had
uttered a thousand times. The face. The face.

Ray made his living with words. They were
his companions. There had never been a situation or a sight he
could not describe. No matter how shocking, no matter how macabre,
there had been words to portray it—but not now. What color
portrayed the blue tinted gray-green face? What terms could depict
the knotty texture of the skin? How could he illustrate the eyes,
the pools of pupil-less blackness? There was intelligence behind
those eyes, knowledge of things Ray couldn’t and didn’t want to
know.

The nightmares had come every night since
the event. That’s how he referred to it, “The event.” Better to use
an innocuous phrase than some term that told the truth of the
terror, he reasoned. No matter what term he used to describe it, it
was inadequate.

The first nightmare came as he rested in the
underground base’s medical clinic. Although unhurt by the violence,
Devlin had insisted he rest a full night before being allowed to go
home. There had been no rest that night or any night since.

That was three weeks ago. Twenty-one days
that seemed eternally past and as recent as breakfast. Twenty-one
days to stew and agonize. It was unnatural. Sure he’d seen the
unbelievable and been a victim of violence, but should it all seem
so intense? Why did his emotions remain so overpowering?

“Mr. Beeman?” Ray jumped at the sound of the
unexpected male voice. He snapped his head around and saw a man in
casual dress standing a short distance away. “I’m sorry if I
startled you,” the man said. Ray recognized him: Dale Shackleton,
the minister from Skeeter’s church.

“No . . . I was just lost in thought.”

“I don’t generally sneak up on people,”
Shackleton said, walking to the table. “Especially at night. May I
join you?” His speech was soft and understated like a man with bad
news to deliver.

“Skeeter’s in the house. At least she was
when I came out here.”

“I know,” Shackleton said. “It’s you I’ve
come to see.” He took a seat on the bench opposite Ray.

Ray shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m not good
company.”

“That’s all right. I can entertain
myself.”

“Did Skeeter put you up to this?” Ray asked.
It was a blunt question, but his manners had dissolved along with
his sense of security.

“Yes she did. She’s worried about you. So is
Mrs. Beeman.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. I’m
fine.”

Shackleton stared at him for a moment. The
conversational pause crawled at a snails pace. Finally, Shackleton
spoke: “Mr. Beeman—”

“Ray.”

“Of course. I’m not here to pry, Ray. I’m
here so one man can have another man to talk to.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Another moment of silence crawled by. “Night
terrors, loss of appetite, weight loss, mood swings—”

“All right, so I’m off my game a little. So
what?”

Shackleton leaned his elbows on the wood
table and spoke firmly. “Ray, I’m sitting in the dark looking
across a table at a man I’ve only met once before and I can see
something has happened. No man is meant to go through adversity
alone.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Talk to me. That’s all.”

“I can’t. It’s not that simple. I don’t even
go to your church.”

“That doesn’t matter in the least.”

“It’s more complex than that. I can’t talk
to you, even if I wanted.” Ray’s hands shook and his eyes burned.
More than anything, he wanted to throw open the floodgates of
confidence and let spill the pent up fear that grew with each
hour.

“Give me your hand,” Shackleton said.

“What?”

“Your hand, give it to me.”

Ray studied the man. He had spent less than
two hours with him when he came for dinner nearly a month ago, yet
he trusted him. He had no idea why. By nature, Ray was a skeptic,
slow to believe anything he couldn’t see with his eyes, touch with
his hands. In the underground lab he saw something he could not
deny but could not fully believe. Slowly, Ray held out a tremulous
hand and Shackleton took it in his own. There was a surprising
strength in it.

“Look me in the eye, Ray.”

Ray did.

“I’m your friend. I know we barely know each
other, but that doesn’t matter. I’m a good judge of character and,
more important, I care. You can trust me, Ray. I have no ulterior
motives. I’m not looking for another notch on my spiritual gun
belt. I just want to help.”

“I-I don’t know.”

“I’m not a psychologist, but I know when I’m
looking at a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown. You need
someone to trust.”

Tears flooded his burning eyes. He tried to
will them back, to command them to return from where they came.
They refused. Instead, they brimmed his eyes and trickled down his
unshaven cheeks.

Devlin’s warnings played in Ray’s ears. So
clear were the words he would have sworn Devlin sat on the bench
next to him. Trust. Shackleton spoke of trust. Ray wondered when he
had last trusted anyone outside his family. He had put a measure of
faith in Devlin, but he had been driven by financial need. This was
different.

“It’s too dangerous,” Ray whispered. “To
involved.”

“I’m not afraid. I have put my faith in the
Lord and there it will stand. He is able to sustain me.”

“I don’t believe like you do. I don’t have
faith.”

“You can. It can all start tonight.”

Shackleton was firm, confident. Ray wanted
to feel the same way. He hungered for peace, security and his
confidence. To talk about it was too much to ask, but if he didn’t
do something, then he would break down. The pastor was right: Ray
was teetering on the crumbling precipice of an emotional
collapse.

“I saw something,” Ray’s voice quavered like
a leaf in a storm. “It was real, but I can’t believe it.”

Tears poured, dripping to the table beneath
Ray’s chin. He closed his eyes. The image of the repulsive alien
flashed on his mind. When he opened his eyes, he saw tears
streaking Shackleton’s face. For the first time in three weeks, Ray
did not feel alone.

Eleven

It had taken ninety minutes for Ray
to pour out his heart.
The words came
haltingly at first, but then flowed in a torrent of expression. He
began with his first encounter with Devlin and carried the account
through every nightmare of the last few weeks. The night grew
cooler, but neither man made note of it. There were more important
things than personal comfort at stake. At the end he said, “You
must think I’m nuts, crazy, loony.”

“Not at all.”

“Really?” Ray had doubts.

“If you had had episodes like this in recent
years, if you were seeing things others could not, then I might
suspect mental illness. I just don’t see that in you. This is too
sudden, and your family tells me you have always seemed balanced
and emotionally even. I think you’re telling the truth.”

“But what about the aliens? You don’t find
that bizarre?”

“Oh, I find it bizarre, but not
unbelievable. However, I don’t think they’re aliens.”

“What? What do you mean? What else could
they be?”

This time, it was Shackleton who paused the
conversation. He smiled. “It just occurred to me that what I am
about to say, is going to sound stranger than your story.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“Why do you suppose Dr. Rehnquist was so
afraid the beings?”

“I don’t know,” Ray answered. “He was
terrified and angry. When someone, the general I think, said
Rehnquist had lost his mind, he shouted, ‘I didn’t lose it, they
took it’.”

“And you said his scalp was bloody.”

“Yes, scalp and forehead, like he had been
digging at his skin. He was crazy, a genuine nut case. My greatest
fear is that I’ll become like him.”

Ray watched Shackleton. The light from the
back porch threw an eerie yellow cast across his face. Even in the
dim illumination, he could see the man was lost in thought.

“I’m a man of the Bible, Ray. I have studied
it for years. I went to seminary, three years of graduate
education, to learn everything I could about it. I find it to be
true in everything of which it speaks: history, science, human
relationships, everything. I say all that to make this point: the
Bible contains information we don’t fully understand. Some things
are described, but we are left wanting more. I believe this is done
on purpose. There are matters for which we are not ready. I believe
what you saw had nothing to do with aliens from another
planet.”

“How can you say that?” Ray was surprised.
“I can tell you they weren’t human. Not even close. You can take my
word on that.”

“I’m saying they may not
be
extraterrestrial
in origin.”

“What else is there?”

“The Bible describes angelic beings,”
Shackleton stated.

“Angels?” Ray said, narrowing his eyes.
“Little bare bottomed babies with wings? These were nothing like
that.”

Shackleton shook his head. “No, not bare
bottomed babies,” he explained. “The image of cupid-like creatures
floating around in heaven came from Renaissance artists, not the
Bible. The Scriptures describe angels as powerful, intelligent, and
sometimes as very different from humans. In fact, angel isn’t even
a good word to describe them.”

“What word would you use?”

“There’s no single word that would do the
trick. In the Book of Ezekiel, the prophet describes visions he’s
had. In chapter one, he sees what he calls four ‘living creatures’.
His description of them stretches the imagination to the breaking
point. He said they had four faces: that of a man, a lion, an ox,
and an eagle. Ezekiel also states they had the basic appearance of
man but also had four wings, straight legs and feet were more like
a calf’s than a human’s. In the tenth chapter he describes the
creatures as cherubim and says they were covered with eyes. The
Apostle John saw similar creatures in his vision and wrote about it
in the book of Revelation.”

Ray tried to picture the creatures, but had
trouble doing so. “That’s not what I saw.”