Trespassers: a science-fiction novel (24 page)

“
So, nothing about a missing girl? A missing girl with government secrets?
”
Jeremy asked again.

Clint was still reeling from his impromptu admission, but the quoret compelled him to answer.
“
No.
”

Jeremy pulled the cube from Clint
’
s hand and slid out of his chair. Clint quickly grabbed him by the arm.
“
What is that thing?
”
he demanded, in a quiet tone.

“
What?
”
Jeremy played dumb.

“
Who are you?
”

Jeremy shook his head.
“
Nobody.
”

Clint
’
s grip showed no signs of loosening, and Jeremy sensed he was in big trouble. Clint reached for his waist, probably for his gun or his handcuffs. Either way, Jeremy was wishing he had never dreamed up such a crazy plan
—
tangling with a police officer. What was he thinking? He should have left well enough alone. He should have stayed home with Sara .
.
. he could have taken her for a long walk around the lake, or
—

Suddenly, Clint
’
s grip relaxed and slid down Jeremy
’
s arm. The man fell limp and tipped forward; his head gently bonked the tabletop. Sara came into Jeremy
’
s peripheral, pointing a quoret at the fallen man
—
apparently the same one that had knocked her out yesterday.

“
Oh shit,
”
Jeremy sighed,
“
that
’
s great.
”
They both looked around the restaurant to see no one watching.

“
I thought I was going to jail,
”
Jeremy whispered, as they slipped out the front door and made their way across the street.

“
What
’
d you find out?
”

“
I found out I
’
m not going to jail,
”
Jeremy laughed, his heart still racing.

“
Besides that.
”

“
Nothing,
”
he said.

“
Nothing?
”

“
Nope.
”

“
Then, why did he grab you?
”
she asked.

“
Well, that was my fault. I wanted to make sure the thing was working, so I got him to confess to falsifying reports.
”

“
But nothing about me?
”

“
No.
”

“
Okay, so what now?
”
she asked.

Jeremy laughed again,
“
How would you feel about a nice, long walk around a lake?
”

a Bed-and-Breakfast

A few blocks west of downtown, Stewart was standing in the back office of the Juniper Hotel
—
a proud, 105-year-old bed-and-breakfast. This two-story brick building would be where Stewart would lay his trap.

“
I want one of you upstairs with me .
.
. and the other down here,
”
Stewart said to Grizzly, the six-foot-four, 350-pound bear of a man standing in front of him. Grizzly wore a black bandana and ten years worth of beard growth. Next to Grizzly stood a man named Michael-James. He was six feet tall, extra skinny, and starting to go bald in the front, which he offset with a long, scruffy ponytail. He wore a suit that looked as if it had been handed down from a used-furniture salesman. It hung on him in all the wrong ways, but it made him feel dressed for success, as did his fingerless leather gloves.

“
I
’
ll go with you,
”
Grizzly replied,
“
and Michael-James can stay down here.
”

Grizzly and Michael-James were bounty hunters. In the good old days, the Limestone Group routinely hired bounty hunters to add muscle to field operations. Bounty hunters were a special breed. They were efficient and low maintenance. Most important, they didn
’
t make a big fuss over encounters with aliens. Even if they did brag over a beer at the local pub about handcuffing an extraterrestrial, no one ever took them seriously. It was all just part of their bounty hunter charm, which made them perfect for the job.

Loyalty was another admirable trait of the bounty hunter. They were faithful to whoever was paying the bill. And it was hundred-dollar bills they fed on. Stewart was convinced that a bounty hunter would step over a laundry bag full of twenties to get to an envelope of hundreds. Maybe it was something about Benjamin Franklin
’
s grin. As long as the hundred-dollar bills kept coming, you were the boss. And they were comfortable with the no-questions-asked style.

Stewart had worked with Grizzly several times over the past five years and was glad to find him available today. When Stewart phoned the man, he got the impression Grizzly had been sleeping, but he was awake now and happy to jump into action when Stewart informed him that he needed four bounty hunters to meet him at the Juniper Hotel. Grizzly said he was available and recommended a fellow bounty hunter named Michael-James as the second. As for the third and fourth, Grizzly suggested that Michael-James could bring along his two nephews, who weren
’
t actually bounty hunters, but who had helped out on a few hunts in the past. Stewart agreed, sight unseen
—
he needed somebody fast.

By the time Grizzly and Michael-James (plus his nephews) arrived
—
via a beat-around Harley-Davidson Softail and a 1984 primer-gray Camaro, respectively
—
Stewart
’
s team had already set up shop in the hotel. Stewart had explained the situation to the hotel owner
—
at least a sanitized version. Stewart explained that he was with the Limestone Deposit Survey Group, a federal agency. He told the man that some expensive geological equipment had been stolen, and that his team was luring the suspects to this very hotel. Stewart asked to use the facilities with a delicate force:
The United States government appreciates your cooperation
. And he added a sweetener to the deal:
Of course, you will be compensated for the inconvenience
. The hotel owner gladly accepted a check for $1,000 and offered to help in any way he could.

Upstairs, in Room 215, Web sat at a small wooden table, making the final adjustments to the makeshift electronic device that would soon transmit a decoy heart signal. His hands moved with the skill gained from thousands of hours of practice.

“
Make sure the red line is at the top,
”
he said, to no one there.

Downstairs, Mindy heard him loud and clear in her earpiece. She was standing atop a wooden chair that she had placed on top of a table against the wall. On her tiptoes she stretched her hand all the way to the ceiling and pushed a tiny black camera into the corner where the ceiling met the wall.

“
Is that good?
”
she asked.

“
It
’
ll be perfect,
”
Web said through the earpiece,
“
if they
’
re going to be walking on the ceiling.
”

“
So, what are you saying? Lower?
”

“
Just point it down,
”
Web instructed.
“
Just point the
lens
down.
”

Normally, placing cameras would be Web
’
s job. But he was preoccupied with the heart-signal transmitter.

“
How about that?
”
she asked.

Web looked from the transmitter over to the iPad on the bed, which still showed a great view of ceiling fans and smoke detectors.
“
Farther down.
”

Mindy pulled on the little camera, and the image on the iPad tilted into a perfect view of the lobby.

“
That
’
s good for that one,
”
Web said.
“
Now, you can do the bottom corner of the elevator, and then make sure you get the upstairs hallway. And do one outside.
”
Mindy
’
s immediate concern, of course, was getting down without twisting an ankle.

In the back office, New Guy was passing out earpieces. This, too, would have normally been Web
’
s job.

“
High tech,
”
Grizzly commented, as he scooped up an earpiece and examined it.
“
What about the mic?
”

“
It
’
s in there,
”
Stewart replied.

“
In the earpiece?
”

“
Yeah,
”
Stewart answered,
“
like you said
—
high tech.
”

Grizzly grimaced at the tiny device in disbelief.

“
Just talk normally,
”
Stewart said.
“
It
’
ll hear you.
”

The nephews walked across the image on the iPad and entered the back office. They were both wearing white t-shirts and blue jeans. They were coming off a smoke break
—
since Michael-James didn
’
t allow smoking in his Camaro.

“
What
’
d we miss?
”
one of them said.

“
Put these in your ear,
”
Michael-James insisted, pointing to New Guy
’
s hand. His tone seemed to say
stop interrupting the adults, and don
’
t speak unless you
’
re spoken to
.

Stewart laid out the plan, positioning Michael-James and one nephew downstairs with New Guy. Grizzly and the other nephew would go upstairs with Stewart. He explained that there were four targets and that if two went upstairs and two stayed downstairs, they would be in position to grab all four trespassers at once.

“
But wait for the signal over the radio,
”
Stewart commanded.
“
We want to be in sync.
”

He explained that if all four trespassers happened to go upstairs, New Guy, Michael-James, and a nephew were to follow, so that all the trespassers could be captured on the second floor.

“
Do they have anything we should know about?
”
Michael-James asked. It was his first time with this sort of thing.
“
Any tentacles or claws or
—”

“
They
’
re human,
”
Stewart said,
“
just like you and me .
.
. except they were born on a different planet; that
’
s all.
”

The nephews stopped chewing their gum, and the constant dumbfounded looks on their faces suddenly had purpose. Michael-James had failed to tell them about the nature of today
’
s operation.

“
It
’
ll be fine,
”
Stewart advised.
“
Just treat them like any other bounty.
”

Two-point-three miles away, Bruner was walking the streets of downtown Juniper, looking for anything out of the ordinary. In reality, he was getting some fresh air and giving himself an opportunity to think. But if a clue turned up, he would take it. He saw Nathan's Hardware, but it meant nothing to him. He saw Ruby
’
s Diner and Larry Greyson Memorial Park. These, too, meant nothing to him. He even saw the large metal statue of the galloping horse. What he saw was a small town going about its day, with no alien activity. He wondered whether people preferred it that way. Would they even want him to find what he was looking for? Bruner had a drive to find the truth, whether people wanted it or not.