Season of the Witch Page 8

  “That wailing. Do you think an animal got into the store? A Coyote or something?”

  Bob cocked his head after the last chain lightning passed across the black sky and the thunder dwindled. He was about to tell his wife she was nuts when he heard a screech and what sounded like running footsteps. He moved quickly to get his small twenty-two rifle he used to scare varmints away from his property. “Damn frightened animal will shit all over the damn store.” He made sure the small weapon was loaded in case it wasn’t something as frightened as a mere Coyote. Large cats have been known to frequent the trash receptacles ringing the lake. “You stay put now.”

  His wife cowered by the window as Bob moved to the stairs. He switched on the downstairs lights for the store as his feet hit the top steps. Nothing. “Damn breakers popped again. Honey,” he called over his shoulder, comforted that the upstairs lights were still on, “go to the fuse box and reset the breakers for the store lights, damn storm has blown the circuits again.”

  He started moving down the stairs and had to stop when the most powerful lightning bolt of the night streaked across the sky. His eyes saw the flash of electricity from his high vantage point on the stairs. Then he heard the mewling sound again. This sounded more like a regular house cat, of which they didn’t own. He shook his head and made sure whatever it was could hear his progress down the stairs. He felt somewhat foolish for the demonstration, but rather safe than sorry in his estimation. After all it could be a nut job from Los Angeles or Vegas down there and not an animal at all. He cautiously made the bottom step. He eased into the store in the rear by the bait and tackle section. The chain lightening highlighted the chrome lures and the nylon fishing line. Bob raised the small rifle.

  The thunder rumbled and he realized the storm had seemed to settle right over the western shore of the lake. In-between the roar of thunder and the flash of lightning he could hear the waves crashing into the shoreline. He could imagine a lot of damage was being incurred by the massive amounts of tourist’s boats still anchored just off the shoreline.

  He heard the mewling again. He swung the twenty-two up an over to his left. The sound had come from the grocery section of the store. He could only wonder if a Coyote or a bobcat was devouring his bologna and packaged ham. He heard movement. Then the sound of a sliding door and knew it was his lunchmeat that was being raided. Just as he turned a corner into the grocery section, the store lights finally flared to brightness. What he saw made the finger on the trigger jerk. He scared himself bad as the small bullet exploded out of the barrel. The slug ‘pinged’ off the tiled flooring and crashed through the plate glass window. The glass held momentarily and then came crashing to the floor. Bob cursed himself for causing more damage than any small animal could have.

  “Bob, what happened, you alright?” came his wife’s scared call from upstairs.

  He could tell by her voice she was as frightened as he was. With the rain entering the shattered window, he knew he was causing himself more of a headache in water damage. He shook his head and started forward. He passed the luncheon meat cooler and saw that everything looked undisturbed. He felt even more of a fool than he had before he shot his own window out. Then he saw the frozen food case. The sliding top was open to its stops. He saw a lot of his frozen products were missing, but most notable of them was the frozen pastries. Hot Pockets and pizza roles along with frozen burritos were gone and he knew this because he had restocked them before closing. He jumped in his skin when he heard steps behind him and when he turned. he saw his wife, and then almost fainted dead away when he saw she had an old-fashioned Colt .45 Peacemaker and had it terrifyingly cocked in her shaking hands. It was pointed directly at his nose. He ducked and cursed.

  “Jesus, lower that damn thing!” he cried out.

  She did, only hesitantly. “Well, you didn’t answer, I thought maybe a bobcat got your old ass.”

  “Here, give me that hog-leg before you shoot me and you both.”

  She looked at the shattered window as more chain lightning streaked across the sky. When the building shook and the thunder played out, she turned to him with raised brows that made the curlers in her hair almost look like they were highlighting a strange form of antenna.

  “Oh, like I’m the one shooting out a two-hundred-dollar pane glass window. Don’t you ridicule me Buffalo Bill!”

  Before either could react and just as a powerful bolt of lightning illuminated the night sky through the empty windowpane, a blur of green shot from a hidden corner behind a rack of sunglasses. The screech of terror came from both husband and wife and whatever it was that used their heads as a steppingstone to get out of the window. The leap was amazing, and Bob and Emily would both later swear it had to have been an escaped green monkey.

  “That does it, we’re moving back home to L.A., they can take this desert and shove it up their asses!”

  His wife sat down hard onto the wet floor. She saw the spilled bags of pizza rolls and other frozen snacks the little monkey had dropped in its head long flight to escape.

  “I hope that monkey thingy has a microwave.”

  Outside of the small convenience store the storm started to abate.

  * * *

  Event Group Complex,

  Nellis Air Force Base, Nevada

  Xavier Morales rubbed his eyes. As he looked around the computer center, he could see his technicians were just as tired as himself. He went back to the screen at his personal station halfway up the theater-style center. Europa was scanning for anything in the news that was out of the ordinary, while many of his people were busy researching the man out to expose them, Harold Briggs, Congressman from Louisiana. His phone buzzed. He picked it up and in a joking manner to lighten up whoever was about to be disappointed with their search results, said; “Department 5656, top secret agency of the hidden government. Xavier speaking.”

  “Not funny, Doctor.”

  Xavier sat up straight in his wheelchair when he heard the voice of the director.

  “Sorry, sir. We’re running on caffeine and donuts down here.”

  “Yes, but let’s try and set an example, Doctor. Anything on the Matchstick front?”

  “No, sir.” Xavier cleared his throat. “However, we found out that our intrepid congressman Briggs made an unannounced visit to a small town called Houma after claiming illness to get out of a Houston rally. Whatever it was must have been a priority.”

  “Houma? Houma Louisiana?”

  “Yes, sir. Europa read the official FBI report and a Secret Service memo confirmed it. It seems he boarded a helicopter there and that was where the FBI tail ended.”

  “Flight plan?”

  “No sir, the FBI said nothing was filed.” Xavier heard the release of breath, telling him that his news wasn’t well received on the other end of the phone.

  “Any word from Carl and his team in Arizona?”

  “They reported Matchstick hasn’t been anywhere near Chato’s Crawl. The house, shack, and mine were all cleared. They’ll be landing at McCarren in five minutes. Colonel Collins is on his way there now to get them. The status of Sarah and our special guest from London is they are an hour out.”

  “Good, If someone has a plan for finding something that’s lost or missing, it’s Farbeaux.”

  Xavier was about to express his doubts comparing the Frenchman’s abilities to Europa’s, when he was approached by a young female tech and handed a note. He scanned it. “Excuse me Doctor Compton.” Xavier looked at the woman. “When was this?”

  “Three hours ago. Europa picked it up before the report aired on Las Vegas television.”

  “Why would Europa correlate this with the Matchstick search?”

  “Its what the owner claims was stolen and the description of the intruder, sir.”

  “What is it Doctor Morales?” asked Niles on the other end of the phone.

  Xavier nodded his head, excusing the technician. “One of those strange stories the news stations uses for fillers. It seems a sma
ll bait and tackle shop at Lake Mead was broken into and items were stolen during the same storm that hit Nellis about three hours ago. The owner and his wife claimed it was a small monkey. A green monkey.”

  Silence on the other end. A sharp intake of breath was heard and then Niles spoke as calmly as he could. “Just what was stolen Doctor?”

  “Believe it or not, pizza rolls, hot pockets, burritos, and frozen pastries. Sounds like one of my people if you ask—,”

  “Doctor get Europa to contact Jack and give him this report. Tell him to gather Carl’s team and to get their asses out to Lake Mead immediately!”

  “Did I miss something here?” Xavier asked. “I mean, yeah, a little green monkey, but that’s nothing to pin our hopes on and send the team out on the basis of a wild story. There must be more to what you’re thinking.”

  “Doctor, believe me when I say, that store owner has encountered the Matchstick Man. What else breaks into a store and steals something like frozen pizza rolls but a creature who ate nothing but? Now move Doctor.”

  * * *

  Niles hung up the phone and turned on his private Europa terminal and watched the report and the interview with the store’s frightened and angry owner. He watched it three times with his hopes rising with each and every viewing. He looked over at Alice and Virginia. At that moment his office door opened and in came Professor Charlie Ellenshaw and his new Crypto assistant Anya Korvesky.

  “Tell him Charlie,” Anya said quickly.

  “Niles, Xavier told us what the plan is. We can get there faster. Let us secure the store and the witnesses until the Colonel and his team get out there. Matchstick may still be close but if we wait on the full discovery team to get out there, we may lose a good shot at getting to the little guy.”

  “Permission denied. Major, you’re in the field of espionage, I want both you and Charlie working on the Congressman Briggs line. That’s the priority.”

  Niles saw the disappointment. Charlie actually kicked at an empty chair.

  Virginia opened her mouth to say something.

  “No, I need you here to assist with Farbeaux when he arrives.”

  “But—”

  “No.” Niles looked at Alice. “You have something to say?”

  “Well, I can drive out there and—”

  “No.”

  The look on Alice’s face became stern and Niles tried his best to ignore it.

  “Look, don’t you think I want to go out there to see if we can find him? I’m the damn director and I have a job to do—so do you, now get to it,” he looked at a glaring Charlie Ellenshaw. “Now.”

  “Permission for a dinner break?” Alice asked.

  “Granted. Now go,” Niles said.

  The four left the office.

  Niles Compton threw his glasses and shook his head.

  * * *

  Outside the office, Virginia, Charlie saw Alice waiting for them with her arms angrily crossed over her chest as she tapped on the carpeted floor with her high-heeled toes.

  “Are you driving, or am I?” Virginia asked with a grin.

  “We have an hour and a half before Niles becomes suspicious. We’ll get Gonzales in security to fly us out there, it’s faster. We’ll bring Pete Sanchez also, after all, when Niles gets us for disobeying orders, he’ll have the standby security chief on hand as a witness.”

  Anya shook her head at both Alice and Virginia.

  “I knew I liked you two ladies from the start.”

  * * *

  Mystery Deep, Well # 3,

  sixty-eight miles off the coast of Louisiana

  Now that the initial meeting with Congressman Harold Briggs was done and out of the way, Vexilla Trotsky sat in front of the laptop and got down to business. Unlike her employer she had no love for alcoholic spirits. She only had water and an electronic pad on her desk as she had left Sokol to give the farewell speech to Briggs. She had the steel shutters on the underwater windows open as she felt the reflection offered by the Gulf waters relaxed her. Most of the science department and alien welfare unit had closed down for the night after securing the Grey in its comfortable cell. While not having bars didn’t qualify it as such, Sokol figured as long as the alien wasn’t in chains it would not know the difference.

  As Trotsky ran through the images of the men and women they would be targeting for the committee’s part in Sokol’s scheme, she started to get an uncomfortable feeling. Her eyes roamed to the thick glass and she stood to see if any divers were out. She scanned the area but all she could see in the underwater lighting was one of the steel support legs of the rig. She felt the waves start to crash against the facility and knew that the storm was ready to start in earnest high above their accommodations. As she turned back to her desk, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone.

  She started scrolling through the photos again of the suspected members of Department 5656 Briggs and his team had compiled over the years. They had no names to put to the faces. She shook her head wondering how they were going to find Briggs investigation useful.

  The overhead lights flickered.

  Vexilla watched for a moment, but the lighting remained steady. She bent back to her task. She opened a connection with Siberia and the committee’s supercomputer, ‘Red Ice.’ With the connection made she entered the disc supplied by Briggs and his team and then started the facial recognition program. Some of the photos were easily discerned but only the men and women wearing a military uniform. The civilians she knew would be much harder to identify.

  The lights flickered again.

  Ignoring the interruption, she continued typing out her commands.

  The lights went completely out.

  “Maldita ingeniería,” she said aloud, reverting to her Spanish roots from the time her great grandfather had been exiled to Mexico. Her complaint was with the rigs engineering department. She watched the laptop to see if the electrical situation was affecting her program, but the screen remained clear of any interruption. She bent to start reading again when the laptop spun and faced away from her. She was shocked and started to reach for it when a clawed four-fingered hand slid the computer to the far side of the desk. In the light from the outside floodlights her eyes locked on the yellow orbs of the Grey. The creature was staring right at her. She stood suddenly and the Grey hissed. She slowly sat back in her high-backed chair. This seemed to satisfy the Grey.

  “Asmodius, what are you doing on this level?”

  The Grey seemed intent not to answer as it started scrolling through the photos that Briggs had supplied. With the tip of a crystallin claw-like nail, it ticked the glass sending the photos scrolling. Sokol’s assistant watched, tempted to reach for the phone but decided against it.

  Suddenly the Grey hissed loudly as it took two quick steps back. It shook its head wildly sending his sparse grey hair flying. Vexilla stood and backed away. The Grey, never easy to be around at the best of times was looking right at her as if she had caused some form of offense.

  “What is it?” she asked, eyeing the electrically operated door contemplating a run to escape whatever had caused the frenzied reaction from Asmodius.

  The Grey held a hand over the laptop, and it spun in a circle three times on the desktop and then it stopped. The Grey stomped away six feet before turning with its large mouth agape and spittle flying freely.

  Vexilla Trotsky swallowed as she finally looked down at the photo that had irritated the Grey. It was the photo of the famous Green alien that had been shown to the world leaders just before the initial attack on the planet. She remembered its name from their briefings by the committee. Mahjtic. The small alien tasked at giving assistance in the war effort and one who even by Russian military accounts had helped save the world.

  “The Matchstick Man?” she said.

  The Grey hissed again, this time taking a menacing step toward the desk and her.

  Vexilla had made the decision to run. She turned but some invisible force held her in pla
ce. It was if her spine had been severed. The Grey waved a hand and the desk went flying, shattering against the steel bulkhead. As her eyes moved to the left, she saw that the laptop was still there, nothing at all was supporting it. It floated and she nearly fainted. The next thing Vexilla knew she was being pulled toward the Grey. Then her expensive shoes came free of the steel deck. She felt the weightlessness take over and the next thing she realized she was facing the snarling face of the Grey. A single finger with its clawed tip pointed to the laptop and the clear photo of the Matchstick Man.

  “Where?” it hissed in a cotton filled voice that didn’t come from its scaly lips but somewhere in Vexilla’s own brain.

  She tried to speak but her voice was just as frozen as her body. She struggled but finally managed to shake her head. When she did, she felt pressure on her throat and when she looked saw the Grey was using its right hand and its fingers were curled into a pinching, choking gesture. It started to smile as Vexilla became frightened she would die right there and then.

  “Asmodius, let her down!”

  Vexilla hit the floor and started fighting for breath. The laptop also struck the deck and shattered. The Grey hissed at Sokol who had entered a split-second before Vexilla’s life was chocked out of her.

  “What is this about?” Sokol asked as he hurriedly helped his assistant up. “And why have you left your room?”

  The Grey crouched and Sokol began to wonder if the Grey could be handled at all.

  “Are you okay?” he asked a white-faced Trotsky.

  “How did…he get…out?” she struggled to say as her throat was aflame with pain.

  Sokol turned on the Grey who was rocking back and forth hissing its displeasure.

  “He killed his two guards. Security cameras caught him walking straight here as if he knew what he would find. What set him off?”

  Vexilla pointed down to the smashed laptop. “He came across a photo of that small alien the allies used during the war with the Greys. The one they called the Matchstick Man. Mahjtic Tilly.”