Sedona Conspiracy Read online

  “I appreciate that, Leon,” said Davis. “We’ve had a good working relationship up to now, and I wouldn’t like to see someone come in and mess it up. We’re getting close, you know, close enough that someone is trying to slow things down. I have my own people to dig them out; I don’t need Washington sending in someone to do it for me. If this guy Price even smells like a field operative to you, I want to know about it. Accidents can happen, and there’s too much at stake for both of us. You remember that.”

  “Oh, I remember. That’s why I called you.”

  “Good man. I’ll be able to get out of here Saturday. Let’s have a drink on it. I’ll call you early morning.”

  “It’ll have to be late. I have an opening to attend at eight at Frago’s. There’s a bar just down the street from it. Working class, no art patrons.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll call to verify. Gotta go, now. Keep your eyes open.”

  The line went dead.

  Leon turned off his cell phone. There was a queasy feeling in his stomach. Accidents can happen. That was going too far, but worrying now was premature. Meet the man; find out who or what he is. Time for maneuvering later.

  Leon went to the bathroom and spent over an hour preparing an appropriate fashion statement for a day including luncheon with proper, wealthy ladies of the local garden club.

  * * * * * * *

  Eric Price arrived at exactly seven in the evening, as prearranged by telephone. The entry-com beeped, and Leon jumped to answer it.

  “Yes?”

  “Eric Price to see Leon Newell. I’m expected.”

  “Park behind the Humvee. I’ll meet you at the door.” Leon pressed a button to open the heavy gate, went to the door and outside to stand on the porch. It was late dusk outside, and red rock bluffs stood in silhouette, but a few bright stars twinkled overhead. Light from inside the house spilled onto the porch, and a yard light mounted above the garage door illuminated the Humvee sitting there. A black BMW sedan came up to the garage, tires crunching rusty scree as it came to a stop behind Leon’s vehicle. The man who got out of the car was tall, slender, wore a dark suit and carried a briefcase. When he came up on the porch he did not smile, but extended a hand.

  “Eric Price. You must be Mister Newell.”

  Leon extended a limp hand. “Please, it’s Leon.” He suppressed a flinch when Price ground his fingers together in the handshake. “Welcome to the new-age capital of the world.”

  Price regarded him somberly with dark eyes. “Haven’t seen any UFOs yet,” he said.

  Leon laughed. “Oh, you will. I’ll teach you how to look for them. Come in, before you get cold out here. We’re nearly a mile above sea level, you know.”

  Price followed him inside, looked at the beamed ceiling, the leather furniture, the paintings on the walls, the small assemblies of sculpture and glass arranged on tables and shelves. “Very nice,” he said.

  “The company has good taste. Something to drink?”

  “Coffee is fine,” said Price, and then gave Leon an appraising look. “You come out of Langley, or Washington?”

  “Neither. Let’s say I’m on loan to a needy agency. How about you?”

  “Likewise. Let’s leave it there. When do I go to the base? That wasn’t in my package.”

  “Soon enough. Get settled, and I’ll introduce you around. We can’t just spy on people; we have a business to run.”

  “The company actually sells art to people?” A faint trace of a smile came to the hard face of the man. Nicely hewn features, but eyes so dark brown they seemed black. His speech was even and direct, and there were no nervous gestures..

  “Of course. We do rather well, in fact. It’s certainly more satisfying than fighting with political cretins for senate appropriations. This Sunday there will be a party in honor of your arrival. It will be your introduction to the opulence here, and the people who live with it.”

  “And what does that have to do with the problem I’m here to solve?”

  “Nothing, or everything, I don’t know. There might be outside influences involved, and it certainly can’t hurt to befriend the shakers and movers in this town.”

  “I suppose,” said Price, “if they understand I’m not a sociable person. It’s not an ordinary part of my job. That’s why I asked.”

  Leon poured steaming coffee into two mugs and offered one to Price. “A perfectly legitimate question. Rely on me, and I’ll have you charming people in no time at all. They should include that training for all field agents, I think.”

  “I’m not a field agent; I’m an analyst,” said Price, a bit quickly. “I don’t even own a weapon. I climb logic trees and crunch numbers, and I’m supposed to evaluate a technology I haven’t been told about yet. Who’s going to do it? You?”

  The man’s look was so direct and focused that Leon felt the hairs move on the back of his neck. It was not the look of a data analyst, he thought.

  “I can do it, but I’m surprised you weren’t briefed beforehand. What did they tell you?”

  Eric blinked once. “A project called Shooting Star is being run at a hidden base near here, another area fifty-one, and apparently it’s so deep it’s considered beyond black ops. They’ve obtained an advanced aircraft of some kind, and can’t get it to fly for them like the Pentagon wants. I’m here to find out why that is. Is the technology Russian?”

  “We don’t know. The people who brought it out to us claim to be eastern European, but won’t identify their country. Very slight accents. Could be Slav.”

  “You don’t have any original documentation? No plans or manuals?”

  “Nothing. It’s all been done by word of mouth from a few people who arrived with the aircraft.”

  “Let me guess. They don’t know how to fly it.”

  “Apparently not. Our guess is they stole it. We’ve spent a year probing around east Europe to see if anyone, particularly the Russians, is missing anything. The report I’ve seen says the entire craft arrived in one piece on a Swedish-registered ship, and was airlifted here. Look, these are questions you should ask at the base when we get you there. You just got in; relax a bit. At ease, soldier.”

  “I’m not a soldier,” said Price, “and neither are you. It seems both of us are on loan to Gil’s office, and he’s the only boss we have in common. So quit fishing. I’m not happy about being here in such a stupid situation, and I like to be well briefed before I begin an assignment. That isn’t happening.”

  Leon thought of the file he’d read on Price, and thought, Ph.D. prima donnas can be such absolute pricks. “Then I suggest you complain about it to Gil right away. He’ll explain to you I’m only a liaison to the base, and what you want will come from Colonel Alexander Davis, who heads the project. My function is to integrate you with the civilian community, get you settled and up to speed on our communications with Langley and Washington. And I really do hope we’re going to get along personally, If not, then you can drive back to Phoenix and fly away to wherever you came from. There will be no solo players in this operation. I won’t stand for it, and neither will Gil, and I just realized I’ve told you I’m not some tiny cog in the wheel of this operation.”

  Price was smiling at him. “Honesty is best. Gil told me I’d be reporting to you, but you weren’t telling me that.”

  “Well done, Mister Price. I’ll remember it. Can we start over? Welcome to Sedona.”

  “Could be interesting. I was pulled from a nice assignment in Germany to come here. That aircraft must be important.”

  “It’s more than an aircraft, Mister Price. It can fly in space at great speed if we can ever figure out what powers it out there. Colonel Davis will do the briefing. Have you been to your house yet?”

  “No, I came straight here from town.”

  “You passed it, then, the next house down, about five hundred yards. We can walk there if you wish.”

  “It’s getting dark out there,” said Price.

  Leon smiled. “I’ll show you anothe
r way. Come with me, and leave your briefcase. We’ll come back later for your car.”

  Price’s eyebrow rose, but he said nothing and left his briefcase on a table. Leon led him through a kitchen with stainless steel appliances and blue slate counter tops to a door that led downstairs. There was a game room with a pool table, an alcove behind glass with two circular openings in the wall. Two cylindrical conduits ran twenty-five meters to bull’s-eye targets on metal frames, well lit. Leon gestured casually at the conduits. “You’re welcome to practice here anytime; I’d like the company. Just give me some warning.”

  “Like I said, I don’t have a weapon,” said Price.

  Leon smiled. “No problem. I have plenty for both of us.”

  They went to another door, which Leon opened with dramatic flair. “Our own, private walkway, good in any weather.”

  A tunnel ran straight ahead a hundred meters before turning to the right and out of sight. Pipes ran along the ceiling, and there was an orange light every few meters, high on the wall. The floor was dirt-covered, with sections of metal grating that clanged hollowly as they walked.

  “How far does this go?” asked Price.

  “It only connects our houses. Quite a job putting it in.”

  The walls were solid red-rock, broken by ventilation grates every fifty meters. There was a faint humming sound coming from them.

  “You’ll have a key to the entrance at my house in case of emergencies.”

  “What emergencies?” asked Price.

  “One never knows in our business. And it’s convenient for contact without outside observation. I can never be sure the office in town is secure.”

  Price blinked slowly at him, and Leon knew the man thought he was being overly dramatic. “Nothing is done here without reason, Mister Price.”

  “That’s Eric; we’re supposed to be partners, at least in business.”

  Leon did not like the innuendo when he saw the twinkle in Price’s eyes. “That’s all it is, I assure you. And don’t let my little affectations fool you; appearances can be very deceiving, even dangerous in the wrong situation.”

  “Just getting to know you, Leon. No offense intended.”

  “None taken,” said Leon, and smiled sweetly while pinching the thumb pad of his left hand with a fingernail because he’d allowed the man to pull his chain again. Price was more than an analyst, that much was certain, and there was a cruel side to his psyche.

  They came to the end of the tunnel. The steel door there was locked. Leon unlocked it, and handed Eric the key. “It fits both ends of the tunnel. Both doors are kept locked, and there’s no other way out of the tunnel.”

  The basement was dark, and Leon switched on a light. Empty shelves floor to ceiling, and an oil furnace. They went up wooden stairs to the main floor. Beamed ceilings, Santa Fe style, but smaller than Leon’s house, two bedrooms, front and dining rooms, nicely but not richly furnished. A notebook computer sat on a bar counter in the kitchen. Fish swam lazily on the screen. Shelves were stocked with food, and the refrigerator was full. Two garage door openers were on the dining room table. One was for the gate. “Motion sensors all around the property,” said Leon, “and any alarm will be relayed to me.” He pulled open a drawer in the dining room hutch. A Beretta 92F automatic was there, loaded and locked, hammer forward, safety off. “Something familiar, right out of school. Just for emergencies, of course, but you might consider carrying it.”

  “Lots of precautions for a data analyst,” said Eric. “I assume the reasons will be made known to me soon.”

  “Tomorrow, when you’re settled. We start at eight, at the office. You know where it is?”

  “I passed it on the way.”

  “I’ll have the entire file there on what I know so far. Here are the house keys, front and back door, garage door to the house.”

  They went back to the basement, leaving the upstairs lights on. The walk back seemed shorter. Eric picked up his briefcase again and Leon led him to the front door, stopping there before opening it. He looked up at Eric, and was suddenly coldly serious.

  “In the coming weeks or months, however long it takes, I will try to be as honest with you as I can, and I will expect the same from you. This is not to say we must share information about our individual backgrounds, training or agencies. We each have our own agendas, I’m sure, but we must share where they overlap or this operation can turn out badly and even have tragic consequences. You’ll have to decide what you can tell me, and I will do likewise, but please believe me when I say we’ve been assigned to work together to save a project of high value to our country, and that’s what we’re going to do.”

  Leon smiled, and extended a hand. “Beginning tomorrow morning.”

  Eric nodded, and shook his hand. “Fair enough. Your grip has improved in the past hour. See you at the office.”

  Leon let him out, and waited at the door until the big BMW had cleared the gate, and then he went inside the house and placed a phone call to Colonel Alexander Davis to tell him what he’d learned about the new man.

  * * * * * * *

  Eric made the short drive to his house, and put the car in the garage. It was near midnight when he finished unpacking. He left the Beretta in the hutch, but kept his own forty-five-Colt-Modified in its holster, and put it loaded and locked, hammer on half cock, in the nightstand by his bed. The Walther PPK went under his pillow. He sent an e-mail to a sister he didn’t have, saying he’d arrived home safely and that Uncle Leo was doing fine, then fixed himself half a pastrami on rye from the refrigerator and washed it down with water. It took him over an hour to get to sleep, his senses alert to every sound, every creak and groan of an unfamiliar house settling in for the night. Twice he thought he heard footsteps in the dark hallway outside his closed bedroom door. The yard lights flashed on several times, alert to any motion: mouse, snake, perhaps a javalina on the prowl. Exhaustion overwhelmed all of it, and after an hour he slept without remembered dreams, awakening refreshed to begin his new assignments.

  A few hundred yards up the road, Leon Newell’s night passed as well, but not without disturbance.

  * * * * * * *

  Davis listened politely, but reserved judgment until he’d met with Price. He was inclined to agree with Leon that the man was a CIA field operative, and not just an analyst. They spoke for only a few minutes, since it was getting late.

  Leon went through his nightly bathing and manicuring ritual and sipped a glass of warmed brandy before crawling into bed around two in the morning. He set the alarm for seven, and lay awake for several minutes thinking about Eric Price, his words, expressions, stillness of his posture, and the focus of his eyes. It was vaguely like being in the presence of a predatory cat, he thought, not a man of science and mathematics. The real man was not well hidden, not from the view of a professional, and Leon Newell was a professional. He could swish with the best salon dandies, offer the limp hand to ladies and talk to them like a sister, but he’d killed seven times in the service of his country and also to meet his own agendas. And in just an hour, Price had been able to get a glimpse of what lay beneath the surface of the man he was supposed to trust. That made him insightful, and potentially dangerous, a condition that could be tolerated only to a certain point before Leon might be called upon to neutralize him.

  The warm brandy took effect, and Leon gradually drifted off into a light sleep, a quiet place between wakefulness and dreams. Leon rarely slept deeply. It was a result of his training, and years spent in situations where a moment of careless preoccupation could result in death. He rested quietly, was not oblivious to sounds inside and outside the house, or the beating of his own heart. He was not oblivious to the texture of his silken sheets, or the lingering scents of lavender and fried meat in the air.

  Hovering above the abyss of dreams, Leon first noticed a sweet odor, something familiar, like myrrh. His head began to swirl gently, a peaceful descent to a place dark yet safe, the place where his true self, his higher self, dw
elt in contemplative solitude. He met himself there, his naked body glistening gold, sitting in lotus position, hands out from his sides, palms upwards. He opened his eyes, and they were black, and he smiled to himself.

  “Welcome,” he said to himself. “I believe you have a truth to tell me. You may do it here safely, for only the one of us is here.”

  “And what is that truth?” asked Leon.

  “There is a new person in your life, and you have deep reservations about your association with him. You must bring these feelings forward and look at them with a quiet mind. They may be real, or an illusion.”

  The black eyes blinked once. Leon felt peace.

  “I have judged by instinct based on past experience. The man is more than what he says. He is a killer. He can be dangerous to the movement if he discovers what it really is.”

  “Then you must watch him closely, and share with us what you learn, and I will guide you along the proper course. I will speak to the angels, and they to me, and the higher self of the one whom you speak of will also be consulted. Together we will choose the correct path. Together, we are in harmony with The All.”

  Leon felt a kind of euphoria, an uplifting, and the golden man faded from view. The sweet scent returned, and he felt a cool breeze on his face, arms and chest that brought him near a waking state. He opened his eyes. The room was in deep gloom, but the silhouettes of tall figures surrounded his bed. One leaned over close enough for Leon to see a glow of reflected light in two large eyes, and the man’s voice was barely a whisper.

  “Sleep now, friend, and return to the golden one, for it’s he who will guide you. We will be watching.”

  A faint hiss, a burst of sweet odor, and Leon drifted away, thinking, these people are friends, and they have come to me before. They ask questions, and I must answer them, but always it’s things I’ve talked about with Colonel Davis. Why don’t they just ask him?

  He awoke refreshed in the morning, and remembered nothing that had happened after Eric Price had left him the previous night.