Conspiracies

"But now let me ask you something," Jack said as the man thanked him and began to walk away.

He was bothered by the fact that, despite his best efforts to dress like an out-of-towner, two foreigners had chosen him to ask directions.

"How did you know I wasn't a tourist myself?"

"That nylon thingie you're wearing, for one," the Brit said, smoothing his neat little white mustache. "Whenever we see one in London, we know there's an American inside. The same goes for that miniature rucksack on your hip."

"Okay, but how did you know I wasn't from Des Moines or someplace?"

"By the way you crossed the street. If you'll notice, native New Yorkers completely ignore the don't walk signals, and rarely break stride as they cross the street."

Have to remember that, Jack thought.

He moved on, stopping at all the don't walks, and found the Clinton Regent Hotel in the upper Forties between Ninth and Tenth. A whopping eight stories tall, it towered over its neighbors.

A low marquee overhung a small paved plaza shaded by half a dozen slim elms in planters. Through the windows to the left of the revolving doors he could see a half-filled coffee shop; to the right, the crowded lobby. He stepped inside and stuttered to a stop as a deep uneasiness wrapped around him like a tentacle.

He looked around the low-ceilinged lobby, wondering what it was about this place that made him so uncomfortable. Just people, standing, sitting, wandering about. No one particularly sinister looking or threatening. They were all so ordinary he wondered if he was in the right place. Then he spotted a backpacking girl wearing a T-shirt decorated with the familiar black-eyed ET-ish alien and he knew this had to be the place.

As he stood there the sensation eased away, but did not leave entirely.

Jack spotted a tall, lanky figure waving from an alcove: Lew Ehler, and he was motioning to Jack to join him.

"Good," Lew said as they shook hands. He wore gray slacks and a green plaid shirt under a blue V-neck sweater; he looked more relaxed out of a suit. "You're right on time." He was staring at Jack's throat. "What—?"

"Cut myself shaving."

"Oh. We should go over your cover story before we try to register you."

"Try?"

"Yes. I think I have a way to get you in, and if we pass that hurdle, you'll need a cover story."

"Maybe we should see about registering first."

"No. Trust me, you should have the story set in your mind before you get involved here."

"Okay. Who am I?"

He glanced around. "Too crowded in here. Let's step outside."

They stood near an elm in a concrete planter. Lew gave the street and sidewalk a careful once-over before turning to Jack.

"I've given this a lot of thought and I think you should be an experiencer."

"What's an experiencer?"

"Someone who's had a UFO experience."

"You mean abducted?" Jack didn't know if he could pull that off without laughing.

"No. Too many phony abductees around—either delusional crazies or publicity hounds. You've got to be more subtle. You'll simply say you experienced an incident that left you with unaccounted-for hours in your life. Where are you from?"

Jack didn't want to answer that. "Why?"

"Because you should be familiar with where this event supposedly happened. It should be a fairly unpopulated area."

Jack knew Jersey—he grew up there—and the pine woods that filled the belly of the state were about as deserted as you could get.

"How about the Jersey pine barrens?"

"Perfect! Mel always talked about a 'nexus point' out there."

"What's that?"

"I'm not sure. It was part of her research. We drove through last year, looking for one of these nexus points but got lost. Okay, so that's where you were ... driving through the pine barrens, when you saw a light moving along the tree tops."

"I've heard of lights like that—the Pineys call them 'pine lights'—but I never saw one."

"Yes, you did: you saw this light ... and as you slowed to watch it, you spotted this glowing figure off to the side. You stopped for a closer look ... and the next thing you knew, it was dawn. You'd lost five-six hours."

"That's it?"

Lew nodded. "That's all you need. It's perfect because it's so vague. No one can trip you up on details because there aren't any. Anybody starts questioning you too closely, you just act confused ... you wish like crazy you could remember ... you'd give anything to remember."

"What about reporting it? That can be checked, so I'll have to say I didn't report it. Why not?"

"No problem. You never told anybody because you were too embarrassed—you don't want people to think you're some sort of nut. It's a common story. Most people who are into this stuff believe that only a small fraction of sightings and contacts are on record; the rest remain unreported due to the very real fear of being labeled a kook."

"Okay. I can handle that. But what's my connection to Melanie?"

Lew grinned. "Here's the beauty part: you never reported the incident to anyone, not even your own family, but then, out of the blue, Melanie Ehler called you and asked him to come to New York to talk to her about it."

"But how did she know?"

Lew's grin broadened. "That's what everyone will be asking. That will make you a very interesting experiencer. Everyone will want to talk to you about it. And the thing is, you've never met Mel, never even heard of her, so you're free to ask all sorts of questions about her."

Jack looked around. "But here I am, sitting with you for all to see. How come I know you?"

"You showed up at the house, looking for Mel. But she's gone. So I brought you along to help me look for her." He beamed with pride. "Isn't that great? All bases covered." His smile faltered and his Adam's apple made a single convulsive bob. "Mel would be so proud."

It was great. Brilliant, in fact. But Jack saw a way to improve it.

"I'm sure she would. And I'm impressed too. But let's ratchet it up one more notch. Let's say that I heard from Melanie Tuesday."

"Tuesday? But that was after ... "

"Right. She called me after she was abducted." If she was abducted, he mentally added. "That ought to shake up the guilty party and bring them sniffing around, don't you think?"

"I guess it would."

"And as for you—play it straight."

"What do you mean?"

"I want you to pretty much tell it like it is: Melanie took off Sunday on some last minute research and you haven't seen her since. Despite the fact that she told you she'd be gone for a while, you're worried about her—you even suspect foul play. The only thing you hold back on is who I really am and the, er, TV message you got from her Monday night. Got that?"

"Yeah, sure. I guess so. But what—?"

"Lew?" said a woman's voice.

Jack turned and saw a matronly woman, maybe fifty or so, approaching them from the hotel entrance.

"Oh, hi, Olive," Lew called, then spoke hurriedly in a low voice from the corner of his mouth. "Olive Farina, one of the cornerstones of SESOUP. A born-again everything."

"Lew, it's so good to see you again!" she said, smiling warmly and opening her arms.

Lew stooped for a brief embrace. "Good to see you too, Olive." He turned to Jack. "I'd like you to meet ... "

Jack saw Lew's face go blank, no doubt mirroring his mind. They hadn't settled on a name.

"Jack Shelby," Jack said, extending his hand. "Lew and I met only Tuesday. Nice to meet you."

Olive Farina had a sweet face and short graying hair. She wore a white turtleneck with flower-embroidered collar, a brocade vest that looked like it had been cut from a wall hanging, maroon polyester slacks and matching stockings with flat black shoes. Jack figured this was how nuns must dress when they resign from their convent. Her jewelry reinforced the ex-nun image: silver crosses as earrings, a gold crucifix as a ring, and a big silver crucifix suspended on a long chain necklace.