Conspiracies

"Bless you, and nice to meet you as well." She turned to Lew. "Where's Melanie? I'm so anxious to speak to her." She grinned and lowered her voice to a stage whisper. "I'm hoping she'll give me a preview of her address on Sunday."

"I'm sorry, Olive," Lew said, "but Mel's not here. Frankly, I don't know where she is, and I'm getting worried."

He launched into his story, then worked Jack's "experience" into it. Jack watched Olive's expression carefully during the whole exchange, but saw nothing suspicious.

"I'm sure Mel's just fine," Olive said. "You know how she is. She's like a bird dog once she gets on the trail of something. She's probably lost all track of time. Don't worry, Lew. Melanie will be here as scheduled on Sunday to tell us what she's discovered, and I know in my heart she'll prove that Satan is the master manipulator. He has to be—the devil is the source of all evil. Why just last night as I was praying I—"

Her voice cut off as two long-haired heavy metal types strolled by on the sidewalk. Her head almost managed an Exorcist swivel as she fixed on the one with the Black Sabbath T-shirt. Her expression grew furious.

"Excuse me," she said and hurried after them.

Jack watched as she grabbed the Black Sabbath guy by the arm and got into his face.

"Are you a Satanist?"

"Sod off," the guy said in a British accent and kept walking.

"Even if you're not a follower, you're doing the devil's work!" she said, following him. "You're spreading the Evil One's message with that shirt!"

The voices faded as the trio moved off:

"As you can see, Olive is a bit, um, intense," Lew said. "She represents the thinking of a fairly large segment of the membership—fundamentalist Christian types who believe the End Days are near and that Satan is preparing the way for the Antichrist."

"Keep thinking those happy thoughts."

"She's a nice lady, really," Lew said. "Just don't push any of her hot buttons. The one you really have to be careful with is Jim Zaleski—a real hot-head, and a diehard ufologist."

"You—follow what?"

"Ufologist—an expert on UFOs. He's a spokesman for the alien contact faction of SESOUP."

"So SESOUP's not a united group."

"About as united as the United Nations. Each subgroup pushes its own theory as the Real Truth. The other bigwig is Miles Kenway. He's ex-military and ... well, a little scary. He speaks for those who believe in the New World Order conspiracy. If I had to pick one of them as most likely to be behind Mel's disappearance, I'd pick Kenway."

I love this, Jack thought. It's like an alternate reality.

"Have you seen either of those two around?" he said, wanting a look at them.

"No. But I'm sure they'll be at the cocktail reception later. And Roma's giving the welcoming address. You can meet them all tonight—if we can get you in." Lew glanced at his watch. "Registration should be opening soon. Let's get up there early. Let me do the talking."

Back inside, they took the escalator up one level to the meeting floors and found the registration desks in a corridor. Lew was pre-registered so he simply had to sign in. Jack stood back while the thin, middle-aged brunette behind the desk assembled Lew's badge and program. Movement to his right startled him—something small and brown with a long curved tail scurried along the floor. It disappeared behind the registration table.

Jack was bending into a squat to check it out when the thing jumped up onto the table.

A monkey. One of those cute little organ-grinder types with the pale face and the dark fur on the head—a capuchin, or something like that. It sat on the far end of the table and stared at him.

Jack heard Lew say, "I'm also going to pick up my wife's registration packet."

"Sure, Lew," the woman said, digging into an accordion file folder. Her badge read Barbara.

Still staring at Jack, the monkey moved closer. Barbara glanced at it but said nothing. Jack didn't understand why it was staring at him like that. Didn't much like it, either.

What's your problem, little guy?

He pointed to the monkey. "Is he a member too?"

Barbara smiled. "No. He belongs to Sal. Isn't he cute?"

"Sal?" Lew said.

"Professor Roma. He tells everyone to call him Sal."

She handed Lew an envelope. "Ask Melanie to stop by and say hello later."

"I'm not sure when Mel's arriving," Lew said. "In the meantime, I'm going to let Mr. Shelby use her badge and pass."

Jack noticed that the monkey shot upright onto its hind legs, almost as if it were alarmed at something.

"Are you a member?" she said to Jack.

"Nope. But I'd sure like to be."

"Oh, dear," Barbara said. "I don't think we can allow that."

"I don't see why not. Melanie's going to be delayed so she wants Mr. Shelby to take her place until she arrives."

"But Lew," Barbara was saying, "he's not a member—"

"But Melanie is, and I'm her husband, and this is what she told me: Jack is to take her place until she arrives."

"But you can't just give him—"

"Yes, he can," Jack said, noticing other registrants backing up behind them. Enough jawing. "Watch." He took Melanie's registration from Lew and held it before him. "There. It's done."

Before Barbara could reply, the monkey screeched and leaped at Jack. It grabbed the envelope and tried to tear it from his grasp. Startled, Jack stumbled back a step. A few of the people behind him cried out in alarm.

"What the—!"

He snatched the envelope from the monkey's paws, grabbed the creature around its chest, and gently dropped it back onto the registration desk. As if bounding off a trampoline, the monkey sprang at him again, screeching shrilly all the while. This time Jack was ready. He caught it around the chest again and held it up at arms length. He stared at it.

"Hey, pal, what's with you? Cool it."

The monkey stopped its screeching and glared at him. Then it tried to bite his wrist.

"Damn!" Jack said and tossed it—none too gently this time—back onto the table. He looked at his wrist. The skin was scraped but unbroken.

Undaunted, the creature looked ready to spring again when a voice rang out.

"Mauricio!"

The monkey froze. It and everyone else turned to look at the man approaching from the far end of the corridor.

"Oh, Professor Roma!" Barbara said. "I'm so glad you're here. I don't know what got into him."

Jack took in Professor Salvatore Roma, founder of SESOUP: a lot younger than Jack had expected, with close-cropped black hair, just this side of a buzz cut, slim nose, dark eyes, and full lips; maybe five-ten with a lean body. He wore a white shirt—one of those collarless jobs—and dark gray pleated slacks. Looked like he'd just come from a GQ shoot.

For some reason he couldn't explain, Jack hated him on sight.

Roma snapped his fingers at the monkey and, after a heartbeat of hesitation, it scampered along the table and hopped up on his shoulder. Roma approached Lew and Jack.

"Hello," he said, extending his hand to Lew. "I'm Sal Roma."

"Lew Ehler. We've spoken on the phone."

Roma smiled brightly. "Melanie's husband! So good to finally meet you in person! I've been looking forward to meeting her in the flesh as well. Where is she?"

Roma was handsome and graceful, warm and friendly—why did Jack have such an urge to punch him in the face?

Lew said, "She's not here at the moment."

Roma turned to Barbara. "What was all the commotion?"

"Lew wants this non-member"—she nodded toward Jack—"to use his wife's conference pass."