He'd been anticipating more picturesque types, and indeed he'd spotted a few ethereal, long-haired New Agers, and the inevitable bearded fat guy doing the Michelin Man thing in a stretched-to-the-limit "Abductees Do It In Space" T-shirt, but mostly he saw lots of old guys wearing white shoes and string ties with a flying saucer cinch, matrons in warm-ups and polyester pants suits, nerdy engineer types with pocket protectors and suspenders. The home towns on their badges were in states like Colorado and Missouri and Indiana.
On the whole, what was so striking about SESOUP's members was their very ordinariness. Middle America seemed to be heavily into conspiracies.
Jack didn't know whether to be heartened or dismayed.
After the standing ovation for Roma's address, everyone streamed into a large adjoining room for the cocktail reception. Jack watched singles, couples, groups greeting each other with smiles and hugs.
"Looks like a pretty friendly group," he said.
Lew nodded. "They're good people. A lot of us know each other from other similar organizations. Most are like Melanie and meno close living relatives, not much in common with their neighbors. For many of us, these conferences are almost like family gatherings." He held, up a couple of drink tickets. "Thirsty? I'm buying."
"I thought you didn't drink."
"I'm making an exception tonight."
"Okay. I'll take a beer. Anything as long as it's not made by Anheuser-Busch."
As Lew threaded his way through the crowd toward the bar, two middle-aged women stopped before Jack.
The taller of the pair introduced herself as Evelyn Something-or-other, a big, chunky blonde wearing a bright red dress, little white socks, and shiny Mary Janes on her tiny feetall Jack could think of was an old comic book character ... Little Dot's voracious friend ...
Little Lotta.
"I'm the program chairwoman?" Evelyn said. It sounded like a question. In fact, just about everything out of her mouth sounded like a question. "Lew told me about your experience? We're planning on holding panels? You know, with experiencers? Would you care to participate?"
"No, thanks," Jack said. "I'd rather not."
Evelyn smiled sympathetically. "I know there's some controversy? I mean, about your being here? But that shouldn't put you off? It's good to share? And the audience? It will be totally nonjudgmental?"
"I really don't have all that much to tell," Jack said. "I hardly remember a thing about it." How true, how true.
"I can fix that," said the other, a hawk-faced, anorectic-looking woman.
"Oh, I'm sorry," said Evelyn. "This is Selma Jones? A memory-recovery therapist?"
Selma fixed him with an intent share. "I've helped many, many experiencers regain 'lost' hours. I can help you."
And maybe turn me into an Olive Farina? Jack thought.
"Maybe some other time."
"Well, if you, you know, change your mind?" Evelyn said, laying a gentle hand on his arm. "About the panel? You'll let me know?"
"Sure. Thanks for asking. You're very kind to care."
He meant that. She seemed sincere. And it couldn't hurt to have an ally or two among the membership.
The pair moved off, and Jack looked around for Lew.
He spotted him limping toward him with a Bass Ale in each hand. He had a trim, middle-aged man in tow.
"Jack," Lew said, handing him a bottle. "I want you to meet one of SESOUP's more prominent members, Jim Zaleski."
Jack had read about Zaleski in the program book which described him as "the world's foremost ufologist who has devoted his entire life to unexplained aerial phenomena and alien manifestations." In person he appeared to be in his late forties with thin lips, hornrimmed glasses, and longish dark hair that he repeatedly brushed off his forehead.
"Lew says you're the last one to hear from Mel," Zaleski said, giving Jack a quick handshake while his voice did light speed. "Want to talk to you about that. Got plans for breakfast tomorrow?"
"Nothing firm: a couple eggs, maybe bacon, but I could go the pancake route."
Zaleski didn't even blink. "Great. Meet me down in the coffee shop about eight. We'll talk." He clapped Lew on the shoulder. "Gotta run, Lew. Gotta work the goddamn room."
As Zaleski melted into the throng, Jack told him about turning down Evelyn's offer to be on the experiencers panel.
"Did I do the right thing?"
Lew nodded. "I'd say so. Keep things as vague as you can. The more you tell, the less interesting you'll be."
"Well, thank you very much."
Just then Lew reached out and grabbed the shoulder of someone passing by, a stocky older man with short gray hair.
"Miles! Miles, I want you to meet someone." The man stopped and turned their way. "Miles," Lew said. "This is Jack Shelby. I told you about him earlier. Jack, this is Miles Kenway."
Kenway's handshake was firm and lingering. He had a lined face and a military bearing. He wore a snug herringbone sport jacket, and appeared to be in good shape.
His icy blue eyes bored into Jack. "Good to meet you, Shelby. We must talk in depth of your experience sometime, but first let me ask you: Do you remember seeing any black helicopters at the time?"
"Uh, no," Jack said slowly, hesitating. Was this a trick question? "It was night."
Kenway's brow furrowed. "Yes. Yes, of course. Well, carry on then," he said and marched off.
"Warm fellow," Jack said to Lew as he watched Kenway work his way into the crowd.
"And now you've met all the SESOUP big shotsexcept Melanie, of course. Miles is the one that worries me. He's a former Army Intelligence staff sergeant who was attached to NATO where he says he came across secret UN plans to take over the country. He now heads a militia unit outside Billings, Montana."
"You mean one of those white supremacist groups?"
"He's not a racist as far as I can tell. Just staying prepared for when the shock troops of the New World Order invade the United States." Lew raised an eyebrow.
"Whatever gets you through the night," Jack said.
He watched Kenway's broad retreating back and thought he noticed a slight bulge in his sport coat at the small of his back. Was he carrying?
Both military and intelligence training, most likely armed, and probably a few Fruit Loops shy of a full bowl. Dangerous combination. This was a guy to watch.
He glanced at Lew and found him staring at the carpet, a million miles away, and lost there.
"Thinking of Melanie?" Jack said.
He nodding, blinking and biting his upper lip.
"We'll find her."
"But will she be okay when we do?" Lew said.
Jack couldn't answer that with any authority, so he said nothing.
"I really miss her," Lew said. "Especially now. This kind of gathering was always the best time for us." He took a deep shuddering breath. "I think I'll go back to my room and leave the TV on ... maybe Melanie will contact me again. You'll be okay?"
"Sure," Jack said. The poor guy looked truly miserable ... like a hound dog who'd lost his master. Jack felt for him. "Go ahead. I'll just hang out and ... mingle."
Mingle? Jack thought as Lew moved off. I haven't the faintest idea how to mingle.
He never went to cocktail parties and had no skills at small talk. He felt like a stranger at a family reunion. But at least it seemed like a friendly, open family. He started weaving among the small groups clustered throughout the crowded room
And came face to face with Professor Salvatore Roma. Jack swallowed another surge of distaste and forced a smile. He'd have to build bridges here if he was going to learn anything about Melanie Ehler's whereabouts.
"Good speech, professor," he said.