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 shots—except 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.
Roma blinked in surprise; his expression remained guarded, as if waiting for a zinger. When it didn't come, he smiled cautiously. "Why…thank you, Mr. Shelby. Very kind of you to say so. It seems we got off on the wrong foot earlier."
"Just a misunderstanding." Jack imagined himself extracting a few of Roma's too-white teeth. "I've forgotten it already."
"So have I." But Roma's eyes said otherwise.
"By the way, where's your better half?"
"My better—?"
Jack tapped his own shoulder. "Your affectionate little pet."
"Oh, you mean Mauricio." He chuckled mirthlessly. '"My better half,' indeed. Mauricio is back in my room. He doesn't do well in crowds."
"Not too cool in the one-on-one department, either. He tried to bite me before you showed up earlier."
Roma's grin broadened. "Over the years I've found Mauricio to be an excellent judge of character."
As much as he hated to, Jack had to smile. Score one for you, Sal.
"Later," Jack said, and began to turn away.
"Oh, one more thing," Roma said.
As Jack faced him again, Roma raised his right hand with his three middle fingers raised and curved. He moved it slowly downward on a diagonal in front of Jack's body.
"What's that?" Jack said. "The secret SESOUP salute?"
Roma sighed. "Hardly," he said softly. He shook his head. "How easily we forget."
Jack stared at him, baffled. "Forget what?"
But Roma only smiled and moved off into the crowd.
6
Miles Kenway swirled his scotch on the rocks and watched Roma and the newcomer talking. Something not right between those two. Everybody knew about the showdown between them this morning—almost came to blows from what Miles had heard—and now they were smiling at each other. How do you figure that?
Maybe I'm just cranky, he thought.
Not without good reason: When he'd checked into his room today he'd found that it faced east. No way he was staying in a room that faced toward the UN. No telling what kind of devices those NWO types over there would be aiming at him during the night. He'd gone back to registration and got in their faces until they put him in a west-facing room.
He took a sip of his scotch and watched Roma and the newcomer go their separate ways. Roma was okay. Miles had him checked out—a professor just like he said; a family man with a wife and two kids, no criminal record, no ties to shady organizations. But the newcomer…
Jack Shelby…I'll just bet.
Miles couldn't say exactly what it was, but something about this fellow didn't sit well. Maybe it was the way he looked at people. Those eyes…just sucking in everything. But sneakily: watch him raise his beer to his lips and scan the room while he takes a long, slow sip.
Wouldn't surprise me a bit if he's already spotted my .45, he thought.
Or maybe it was the way the newcomer moved. Like a cat. No, not just a cat—a jaguar. A just plain nobody who just happened to lose a few hours after seeing a light in the Jersey Pines shouldn't move like a predator cat.
Miles had seen men like that. He had a couple of them in his unit back in Montana. Always looked ready to spring into action. Both were ex-Navy SEALs.
Was this fellow special forces too? Had the One Worlders brainwashed him, changing him from someone sworn to protect his country into someone dedicated to bringing it down?
He wouldn't be the first.
Another thing that bothered Miles about Shelby was the way he'd appeared out of nowhere and insinuated himself into a supposedly exclusive group.
But why should that surprise me? he thought with a mental shake of his head. The SESOUP folks aren't the most alert bunch.
Lew was too gullible, pure and simple. He took far too many things at face value. And unless Shelby was wearing a pentagram or inverted cross tattooed on his forehead, Olive would think he was okay. And Zaleski…he was only on the lookout for aliens.
Miles knew that the threat to the world as he knew it would arrive as a perfectly normal human being. Melanie probably knew it too. Were she here, she'd keep this Shelby character at arm's length. Miles and Melanie were the only sensible ones among the members…and sometimes he wasn't so sure about her. She'd been getting some weird ideas lately.
As usual, Miles would have to rely on himself. And his contacts.
He still had a few trusted moles in the intelligence community. His best was in the FBI—a good man, recently converted to the cause, who'd agreed to stay with the Bureau in order to keep an eye on things from the inside. It might be wise to ask him to do a background check on this Jack Shelby, just like he'd done on Sal Roma.
Miles would keep a close watch on Shelby tonight and see where he left his beer bottle. He'd use that as a fingerprint source. An excellent starting point.
7
Jack wandered the room, focusing here and there on the various conversations in progress around him. He heard "JFK" mentioned to his right and saw half a dozen middle-aged men and women standing in a loose circle. He sidled their way.
"Look," said a silver-haired fellow with a neatly trimmed beard, "all the evidence shows that Kennedy was killed because he was going to reveal MJ-12's deal with the grays."