A glance left showed that the room door was still locked, the sturdy swing latch still in the closed position. But that didn't mean a whole hell of a lot. Jack knew those could be bypassed—he'd done it a few times himself. The gym bag was the clincher—it was still snug against the door, right where he'd left it.
He didn't feel as if he was dreaming. He slapped his face. It stung.
And then with a crash that sent him diving for cover, the box dropped to the floor.
Bomb was the first thought to flash though his head. But who'd leave a bomb in a big green crate in a bathroom? And it hadn't exploded when it dropped.
He peeked around the corner. The box sat cold and quiet on the tiles. Looked completely harmless. But Jack was in no hurry to see what was inside.
He checked the door again. No way it had been opened. So how—?
He stopped himself.
Wait. What am I thinking? This isn't happening. It's no more real than those rakoshi of a few minutes ago. I keep forgetting I'm still asleep.
This felt pretty damn real for a dream, but what else could it be? Which meant he shouldn't be wasting his time trying to answer unanswerable questions when all this would be gone when the dream ended.
He headed back to the bed, closed his eyes, and waited to wake up.
Roma…
"Where is it?"
Roma stood in the center of the basement and turned in a slow circle, arms spread in bafflement. The portal had opened and closed—he knew it, he'd felt it—but he had nothing to show for it.
Anger mixed with new, unfamiliar emotions: confusion and, strangest of all, uncertainty.
"Where is the device? Why was it not sent?"
"It was sent," Mauricio said, tying up his plastic bag. 'I sense it somewhere in this building. But not here."
"But it was supposed to be delivered here. To me."
"Obviously it wasn't."
The creature's serene tone rankled Roma. "Mauricio…"
"Something has gone wrong—as I predicted."
Roma felt his anger flare to incandescence. "I want no more talk of your predictions! I want that device. You say it is somewhere in this building—find it! Now!"
Mauricio stared at Roma a moment, then hopped down to the floor.
"It's that stranger," he said. "I'm sure of it."
"Then find him. Let him be a stranger no more. Learn about him—where he lives, who he knows, who he loves—especially who he loves. A man who loves is vulnerable. Love is an excellent lever, one we should not hesitate to use should we need to."
Mauricio nodded and, without another word, trotted off, dragging his plastic bag behind him.
Disquiet nibbled at the base of Roma's spine as he watched him go. Could Mauricio be right? Was it not yet his time?
No. That was not in question. Then what had gone wrong? Was he right that the stranger—the insect who called himself Jack Shelby—was the problem?
He would have to learn more about him. And if he proved to be the source of interference, Roma would see to it that he sorely regretted the day he had dared to insinuate his insignificant presence into something so momentous.
FRIDAY
THE 1ST ANNUAL CONFERENCE OF THE SOCIETY FOR THE EXPOSURE OF SECRET ORGANIZATIONS AND UNACKNOWLEDGED PHENOMENA
SCHEDULE OF EVENTS FRIDAY
Registration Desk Open: 8:00 A.M.-8:00 P.M.
Exhibits Open: 8:00 A.M.-8:00 P.M.
8:00-9:20 A.M.: Experiences' Panel
9:30-10:20 A.M.: The Nephilim of the Bible: Fallen angels—or the first alien visitors?
10:30-NOON: Blue Helmet Warning: An ex-NATO official tells of the actual plans he saw for a UN-led takeover of America
NOON-1 :30 P.M.: Lunch Break
1:30-2:50 P.M.: El Nino: The unnatural "natural" phenomenon—evidence that heat from CIA solar mirrors are creating El Nino conditions in the Pacific waters off the west coast of South America.
3:00-5:00 P.M.: UFOs Over Tokyo: Eyewitness accounts with photos!
5:00-7:00 P.M.: Cocktail Reception—meet the panelists
9:00 PM-??? Films: Invasion USA, The Devil's Bride, Earth vs. the Flying Saucers
1
Jack tried but couldn't sleep. And when dawn came, he returned to the bathroom and found the dark green crate still there.
Impossible.
No, he didn't want to say impossible. Because obviously it was possible. Once you started believing the impossible, the next step was maybe hearing someone speaking to you through your TV.
He pulled the curtains and looked outside. The city was awakening. Garbage trucks rumbling and clanking, people walking their dogs before heading for work…
Just another day in Hell's Kitchen.
But not just another day in this particular hotel room. That crate wasn't a dream. The part about it floating in mid-air—that had been a dream—but the damn crate was real.
Back to the bathroom.
All right, let's think about this, he told himself, staring at the box. If the crate's real and it didn't come through the door, how did it get here? How did someone sneak it into the room without me hearing anything?
Cautiously he stepped into the bathroom. The crate wasn't steaming anymore, the air against his feet no longer cold. He reached his hand toward its surface but didn't touch it: seemed to be room temperature now. Close up like this, he could make out fine traces of black within its dark green surface.
Avoiding contact, Jack knelt and checked the floor around the crate, inspected under the sink counter, opened all the drawers…no sign of an opening or hidden door.
Baffled, he sat on the edge of the tub and stared at the crate. How had the damn thing got here?
Gingerly, he nudged it with his toe. The wood didn't feel like any wood he'd ever known. The cover moved under light pressure from his toe and he jerked his foot back.
It wasn't sealed.
Giving the crate wide clearance, Jack retrieved the desk chair from the next room. He felt like a jerk, leaning around the edge of the bathroom doorway and poking at the crate with the chair leg, but he freely admitted that this thing had him spooked and he wasn't taking any chances.
Finally the lid slid off. No explosion, no snakes or giant spiders came crawling out. The overhead lights gleamed off…metal bars.
He stepped in for a closer look. The crate held a jumble of miniature girders. Looked like an oversized erector set, with nuts and bolts and braces, but no plans.
Was he supposed to know what this was? Hell, was it even meant for him?
And then he saw part of the underside of the lid. Looked like a diagram. He flipped it the rest of the way over. Yeah. Plans that looked like an old blueprint for assembling whatever it was, not printed on the material, more like engraved in white into its dark green surface. Some sort of an oil rig, or something that resembled one. But the plans looked incomplete. The top of the structure appeared to be cut off at the upper end of the lid, as if they'd run out of room.
Didn't matter. He wasn't about to start assembling it. He had better things to do. He searched the crate inside and out for an address. He'd take an invoice, or a 'To" or a "From"—he wasn't picky—but found nothing.
He replaced the lid—weird texture to that material—and slid the crate under the sink counter.
Is somebody gaslighting me? he wondered.
After all, he was surrounded by loons.
Probably best to sit on it—figuratively—for now and see if anyone asked about it, or came looking for it.
He wasn't too crazy about showering with that crate in the bathroom, but he managed it—warily. He stood under the hot geyser and wondered what he'd got himself into here, that nightmare with the rakoshi and that voracious hole gobbling up the city…how could a dream leave him so unsettled? Maybe because he couldn't shake the feeling that it was more than a dream…that it was some sort of premonition. But of what?