"Liz," Max whispered in an awestruck tone. "Do you realize what this is?" The metallic sheet reflected the starry radiance shining from his upraised hand, casting an effulgent glow over the entire scene. "This is the same unbreakable stuff that Captain Carver found at the Crash site in '47, that he showed to Michael back in October."Liz nodded, understanding. The retired air force pilot, now deceased, had given Michael an eyewitness report of the Crash and its hectic aftermath, and had shown him a much smaller sample of a very similar material, which Carver had covertly pocketed at the debris field over fifty years ago. She gazed at the unearthly material in wonder. It was amazing to realize that, more likely than not, they were looking at an actual piece of the alien spacecraft that had brought Max and die others to Earth so many years ago. How many light-years had this ragged leaf of foil traveled? she marveled.
To confirm his suspicions, Max picked up the sheet and crumpled it into a small ball, about half the size of his fist. He placed the ball back atop the bed, and he and liz watched in amazement as the compressed wad of foil automatically unfolded itself, so that, within seconds, the sheet once more laid flat upon the bed, looking as pristine and unwrinkled as before.
Max and Liz exchanged knowing looks. This tendency to reassume its original form, even when folded or compacted, was highly characteristic of the unearthly materials found after the Crash, according to Michael, Carver, and any number of alleged witnesses from '47. "It's true," Max gasped, delicately touching the silver foil as though it were a sacred relic. "This is from the Crash!"No wonder there were no test samples aver by the lab equipment, liz realized, impressed by the alien material's preternatural resilience and durability; the poor science guy probably hasn't been able to break off a single piece of the sheet for testing purposes. "The air force must be experimenting with this stuff at White Sands," she deduced. Although the details were top secret, everyone knew that the Pentagon tested new aircraft and missile systems at the nearby base. "That must be how Lieutenant Ramirez managed to get his hands on this stuff."But what does Morton want with it?" Max wondered, sorting quickly through the rest of the samples in the black briefcase. There were also fragments, Liz saw, of an almost weightless tan substance, as smooth as plastic, that, based on Max's tentative attempts to bend or break them, were just as invulnerable as the silver foil. These smaller fragments were embossed with cryptic pink and purple hieroglyphics that bore a striking resemblance to the obscure petroglyphs she and Max had once found in a cave outside River Dogs Indian reservation, markings made by Nasedo decades before Max and the other human-alien hybrids emerged from their pods. The tan-colored fragments, Liz knew, also gibed with testimony given by others involved in the Crash investigation back in 1947. (You didn't grow up in Roswell, New Mexico, without picking up a thorough grounding in basic UFO lore.) "He probably intends to sell it to the highest bidder," she guessed. "Even without the Roswell connection, which might appeal to wealthy UFO enthusiasts, materials like these-lightweight, indestructible-would be worth millions if they could be duplicated. We could be talking industrial espionage here, never mind foreign governments that might want to find out what the U.S. is up to at White Sands." She couldn't resist wadding up the sheet herself, just to watch it unfold miraculously once more. "One way or another, Max, we're talking big money here."Money enough to kill far, she thought somberly. A shiver ran through her as she realized that the huge potential payoff inherent in these artifacts was almost surely what must have ignited Morton's violent outburst in the Crashdown way back when. I almost died for these fragments, she acknowledged, but, for once, she managed to keep the post-traumatic flashbacks at bay; it helped somehow to be using her brain to unravel the mystery. The mad, unreasoning panic was still there, prowling around at the back of her mind, poised to overwhelm her sanity and intellect once more, yet she felt a little less like a victim now that she was finding out for herself what the shooting had been all about. It was no longer just a random, meaningless act of violence, but part of a larger conspiracy whose outline was rapidly becoming clearer.
She peeked quickly at her watch, unsure how much longer Maria and the others would be able to keep Morton and his pet PhD occupied. Almost ten minutes had passed already, so she and Max had to be running out of time. "We've got to go," she warned Max, whose fascination with the alien wreckage, however understandable, might have conceivably overcome his instinct for self- preservation. "And we've got to take this stuff with us."Are you sure?" Max asked, even as he refolded the silver sheet and placed it back in the briefcase with the rest of the debris. "Morton will know we've been here if his so-called 'merchandise' disappears."I don't care, Max," she stated, feeling more decisive and certain of her judgment than she had since running madly out of that underground gift shop the day before. "What if Morton really is planning to sell these samples to a hostile country?" She touched Max's hand gingerly, hoping she could make him understand. "I know you and Michael and Isabel have little reason to trust the federal government, especially after the way they tortured you in that white room, but I'm still an American, Max, and I can't just let Joe Morton sell our secrets to gods know who!"To her relief, Max did not challenge her patriotic concerns. "That's fine, Iiz," he told her without hesitation. He closed the lid of the attache case and locked the clasp. "You're right. I don't like the idea of this technology falling into the wrong hands, either." He gave her a joking smile as he lifted the case by its handle, easily managing its weight. "Just don't ask me to personally hand-deliver this package back to the army boys at White Sands."I was thinking maybe Area 51 instead," she teased him right back. She couldn't believe how good it felt to smile again, to indulge in a bit of playful repartee with the boy she loved. Suddenly, she was very glad that she had summoned the courage to break-and-enter along with Max. This was just what she'd needed to get over her pathological fear of Joe Morton and his gun.
Now we just need to get out of here, she decided, heading for the door, before he gets back.
18.
Morton and his anonymous partner made good time. Less than ten minutes after Michael hung up on the murderous outlaw, the two men entered the Denny's, looking about avidly for the unknown party who had lured them here. Michael must have done a good job of planting doubts in Morton's mind, Isabel concluded, repressing a shiver at the very thought of the killer's warped psyche. She knew from firsthand experience what an ugly place that was.
Neither man was carrying the infamous black attache case. Good, Isabel thought, assuming that the case was back at Morton's motel room; at least that part of Max's scheme had gone off as planned.
Michael raised a hand to catch Morton's eye, just in case their disguises didn't attract his attention. To bolster their assumed identities as associates of Lieutenant Ramirez, both she and Michael had transmuted their street clothes into reasonable facsimiles of U.S. Air Force uniforms. Mirrored sunglasses further concealed their actual origins, while Michael had even gone so far as to give himself a military-style crew cut to complete the deception. It didn't look bad on him, actually.
An ugly scowl upon his face, Morton marched over to the booth the two bogus officers had occupied. His unknown associate followed him, looking nervously around the restaurant as though deathly afraid of being recognized. He seemed ready to bolt and run at the slightest provocation.