Burnout: the mystery of Space Shuttle STS-281 (21 page)

"Or she--or it," Anders nodded, seeing his point. "But, Crash… have you noticed anything else?"

"Yeah--no engines," Crash observed, subdued. "Nothing I recognize as engines, anyway."

"So they're using a propulsion system totally alien to us," Anders stated in wonder. Suddenly he spun out of his seat, pacing across the small floor, unable to contain himself. "Damn, damn, DAMN. We're sitting on the discovery of the century--no, of the millennium--and I cannot do one damn fool thing about it!"

Crash stared at his friend, concerned. "Mike, you… you aren't really thinking about--"

"Of course not," Anders responded, settling down and giving his friend a gentle smile. "No way it's worth the life of one of my best mates. It's just a bit frustrating." He paused for a moment, considering. "Okay, it's a lot frustrating. But I'm still not gonna do anything that'll compromise matters for us." He sat back down, commanding the computer to save the image files, and backing them up onto data sticks. "Here. Another piece of evidence to add to your stack."

"Yup," Crash said, accepting one of the sticks. "Hey, what time is it?"

"Huh? Oh," Anders glanced at his watch. "Little after eleven o'clock. Close to noon, actually."

"Good. Aim this baby at the nearest bank."

"Why? We've got all the cash we need," Anders asked, puzzled.

"You are gonna get a safe deposit box, with two keys," Crash declared. "Then we'll come back here."

"Ah," Anders answered, understanding.

* * * *

Anders parked the Cheyenne in a parking garage on a downtown street. "Okay. Now what?"

"I dunno," Crash shrugged. "I guess you go in one of the banks and get a box. And hope nobody asks too many nosy questions." He glanced down at his attire, causing Anders to do the same. They were both clad in jeans and t-shirts. "Wish we had a little something nicer to wear," Murphy noted. "At least, to walk into a big bank and get a safe deposit box. We're apt to draw attention, this way. I'd rather we look like businessmen, in suits."

Anders paused, a thoughtful look on his face, as Crash's comments sparked a recollection. "Wait a minute."

"What?"

Anders marched back to the RV's tiny bedroom. He opened the door to the even tinier closet, pushed his clothes to the side, and reached into the back, extracting two black suits. He handed one to Crash. "Does this fit you?"

Crash checked the labeling. His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Perfect fit." He glanced at the scientist, surprised. "Where'd you get it?"

"Um… contacts."

"Canberra?"

"I assume so. They were here when I arrived back State-side, anyway, along with all the other modifications on this thing." He reached in again and held up two shirts. "Long sleeves or short sleeves?"

"Long sleeves," Murphy decided. "We'll be in air conditioning today, and we might need the short sleeves for something later."

"Right, then," Anders said, handing the long sleeved shirt to Crash, then replacing the short sleeved shirt in the closet and extracting the mate to Murphy's shirt. Then he glanced around. "Now, where was that cardboard box…?"

Crash looked around, then bent and fished in the storage compartment under the bed. "This?" He came up with a box marked,
"Accessories."

"That's the one. Let's get dressed."

"Okay…"

* * * *

As Anders peeled off his t-shirt, the little lapis fetish bounced at his throat. "Oh, hey," Crash commented, noticing, "did ya get that back at the reservation?"

"Yeah," Mike confirmed. "Seemed… appropriate."

"Ooo. Lessee," Crash murmured, curious, stepping closer. He eyed the little carving, which Anders turned in his fingers so that Murphy could get a good look. Crash himself was careful not to touch the fetish, remembering what his mother had taught him about proper manners in such matters, long years before. "Cool. Looks like… an astronaut. Really good representation of one, actually. Except for the tail." He grinned. "Last I noticed, Jet didn't have a tail. A butt, yeah, but no tail. Not that I looked in particular," he protested in whimsical humor. "One of his girlfriends could probably tell us more. Then again, maybe I don't wanna know."

"Yeah, whatever, Crash." Anders rolled his eyes in amusement, pretending disgust. "But the nice old guy behind the counter said it was closely based on an Anasazi rock drawing of some sort."

"Really? Very cool." Crash shoved his arms into the sleeves of his dress shirt.

"Yeah, for real. That in itself made it worth it." Anders began buttoning his own white shirt, starting at the bottom. As he reached the collar, he carefully tucked the pendant inside the shirt.

Crash raised an eyebrow, surprised at the uncharacteristic act. "Did the guy behind the counter say what properties it was supposed to have?"

"Yeah." Anders met Murphy's eyes, a serious expression in his own. "Protection."

"Oh," Crash answered quietly, and nodded understanding, before reaching for his trousers.

* * * *

Moments later, the two were snugging their black ties to their throats. Crash scrabbled in the box again, removing two pairs of cuff links and handing one pair to Anders. "I only see one tie bar," he remarked. "You want it? I hate the things."

"Sure," Anders replied, nonchalant. "I'll wear it. What the hell else is in there?"

"IDs," Crash noted in bemusement, looking into the box. "U.S. Government, no less. Look like real ones. Government Accounting Office," he read. He extracted them, and he and Anders pocketed them. "Hm," he noted suddenly, in puzzlement. "What the hell…?"

"What?" Anders asked.

"There's a note in here," Crash held up the folded paper. He handed it to Anders, who unfolded it. "What's it say?"

"Bank West of Nevada," Anders reported.

"Well, I guess that answers our question about which bank to try," Crash shrugged. "These guys like to make it easy for us."

"Thank God," Anders agreed.

Crash paused for a moment, an odd expression on his face, which had paled as a disturbing thought hit him.

"What?" Anders asked, concerned at his friend's reaction.

"Maybe they're making it… too easy?" Crash wondered, uncertain. "What if… Mike, what if they want us square in the middle of all of this? What if your contacts are… part of this whole operation? Maybe we're being suckered in…"

"Oh, shit," Anders breathed, shocked at the implications. "I dunno, mate. I didn't get that impression, but…"

"Well, not much we can do about it," Crash admitted with an acquiescing sigh. "We're in way the hell too deep to stop now. I'm a dead man anyway if they catch me. Might as well see it through."

Anders stared at the resigned flight controller for a moment. "No, Crash, we… we could try to disappear…" he protested.

"Nah," Crash waved the thought aside. "How long do you think we'd make it? They've probably got a tracer on this baby," he waved his arms around him, indicating the Cheyenne, "and without it we wouldn't get very far."

"Good point," Anders sighed, yielding. "On we go, then."

"Okay…" Crash resumed rummaging in the box.

"Damn. What else is in there?" Anders wondered, surprised. "Some kind of little treasure trove, that box."

"Aha," Crash grinned in satisfaction, extracting two small cases. "These'll really make us look like a pair of government spooks. I like the way your boys think. I think." He handed Anders a pair of sunglasses, reserving a pair for himself.

"Thanks," Anders accepted the sunglasses, then watched as Crash slipped on the Predators. "Those look pretty good on you."

"Yeah, I've always liked Ray-Bans." Crash studied himself in the mirror. "Huh. Not bad."

"Oh! You look like that bloke in the movie! You know, the one that was the alien policeman?" Anders remembered, sliding on his own glasses.

"Well, that seems appropriate," Crash chuckled. He nodded back at Anders. "The look suits you, too."

Anders took his turn at the mirror, pursing his lips critically before nodding approval. Suddenly his mind flashed back to Brown and Jones; he frowned. "That's odd…"

"What is?"

"There's something familiar about all this…" Anders remarked, fingering the square frames of his sunglasses. His hand slid along the temple, toward his ear; the frown deepened, as he strove to place the image.

"Never mind. Let's go," Crash remarked from the other room.

Anders dropped his hand, shrugged, and followed Crash out of the RV and up the street.

* * * *

Inside the bank, they discreetly flashed their identification cards, and the bank manager arrived, taking them to the ultra-secure wing of the lock box area. Crash had appropriated Anders' laptop case as a temporary housing for the evidence, and lugged it along, loaded for bear with data sticks, CDs, and printouts.

"Here you are, gentlemen," the manager told them smoothly, stopping in front of a small vault. "We were instructed in advance to have this prepared for you."

"Thank you," Anders responded, and the bank official handed them two keys before departing.

Anders opened the safe deposit box while Crash studied the area. "No apparent monitors," he murmured. "All security on the outside. Good. Very good. No wonder your boys picked this bank."

"Hey, Crash…" Anders was bent over the box, peering inside.

"Yeah, Mike?"

Anders turned from the box, bemused. "There's a car key in here. And a note…"

Crash came to stand beside Anders. "What does it say?"

Anders unfolded the paper. "Black Audi A4. D 21. NV 14658. Full tank. Compliments, J & B."

Crash grinned. "Color, make, model, parking space, license plate, and fuel. We got ourselves some govvie wheels."

Anders grinned slowly. "Damn, but I like those blokes." He hesitated, remembering their earlier doubts. "Well… at least, I think I do."

Moments later, the evidence was locked away, and Anders and Crash strolled out of the bank, got into their waiting vehicle, and drove calmly off.

* * * *

With a bit of juggling, the two got both the RV and the government car back to the airport, careful to locate them in two different sections of parking lot. Then they changed back into jeans and shirts, and sat back down to casually watch the aircraft come in and out of the ATF freight terminal.

"You know, it's a real pity that Phillips bloke can't come along," Anders mulled. "Not seriously, of course. But I do feel bad for him."

"Yeah, me too," Crash agreed. "For all we know at this point, he really has been abducted. I mean, that would be a logical strategic move by some types of governments, kidnap local civilians and find out what they know, pump ‘em for information and all that."

"Yeah, I guess so," Anders conceded. "You'd know more about that than I would, though. I just wish there was some way to work with the guy."

"We can't do that," Crash pointed out somberly. "We're doing good to keep our heads above water as it is. George over there," he nodded out the window, toward the other RV some distance away, "would bite it in a heartbeat. He doesn't have a clue as to the real nature of the situation. Not that I'm exactly one hundred percent convinced I do, either," Crash admitted, rueful.

"Yup," Mike sighed. "It's a pity, though, we couldn't make a distraction of some sort and get him in with us, at least enough to get some sort of real evidence for the poor bloke." Anders sat up a little straighter in the seat, eyes widening as an idea occurred. "Or… we could… get him to make the distraction… and then we bring the evidence to him?" the astronomer wondered.

Crash turned to him, following the other man's train of thought. "Ooo. Didn't he say he was meeting some fellow abductees?"

"Yeah, and they were going to go see how close they could get to Dreamland," Anders recalled.

"That couldn't do anything but help us," Crash pointed out. "If there are enough of them to cover a little ‘event' here and there, both…"

Anders nodded, enthusiastic. "A diversion here, while we get aboard, and a diversion there…"

"Maybe two diversions there," Crash noted. "Takeoff here, and landing there."

"Yeah," Mike grinned. "Wanna talk to him about it?"

Crash glanced at his watch. "Isn't it almost time we met your dude to pick up our package?" he asked then.

"Ooo, shit! Yeah, it is," Anders said, checking the time. "Well, I'll run across and tell him we want to talk to him when we get back, then we can head out."

Crash paused in thought. "Mike… how do you feel about meeting the guy by yourself?" he asked, anxious. "We can't be taking the Cheyenne Mountain everywhere. It's too big. It'll be recognized."

"Good point," Anders squinched up his face in understanding. "And every time you get out and about, there's that much more risk someone will recognize you, and blow our whole cover wide open. So… what? You want me to take the govvie wheels and go it alone?"

"Would you mind?" Crash asked, worried.