You had to hand it to the Cirocco spooks. When they got a chance — responding to an anonymous tip – they pounced with startling speed.
A little after midnight, six blue vans swept into Bryer Estates, roared up the Gornet family’s ornate driveway and pinioned a surprised Tom Spencer with their headlights as black-clad men leaped out. Several of them carried sophisticated gear … sensors of some kind that they waved about, quickly triangulating upon the little guest house behind the swimming pool.
Other invaders – their faces covered by blur-cloth veils – brandished the latest model of stun-prod, creating an imposing barrier to teenagers spilling out of the main house. The black-clad men didn’t exactly aim their non-lethal weapons at the kids. They didn’t have to. Body language sufficed to keep Scott, Colin and the others back. That, plus the very-lethal Glock pistols that the raiders also wore holstered at their hips, in easy reach.
Brief shouting poured from the cabaña. Then, out staggered the two big football players who had been standing guard inside, clutching their ears in evident nausea. One of them stumbled, took a knee and heaved his dinner into the Gornet swimming pool, before Helene Shockley took his arm, leading the boy away.
Non-lethal – it didn’t necessarily translate as fun.
Mark watched the action through a pair of Tru-Vu glasses, provided by one of the passengers in his crowded Jeep… six sweaty adults along with their portable equipment. The scene was transmitted by Alexandra Behr, from a shrub next to the Gornet driveway. Her voice hissed with tension.
“They have the alien, Mark. They’re leading him out of the guest house …”
Displayed on the inner surface of the Tru-Vu specs, the scene that she described was stark before Mark’s eyes. Poor Tom Spencer and his friends wailed when they saw their ‘xenoanthropoid’ tugged gently out of the cabaña — shambling toward an air-conditioned van, with the stained bathrobe trailing behind.
The jocks — including Colin Gornet — were quieter in their disappointment. Though fists were hard-clenched. (Goodbye Hollywood starlets!)
Mark’s heart pounded with tension. But he left the decision to Alex, choosing exactly the right moment to put their plan into action.
Even expecting it any moment, her command still made him jump. “Now Mark!”
It felt like Morocco, all over again. Especially sweaty palms that slipped over the old stick, the first time he tried to shift into first. Concentrating for calm, Mark eased the clutch, then slammed his foot hard on the accelerator, redlining the thirty-year old engine as he tore along Yucca street, then veered sharply up the driveway –
— swinging the Jeep sideways at the very last instant, just missing the tail bumper of the last Cirrocco van! Now, there was no way for anybody to leave. And Mark made sure, by shutting down the engine and tossing the keys under a nearby shrub. It would take at least several minutes to find them again.
The black-clad spooks spun and crouched in surprise, clearly dismayed to find their exit suddenly blocked …
… as out from the Jeep spilled the witnesses that Mark and Alex had spent a hectic hour collecting. Two local TV crews, a hyperblogger, and one grinning high school teacher quickly deployed their own “non-lethal weapons,” covering both groups – the teens and the men-in-dark clothes — with spotlights and digicams, transmitting live to the world. With special attention devoted to the Guest of Honor. A visitor from across the stars.
The xeno raised one hand to shade its huge eyes – blinking sideways – from the spotlight glare.
Gotcha, Mark murmured within, as Alex emerged from her hiding place to join him. Sorry about the ruckus, but it truly is for your own good.
There had been no other way around the dilemma. It was one thing to get the alien out of the insanely irresponsible hands of the Tepper-Gornet bunch. It had been quite another thing, figuring how to ensure that it wouldn’t simply shift from one bunch of secretive fools to another.
Pinned by light and by shouted questions from news reporters, the government agents had no choice then, but to identify themselves. To show credentials and do it all on video, while the juniormost anchor from Channel Six babbled excitedly, no doubt with visions of national promotion dancing in her eyes. Perhaps, long ago, the spooks might have seized cameras, destroyed film evidence or memory chips. Those days were gone, and they knew it. The scene was visible from dozens of neighboring houses, with security cams streaming to the web. Heck, it was probably in view of a commercial satellite, right now.
You had to hand it to Barry Tang. A minute ago, he had been as pole-axed shocked as Tom Spencer and the others. Now he chortled as he ripped covers off parts of the nearest van, exposing a license plate, then a panel with a Cirrocco logo. “Hey, Mark and Alex! You see? Was I right? Grab some frames of this.”
Mark knew there was no way to disguise what he had done this evening. And he was going to pay for it. But did Barry have to draw attention this way? While Scott Tepper stood with arms crossed and a calm, appraising expression on his face, Colin Gornet and two of his pals turned to look straight at Mark, drilling him with vengeful expressions.
He managed to stand erect in the light, having sworn not to regret this evening’s endeavor. While the Cirrocco operatives removed their masks and grumpily answered questions, Mark met Gornet’s gaze, remembering what Tom Spencer himself said, just a few hours before.
You’d be murderers if you kept this up.
You just didn’t have any idea what you’re doing.
Now, as the full impact started to dawn, Mark realized.
I don’t either.
I wonder if anyone does?