Diablo Mesa(23)

Nora nodded. That would cost a fortune, but why not? Nothing but the best for this project.

“Hoping to find alien compounds?” Skip asked.

“Always,” Banks said, to a general laugh.

Tappan looked around. “We’re done for the day, folks. And I’ve planned a special celebratory dinner. Cocktails in the dining car at six, dinner at seven.”





14



NORA ENTERED THE Airstream she shared with Skip. It was cozy, two tiny bedrooms on either end with a shared living and dining area in the middle, along with a bathroom with a tiny shower. Skip had set up a nook for Mitty in a corner of the sitting area, with a dog bed and his food and water bowls. While the trailer was small, it wasn’t all that much smaller than the house they shared—and was substantially more modern.

Nora went into her bedroom to shed her filthy clothes and change for dinner, unsure what to wear. Deciding that cowboy high style would probably work, she dressed in leather pants, snakeskin boots, and a red silk shirt, set off with a simple turquoise necklace. Emerging from her room, she found Skip in the sitting area, already dressed. His idea of high style was jeans and a clean work shirt.

“What was Noam bending your ear about?” she asked him.

“Just this and that.”

“That’s rather coy,” said Nora teasingly. “Like what?”

“You know, Bitan’s a real genius,” Skip replied. “He’s got a library of air force videos and radar images of UAPs, interviews with people, all kinds of interesting stuff. I spent a few hours early in the day going through it. A lot of the people in the interviews are obviously nuts, but some are not. And the declassified air force footage is wild—high-speed objects maneuvering in ways far beyond any technology we have today. Not to mention interviews with people who’d been abducted.”

“Abducted?”

“You’ve heard the stories. For experiments or possibly even breeding.”

“I suppose you watched those videos, too. Alien sex porn.”

Skip laughed. “You should take a look. I know you’re a skeptic—and that’s good. But it’s also good to keep an open mind.”

Nora looked at him. He was so sincere, his face glowing with enthusiasm.

“I promise,” she said with an affectionate smile.



When Nora followed Skip into the “dining car” ten minutes later, she couldn’t help but be impressed. A thirty-foot Airstream had been cleared out except for a kitchen in one end, with a table running the length of it. A white tablecloth was draped over the table, on which were arrayed silver candelabras, crystal glasses, snowy linen napkins rolled up in round holders, and ceramic chargers decorated in a retro thirties cowboy motif, with livestock brands around the rim and a picture in the middle of horses, cowboys, and other Western themes.

“Welcome!” said Tappan, gliding over, holding a silver tray on which half a dozen champagne flutes were balanced. “You’re the first to arrive.”

Nora and Skip each took one. Tappan was dressed in crocodile boots, jeans, and a brown cowboy shirt with pearl buttons and fancy stitching. A silk bandanna around his neck was held in place by a silver slide with an old pawn turquoise cluster. It was clearly not his usual attire, but with his curly black hair and dimples he managed to pull it off.

He put aside the tray, raised his martini, and they clinked glasses.

“To the dig,” he said. “May it be out of this world.”

“Hear, hear,” said Skip.

Bitan arrived, wearing an ill-fitting suit with a poorly tied cravat. “Champagne!” he cried, coming over and lifting a glass off the tray. He glanced around. “It looks like the O.K. Corral around here. Am I the only one trying to uphold a sartorial standard?”

“Not with that suit,” said Tappan with a chuckle.

“What’s wrong with my suit?”

Tappan fingered the lapel. “A little too much polyester.”

“This is the desert,” Bitan said defensively. “Clothes need to breathe. I know. I grew up in the Negev.”

Vigil and Riordan arrived and, over the next few minutes, the rest of the scientific crew, including the Three Engineers, who always seemed to travel in a group. Kuznetsov was carrying a case holding some sort of oddly shaped musical instrument, which he stowed in a corner.

They mingled for a while, drinking champagne and munching on hors d’oeuvres—smoked salmon, caviar blinis, chilled shrimp, and prosciutto-wrapped melon.

Kuznetsov scarfed down a blini and looked surprised. “I believe this is real Russian caviar!” he cried, helping himself to another.

“It is indeed,” said Tappan. “Ossetra from the Caspian Sea, but aqua-farmed, not wild-caught, so it’s responsible caviar.”

Hearing this, Skip pushed his way to the blinis, eating one while snagging two more. Nora noted that he’d quickly polished off two glasses of champagne and was turning to reach for a third. She sidled up to him and gave him a gentle nudge in the ribs. “Take a breather, okay?”

“Right, sis.” He withdrew his hand.

Tappan rang a glass and everyone fell silent. He glanced around with twinkling eyes. “I want to tell a little story before we sit down, a story some of you know already.”

He paused. His face was flushed, and he radiated excitement and joy. Nora felt she had rarely seen a happier human being.