Diablo Mesa(3)

And she couldn’t help but worry about her brother, Skip, who also worked at the Institute. He was likely to quit in a huff as soon as he heard she was fired. He was in a tougher position than she: he hadn’t exactly put his Stanford physics degree to good use. How many collections manager positions were there in Santa Fe? But even if he didn’t quit, Weingrau might fire him just to spite her. Nora didn’t want to see him spiraling back down to the dark place he’d been in a few years before.

A vehicle was idling in the parking lot, blocking the way to her car. As she walked around it, wrestling with her stuff, a man got out.

“Dr. Kelly?”

She stopped. “Yes?”

“Could we have a moment to chat?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m really busy and I’ve got to go.” Whatever he wanted, whatever he was doing here at the Institute, was no longer of interest to her. She resumed her walk.

“Here, let me help you with the box,” he said, hurrying over.

“No thanks,” she said sharply. She arrived at her car, fumbled out the key, unlocked the doors, and threw the box in the back seat, tossing the backpack in after it. She slammed the door and realized the man had come up and was standing behind her.

She ignored him, opening the driver’s door and getting in. He placed a hand on it, preventing her from shutting it in his face.

“I take it you quit?” he said.

She stared, momentarily flummoxed. Had word gotten around already? Nobody knew that, not even Skip.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked.

He smiled. “Lucas Tappan.” He held out his hand.

She stared at him, really seeing him for the first time. He was around her age, mid-to late thirties, in a linen jacket, black lambskin cowboy shirt, jeans, suede Lanvin sneakers, with curly black hair, gray eyes, white teeth, cleft chin, dimples. She immediately disliked him and his smug I’ve got unlimited money but it hasn’t really changed me look.

“Get your hand off my door or I’ll call the police.”

He complied, and she slammed it and shoved the key into the ignition. The engine started and she twisted around to back up, pressing the accelerator harder than she intended and spinning the wheels in the gravel.

“I’m glad you quit,” he said, raising his voice to be heard through the window. “Now we can work free of encumbrance.”

She jammed on the brakes, rolled down the window. “What?”

“I was hoping this might happen. Frankly, I wasn’t looking forward to working with that Weingrau lady.”

“You were hoping? This is ridiculous—”

“Look, can we talk? Just for a moment?”

Nora stared at him. “I really don’t have time for this.”

“You have all the time in the world. You don’t have a job.”

“Thanks for that. You’re an asshole, you know? And you’re crazy. UFOs. Roswell. What a crock.” All her anger spilled out.

“Okay, fine. I’ve been told all that before and worse. Five minutes? Please?”

She was about to drive off, but then stopped. All of a sudden, she felt herself deflate, as if her energy had escaped along with her anger. Had the last two hours really happened? Earlier that morning, she’d been in her office, working on one of the final Tsankawi write-ups…and now she had no office, no job, only a couple of burned bridges still smoking in her rearview mirror.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Five minutes, then.” She waited behind the wheel, crossing her arms.

“Do you think maybe we could not have this conversation through a car window? I want to show you something.”

Against her better judgment, Nora eased the car back into the parking space and got out, then followed Tappan to what was obviously his vehicle. An ice-blue Tesla. Of course.

“Would you mind getting into the passenger seat?”

She did as he requested, sliding onto the buttery white leather. The dashboard gleamed with burl wood, satin nickel, and a large computer screen.

She shut the door; the man pushed a button, and the windows magically darkened. He reached under the dash and removed a large rolled-up document, which he proceeded to unfurl.

“Take a look.” He held it open so she could see.

Nora immediately recognized it.

“It’s a ground-penetrating radar survey—” he began.

“I know what it is,” said Nora impatiently.

“Good. Now, do you see this area here? This is our target area—where the UFO is said to have crashed. What do you see?”

Nora looked closer at the grayscale image. It was clear, right off the bat, that something had happened there.

“You tell me: Is that disturbance consistent with the crash of a weather balloon?”

She looked still more closely. She could see, just barely, a blurry but deep-looking furrow or groove in the sand, along with other evidence of extensive and widespread disturbance.

“Not really,” she replied.

“That’s right. And look how it’s surrounded by old traces of earthmoving equipment and vehicles. The GPR also revealed two faint roads leading from the area, and another one circling around it. At one time this was a heavily trafficked place. Suggestive, don’t you think?”

“Isn’t this kind of small for a UFO? I mean, that groove isn’t very wide. And it could be anything—a missile, small plane, even a meteorite. I don’t see evidence it was a UFO.”