Diablo Mesa(37)

She fielded a number of questions and a discussion ensued, coming to no conclusions. Tappan wrapped it up by thanking Nora and saying: “We seem to have a real mystery on our hands.” He tried to sound chipper, but Skip could tell this news was a disappointment to him.

As the meeting broke up, Noam signaled Skip to join him. They walked back to Quonset 2, where Noam ushered Skip into his office and quietly locked the door behind him.

“Please take a seat.”

Skip sat in the chair opposite the desk, thrilled with a sense of anticipation, sure that the man had more to say to him from their talk the evening before.

“You may have noticed me fussing around in the trenches this morning,” said Noam, his eyes sparkling.

“I did. Some idea you were checking out?”

“Exactly. And my idea bore fruit. Last night I mentioned there was a reason why I shared my story with you. It’s because I need your help.”

“I’m ready to help in any way,” Skip said.

“I know that. Your sister and everyone else are puzzled about the shape of the furrow plowed by the object and the mystery of its vanishing. But it’s no mystery to me. After taking careful measurements, I believe I know exactly what happened.” He leaned back in his chair with a smile, tenting his fingers, letting a silence build.

“What?” Skip finally asked.

“Let me start by saying: I now know we’re digging in the wrong place.”

“But…the groove in the sand, the glass, the radar surveys—are you saying nothing happened here?”

“Something did happen. The object struck the ground. But my calculations show that the object came in at such a low angle it essentially bounced, like a flat stone skipped on the water—and became airborne again and landed somewhere else.”

Skip stared. “Holy shit.”

Bitan chuckled. “This of course explains why the groove just ended in a spray of sand and glass. The object simply rebounded back out and flew farther.”

“And so the real crash site is somewhere else,” Skip said.

“Precisely. Somewhere in the direction the trench is pointing. And this is where you come in. You’re going to be my confidential searcher. Together, we’re going to find where the UAP really came to rest.”

He unlocked a drawer and pulled out a large sheet of paper. He slid it onto the desk and turned it around so Skip could look. It was full of penciled mathematical equations, and a crude map was hand-drawn in the middle, decorated with arrows and vectors. At the top was an oval, drawn in heavy red pencil.

“Our camp is here.” Bitan tapped the paper. “And here’s the furrow, pointing northwest at a heading of 321 degrees. If you follow that direction, it goes across the dry lake bed and into these hills and buttes. I drew this oval where my preliminary calculations show the object probably came back down to earth. Of course, a lot depends on its velocity and mass, plus its shape and the amount of drag it produced. And when it hit the ground again, it might have rolled or bounced. We don’t know—yet.”

Skip stared at the map. “That oval covers how much area?”

“About a thousand acres.”

“That’s a lot.”

“I know. Tomorrow is Sunday, our day off. I imagine some people are going to go into town, do some shopping or whatever. You and I are going to pack a picnic lunch and tell everyone we’re heading off to find the old Spanish watchtower.”

Skip hesitated. This was not directly relevant to Bitan’s abduction story. “Is there a reason why you don’t want to share this with everyone?”

“Yes. I need to be the one to discover it. This is my destiny. This is what I was chosen to do by the revelation on Mount Hermon. And when I do find it, naturally I’ll share that discovery with the team—but not until then. Are you with me?”

“Yes,” said Skip. “I absolutely am.”

“Good! We’ll meet here tomorrow morning early, at five thirty. Bring your day pack, water, and lunch.”

“You bet!” In his excitement, Skip forgot to be taken aback by the ungodly hour.

Bitan leaned forward. “Here’s the thing. If it did come down somewhere else, it’s just possible the government never found it. Which means it’s still there.”





24



CORRIE ENTERED THE lobby of the Albuquerque Field Office at ten minutes to noon on Saturday. She passed through the security barrier, went to the elevator bank, and made her way up to the third floor, going through the motions without much conscious thought, like a zombie. She hadn’t slept in the nine hours since the initial call, but it was shock more than weariness that made everything seem unreal.

After hanging up with Garcia, she’d spent a few minutes silently weeping. Then she just lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince herself that none of this was actually happening. It couldn’t be. She’d go in to work and see Morwood at his desk, looking out through the glass at her, one skeptical eyebrow arched. But of course, it wasn’t like that, and one way or another she had to pull herself together.

She’d never spent much time on the top floor of the FBI building on weekends, but she sensed an odd, church-like atmosphere the moment she stepped out of the elevator. As she walked through the cube farm, then along the row of offices set against the far wall, this stillness only added to her feeling of unreality. In the distance, barely audible, she could hear a woman sobbing. Funny how she forgot that Morwood had ghosted other agents besides herself.