Diablo Mesa(8)

Tappan led them into the adjoining hut and down the narrow central hallway to a door on the right. He tried the handle, but it was locked.

“Noam?” he called out, knocking.

“I’m tied up,” came an irritated voice.

“I’m showing Dr. Nora Kelly around—the archaeologist I’m hoping will direct the excavation. And her brother, who will be our librarian and your collections manager.”

“Fine and dandy,” the voice replied, with a marked Hebrew accent. “Bring them back in an hour.”

Tappan rolled his eyes at Nora and said, sotto voce, “Noam’s a bit eccentric.” Then, in a normal tone: “Noam, we’re on a tight schedule. If you don’t mind…?”

With a grumbling sound, the door opened. A man stood inside with a scruffy beard and unkempt brown hair, an irritated look on his face. Nora would have guessed him close to fifty years of age.

“May we come in?” Tappan asked, a slight ironic edge to his voice.

“Sure.” The man glanced at Nora with a quick smile. “Hi.” Then he cast a critical eye on Skip and merely grunted.

He led them into a capacious office, surprisingly neat given his disheveled appearance. He sat down at his desk without offering anyone a chair. Tappan guided Nora and Skip to seats opposite the desk, then sat down himself.

“Noam was formerly chairman of the science advisory board of SETI,” said Tappan, “and a professor of astronomy at the Weizmann Institute of Science in Israel.”

Nora suddenly realized who he was. She’d occasionally seen him on talk shows: an eccentric and often excited presence, gesturing and talking about aliens.

“Noam, first I’d like to introduce you to Skip Kelly. Skip worked at the Santa Fe Archaeological Institute as a curator of their artifact collections.”

Bitan looked at Skip with narrowed eyes, but before he could say anything, Skip burst out: “I’m so pleased to meet you, Dr. Bitan! I loved your book on SETI. Really loved it. I thought you laid out a most impressive body of evidence that the Earth is currently under alien surveillance.”

This was exactly the right thing to say, and Bitan’s critical gaze vanished as his face lit up with delight. “Thank you, Skip.”

Tappan introduced Nora to Bitan, and asked her if she had any questions.

“I’m sorry I haven’t read your book myself,” Nora began.

Bitan held up his hand, rose from his chair, and removed a book from a shelf. He placed it on his desk, flipped it open, scribbled a note, closed it, and handed it to her. “Now that’s taken care of,” he said.

“Thank you,” Nora said. It was entitled The Second Revelation, with a cover depicting the Cat’s Eye Nebula. “I have a few questions, if I may?” She was going to be as nice as possible to the man who’d be Skip’s boss—but she still needed some answers.

“Of course.”

“Where do you think the UFO—that is, the UAP—came from?”

“Something that large would be hard to accelerate to close to light speed, so it was probably from a nearby star system. But in a larger sense, that’s not important.”

“Why not?”

“Because I believe that a galaxy-wide civilization has already been established and is keeping tabs on us. The government, of course, has thoroughly covered it up.”

“Why haven’t these aliens revealed themselves to us?” she asked.

“They know how disruptive it would be to human culture. We’ve seen this in our own world: when an indigenous people come in contact with technologically advanced Western society, their own culture is almost inevitably destroyed.”

“So you’re saying we’re sort of like a primitive tribe, living in a nature preserve, protected from contact with the outside world,” said Skip.

“Exactly,” said Bitan.

“My next question,” Nora said, “is why did the government give you a permit to excavate? It’s federal land, and you got a federal permit. If the government was trying to cover it up, why let you dig? It doesn’t make sense.”

At this, Bitan turned to Tappan. “That’s in your court.”

“This is BLM land, which is under the Department of the Interior. I got the permit directly from the Secretary of the Interior, who happens to be an old friend of mine. Years ago, between high school and college, we met as rafting guides in the Grand Canyon. He was my sternman. That’s like being war buddies—you really get to know your fellow boatmen. Anyway, when I first applied for the permit, there was some pushback out of left field—and then it was suddenly dropped. Interior went ahead with the permit with, I might add, the backing of the president. I’m also in the wind-power business, and we’re involved with Interior on some of our larger projects. So, yes, I got the permit through the help of some very powerful connections.” Tappan shook his head. “We never could figure out where those objections came from, but I’d guess there are some people deep in the Pentagon unhappy about what we’re doing. They withdrew their pressure before drawing attention to themselves.”

“Yes,” said Bitan. “And that’s why I showed Lucas how to check his car for explosive devices!” He laughed loudly at his joke. “Do you have any other questions?”