Taken

Chapter Four

Sally Clarke briefly eyed the man at the end of the counter, then returned to the story she was reading in Famous Fantastic Mysteries. The story was called “We Are Not Alone,” and it was about aliens. It wasn’t all that great a story, Sally decided, as she glanced over the top of the magazine again, her gaze settling on the man at the end of the counter. He’d been sitting there for a long time, and she’d filled his coffee cup at least twice. He hadn’t said much to her, but there was something about him, a sadness and loneliness that was, she thought, sort of like her own, the kind that got you up in the middle of the night and drove you out into the yard and lifted your eyes toward the heavens, where you hoped to find something waiting, perhaps the answer to a question you still couldn’t frame.

But so what, Sally thought, the world was full of melancholy drifters. No point talking to a guy like that. He was a vagabond and always would be, his trouble buried so deep inside nothing less than a miracle could set him free. She was about to go back to her magazine when he suddenly glanced up and caught her foursquare looking at him.

“Sorry to disturb you,” he said. “I’d like more coffee.”

Sally flashed him her best jolly-waitress smile. “You’re not disturbing me,” she told him. “It’s my job.”

“Good story?” he asked after she’d filled his cup. “The one you’re reading.”

“It passes the time.”

“I don’t read much myself,” the man said. He took a sip from the cup, and suddenly seemed in a hurry. “How much do I owe you?”

“Thirty-five cents.”

The man placed a fifty-cent piece on the counter. “Thanks,” he said, then turned and headed for the door.

Something odd about this guy, Sally thought, something desperate. The kind of guy you stayed away from if you knew what was good for you. And yet, the kind she was always drawn to, so that it didn’t surprise her when she was still thinking about him a few hours later when she finished her shift and headed home.

Her two kids, Tom and Becky, were in the living room when she arrived. She took a few minutes to watch Tom practice his magic tricks, while Becky teased him, as always.

Her husband Fred was in the upstairs bedroom, packing for the road.

“Shoehorn,” he said dully as she came into the room. “Have you seen it?”

Sally opened the dresser drawer, dug through her husband’s socks and came out with the shoehorn. “You have to leave tonight?” she asked as she handed it to him.

Fred nodded sullenly.

“Did the kids eat?”

Fred’s eyes flashed toward her. “You’re the waitress. You feed them.” He turned away, closed the suitcase. “I’ll see you in three weeks,” he said as he swept out of the room.

Lonely… Sally decided, the guy in the diner suddenly on her mind again. She heard her husband say a quick good-bye to Tom and Becky, then the slap of the screen door as he left the house. Lonely, she thought with a shrug, like me.

Owen’s shadow cut a jagged swath across the tarmac as he strode toward the looming hangar. He’d made a decision. No one was going to cut him out of the loop. Not some goofy scientist. Not Colonel Campbell. Not God, Himself.

The door of the hangar opened and a tall officer in pilot’s gear stepped into the bright light of the field.

“Bishop, right?” Owen asked. “You flew Colonel Campbell out of Fort Worth the other night?”

“Right,” the pilot said.

“Destination?”

The pilot looked at Owen warily. “That’s a ‘need to know.’”

Owen took out his ID. “Army Intelligence. I need to know.”

The pilot glanced at the ID. “Captain Crawford. The colonel told me you might show up.” He shook his head. “Sorry, Captain,” he said as he stepped away.

Owen remained in place as the pilot walked briskly across the tarmac. All right, he thought, the colonel had anticipated his move. But it was only his first move, he told himself, already making his second.

A few minutes later, A

“Can you go for a ride?” he asked her.

She smiled delightedly. “I’ll get my car coat.”

“I said a ride, not a drive.”

Within minutes they were alone in the desert, dusk settling over the rocky hills as they rode their horses together slowly, like two lovers strolling down a familiar street.

“You’re doing great,” Owen told her.

“Can we go faster?” A

“Just loosen up on the reins a little,” Owen said. He took her hand and showed her just how much to relax the reins.

A

“Are you all right?” he asked after a moment.

“I’m wonderful.”

He slapped his horse and the trot became a canter, the two horses in stride with each other, A

He brought his horse to a halt at the edge of a rocky precipice, then waited as A

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come out with me,” Owen told her.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Your father. He’s dead set against you seeing me.”

“I’m not my father,” A

“I know that,” Owen said.

He knew the moment had come, leaned forward and kissed her. “You’re the sun and the moon to me, A

Colonel Campbell studied the projected slide, a cross-section of cell tissue. All around him scientists and military officers peered at the same slide. For the last few minutes, the experts had argued about the nature of the tissue. It had certain characteristics that seemed essentially animal, and others that resembled a fungus. Still others were convinced that the cell tissue actually changed from animal to vegetable, that it could be… anything.

Suddenly the door opened and Dr. Helms walked in. “I think you need to see this,” he said urgently.

Colonel Campbell and the others followed Helms down the corridor to an observation room.

On the other side of the glass Dr. Goldin stood facing the alien. The alien was silent and gave no hint of movement. It was Dr. Goldin who was doing all the talking, his body swaying forward and backward repetitively as he spoke.

“What’s he saying? Is it German?” Colonel Campbell asked.

“Goldin would never speak German,” Helms replied. “It’s Hebrew. He’s reciting from the Haphtorah.”

Colonel Campbell peered at the alien, and for a moment seemed to lose himself in the unfathomable depth of its eyes. Then he shifted his attention back to Dr. Goldin. A small trickle of blood had suddenly emerged from the scientist’s nose.

“My God,” the colonel whispered as the trickle became a red torrent and Goldin slid to the floor. “Get him out of there!”

Guards rushed into the room, picked Goldin from the floor and brought him hurriedly into the observation room.

“How long was he in there?” the colonel demanded.

“Ten minutes,” Helms answered. “Maybe less.”

Dr. Goldin lay on a table a few feet away. He looked pale, exhausted. “I was there,” he whispered.