The Third Craft Page 8

  The other agent broke the silence. “Which one of you is Harry?”

  “The name is Hawk,” Hawk said.

  “I’m Major Connelly, U.S. Air Force. This is Peter Wright, MI5. Son, you filed a report about a possible UFO crash site. That’s why we’re here. You called the authorities, remember?”

  “I remember. It was an airplane, not a UFO, that I reported. Well, both, I guess. More an airplane than a UFO. At the time.”

  “You call that an airplane?”

  “No, sir. I call that a UFO.”

  “Well …?”

  Wright spoke up. “I’m no aeronautical engineer, Major, but that looks exactly like the New Mexico wreck from the fifties.”

  “Well, boys, show us what you found.” Connelly gestured toward the craft and nudged the two of them along.

  The awkward pitch of the vessel caught Connelly’s eye. “I thought you said the thing was buried in a hillside.” He pointed to the gaping crater. “Doesn’t look buried to me.”

  Hawk eyed Joe, but the boys kept their mouths shut.

  The group stopped beside Joe’s motocross bike and stared upward at the leaning craft.

  The twins remained silent, unable to figure out what to say or do next.

  “Are you telling me that the two of you dug this thing out?” Connelly said. “Just how the hell did you ever manage that? Peter, look at the size of the crater.”

  “It’s a very big hole, Major. I can’t imagine how these two young men were able to dig this much soil away.”

  Connelly looked at the boys warily. “Almost looks like it has been flown.”

  It was time to redirect this conversation. Joe spoke up. “It took a long time to dig it out.” He nodded toward Hawk for support. “I spent weeks.”

  Hawk nodded vigorously in agreement. “Months, actually.”

  “Then we towed it out some of the way. This is as far as we got.”

  “Towed it! With what, a Sherman tank?” Connelly asked.

  “An ATV,” Hawk said.

  “Bullshit!” Connelly said, with a laugh.

  “The ATV is stronger than it looks,” Hawk said. It wasn’t much of an explanation, but it was all they had.

  Connelly lost his patience. “It’s not important. We’ve recognized the craft. Or pieces of it, anyway. I know this is the real thing. Peter, do you concur?”

  “I do indeed. Good Lord, Connelly, we’ve much to do. This is monumental.”

  Connelly ushered the group away from the ship toward the woods where the helicopter was waiting. “The pilot’s waiting for us. We’ll take the chopper back.” He pointed into the woods.

  Joe held back. “Hold on, what about my bike?” He nodded toward his motorcycle. Wright was standing beside it, absently admiring and inspecting the machine.

  “Leave it,” Connelly said.

  “No way. I’m not leaving my bike.”

  Connelly paused. “OK, then. Your brother comes with us. Just a little insurance that you’ll show up.”

  “We don’t have to come with you,” Hawk said. “We haven’t broken any laws.”

  “Oh yes, you do. National security. You boys are now … Persons of Interest.”

  Wright nodded, walking toward the group. “National security, my boy. He has the authority.” He led Hawk toward the woods and the waiting helicopter.

  Joe saw the trio disappear through the thick foliage. A few minutes later, he could hear the whining of the turbines as the helicopter engines warmed up. The revs increased and Joe could hear the thudding of the blades cut through the humid air. Moments later the helicopter roared overhead, splashing the area with its downdraft. Connelly gave Joe a “hurry up” signal from the open door.

  Joe walked to his bike and sat while the chopper hovered. He turned the ignition and kicked down on the starter. The helicopter was kicking up a lot of dust. It disappeared in a cloud, then banked sharply and flew out of sight.

  This wasn’t the ending to their adventure that Joe had envisioned. The authorities had taken over. He and Hawk would be taken into temporary custody, no doubt. They would be sworn to secrecy. The world would never know about their discovery.

  BULLSHIT!

  He dismounted, shut off the motor, and walked his bike up the hill. His mind was playing through various scenarios. They had Hawk in custody. He was a hostage, in fact. They would send a team of scientists down here and figure out how to open the door. They would probably take the craft away for study and then learn how to work it. They would find the crew and capture them. He and Joe might also be held captive.

  Persons of Interest!

  “Can’t let that happen,” he mumbled under his breath.

  They were in a jam. They needed their father. Where was he?

  Joe reached the crest of the hill. He passed by a blue-and-yellow object half lying on the ground. He almost ignored it, he was so deep in thought. Then his mind kicked in and he looked back. It was the missing canister. Joe reached down and snatched it up.

  I’m not going back, he thought. Hawk is not in any real danger. At least not yet.

  He raced back down the hill, practically tripping over himself and the motorbike. What was he to do with the bike? With a grin, he opened the door to the craft and shoved it inside. The handlebars jammed in the entranceway, but he twisted them sideways and they popped through.

  Then he went to the bridge and figured out where the missing chemical compound was supposed to be put. He took the canister and emptied its contents into a molded container inside a wall panel. Then he walked back to the control panel and pulled up a damage report. It worked! Everything was now operational. He fired up the matter/antimatter reactor and checked the heat readout. All was normal. Next he transferred heat to the thrusters. Finally, he gently applied antigravity and slow forward thrust.

  The vessel responded smoothly and quietly. There was some jerkiness as Joe familiarized himself with the controls. He put up a total-surround 360-degree visual monitor. For a few moments he felt vertigo. It was as if he was walking on air through the treetops. The vessel began to yaw and was starting to turn clockwise. As a beginner pilot, Joe had little idea had to correct this condition. The situation worsened. The craft began to spin erratically, faster and faster like a top. Amazingly, Joe had no sensation of the ship’s rotation itself. The craft was somehow cushioning him against the effects of the violent motion. However, the huge monitor was showing a spinning forest outside, and that was beginning to sicken him. He shut off the view screen temporarily to stop the effect.

  A pictorial representation of the spinning vessel jumped onto the screen. A soft voice offered Joe a suggestion as to how to stabilize the craft. He did so immediately. The spinning abated. He resumed the outside visual, but kept a few pop-up boxes running, showing him the stability, temperature, magnetic heading, ground speed, pitch, and yaw.

  The crater disappeared from sight as Joe flew slowly over the forest. He was gaining too much altitude, so he trimmed the ship and decreased thrust. It leveled out nicely. The burning questions were what to do next and where to go – what kind of place could he find suitable for hiding the craft? It had to be close by so he could rescue Hawk.

  Meanwhile, he couldn’t let himself be spotted. They would be sending the copter back to find out what became of him. He couldn’t hide in the forest because it wasn’t dense enough to offer the coverage he needed. There were no rock formations or caves large enough to fly into.

  Then, off to the west, he spotted a building. It was a deserted auction arena. He knew of this place. Years ago, there had been a centralized pork and beef auction facility here. The business was abandoned, like everything else, when the mine shut down. There, in the middle of the grounds, stood a large arena where the cattle and hogs had been bought and sold. Joe swooped down for a closer look. The empty building looked rough from lack of upkeep, but the structure itself appeared solid. He flew to the spot and circled slowly at about ten feet above the ground. The area was deserted
and overgrown with vegetation.

  Joe hovered in front of the massive entrance doors. They were not quite wide enough for the craft to enter. He nosed the vessel up against the doors until they were touching. He then applied a hit of thrust. Immediately, the doors blew apart, sending shards of wood and metal inward. The ship stopped about ten feet in, and he killed the thrusters and shut down the reactor. Finally, he released the antigravity. The ship crashed straight down like a rock. The drop jolted him.

  He searched the screen and saw that the arena was deserted. He shut down the controls. Then he retrieved his bike and rolled it out onto the concrete floor of the building. Doves flew about, beating their wings in protest against the intrusion. Swallows buzzed him, sending him the same message. This empty building was their territory. The pungent odor of cattle droppings still lingered in the humid air. The cloud of dust kicked up by the landing lingered, suspended in the windless afternoon.

  His plan was to leave the ship, rescue Hawk, and try to contact his father without being caught. With any luck, no one would find the ship. He was sure his father would guide Hawk and him on what course of action to take next.

  Joe’s plan had to include getting away from the arena without being spotted by the helicopter. The search was probably already on for him. He could follow the road from the arena back into town. From there, he would play it by ear. At the very least, the ship would be safe from detection. He rolled the bike outside and squinted into the afternoon sun. He debated about waiting until nightfall.

  That question was answered immediately when he heard the helicopter in the distance. He had just enough time to push the bike back in through the broken doorway before the helicopter swooped in from the east. It flew directly overhead. Joe inched toward the doors and craned his neck to look outside. The roar of the engines suddenly increased again as the helicopter began to circle the arena. Joe couldn’t see the aircraft, but he knew it was hovering nearby.

  Then, as quickly as it had come, the helicopter left and flew toward the west. Joe sat for a while on his haunches before finding a more comfortable spot to sit and wait out the search. Around dusk, the helicopter roared back over the arena without pausing. Its huge searchlight panned the ground for clues to the whereabouts of the vanished spacecraft.

  Joe waited till darkness before easing the motorbike out again. Some stars were visible and a half moon was rising in the east. There was a surprising amount of light at this time of year, illuminating the road clearly enough for him to navigate without concern. He headed back to Elliot Lake.

  CHAPTER12

  Under the bright moon, Joe could see well enough to drive with the light off. However, every so often, a thick overgrowth of trees would block the light and make the drive dangerous … and fun.

  The night air was moist with the pungent fragrance of evergreens. There was dankness in the air, especially when he drove through fog clouds. He could smell the sharp odor of fermenting vegetation mixed with the fragrance of pine needles. Pure Canadian wilderness.

  The trip back to his house in Elliot Lake took an hour. Joe wasn’t in a hurry. He was formulating a plan as he drove along. First, he hoped Hawk was there and hadn’t been taken away. Second, he would get as close as possible to the house, ditch the bike, and rescue Hawk.

  Every time he pictured the rescue, he foresaw disastrous outcomes.

  Before he knew it, he was just a few blocks away. He slowed the bike, headlight off. He stored it at a boarded-up house a block away and went the rest of the way on foot.

  His house was in darkness. There were no cars around. The station wagon that had been parked in front was gone. Everyone had gone. His heart raced anxiously at the possibility that Hawk was gone. The house appeared empty. A trick, he suspected. He didn’t like it. It was too obvious. Surely they expected him to come back for Hawk. Didn’t they? He didn’t know what to think.

  He crawled toward the house on his hands and knees through the back yard. At one time it had been a fine, well-managed lawn. Over time, nature had reclaimed the area, adorning the area with a multitude of dandelions and wildflowers. Joe used the overgrown foliage as a cover and crawled up to a basement window on the west side of their house. He knew this window would open for him.

  He slid inside and froze, waiting for any sound of activity. His heart was beating fast. He willed himself to relax. Slowly, ever so slowly, he took one step after another toward the basement stairway. He had to stifle a cry when his shin struck something. Finally, he made it to the staircase and cautiously raised his foot. He walked on the outside edges of the stairs but there was still some creaking. He turned the doorknob gently. The door opened a crack. He peeked around the corner. Nothing but the shadows of the moon lying brightly across the hallway and kitchen floors. He crept down the hall toward the living room.

  As he rounded the corner, he caught the faint odor of cigar. Cigar! Joe froze in mid-step. That RCMP fellow, Jim Preston – he smoked cigars. He began to back up.

  “Too late, Joe. I have you covered.” A figure rose from the shadows and moved toward him, pistol in hand.

  Joe raised his arms.

  “Put your hands down. This isn’t some western movie,” Preston laughed, waving the gun. “Reach for the sky!” He shook his head. “Not likely,” he mumbled. The truth was that he was uncomfortable with guns. The one he held now was a loaner from the American, Connelly.

  “We figured you’d come back,” Preston said. “Come to rescue your brother, have you?”

  Joe kept his mouth shut as long as he could, then blurted out, “Where is he?”

  “Safe.” Preston reached for a walkie-talkie and squeezed the button. “This is Preston. The Eagle has landed! Right into my arms.”

  A voice crackled back. “Good work. Give us a minute or so.”

  “Where’s Hawk?” Joe repeated, straining to see Preston in the shadows.

  There he was, in the living room.

  Suddenly, there was a movement into the room, as if a bird had flown in. “He’s safe, son. Don’t worry, he’s OK.”

  Both Joe and Preston spun toward the voice. Preston immediately raised his weapon. “Freeze!” he screamed – more out of sudden fright than authority.

  “You don’t need that weapon, Jim. We’re friends, remember?” Grayer said.

  “Frank?”

  “That’s right. Relax, my friend.” His voice had a soothing, steady tone reminiscent of a gently flowing stream. He continued with what sounded like a chant, which Joe remotely recognized but could not understand.

  Preston’s eyes glazed over. “We’re friends.

  “This weapon isn’t necessary.

  “What the hell am I doing with a weapon?” He let the pistol drop.

  “You are feeling good about yourself. You feel the need to sit.”

  “I’ve got to sit down and rest for a while,” Preston said, slumping down with a thump into the living room easy chair.

  Grayer spoke quietly to the seated man. “Jim, you’re tired. You need rest. Now is a good time to close your eyes and rest. You will not remember the past few minutes. Joe and I were not here. You fell asleep waiting in the darkness for Joe. He never came.”

  Joe raced over to his father. He hugged him hard, then began laughing. “Where have you been?”

  “I know. I know I’ve been away too long. I missed you, both of you, very much.”

  Grayer smiled and tousled Joe’s hair. Then he gently grabbed his shoulders. “Joe, we have to free Hawk, and quickly. Connelly is holding him captive, on orders from Washington. Connelly still thinks he works for the U.S. Defense Intelligence Agency. He doesn’t know that the operation has been compromised. Connelly is really working for someone else.”

  Just then headlights became visible through the living room window. “They’re here,” Joe said.

  “Quick, Joe, follow me,” Grayer said.

  The pair ran down the hall into Joe’s room.

  Grayer slid through the bedroom window effor
tlessly. Joe followed, landing on all fours like a cat.

  “I hear them,” Joe said.

  “Yup. There’s going to be confusion for a minute or so. Let’s go around front and see if Hawk’s with them.”

  The two ran stealthily around the side of the house, stopping at the corner. Peeking, they could see the station wagon and an unmarked police car haphazardly parked out front. Slumped in the rear of the unmarked car was Hawk. Otherwise the coast was clear.

  The pair dashed toward the street, anxious to get to Hawk. “They must have sedated him,” Grayer hissed as he ran.

  Hawk was alone, slumped over. His mouth was slightly open, with dribble snaking down his chin. His eyes were shut peacefully. His head was resting against the windowpane.

  Joe cupped his hands against the glass and looked inside the car. “No keys in the ignition. Looks like the doors are locked, too.”

  Grayer fished a skeleton key chain from his pocket. He selected one and inserted the tool into the car door lock. It failed to open. Slightly annoyed, Grayer flipped the chain and selected another tool. This time the door clicked open.

  Grayer professionally swung his closed fist upward and whacked the plastic dome light as it came on. The plastic shattered, and the bulb extinguished as it broke. The car interior went black. He reached over and opened the rear passenger door for Joe. Then he slid behind the wheel and bent down, examining the ignition.

  Joe slid in beside his brother and held his head away from the glass window. Taking Hawk’s head between his hands, he began talking to him to see if he could bring him around.

  Meanwhile, Grayer shorted the ignition wires. The engine turned over a few times, and then it started.

  He pulled away with the headlights off. Joe, looking back at the house, shouted in alarm. The house disgorged its occupants onto the front lawn. Like a hornets’ nest disturbed, they charged toward the car. Grayer floored it, spraying a shower of stones behind the vehicle as they roared away. He flicked the lights on and asked Joe for directions to the spacecraft.