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  Frustrated, Jennifer made her way past the open French doors leading onto the balcony, the warm breeze chilling her like tendrils of marine layer fog. She thought about closing the doors, then discarded the notion. The chill wasn’t real, only a figment of her extensive imagination. She knew what she needed, and it wasn’t beyond the doors to the balcony. It was in the closet.

  Pulling open the slatted doors, she stepped inside to pull her suitcase from the highest shelf. Jennifer dropped it on the floor, her fingers fumbling at the zipper like a junkie struggling to get to her fix.

  There, in the inner zippered pocket, she found them, the two translucent alien headbands, exactly where she had left them. To Don Espeñosa’s men, they’d been of no more interest than any young girl’s hair decorations. So much for judgment.

  The second Jennifer touched the one that was uniquely hers, she felt better. It was one of the oddities of the alien halos that only the one with which you had originally attuned worked for you. And once they had attuned with you, they didn’t work for anyone else, at least not while you lived. After that, Jennifer didn’t know and didn’t want to find out.

  With both headbands clutched in her hand, she walked across the room to the wicker chair in which Don Espeñosa had sat this morning. Tossing the other halo on the coffee table, Jennifer slid into the chair and pulled her knees up to her chest.

  Then, taking a deep breath, she positioned her own halo on her head, letting the small beads slide into place over her temples.

  ~ ~ ~

  Three thousand miles away, in a temporary shelter he had come to think of as home, Dr. Hanz Jorgen scanned the papers spread across every square inch of his desk.

  The article that currently held his attention had received scant notice from the scientific community, much less from the general public, but he found it fascinating. In it, Dr. Paul Silas of Northwestern University focused on the asteroid named 2004 XY130. Although the asteroid had far less than one chance in a million of striking earth, its potential impact would produce an explosive force in excess of two thousand megatons, more than a hundred thousand times the force of Little Boy, the bomb that had been dropped on Hiroshima in World War II.

  A buzzing in his pocket alerted him to the presence of his cell phone. Having tried unsuccessfully to find a ring tone that was only mildly obnoxious, Jorgen had long since adopted the vibrate-only cell phone policy for himself and his staff.

  He flipped his open, lifting it to his mouth. “Jorgen here.”

  “This is Bill Franks.”

  Dr. Franks’ distinctive voice crackled with excitement.

  “I can tell that, Bill. What is it?”

  “You better get down here, Hanz. Something incredible is happening.”

  Without bothering to utter a word of response, Dr. Jorgen hoisted his large frame from the chair and headed out the door, flipping the cell phone closed as he ran. Although no one would think it to look at him, Dr. Jorgen could move with the agility of a man half his age and weight when he needed to. And right now, making his way rapidly down the steep stairs cut into the side of the canyon, he needed to.

  Dr. Franks waited at the bottom of the steps, his face even paler than usual in the bright midmorning sun.

  “What is it?” Dr. Jorgen asked between panting breaths.

  Bill Franks pointed at the spot where the high desert mesquite had been cleared to open a path into the starship cave. The entrance was gone.

  Dr. Jorgen rushed forward to touch the hillside where he had walked out of the cave just two hours before, bringing himself up short when his hand passed into what appeared to be solid ground.

  “What the hell?” He pulled his hand back, somewhat surprised to see it reappear intact.

  “It’s come alive.”

  Dr. Jorgen was renowned for his quick wit and ability to rapidly analyze changing scientific data, but now he felt as if his thoughts were stuck in mud.

  “The alien ship.” Dr. Franks grinned like a boy who’d just found his older sister’s diary. “A few minutes ago. It just came on.”

  “And this?” Dr. Jorgen pointed to the illusory wall in front of him.

  “Some sort of advanced hologram. It appeared at the same time.”

  “Out of my way.” Dr. Jorgen had to get inside the cave. As excited as he’d been when he first laid eyes on the alien starship, this went beyond that.

  The darkness beyond the hologram was not complete, but it surprised him. The banks of lights his team used to study the exterior of the starship had all been turned off, leaving a magenta glow, which seemed to emanate from the air itself.

  Bill Franks stepped up beside him. “We turned them off to better see this.”

  At the far end of the cavern, Dr. Jorgen could see the smoothly curved bulk of the starship, completely draped with the metal scaffolding that supported the researchers and their equipment.

  Dr. Jorgen took two steps forward, then stopped one more time to stare at the unearthly illumination.

  “Beautiful. Just beautiful.”

  127

  Losing one’s fascination with life was like dying, and El Chupacabra had no intention of doing either. He knew how to watch, and he knew how to wait. This was how it worked. Watch and wait.

  Eduardo could have just searched Jennifer’s room, going through her personal things with the same unmatched thoroughness that had made him the world’s best assassin. Instead, he strolled out past the north end of Don Espeñosa’s gardens, found a tall tree, and climbed.

  As he lifted himself onto a concealed branch that provided a nice armrest, Eduardo pulled the Swarovski EL 10x32 binoculars from a cargo pocket on his trouser-leg. They were easily the best compact binoculars in the world, perfectly waterproof and nitrogen filled so that they never fogged, even in the Amazon. Eduardo loved them, especially now that Swarovski had removed the slight golden bias present in the lenses of earlier models.

  Aiming the binoculars at Jennifer’s balcony, Eduardo adjusted the focus. The white French doors were open wide, embracing the spectacular view of the gardens and mountains on the north side of the estate. An outside sitting area with a small round table and two deck chairs sat immediately above and to the right of the patio where Eduardo had met the startling young lady. From this angle Eduardo had a clear view of almost the entire bedroom beyond.

  Jennifer Smythe still lay asleep beneath a sheet on her bed, the heavier covers having been turned back by the servant who had carried her up to her room. The bedroom was as Eduardo remembered it, having stayed there in one of his previous visits to the estate. A wicker reading chair and coffee table sat across the room from the bed, near the door that opened in from the second-floor hallway. One thing that had changed was the oak desk on which a laptop computer sat open, the screensaver’s multicolored fractal lines cutting a swath across the blackness.

  Eduardo shifted his eyes to the sleeping girl. Almost as if she felt his gaze, the girl’s sleeping form shifted. Stretching her arms high above her head, a smile crept onto her lips. Then with a start, Jennifer Smythe sat straight up. She continued to sit there, her stillness interrupted only when she leaned forward and puked in her own lap. He continued to watch as Jennifer jumped out of bed, wadded the sheets, dumped them into a pile and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Eduardo smiled, remembering the feel of her fear as their minds had touched. She gave good head a whole new meaning.

  Spending much less time in the shower than he would have expected, Jennifer reappeared, wrapped in a white robe. She moved quickly across the room, opened the closet, and although the closet door partially obscured his view, it seemed that she pulled something from a high shelf, possibly a suitcase or large bag.

  Whatever she was after did not take her long to find, and the change in her face as she reemerged from the closet was clear. She had entered in a panic of intensity, but now the girl radiated hope.

  Jennifer paused, tossed something onto the coffee table and plopped into the wicker ch
air. Again, Eduardo adjusted the binoculars’ zoom and focus.

  A narrow, three-quarter loop of metal or shiny plastic lay on the coffee table. What was that? A headband? Shifting his gaze back to Jennifer, Eduardo saw that she held a similar band, gazing raptly down at it. Then, inhaling deeply, she slid the band onto her head, positioning it more like a military headset than a young girl’s decorative headband. The analogy wasn’t exactly right. The ends of the band were positioned over her temples, not her ears, but the intent looked the same.

  Once again Jennifer’s expression underwent a remarkable change, the worry lines in her face disappearing as he watched. Her brown eyes remained open, but the look became distant. It wasn’t that they lost focus. Instead, they focused on something that only she could see.

  For the next forty-seven minutes, Jennifer Smythe remained in the chair without moving, the relaxed intensity of her expression unchanging. Then, like you’d get up from a movie as the theatre lights came on, Jennifer arose from the chair, removed the headband, and deposited it and its twin back in the hidden container in the closet.

  Dressing with a purpose and alacrity that Eduardo would not have believed possible only a few minutes before, the young lady walked confidently out of her room, closing the door behind her.

  Without hesitation, Eduardo pocketed the binoculars and dropped from the tree, sprinting toward the house along a path that avoided the garden. He emerged from the woods between a free-standing six-car garage and the servant’s entrance. Two white-coated cooks raised their eyebrows questioningly as he moved through the kitchen, but upon seeing who it was, returned quickly to their business.

  He passed through a pair of swinging doors into the narrow service hallway and opened the first door on his right. Taking the stairs two at a time, Eduardo paused only momentarily before stepping into the second-floor hallway.

  Finding it empty, he walked to Jennifer’s door, twisted the knob, and stepped inside. After closing the door behind him, he moved to the closet. Eduardo pulled the twin slatted doors open, flipped the light switch, and stepped inside. The closet was a large walk-in, a small assortment of clothes hanging from only one of the four available clothes racks, the emptiness adding to the closet’s apparent size.

  Glancing up, he could see a single charcoal-colored suitcase on the top rack. Eduardo lifted it down, setting it gently on the closet floor. The suitcase was divided into two compartments with three zip-up pouches for holding shoes and accessories. Both main compartments were empty, but in the second of the accessory pouches he found what he was looking for: the mysterious headbands.

  Sitting cross-legged beside the suitcase, Eduardo selected one of the bands, running his fingers over the entire surface. It appeared to be metal, but not of a type he recognized, its surface refracting light in a way that gave it the illusion of translucence. The material flexed, but gave an impression of great strength and durability.

  Could it be an artifact? His mother had spent her adult life looking for magical Incan artifacts, studying photographs and drawings of ceremonial pieces. But those had all been complex designs. These bands were elegant in their simplicity. Could one of these have produced the apparent trance he had watched Jennifer slip into?

  Only one way to find out.

  Eduardo slid the band he held over his temples in the manner he had seen Jennifer do, counting slowly backward from ten as he did.

  Nothing.

  Disappointed, he returned it to the zipper pocket before turning to examine the remaining band. It appeared identical to the first in every respect. So much for that theory. Eduardo started to place it back in the zip-up pocket alongside the first, then paused.

  No use breaking old habits. In his book, thoroughness was next to godliness.

  Spreading the band slightly with his hands, Eduardo slipped it into place on his head. For a moment, it seemed that the small beads at both ends adjusted themselves for comfort. Indeed, a low-frequency vibration began producing a relaxing massage.

  Once again he felt disappointment. So this was just a relaxation gadget, probably something she got in a Sharper Image store.

  A lifetime of close familiarity with pain did little to prepare him for the explosion in his head. It felt like a million holes had been drilled into his skull, each with a tiny micro-Taser inserted, simultaneously firing their fifty-thousand-volt pulses directly into his brain. He tried to pull the headband off but found he could no longer control his body.

  Thoughts flashed through Eduardo’s mind. Was this it? Had he finally succumbed to an elaborate trap?

  Shift.

  The closet was gone. He floated in a transparent bubble in the vast darkness of empty space. A ringed planet darted by, its many moons careening away as his ship banked so hard that it seemed the gravitational strain would destroy it.

  Then he saw it, flitting across his field of vision, far ahead. It expanded in a magnified view, surrounded by circles and crosshairs as his ship tried to get a lock on the target.

  The long cigar-shaped craft he chased suddenly emitted a swirling vortex that rippled through the space between them, a narrow tube that bent and twisted his view of the stars on its far side.

  His ship torqued hard right and dropped, the space-time ripple passing within a hundred meters of him. In response, a beam of solid red pulsed outward from his own ship, missing the cigar ship but pulverizing a small asteroid as he passed through a field thick with the spinning rocks.

  Ahead, a blue planet with a single moon loomed large, and the other ship raced toward it. Almost simultaneously, both ships’ weapons fired again.

  His red beam played across the cigar ship’s surface, bubbling and warping its hull as the Enemy’s vortex beam punched through his own ship. All maneuvering control lost, his ship plunged onward, and the surface of the blue planet rose up to meet him.

  The imagery stopped. The closet returned.

  Eduardo found himself leaning back against one of the shoe shelves, his legs still crossed, his arms hanging limply at his side.

  His mind struggled to reorient itself. What the hell had just happened? An answer came to him. At least he thought it was an answer, although he couldn’t identify the symbols that floated in his brain.

  Of course. The headset.

  Eduardo reached up and removed the headband from its perch atop his head. Immediately the unfamiliar imagery stopped. But a strangeness lingered. All those years of torture and suffering at his mother’s hands had given him a special awareness of each and every nerve ending in his body. It was one of the things that made him strong and fast. He was aware of things long before others sensed them. Now, that awareness had been ramped to an altogether new level. It was as if he had been blind but could now see, deaf but could now hear. He squeezed his hand into a fist, and that too felt different.

  Staring down at the seemingly insignificant metal circlet in his hand, Eduardo understood. He’d been right the first time. It was an artifact, although its origin and powers were far stranger than he had imagined.

  Rising to his feet, Eduardo retrieved the other alien artifact from the suitcase zipper pocket and returned the now empty suitcase to its place on the shelf.

  Then, with the artifacts clutched firmly in his left hand, Eduardo Montenegro made his way out of the building by the same route he had entered.

  Yes, today his mother would have been proud of her son.

  128

  Gone!

  Shock hammered the realization into Jennifer’s head like a wrecking ball smashing the brick of an aging tenement. She played back the memory of placing the suitcase on the top shelf, comparing it against the position from which she had just retrieved it. Not the same. As if she needed confirmation that the precious alien halos had been stolen.

  Weak with dread, she stumbled out of the closet, her eyes stabbing toward the desk where she’d left her laptop. There it sat, untouched.

  It didn’t make sense. Why would a thief leave the laptop and take the app
arently worthless headbands? The answer came to mind before she finished the question.

  Eduardo. He must have been spying on her as she awoke, must have seen her make the connection to the Second Ship.

  God, she was stupid! Jennifer felt like grabbing her short hair in both hands and ripping out chunks of hair and scalp. But self-flagellation wasn’t going to solve her problem. She had to act and act quickly.

  That sick son of a bitch had taken them, and she was going to get them back. Eduardo might be a monster, but he had no idea who he was dealing with.

  Jennifer burst out the doorway with such force that she almost knocked down a maid.

  “Perdón, señora.” Jennifer’s voice carried a deep sense of urgency. “Donde está Don Espeñosa?”

  The woman recovered her equilibrium and pointed down the hallway. “El señor está en la biblioteca.”

  Jennifer’s Spanish was nowhere near as good as Mark’s, but she could get by. The don was in his private library. Although Don Espeñosa loved it, Jennifer had only been in the room one time. The high-ceilinged windowless space, with its twin leather chairs, dark hardwood floor, and tall bookshelves made her feel that she was trapped at the bottom of a well. The thick odor of cigar smoke only added to the oppressive atmosphere that permeated the room. For a lover of books to abhor a room filled with them seemed terribly wrong, but that was how she felt.

  Two sharp raps on the door preceded Jennifer’s entrance into the drug lord’s inner sanctum. Don Espeñosa sat in the rightmost reading chair, a fat Cuban cigar wedged between the index and middle finger of his left hand, a hardcopy of Dean Koontz’s Watchers open in the other. His angry look faded as he saw who dared to interrupt his private time.

  “Ah, Jennifer.” The don set his book aside. “So you decided to take advantage of my library after all.”

  “That’s not why I came.” Jennifer’s tone caused Don Espeñosa’s left eyebrow to rise. “Something has been taken from my room. Two pieces of personal jewelry.”