thinks we conspired to be there at that particular time.
Given nothing to eat and only enough fluids to keep him awake, Jake didn't think they'd let him free anytime soon, if ever.
Jake heard the major shouting unintelligible commands as he came down the hall.
The door flew open, and in a storm, Major Tinsdale erupted into the interrogation-room. Throwing a stack of papers on the desk in front of Jake, Tinsdale paused, took a deep breath, and sat across from him, head hanging down.
To Jake's surprise, the major looked up with a contrite expression.
"Captain, I owe you an apology."
Stunned, Jake sat back, trying to understand the rapid reversal. Was this some kind of interrogation technique? Was the major propping Jake up, just so he could knock him back down?
Reading the distrust, the major raised his hands, palms facing Jake. "It's ok, Captain. I give you my word, this is not a trick."
"Then what the hell is going on?" he asked. Belatedly, he added, "Sir."
"Apparently, you have friends in high places."
His confusion doubled. "What?"
The major shook his head. "You'll be briefed later." He pointed to the stack of papers. "But, before you can leave, you have to sign these."
***
Lying in bed, gazing at the ceiling, Captain Jake Giard ran fingers through his short dark hair. His entire body ached with a bone-deep exhaustion. He hadn't slept in the eighteen hours since the disastrous encounter.
Jake knew sleep wouldn't be the restful reprieve from reality he needed. Only a dark prison waited—a place where he would relive the freakish encounter and the loss of his young friend, ad nauseam.
Shifting, he propped another pillow under his head and looked outside. The city's uncountable sodium-vapor streetlights set his bedroom walls awash with an orange glow. The drawn curtains of his window revealed a beautiful panorama. Viewed from his east Las Vegas apartment on the side of Sunrise Mountain, the city lights painted across the valley below twinkled like a sea of chipped orange glass beads. From Jake's remote vantage point, the buildings and lights of the Vegas Strip constituted a small portion of the scintillating mural painted across his bedroom window.
The cool, crisp springtime breeze ruffled the curtains, creating a welcome distraction. Jake felt his body relaxing as a coyote's howl drifted down from the desert mountainside. A lonely sound, it matched the darkness of his mood.
His body jerked with a waking spasm as a jet engine's distant roar drowned out the coyote's wail, claiming dominance over the night air. Muffled by distance, the airplane's din rolled like thunder off the surrounding mountains.
"Great," he muttered.
Frustrated and exhausted, Jake slid out of bed and stepped across the cool tiles. Pushing the billowing curtain out of the way, he walked to the center of the wide window, intending to close it. Movement in his peripheral vision drew his attention. Two miles to the north, on Nellis Air Force Base Runway Three-Left, two hundred feet from where he'd been accosted by the Base's Security Police, Jake could just make out the twin, fiery-blue jet-plumes of an F-22 Raptor on a takeoff roll.
The solo fighter was a poignant reminder.
"Damn it! What happened to you, Vic?"
He slammed the glass pane shut. Snapping the curtains closed, he turned and walked back to the bed. Collapsing backward onto its soft surface, Jake stared through the ceiling.
What the hell was that thing?
"I can't even tell anybody about your death," he said to the empty room. He shook his head sardonically. Great! The UFO contactee is talking to his dead friend. "Wonderful."
The day spent in the interrogation room had left Jake confused and questioning his decision to reveal the appearance of the strange ship. Not that Major Tinsdale had allowed any elaboration on the subject.
He was under strict orders not to mention the event to anyone. He knew it was standard protocol not to discuss aspects of a mishap during an
Given nothing to eat and only enough fluids to keep him awake, Jake didn't think they'd let him free anytime soon, if ever.
Jake heard the major shouting unintelligible commands as he came down the hall.
The door flew open, and in a storm, Major Tinsdale erupted into the interrogation-room. Throwing a stack of papers on the desk in front of Jake, Tinsdale paused, took a deep breath, and sat across from him, head hanging down.
To Jake's surprise, the major looked up with a contrite expression.
"Captain, I owe you an apology."
Stunned, Jake sat back, trying to understand the rapid reversal. Was this some kind of interrogation technique? Was the major propping Jake up, just so he could knock him back down?
Reading the distrust, the major raised his hands, palms facing Jake. "It's ok, Captain. I give you my word, this is not a trick."
"Then what the hell is going on?" he asked. Belatedly, he added, "Sir."
"Apparently, you have friends in high places."
His confusion doubled. "What?"
The major shook his head. "You'll be briefed later." He pointed to the stack of papers. "But, before you can leave, you have to sign these."
***
Lying in bed, gazing at the ceiling, Captain Jake Giard ran fingers through his short dark hair. His entire body ached with a bone-deep exhaustion. He hadn't slept in the eighteen hours since the disastrous encounter.
Jake knew sleep wouldn't be the restful reprieve from reality he needed. Only a dark prison waited—a place where he would relive the freakish encounter and the loss of his young friend, ad nauseam.
Shifting, he propped another pillow under his head and looked outside. The city's uncountable sodium-vapor streetlights set his bedroom walls awash with an orange glow. The drawn curtains of his window revealed a beautiful panorama. Viewed from his east Las Vegas apartment on the side of Sunrise Mountain, the city lights painted across the valley below twinkled like a sea of chipped orange glass beads. From Jake's remote vantage point, the buildings and lights of the Vegas Strip constituted a small portion of the scintillating mural painted across his bedroom window.
The cool, crisp springtime breeze ruffled the curtains, creating a welcome distraction. Jake felt his body relaxing as a coyote's howl drifted down from the desert mountainside. A lonely sound, it matched the darkness of his mood.
His body jerked with a waking spasm as a jet engine's distant roar drowned out the coyote's wail, claiming dominance over the night air. Muffled by distance, the airplane's din rolled like thunder off the surrounding mountains.
"Great," he muttered.
Frustrated and exhausted, Jake slid out of bed and stepped across the cool tiles. Pushing the billowing curtain out of the way, he walked to the center of the wide window, intending to close it. Movement in his peripheral vision drew his attention. Two miles to the north, on Nellis Air Force Base Runway Three-Left, two hundred feet from where he'd been accosted by the Base's Security Police, Jake could just make out the twin, fiery-blue jet-plumes of an F-22 Raptor on a takeoff roll.
The solo fighter was a poignant reminder.
"Damn it! What happened to you, Vic?"
He slammed the glass pane shut. Snapping the curtains closed, he turned and walked back to the bed. Collapsing backward onto its soft surface, Jake stared through the ceiling.
What the hell was that thing?
"I can't even tell anybody about your death," he said to the empty room. He shook his head sardonically. Great! The UFO contactee is talking to his dead friend. "Wonderful."
The day spent in the interrogation room had left Jake confused and questioning his decision to reveal the appearance of the strange ship. Not that Major Tinsdale had allowed any elaboration on the subject.
He was under strict orders not to mention the event to anyone. He knew it was standard protocol not to discuss aspects of a mishap during an
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