Shake the Trees (34 page)

CHAPTER 51

As Ellen walked breezily across the elevated ramp from short-term parking to the ticketing area at Tampa International, Sally and Tillis unwittingly passed beneath her in Sally’s BMW.  It was Tuesday morning, and Ellen was preparing to board a commercial flight to Albuquerque, while Sally and Tillis were on their way to brief Sam and Sandi on preparations at the general aviation terminal.

Only a few short feet separated the stylishly dressed and attractive fugitive from her haggard pursuers.  Ellen pulled a designer bag on wheels with one hand, and held a steaming Starbucks in the other.  Sally and Tillis were drinking a foul concoction Tillis had brewed in his room, and wore the same clothes they’d had on the day before.

Ellen flew under yet one more false identity.  When she purchased the forged documents for her banking trip to the Bahamas, she’d been offered half off on a second identity with complete documentation.  At the time, it seemed like good insurance against the unforeseen, and she hadn’t regretted her decision.  The fake driver’s license was as flawless as the first, and she’d used the backup alias to generate several new credit cards as well.  The cards had been put to good use - to rent a different car and pay for most of her purchases since leaving the Keys.

After taking a window seat on the left side of the aircraft, Ellen immediately went to sleep.  Somewhere over West Texas her internal alarm clock sounded. Ellen’s eyes opened, but her head continued to rest against the acrylic plastic window as she studied the terrain below.  In a few minutes, she opened her laptop and compared what she saw out the window to an aviation map she’d downloaded the night before.

The Roswell Industrial Air Center was obvious, even from thirty thousand feet.  The airport was a former military field, and one of the three runways was over twice as long as the other two, forming an elongated triangle.  The longest runway was 13,000 feet in length; well over two miles long.

After arriving in Albuquerque, Ellen rented a minivan and traveled north on I-25.  She exited at Paseo del Norte and headed east, climbing into the low-lying foothills of the Sandia Mountains.  The area was known as North Albuquerque Acres, and had been built out within the last ten years or so.  The neighborhood was filled with large contemporary southwestern style homes on one-acre lots, and hosted all of the chain stores of modern upscale suburbia. 

Before the building boom began, and while the desert land was still relatively inexpensive, the FAA had built an en route center there.  A multi-story box-like structure of dark brown brick and few windows.  Nondescript except for all of the antennas and satellite dishes protruding above its flat roofline.  Once exiled to a no-mans land between the suburbs and rural ranch country, it was now an oddity of institutional blandness amongst the neon lit facades of Friday’s, Chili’s, and Einstein Bagels.

Ellen had found the bagel shop, and took her sandwich and coffee to an outside table.  It was after two, and she was nearly alone.  Except for a middle-aged man reading a book and his old yellow lab apparently sound asleep under the shade of an awning.  The dog opened one big brown eye and studied Ellen suspiciously, but had neither the energy nor inclination to follow its instincts, and went back to sleep.  Ellen punched in a number on her cell.

“Albuquerque En Route Center,” the receptionist answered.

“Good afternoon.  This is Macie Novell.  I’m a reporter with UFO Magazine.  The Supervisor is expecting my call.”

“Yes, ma’am.  I’ll put you thru.”

“Simms,” the Supervisor answered.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Simms.  My name is Macie Novell.”

“Oh, right.  The UFO lady.  You want to talk to Parker.”

“Sir?” 

“Rob Parker.  Senior third shift team member covering the Roswell area.  Leave your number.  He’ll call you.”

“Certainly.  We’ve seen a spike in sightings on the weekends.  Does Mr. Parker only work weekdays?”  Ellen inquired.

“He’s on third shift Tuesday thru Saturday.”

“Thank you so much,” Ellen responded graciously.  “I look forward to speaking with Mr. Parker.  And I’ll make sure that you both receive a complimentary subscription to our magazine.”

Ellen searched the white pages on her BlackBerry, and found only one Robert Parker living in North Albuquerque.  She jotted down the address and directions, and finished her sandwich and coffee.  The old lab again followed her with one eye as she stood and walked away, and then sighed loudly as the rented minivan drove away.

Ellen wound her way thru the foothills, and soon found herself idling past the address she’d written down.  She studied everything with focused intensity.  The garage door hung open and the space contained a late model minivan much like the one she was driving, and a white Chevrolet Silverado pickup truck that appeared new.  She committed the license plate of the truck to memory, and inventoried the remaining contents of the garage.

Various yard tools, a lawnmower, an extension cord, a garden hose, and a couple of coolers lined one side of the garage.  She ignored all of these.  The other side of the white truck revealed items of far greater interest.  Numerous plastic toys, a classic red wagon, and a small pink bicycle sporting a white basket and lavender streamers.  Ellen smiled as she accelerated away.  This picture of upper middle-class suburban bliss was exactly what she’d been hoping for.

As she headed back toward the Interstate, Ellen fingered her BlackBerry until she found a list of police supply stores.  She selected a downtown location with an online store, and scrolled through the driving directions that appeared on the small screen.  Since she found herself near the bagel shop again, she pulled into the strip mall and parked near the canopy-covered table she’d eaten at earlier. 

Ellen pulled out her laptop and googled Tasers.  She liked the dual use EMD weapon.  It could be used as a contact weapon, or it could accurately shoot two tiny darts attached to incredibly thin wires up to 25 feet away.  In either case, the EMD gun was much more powerful than a traditional stun gun.  The electro-muscular disruption gun completely overrode the central nervous system, disabling the unfortunate victim by causing uncontrollable contractions of the skeletal muscles. 

Ellen brought up the online police supply store with the downtown bricks and mortar location and made a purchase for immediate pickup.  Although the weapon could only be legally sold to law enforcement personnel with photo ID, she was sure that pictures of dead presidents would work just as well.

As she placed the laptop in its padded carrying case, Ellen surveyed her surroundings out of force of habit.  The same man remained there, still engrossed in his book.  The unmoving dog opened both eyes this time, and studied Ellen with a cross expression.  Ellen met its gaze, and the animal quickly turned away.   

Ellen headed south.  To Roswell.  Afternoon rush hour was beginning, and she didn’t have any time to waste.  It was a three-hour trip there, and, of course, another three hours for the return trip.  She wanted to be back at the En Route Center when Rob Parker completed his shift at 7 o’clock the following morning.

The terrain was a monotonous brown, and time passed slowly.  Finally, Ellen left the interstate, and began the last leg south.  Her mood had deteriorated with each passing mile; she needed caffeine.  A dismal convenience store and gas station appeared at the next highway intersection, and Ellen reluctantly left the road and parked.  A dusty Datsun with a remarkable collision history was the only other vehicle in sight. 

She entered the store and walked directly to the self-service coffee island.  Her mood deteriorated further as she poured a muddy liquid into a Styrofoam cup.  After placing a cap on the big cup to contain the burnt-smelling aroma, Ellen found the cashier slouched down on a stool behind the register. 

The young man appeared to be in his mid-twenties.  He wore a black t-shirt with sleeves jaggedly cut off at the armpits - a fashion choice almost certainly made to better display a skull and crossbones tattoo.  His hair - caked with grime and product - had been chopped off at random angles and lengths; the dark dye job contrasted starkly against his pimpled and pale complexion. Gold-plated rings of various sizes hung from unexpected holes in his lips, nose, and ears.

“This coffee is old.  And burned.  You need to make a fresh pot.”

The cashier gave a noncommittal shrug.  “That would take a while.”

Ellen gave the man a disconcerting stare.  “Give me a pack of Camel shorts, Alfalfa.  And a lighter.”

“It’s Sean.”

Ellen guffawed.  “Sure it is.”

The man laid a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the counter and reached for the cash register.

“These are filtered.  I asked for unfiltered.”

“No you didn’t.”

“If I said I did, I did.”  Ellen replied tersely.

The young man pulled a pack of unfiltered Camel shorts from the shelf and tossed them onto the counter.  Then he muttered a word he would live to regret.  It left his brain as an afterthought, and his lips as a whisper.  “Bitch.”

Ellen reached into her purse and pushed the sliding tab to the contact stun setting.  Then in a remarkably quick and fluid movement, she brought her newly purchased toy into contact with the young man’s gold-plated nose ring.  The metal acted as an efficient conductor for the fifty thousand volts that flowed out of the Taser and into the man’s already addled brain, and he crumpled into a heap.

After she’d placed the cigarettes and lighter in her purse, Ellen leaned over the counter and wrinkled her nose at the smell emanating from the man’s den.  Then threw a ten-dollar bill on his chest.

“First rule of retail, Alfalfa.  The customer is always right.”

Ellen left the coffee on the counter and returned to the minivan.  Her BlackBerry impatiently beeped as she buckled her seatbelt.  Another email from the Bank of Nassau confirming a deposit.  She scrolled to the message.  Bubba had wired $65 million.  When combined with the one million he’d wired the day before, she now had a total of $66 million in the bank.  Exactly one-half of the $132 million that had gone missing.

She started the minivan and thought about Bubba.  He had made a good effort, but not good enough.  “Paying half will get you half,” she said out loud.  Then she pushed the matter from her mind.  Money and bad coffee were distracting her from the work at hand.

Perimeter Road was an accurate if not original name for the two-lane highway that circled Roswell Industrial Air Center.  Ellen was watching the planes takeoff and land as she navigated the strip of asphalt.  A few other vehicles circled the field with equal languor, and she assumed this passed for entertainment among the locals on weekend nights. 

Eventually she found herself in the parking area next to the concrete block terminal.  The structure had been painted the same shades of tan and light blue as the hangars and the ‘Welcome to Roswell Industrial Air Center’ sign.  Ellen thought the colors were appropriate to the setting.  Sky and dirt.

She nudged the minivan up against the chain link fence enclosing the tarmac.  An overweight man was filling the wing tanks of a corporate jet with the name ‘Midland Oil’ emblazoned on the side.  She’d seen enough.  It was time to check in at the Motel 6 she’d passed about a mile back.  And order a pizza.

The room was decorated in various shades of burnt orange and brown, which Ellen now realized was also part of the local color palette.  She’d reserved the room for three nights, but left her rolling bag in the minivan.  To her surprise, the room had wireless internet, and she placed an online order for a small veggie pizza.  By the time the small pot by the sink had spit out a barely acceptable but complimentary cup of coffee, the Pizza Hut delivery person was knocking on the door.

“That was fast.  Are you always so efficient?”  Ellen asked the smiling teenage boy.

“Thank you, ma’am.  Yes, ma’am, we try.  Still nice and warm.”

Ellen smiled at the clean-cut and polite young man.  She appreciated good service and good manners.  “Are you in school?”

“Yes, ma’am.  I’m a junior.  This is my part-time job.  One of my part-time jobs.  Every weekday night until midnight.  Except during football season, of course.  We’re not real busy; I still have plenty of time to study.”  The boy paused, and felt mildly uncomfortable under Ellen’s intent gaze.  “I work at a grocery store on the weekends.”

“That’s very impressive.”

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to give you my life story.”  The teenager blushed.

Ellen smiled as she pushed a bill in to the boy’s free hand.  Then took the pizza and turned away.  “Keep the change.”

“Ma’am?”

Ellen didn’t turn around.  “Yes?” 

“This is a hundred dollar bill.”

Ellen had already pulled a slice free from the open box.  “I know. Keep the change.  I have a feeling that you’re going to earn every penny.”

After the delivery boy thanked her three times and left, Ellen put the cardboard container along with the rest of the pie outside the door.  Then she took a quick steaming shower before getting back in the minivan.  For the long trip back to Albuquerque.