Chapter 22: CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Daniel de Montelier sat with Colonel Westwood in the diner, at the back, where they huddled like two football players planning a winning touchdown. His hat lay on the empty seat beside him, his uniform unbuttoned at the top.

“You do know what you’re asking is illegal, don’t you?” he said, his hand wrapped around a glass of beer, foam threatening to spill over the top.

“It’s never like the movies,” Westwood said. A plate of bacon and eggs and hash browns sat in front of him, but he hadn’t touched it yet. “You’d think those aliens would have the foresight to land in Washington or New York or L.A., not some Godforsaken place in some backward country—”

“I resent that implication, Colonel,” he interrupted.

Westwood ignored the remark. “Why the fur... and the tail? They’re not supposed to look like that. Where are the grays? Where are the reptilians? The Nordics? Have people been imagining them?”

Montelier pushed the bottle closer to the center of the table. “Maybe those aliens are afraid to show themselves, if they even exist. Maybe the Tereskàdians didn’t have a choice, considering the landing wasn’t exactly a secret.”

“The Canadian military should have gone in there, cordoned off the entire area, kept those aliens away from the curious and the media, and anyone else with a big mouth and a cell phone.”

“You and your damn secrets,” he said. “You Americans are so damn paranoid.”

Westwood dug into his scrambled eggs, made a face. Eggs didn’t stay warm long, and he now had the displeasure of eating lukewarm eggs. The bacon didn’t appear appetizing either. “We’re careful,” he said, breaking the silence. “We’re not as trusting as you Canadians.”

“And what would you have done if they had landed somewhere in the United States? No, let me give you the scenario, it might sound familiar. Some hick farmer finds a spaceship, sees the aliens. He calls the police, and they call the... the Air Force or National Guard or Homeland Security, whatever. Lots of soldiers in uniforms, officers giving orders. They cordon off the area, and if anyone comes close, they spin a big lie about a dreaded disease, a virus, an outbreak of Corona, something like that, or maybe there’s a rabid wolf on the loose... whatever. Aliens are removed, taken to a secret facility somewhere in Colorado or New Mexico or Nevada where they’re examined and experimented on or whatever else you people do, and they’re never heard from again. And... oh yes.” He held up his hand to silence Westwood who was about to say something. “Those who are involved with this are forced... sorry, told to sign a document... a non-disclosure agreement... swearing them to secrecy, and if someone does say something to the media, that person is discredited, possibly silenced, if it goes that far. How am I doing so far, Colonel?”

“You have a great imagination, Montelier.” Westwood pushed the plate aside, waved to attract Alice’s attention.

She came over, picked up the plate,. “Anything else I can get you?”

“Coffee. Strong, black... and hot.” He waited until she was gone. “Why are they shooting a film up here?”

“I don’t know,” Montelier said. “I came here to investigate a murder.”

“A murder in this neck of the woods?” Westwood chuckled, shook his head.

“Could have been one of the cast or crew of that film,” Montelier said.

“Or one of the aliens.”

“They can’t do that.”

“Maybe the victim attacked them, and one of them went...” He raked the air with his hands shaped like talons.

“The victim lived in the village. He was an old man. I don’t think he would have attacked an alien.”

“You have a job to do, and I have a job to do.” Westwood waited while Alice placed the hot cup of coffee on the table.

“You won’t be able to take the aliens away from here,” Montelier said. “I don’t give a damn about them, but they’re wards of the Canadian government, and if you try anything, you might just be the sorriest son of a bitch in North America.”

“Why...” Westwood half rose from his chair. “You’re the one who called the Pentagon.”

“Now that I think about it, about your intentions, I changed my mind. I’m the law here, Colonel. I cover a large territory, and what I say goes. Right now, those aliens are fine just where they are.”

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“Do you know how many men I have under me, men I could bring up here on a moment’s notice?”

“I’m sure you don’t want to start a war. I’m sure President Roxton will have a say about that. As far as I know, he was up here, visiting, and from what I’ve heard he agreed with the Prime Minister that the aliens should stay up here.”

“Bullshit.”

“You can ask him yourself.”

“I intend to.”

“Why did you come up here by yourself? I’d have thought you’d come with a whole battalion, armed to the gills.”

Westwood sipped coffee, set the cup down. “It’s not over yet, Montelier.”

“You can’t hide them,” Montelier said. “The world knows about them, and as far as they’re concerned, we Canadians can have them. If they... the aliens... decide to attack us, which I doubt, we’d be on our own. But that’s horse crap, and you know it. Tereskàdians won’t attack... can’t attack, because of their nature.”

He finished his beer. That beverage hadn’t been on his mind when he came in here, but he had been thirsty, and beer was the one liquid that appealed to him.

“You do anything to these aliens,” he said, “you make any move to remove them from this village, and I will arrest you.”

“Arrest me? What for?”

“Kidnapping. Illegal removal of an aliens species. Crossing the border illegally with the aliens. Maybe obstruction of justice if you try to resist me.”

“How old are you, Montelier? Thirty-five, forty... I could take you apart with my bare hands.”

“Now we have threats. Is that the best you can do, Colonel?”

Westwood stood up. “I’m sure we’ll talk again.”

“I’m sure we will.”

“I didn’t think you’d turn into an alien lover.”

“You’re pathetic, Colonel. Love has nothing to do with this. Stop living in the 1950’s. It’s not like the old days when you could hide an entire spacecraft and its occupants, and swear people to secrecy. Not anymore. Now we have Facebook and Twitter, and there are question-and-answer sites, discussion forums like Reddit and Quora... How long will you be able to keep it a secret? The world knows. If anything happens to the aliens, the world will know.”

Colonel Westwood walked out the door. He’d have to watch him, watch his every move. Alien lover, he had said. That was the last thing he’d ever be. He would love for a spaceship from their planet to come and pick them up, and take them back to whatever planet they came from.

The media had had a field day when they first arrived, landing their spacecraft not far from here, in the wilds of Northern Ontario, the middle of literally nowhere. They had reported it in every newspaper in the country, and from there it spread to other papers, and television, and radio, and the internet. Bloggers blogged, came up with theories that were literally out of this world. Advance scouts for an alien invasion, prisoners sent from their home world to spend the rest of their lives on this planet because they committed heinous crimes. He had to laugh at that last one; six- and seven-year-old cubs committing heinous crimes, sure, sure.

They didn’t speak English in those days because this wasn’t Star Trek where every alien race was familiar with the English language, but they did learn it. They still had a bit of an accent, noticeable if you listened closely.

The Americans were jealous because to them the aliens were supposed to land somewhere in their country. Books had been written about it, movies had been made about it, so let it be written, so let it be done. They thought they had exclusive rights to these aliens. Unfortunately for them, sometimes you don’t always get what you want.

He checked the undone button on his tunic, left it that way. He picked up his hat, placed it on his head. He dropped a couple of Viola Desmonds on the table, strode to the door.

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