The Stickmen by Edward Lee Page B

hands.
    “Interesting, huh?” Garrett posed. “Only two
fingers. What we’d think of as an index finger, and an opposable
thumb.”
    Lynn seemed to blanch at the eerie close-up,
but then, finally, she offered her opinion. “This is scary stuff,
Harlan. I’ll admit that. But I’m not buying it. It’s good, sure…but
it’s still fake. And you want to know why I’m sure of that?”
    Garrett thinly smiled. “Hit me.”
    “For the simple reason that if this stuff was real, there’s no way it would be sitting here in your
pig-sty apartment. If it’s real , Harlan, then that means
it’s the entire case file to an extraterrestrial contact. It
wouldn’t be sitting here in your apartment—it would be locked up in
the most secure classified document repository in the country.”
    “That’s weak, hon—”
    Lynn winced. “Don’t call me hon. We’ve been divorced for years.”
    “Fine…sugarplum. And the reason this case
file isn’t locked up in a repository is because it was stolen, a long time ago.”
    “Oh, by you? ” Lynn chuckled. “Face
it, Harlan. You may fancy yourself as this high-tech lock-picking
black-bag operator, but the truth is…you suck.”
    “Hey!”
    “Come on. Every time you try something like
that, you get caught and go to jail.”
    “Not every time.” Garrett bitterly
ground out his cigarette. “And besides—I’m not the one who ripped
off this stuff.”
    “Then who did?”
    “General Norton T. Swenson,” Garrett
said.
    Lynn looked back at him with an expression
of near-hilarity. “Swenson, your nemesis? He stole this and gave it
to you? ”
    “Yeah. He’s dying now, but Swenson was the
Air Force’s top dog on the subject. He was an MJ-12 member—”
    “Bullshit,” Lynn said quickly. “It doesn’t
exist and never did.”
    “—and he oversaw all disinformation
campaigns designed to debunk public UFO theories.”
    Now Lynn laughed. “And it looks like he’s
using you for the next one.”
    Garrett nodded curtly, lit another
cigarette. “Maybe. That’s the first thing that crossed my mind….
But, first, tell me one thing. What do you think—and I mean really —what do you think about what I’ve shown you?”
    Lynn cast another look at the now-veritable
pile of documents and photographs on the bed. She sighed. “Like I
said before, Harlan. It all looks real good…but I still think it’s
fake. Swenson’s used all of his resources, and every new-fangled
high-end forgery technology to pull the wool over your eyes. He’s
using you for his own gain.”
    “Okay, but why?” Garrett asked. “He’s dying.
He’s a withered old man bald from chemotherapy and radiation
treatment. He can’t even stand up anymore. His life’s over—so why
do this?”
    “Devotion to duty,” Lynn came right back. “A
lot of people take it to their graves. It’s what they lived for,
and what they die for too.”
    Garrett made another understanding nod. “I
hear you. And ordinarily, I’d agree with you. But—” Garrett raised
both brows at his ex-wife.
    “But what, Harlan?”
    “You still haven’t seen what else was in the
suitcase.”
    “What?”
    “Open the flap on the side…”
    Lynn, still sitting on the unmade bed, slid
the suitcase toward her, over the piles of documents. She fumbled
with a strapped flap on the front of the case, and eventually she
removed a long folded black plastic pouch. The plastic crinkled
when she opened it.
    “Still think it’s all fake?” Garrett
chided.
    All the color drained out of Lynn’s face
when she withdrew a long blackened forearm bone complete with a
skeletal two-fingered hand at the end of it.
     
     

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    The window begins to glitter—the
trapezoid.
    Dark swirls of light flecked with shining
pin-pricks. Then—
    Danny quickly shields his eyes against the
sudden explosion of white glare. Now the window glows bright as
sunlight.
    Danny is standing in front of the window.
His face feels warms from the blinding