White Death (NUMA Files 4)

Her innocent question started a table debate. Some of the locals contended that Eskimos guarded the plant. Others said that the men driving the SUVs were Indians or maybe Mongolians. Gamay won- dered if she had stumbled into the local insane asylum, a thought that was reinforced when the cashier mumbled something about "aliens." "Aliens?" Gamay said.

The cashier blinked through thick, round-framed glasses, her eyes growing wider. "It's like that secret UFO place in the States, Area Fifty-one, like they show on The X-Files."

"I seen a UFO once when I was hunting near the old plant," in- terjected a man who could have been a hundred years old. "Big sil- ver thing all lit up."

"Hell, Joe," said the skinny woman, "I've seen you so lit up you've probably seen purple elephants."

"Yup," the man said with a gap-toothed grin. "Seen them, too." The restaurant filled with laughter.

Gamay smiled sweetly and said to the cashier, "We'd love to tell our friends back home that we saw a UFO base. Is it far from here?"

"Maybe twenty miles," the cashier said. She gave Gamay directions to the plant. Gamay thanked the young woman, put a ten-dollar bill in the empty tip jar, scooped up the coffees and headed out the door.

Paul was leaning against the car, his arms folded across his chest. He took the coffee she offered him. "Any luck?"

Gamay glanced back at the store. "I'm not sure. I seem to have run into the cast of Twin Pea/y. In the last few minutes, I've learned that this part of the world is home to Eskimos who drive big black SUVs, a UFO base and purple elephants."

"That explains it," he said with mock seriousness. "While you

were inside, a bunch of big critters the color of plums came thun- dering by here."

"After what I heard, I'm not surprised," she said, slipping behind the wheel.

"Think the locals were having a little fun at the expense of a tourist?" Paul said, getting into the passenger side.

"I'll let you know after we find big silver things around Area Fifty-one." Seeing the quizzical expression on her husband's face, she laughed and said, "I'll explain on the way."

They drove past the turnoff that led to the town center and har- bor, into an area of heavy pine forest. Even with the cashier's de- tailed directions, which included every stump and stone for miles, they almost missed the turnoff. There was no sign marking the en- trance. Only the hard-packed ruts showing fairly recent use distin- guished the way from any of the other fire roads that cut into the thick woods.

About a half mile from the main road, they pulled over. The cashier had advised Gamay to park at a clearing near a big glacial boulder and to walk through the woods. A few townspeople who had driven close to the plant's gates had been intercepted and rudely turned away. The Eskimos or whatever they were probably had hid- den cameras.

Gamay and Paul left the car and made their way through the woods parallel to the road for about an eighth of a mile, until they could see the sun glinting off a high chain-link fence. A black cable ran along the top of the fence, indicating that the razor wire was electrified. No cameras were visible, although it was possible that they were disguised.

"What now?" Gamay said.

"We can fish or cut bait," Paul replied.

"I never liked cutting bait."

"Me, neither. Let's fish."

Paul stepped out of the woods into the cleared grassy swath around the fence. His sharp eye noticed a thin, almost-invisible wire at ankle height. He pointed to the ground. Trip wire. He snapped a dead branch off a nearby tree and dropped it on the wire, then he slipped back into the woods. He and Gamay flattened out belly-first on the pine needle carpeting.

Soon they heard the sound of a motor, and a black SUV lumbered to a stop on the other side of the fence. The door opened, and fierce- looking pure white Samoyeds as big as lions lunged out and ran up to the fence. The snuffling dogs were followed a moment later by a swarthy, round-faced guard in a black uniform. He cradled a leveled assault rifle in his hands.

While the dogs dashed back and forth along the fence, the guard suspiciously eyed the woods. He saw the branch lying on the trip wire. In an unintelligible language, he mumbled into a hand radio, then he moved on. The dogs may have sensed the two human beings in the woods. They growled and stood stiff-legged, staring at the trees that hid the Trouts. The guard yelled at them, and they jumped back into the SUV. Then he drove off.

"Not bad time," Paul said, checking his watch. "Ninety seconds." "Maybe it's time we got out of here," Gamay said. "They'll be sending someone to clear away that branch."

The Trouts melted back into the woods. Walking and trotting, they returned to their rental car. Minutes later, they were on the main road.

Gamay shook her head in wonderment. "That guard, did he look like an Eskimo to you?"

"Yeah, kinda, I guess. Never ran into many Eskimos back on old Cape Cod."

"What's an Eskimo doing this far south, selling Eskimo Pies?"

"The only thing that guy and his puppy dogs were selling was a quick trip to the morgue. Let's see what's going on in the big city."