I vented some of this to Walker, who just nodded and said, Angels! in a rather grim tone of voice. I didn’t press him. I didn’t think I wanted to know.
We finally stopped beneath a large sign from the Roswell Chamber of Commerce bearing the invitation HEY, SPACE PEOPLE! COME ON DOWN AND BE FRIENDLY! YOU’RE SURE OF A WELCOME HERE! Stephen Spielberg’s got a lot to answer for. Never met an alien yet that was prepared to share the secrets of the universe with us. Mostly they just see our world as prime real estate, once they’ve got rid of the inconvenient species currently inhabiting it. And don’t even get me started on the ones who come here on sex trade cruises.
A television crew was doing a vox populi, stopping passersby and asking them fatuous questions for the local news channel. The interviewer’s hair had been teased and sprayed to within an inch of its life, and her teeth were blindingly bright. It was the usual fluff, with lots of bad puns and jokes about illegal aliens. I did consider asking them if they’d seen or heard anything unusual, but none of them looked like they’d know a real news story if they fell over it.
The three of us gave the camera crew a wide berth and wandered on through the town. People had finally started to notice us but in a weird kind of way. They’d glance at us, and then look away, and then stare openly when they thought we weren’t looking, as though they thought they recognised us but couldn’t quite place us. They didn’t seem at all startled or disturbed . . . just intrigued. Honey started to get a bit irritated.
“I am a CIA agent!” she said huffily in a voice that was perhaps just a little too loud and carrying. “I am not supposed to be noticed!”
“Maybe they think you’re a supermodel,” Walker said generously.
“It’s the Elven Lands,” I explained. “Some of their glamour rubbed off on us. Don’t worry; it won’t last long.”
“I’ve always wanted to be glamorous,” said Walker just a bit wistfully.
“I don’t like being so . . . visible,” muttered Honey.
“Relax,” I said. “They’re not seeing us, just the glamour. Probably think we’re film stars, or local celebrities, or someone they’ve seen on a reality show. If anyone comes up and asks for an autograph, just glare haughtily at them and brush them aside, and they’ll go away quite happy.”
“Why did you steal Peter’s phone?” Walker said abruptly.
I’d been considering that myself. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “It was an impulse, done as soon as thought. I can’t help wondering if some outside influence nudged my thoughts for good or mischief. Can’t say I regret it, though. I don’t trust Peter. Too quiet, too watchful . . . always hanging back and doing his best never to get directly involved. And he does seem to know rather more about our weird world than someone of his supposed background should know.”
“You think he’s a ringer,” said Honey. “Planted on us to report back to his grandfather. The spy within.”
“Let’s just say . . . I wasn’t comfortable with Peter having the only hard evidence of all we’ve discovered,” I said.
“And now he’s gone,” said Walker, looking at me thoughtfully. “I always knew you Droods could be ruthless on occasion.”
“Have you checked the phone’s camera files?” said Honey. “Just to make sure it really does hold the proof Peter said it did?”
“Not yet,” I said. “And I have to wonder . . . whether he’d gathered any evidence of our trip to the Sundered Lands. I’m not even sure our technology would work in a place like that.”
“The boat worked,” said Honey.
“True.” I looked at Honey, and then at Walker. “Did either of you see Peter use his camera in the Fae Court?”
“Can’t say I did,” said Honey. “But we were all somewhat preoccupied at the time.”
“So we might not have any evidence of the elves’ involvement with the USS Eldridge?” said Walker.
I weighed the phone in my hand. “Not necessarily. And . . . I’m reluctant to try and access any files on this without checking it over thoroughly first. Peter was the Independent Agent’s grandson. No knowing what kind of protections and booby traps he built in to protect his data.”
“We could always go back to the Elven Lands and ask them to pose for photos,” said Honey.
“Let’s not,” said Walker. “I’m more concerned about what Alexander King might say if we don’t have any hard evidence to back up our stories.”
“What’s this we stuff, paleface?” said Honey. “There can be only one, remember? The CIA didn’t send me on this mission to share the spoils with anyone else.”
“We started out with six, and now we are three,” I said. “Wouldn’t take a lot now to whittle us down to one. Treachery and backstabbing have always been a recognised part of the spy’s trade.”
“Sometimes literally,” said Honey. “Where were you, Eddie, when Katt and Blue died? Or when my submersible was sabotaged and I nearly died?”
“I saved your life,” I said.
“Good misdirection,” said Honey. “How better to make me trust you?”
“We could still be four,” said Walker. “Peter might still turn up.”
“Perhaps,” said Honey. She looked at me for a long moment. “Keep a close watch on that phone, Eddie. I’d hate for it to go . . . missing.”
“Right,” said Walker. “A tourist trap like this is bound to be lousy with pickpockets.”
Honey sniffed loudly. “If I find someone else’s hand in my pockets, I’ll tie their fingers in a knot.”
I smiled, perhaps a little complacently. “No one steals from a Drood and lives to boast of it.”
“The Blue Fairy stole a torc from you,” said Walker. “Is that why you killed him?”
I turned to face him, slowly and deliberately, but to his credit, he didn’t flinch.
“Is that an accusation?”
“Not yet,” said Walker.
“You’re sure someone killed them?” said Honey. “No way it could have been just . . . chance?”
“I don’t believe in chance,” said Walker. “Not where professionals like us are concerned. And especially considering someone tried to kill me back in Tunguska.”
“So you say,” I said.
“Well, quite,” said Walker.
“We have business to attend to,” Honey said firmly. “Starting with working out just what that business is. Everything else can wait.”
“Yes,” I said. “It can wait.”
“For now,” said Walker.
“Men . . .” said Honey. “Why don’t you just get them out and wave them at each other?”
We walked on through the town, taking in the sights, hoping for a glimpse of something significant. The sun blazed fiercely in a clear blue sky, not a hint of a cloud in sight, and not a whisper of a breeze to take the edge off the increasingly uncomfortable hot dry air. And still, tourists everywhere: large, red-faced, happy souls in colourful outfits with not a care in the world . . . or any sense of danger, apparently.
“I may be wrong about this,” Walker said quietly, “but I rather think we’re being followed.”
We stopped, looked into a shop window full of cute little stuffed aliens, and then casually turned and looked about us, as though wondering where to go next. I let my gaze drift easily back and forth, but with so many people milling about it was hard to spot anything unusual.
“I don’t see anyone,” I said finally. “And I really am pretty good at identifying tails.”
“I run the Nightside,” said Walker. “You don’t last long in the Nightside without developing especially good survival instincts. There’s someone out there, and they’ve been following us for at least five, maybe ten minutes.”