Science Fiction and Adventure Books Page 2

		Harry Cobb: An Inner Solar System Private Investigator. Journey to Mars with Intra-solar system investigator, Harry Cobb. Cobb wants answers when a potential client is murdered in the Martian desert. He is hindered by the powerful Turcotte family and suspects one of their employees. Aided by his investigative team, Cobb believes his old love could be the killer and he travels to her space colony to find the truth.

The Dust of Mars Robert P. Fitton     The Dust of Mars   1           Despite his lack of character Jason Rapp did not deserve a death sentence. I had enjoyed a pleasant shuttle flight from Orbitus to Mars until Rapp's call rattled my zip connection. The wind howled and sand grains pattered against his rover's bubble top, suggesting a severe dust storm. He said someone in a silver terrain suit, brandishing a pinpoint pulser, had hiked through the Martian ridge shadows. Rapp sensed murderous intent. At first I wanted to chide him for not meeting me for breakfast on Orbitus. Just ten hours ago he slipped me important information, coinciding with my trip to Mars, about a cover-up in the Turcotte ore refining operation on the planet. The security chief for the Turcotte operation told me the same thing, but my attention now swung toward Rapp's pleas for help.   As the pinpoint was aimed at the bubble he frantically described the tinted face shield of his potential killer. Twenty-five years at the Space Investigative Bureau alerted me to the shrill crescendo of a pinpoint pulser's thin red beam. I heard the bubble rip as Rapp cried out for mercy. The outward gush of air into the cold, diminished Martian atmosphere was soon replaced by his mournful whimper. He pushed out my name in his last remaining gasps. " Cobb..."   " Rapp, Rapp can you hear me?" I sat up fully in the recliner and gripped my perforated zip. The signal went out. " Rapp!"   The pulverizing sand and wind gusts were louder now. I leaned toward the shuttle's oval portal. Behind the backdrop of stars, Mars cast a rusty glow beyond the shuttle's gray wing. Thousands of kilometers away Rapp lay dead somewhere on the planet's surface.     1

The Dust of Mars Robert P. Fitton       I flipped up the recliner tray as images of Rapp in his dark tuxedo at Orbitus's black jack tables shot through my brain like bursts from the pinpoint. My shoes connected to the floor force and I started down the aisle. The forward hatch looked sealed. One of the attendants, an affable young woman with bouncy blonde hair, stared from the adjacent alcove and flashed her white teeth before she spoke. " Mr. Cobb, if you're looking for the bathroom, it's to the rear of this section."   " I need to speak with the navigator," I said brusquely.   " The navigator?" she asked as if the question had transcended her usual answers about food, drink or rester pillows. " I don't understand."   " Miss, I'm a private investigator, former SIB agent. One of my clients is in trouble on the planet. I need the navigator's assistance."  " Yes, of course."  I removed my license and retired bureau disks and placed them in her smooth palm. " Let the pilot check these." She squinted, seemed confused, but complied with my request. Her long red fingernails tapped out a code on the side panel. The hatch slid open and remained open as she walked down a narrow corridor. Silhouetted cabin figures were positioned in front of glowing console panel lights and the encroaching, brown Martian sphere. I glanced briefly at the hint of upper ice caps as I exhaled. The attendant leaned over a man seated at a darkened alcove containing numerous window monitors. She held out her hand and pointed toward me as she spoke. The man glanced at me and took both disks from her hand. I could see him lean over one of the window screens. Then he nodded and waved me up front. I checked my zip window, now set to standard time at the Livingston Dome. It was 1:44 PM.           2

The Dust of Mars Robert P. Fitton            I squeezed my large frame through the hatch and moved sideways down the connector corridor. The young man stood in his light blue neck liner and dark pants. He extended his hand quickly and I wondered if he approved of my long bureau record. " Mr. Cobb, what can I do for you?"   I studied his black name badge embroidered into his neck liner at the shoulder. " Moss... I need an enhanced scan of the planet's surface. I just received a distress call from a potential informant and think he's been murdered." I handed him my zip.   " Last call coordinates are locked in my zip memory."   Moss nodded once and positioned my zip on his station counter. He immediately hooked in a relay, punched a few buttons on the panel, and a Mercator map of Mars appeared on his window monitor. A green dot flashed in the northern hemisphere, center of the Elysium Planitia. I recognized the area because it was my destination. Moss looked up. " He's eighteen kilometers out from the Livingston Dome. On Turcotte land... Looks like there is an industrial plant five kilometers back and another twelve kilometers ahead. Actual heading is: thirty-five point two north and one hundred and eight west longitude."   " I was afraid of that."   " What do you mean?" asked Moss.   ;" Ongoing investigation, son. Can you bring me an image from the signal's center?"   " That will not be a problem, sir."   " Excellent." As he worked the panels under the huge window monitor, I unclipped my zip and placed a call to Jahn Patenaude in Livingston's security office.   Moss now had a full picture of Mars and adjusted the complete clarity as my zip buzzed. After a brief rustling on the other end, Patenaude's raspy voice came over my zip speaker. " Jahn Patenaude."            3

The Dust of Mars Robert P. Fitton     " Jahn, this is Harry."   " Harry, my boy... Calling to put in your dinner menu at the Excelsior?"   " They know what I like. Jahn, we have a problem the other side of IP-5. Twelve kilometers toward IP-7."   Patenaude cleared his throat and his voice assumed its professional, authoritative tone. " What happened?"   " Guy named Jason Rapp. He has info on problems at IP-5. Somebody just shot a pinpoint at him through his rover bubble."   " Poppycock."   " I'm not kidding, Jahn. You need to get somebody out there."   " Really..."  " The navigator has the area on screen. Bad dust storm."   Moss reduced the screen to a current six hundred square kilometer resolution. The Livingston Dome and smaller surrounding support domes were clear, but across the brown, rock strewn, crater punched desert, a wispy gray dust cloud, measuring several hundred kilometers back, swirled toward IP-5 and support domes. Tracking a potential killer was now impossible.   I heard Patenaude calling troopers on another zip. Then he came back on my zip connection. " Harry, I can visibly see that storm?"   " The rover site is in the thick of it."  " Listen, I'll request Kranz and some troopers head into that storm."   " Kranz?" I grit my teeth. Kranz was an obnoxious, power hungry puppet of Norman Burkhart. As Livingston's security chief Burkhart was bought and paid for by the Turcottes. " Does it have to be Kranz?"   " He's the only one crazy enough to fly out there in a dust storm... Besides you and me."   I thought back to the numerous times Kranz had interfered with my investigations both with the bureau and after I retired. " Whatever. You'd better call Ed Stanton, too. He's the Turcotte security chief. Let him know what's going on."   " I'll call him. Look, you and I will trace the IP-7-Livingston Road."   4

The Dust of Mars Robert P. Fitton     " What, from thirty-thousand feet.?" I asked as Moss scanned the storm edges. Readings showed the dust had advanced another kilometer toward Livingston.   " This is a bad storm," said Moss.   Patenaude cleared his throat. " Harry, I'll meet you at the port. What is your ETA?"   " Four twenty-five," said Moss.   " I heard him," said Patenaude. " I'm also going to try and get a security satellite image. Maybe we can get scans through that storm."   " Brief me, I'm not going anywhere." I shut off the zip and turned to Moss. " Thanks for your help, Captain."   " Anytime, sir. We'll let you know if the storm clears."   After thanking both Moss and the attendant and I retreated down the corridor. I glanced at the packed shuttle, sat in the recliner and folded my arms across my chest. Last night was a night of hope and promise. When I wandered from my hotel room into the Orbitus casinos, I saw Ariana Cervantes' fluffy dark hair and deep eyes. She sipped the contents of a thin glass in the restaurant overlooking the gambling floor. My stomach tingled and I stalled above the gambling hall. No friend or foe could thrill me so quickly and so fully.   I leaned on the brass railing, amidst a plethora of conversation, crashing slot machine levers, black jack callers, and music. She tilted her head back slightly and with a gracious smile, seemed amused by her young dinner companion. Even from across the floor, her skin was luminous, and gold rings, gaping with colorful gems, adorned her fingers. Ten years had passed since we spent four days alone in the Barsoom Dome along the Valles Marineris canyons.   My professional instinct, responsible for rational decisions during my career with the bureau, held me back, but a romantic flair, filled with desire and intense longing, pushed me forward. I descended the stairs onto the smooth green gambling room carpet and stepped between the slot machines. The men and woman strenuously shifted the slot machine levers, but I focused on Ariana's wide cheekbones and stunning brown eyes. I cautioned myself against approaching this woman whom I deemed above me in class and breed.   5

The Dust of Mars Robert P. Fitton     Near the blackjack table a tall, handsome man and maybe ten years younger than me, handed over a wad of blue droits to the caller. Frustration revealed itself in the hardening crevice developing down his sloping forehead. His huge fists were clenched and he shook his head as he turned. " Damn," he said loud enough for me to hear him.   His blue eyes brightened, he pointed and called out my name through the crowd noise, but I didn't know him. I pretended not to hear him and eyed Ariana, now enjoying a colorful sherbet at the upper table. He finally reached me and grabbed my arm as I passed the table. I looked down at his hand as he breathed rapidly. " You're Harry Cobb."   " And who the hell are you?" I asked, my heart still beating fast in anticipation of seeing Ariana again.   His teeth were straight and white. " A man who can help you."   " I don't like riddles, mister," I told him. " Who are you?"   " Jason Rapp." He shook my hand, tightly as if he were holding on for comfort. " Stanton called you to check the Turcotte iron smelting plant."   " Yeah, so what?"   " I know the truth about what really happened in that plant over the last year."   I raised my brows, viewing Ariana out of the corner of my eye. " And what, pray-tell is that?"   Confidence left his face and his teeth chaffed his lips. " I can't do that right now."   " You're wasting my time," I said and started across the floor again.   " Wait, there are financial considerations here." You just lost a full wad of droits." I said and faced him squarely. " Listen, Stanton is concerned product was not properly manufactured, but he can't prove anything because it happened months ago."   Rapp rubbed his mouth. " Look, Cobb. Meet me in the breakfast room here in the hotel. What time are you on?"   " Livingston Standard." I gave him my zip address. His shifting eyes indicated a man under pressure. He told me to meet him at seven a.m. and then bolted back to the gaming tables.   I alternated glances between Ariana and Rapp, and continued across the room. Less than fifty feet above me, Ariana sat in a sleeveless blue velvet dress and her layered dark hair was nestled on her bare shoulders. Again, I wanted to flee to the hotel shops, but instead, trudged up the marble staircase's oriental runner. I slowly rose above the leafy plants atop the retaining wall. Within the aromatic cuisine, the small restaurant's patrons were isolated within a cone of soft classical music, clean air, and sensual red light.   I reached the upper level. Ariana slowly lowered her glass when she saw me. The young man held her wrist as he turned. She set her glass on the table linen and stood. Her friend watched her saunter around the restaurant tables. She was not a tall woman, but had a slim waste and well defined figure, accentuated by the form fitting dress to the knee. Her lips parted and brown eyes filled as she extended her hands. Then she hugged me. " God, I thought I would never see you again, Harry."       6

The Dust of Mars Robert P. Fitton     Her sensual perfume and warm touch brought me back to the chateau inside the Barsoom Dome. I remembered nestling against her smooth white skin as the warm breezes wafted through the chateau. " Why did you leave, Ariana?"   " Some things are better left in the past." Her eyes brightened as she smiled. " But you're here now."   " I saw you from across the floor."   She looped her arm under my arm. " And you fought the urge all the way across the floor."   Maybe..." I was fixed on her alluring, dark eyes. " You look just wonderful..."   She walked me to a brass railing above the gaming tables. " I often think of that time at Barsoom. I don't think I've ever felt so far away. Leaving my whole life somewhere else."   She kept her arm locked. Her touch was warm and charged my body with just an inkling of the thrill I experienced ten years ago. " Let me guess: as usual you are here on business."   " I am."   " I was sorry to hear about the death of your father. He founded an empire in Amalgamated Sureties."   Moisture glazed her eyes and her arm tightened. " Father, died before his time. None of us expected it."   " I was always amazed at how he inspired his people. I heard the pep talks. He was the main speaker the night we met."   " People, when properly following instructions, are the heart and soul of any operation." She turned like a window scanner slowly panning, released her arm, but held my hands. " I want to go out. Find a quiet place away from the fray and talk about old times."   " What about your dinner date?"   " You're my dinner date. What do you say?"   I kicked myself for having doubts when I earlier crossed the gambling floor. Her presence before me seemed like a dream. " Sure."           7

The Dust of Mars Robert P. Fitton   2     I opened my eyes when my zip sounded. The fuzzy window image revealed I had slept on the shuttle for nearly two hours. I sat up in the recliner, tightened my brow and lifted the zip to my ear. " Cobb, " I said in a low voice.   " Is that you, Harry?"   " Desmond?" I expected somebody had apprised the eldest Turcotte about the trouble in the desert between his two industrial plants.   " Harry, I have to tell you I am not a happy man at this moment."   I was fully awake now. " I'm sorry to hear that."   " While I support Ed Stanton asking for help, I am outraged that you chose not to notify me you were involved in the investigation at IP-5!"   " Oh?"   " No mind."   " Ed only told me someone is responsible for what he called in mess up in production. I-"   " Well, Ed should mind his own business," stated Desmond.   " He's your head of security."   " I offered you that position," said Desmond. " I want to know exactly what you have found out in your investigation."   " Absolutely nothing. Ed called me and I moved up my trip from next week to this week. I'm a consultant with my own clients."   " I don't want to hear a list of your accolades, Harry old boy." I was a little upset Desmond referred to me as old. " You tell me right now what you know."   " The dead man, Rapp, had information for me, but dead men make lousy informants."   " He's dead on my property. Security forces are all over the place!"   " Who is the plant engineer at IP-5?" I asked.   " Joe Lockheed. Don't be sticking your nose into places you shouldn't."   " What are you worried about?" I asked and awaited more cackle. " Burkhart does you bidding."   " There's a storm going on here. When it clears I'll have my men bring me out."   " Then you don't think Rapp's death has anything to do with what he knew about IP-5?" I asked.   " What did he tell you? If you're holding back..."   " I know as much as you do... But I plan to find out a whole lot more."   After a pause the frequency disconnected. I created a memo to Sadie on my zip. I wanted Renie, Max, and Jody aware of Rapp's murder and I needed a background check on him. I stood and stretched in the aisle. Fatigue now followed me like a weight strapped to my back. When I was younger I could easily survive on an hour's sleep. I headed to the forward cabin and spotted the attendant checking packages in the stow compartments. " Mr. Cobb, I was going to wake you. Captain Moss has additional images from the surface."   " Bless you. I guess I needed my beauty sleep."   " I think anyone approaching forty needs more sleep."   I smiled and squeezed her wrist. " Bless you. Approaching forty. Thank you."     8

The Dust of Mars Robert P. Fitton       She smiled, raised her brows and opened the hatch. I was in the corridor before the door slid all the way back. I didn't see Moss at his console, but he soon appeared up front. He briefly introduced me to the pilot and the rest of the crew. Then he sat me in front of his window screen. The pictures from the surface, although recorded, were more detailed than a few hours ago. Utilizing reconnaissance satellites, Moss had captured a blurred depiction of a careened rover near a crater ravine.   " Scans indicate the bubble was pierced."   " That would coincide with what Rapp told me."   Later frames showed the arrival of tracers in the sky and crews had constructed a small, white containment dome around the rover.   " By the way," said Moss. " Inspector Patenaude from the Livingston Dome has contacted us three times. I told him you were sleeping."   " Bad habit, sleeping," I said and Moss smiled perfunctorily.   " Is he still at Livingston?"   " He is. I believe at the port," said Moss as a frequency address ap-peared in the lower corner of the screen. " You can use this station if you wish."   " Thanks."   Moss accessed the address and handed me the station zip. I stared at the rover and the rounded dome base on the window as the frequency connected. " Jahn Patenaude."   " Jahn, it's Harry."   " Ah, the old man awakes from his afternoon nap."   " What is this with the old remarks?" Anyone else would have upset me with the quip. " You're as old as I am, gramps."   " Touché." " Fifty-two years does not qualify either of us for the dust bin." I thought back to last night when I walked Ariana into a quiet cafe away from the gambling floor. " What do you have on the Rapp thing, Jahn?"   " Kranz confirms what you said about the pinpoint pulser. Directly through the rover bubble. Rapp was not wearing a terrain suit or any protection. Wouldn't have done him a damn bit of good. He bled to death inside that rover. Everything was frozen."   " What about the area around the rover?" I asked and continued to look at the screen image from half an hour ago.   " With that wind? Are you kidding? Everything is wiped clean. We got the satellite images and relayed them to Moss up there. There was a gap of fifty-three minutes to get through channels. More than enough time for anybody to leave the murder scene."     9

The Dust of Mars Robert P. Fitton          " That's not good. The killer had fifty-three minutes to escape."   " Over an hour until we had scans of the connector roads," said Patenaude. I had roads blocked to Livingston, but with that storm, anyone with a decent rover could have looped around and then continued. I have a report pending on all rented rovers and rovers leaving the Livingston exit gates over the past twenty-four hours."   " Unless the killer didn't come from Livingston." I nodded and sat down again. " Jahn, Desmond called me on the zip. He is not too happy."   " Tell me about it. He is demanding my office inform him about what we know about the IP-5 problem. I don't know what the hell he's talking about."   I cleared my throat. " Apparently, this IP-5 thing is bigger than Ed or any of us thought. Listen, Jahn, my zip has a playback of the attack."   " And?"   " I'm concerned about the pinpoint pulse frequency. I'll memo the playback to you and the bureau can trace the manufacturer."   " That was my next request, sir. Now get your rump down here and we'll take a little trip into the desert."   " Will do. Cobb out." I looked at the rover scan and then into Moss's blue eyes. " Captain, again, thank you for your help here."   " Any time, Commander," said Moss with a quirky grin.   " Ah, you checked my bureau record."   " Yes, sir. Standard procedure-"   " No need to explain, Captain," I said as I stood and patted him on the back. " I'll be back in my recliner if anything else comes in."   " Understood," he said as I turned, " Sir."   " I'm retired," I said halfway down the corridor. I admired Moss's thoroughness and ability to follow regulations. I grinned at the attendant and returned to my recliner.   I plugged the zip into the recliner window and immediately accessed the plea from Rapp, captured only two hours ago. After memoing Patenaude I pushed the playback. Rapp made no mention of any suspicions about his assailant nor did he provide any description other than someone in a t-suit, wielding a pinpoint. His wails and the ensuing high-pitched pinpoint prompted me to close the zip.   I thought about checking his background myself, but shut down the zip window. Sadie was a proficient coordinator and would provide me with a complete check. I was not bothered by the stress of the case or the Turcotte pressure, but I was plagued with thoughts of Ariana and the time we spent last night on Orbitus. Her business trip would end in the Whittemore Dome on Mars. As we talked last night at the Orbitus cafe's corner table, my tension had eased and I wondered why I had ever let her go. I sensed she had similar feelings when she suggested we meet at the Excelsior Hotel's restaurant in Livingston tomorrow night.   12    Home Page Unimited Annual Access to all Fitton e-books and PODCAST Episodes $ 6.99 © 2000 - 2007 Fitton Books. All rights reserved.

Science Fiction and Adventure Books Page 2

		He's 500 Years old and can create reality of his choice. Five hundred years ago, in present day Colorado, Ricardo and Martin stumble upon an alien mountain outpost called Cibola. The Aabaec change realities for Ricardo at will. In the present day, Ricardo rips Peter Sturgis from Jeannie and his children, and places him in an alternate reality, where Jeannie is a Hollywood star, Jean Carisle, married to Ricardo. Peter wins the Jeannie of this alternate reality and faces his ultimate showdown with Ricardo when Ricardo orders Jeannie's death.

Alternatives Robert P. Fitton     Alternatives Prologue   It was not the first time he had murdered or the last. Ricardo pushed back his slick wet hair and raced up the villa steps, stirring the dead leaves in his wake. If he did not act fast the police would know he killed the French woman back at the pool. He had no remorse about slashing her throat, but he did not want to risk hanging around this reality. It was time to return to Cibola and have the Aabaec create a new existence.   He yelled into the cellular as he ran onto the verandah. " Martin! Martin!" If necessary, he would leave Martin behind. The little scrounger, having left earlier with some tramp, was now joy riding in his car and spending his money. After five hundred years together Martin still did not fully appreciate his benevolence. If not for his mercy at Cibola at the beginning, Martin would have died at the mountain pass. The cellular connected into a scratchy transmission. Martin's voice wavered.   " Yeah..."   " Martin, where the hell are you?"   " Coming past the front gate, old friend."   The woman with Martin laughed. Ricardo peered beyond the terrace, the rippling palms, and long linear gardens as Martin propelled the tiny yellow sports car through the gate.   " Get up here now!" Ricardo pressed the phone pressed against his ear and watched the car move up the hill.   " What's the problem?" asked Martin.   " Just get your butt up here! We're going to Cibola."   By plane and later in the helicopter, Cibola was only eighteen hours away, and they needed to board the jet before the police arrived at the villa. Martin accelerated up the drive and the car skidded to stop. His thin friend leaped from the open car as Ricardo ran down the verandah steps. He yanked the blonde from the seat and threw her across the gravel. Martin looked panicky.   " Get back in the car!" 1

Alternatives Robert P. Fitton       Ricardo climbed into the sports car as Martin slid back inside, grabbed the wood wheel and spun around a wide semicircle, kicking up the stones. The dust swirled into the breezy air and Ricardo ordered him to the Marseilles airport. The French woman's naked body floated face down in the pool water as they passed.   Martin stared at the pool and sped through the front gate. " The woman is dead!"   " Shut up, Martin!"   " Are you crazy? The longer this goes on, the more chances you take!"   " She pushed me," said Ricardo, his resolve strengthening. He stared at the blue ocean along the coast, still upset Claudette would have tried blackmail. " No one challenges me."      * * *     Ricardo gazed out the jet's window as they banked over the French coast. The twilight cast an exotic glow over the breakers and beach sands far below. He gripped his pen and looked at his paperwork on the table. In his new reality, he would become a powerful force in the defense establishment. Power resided with armaments. Two hundred years ago, during the Revolution he had made a fortune supplying arms to the Americans. Today, technologies and expenditures bore no semblance to the cannon and musket of those days.   Martin, arms folded across his chest and eyes clamped shut, slept in a seat to the left. His unshaven face and disheveled black hair gave him a crude appearance. He had voiced his unhappiness about leaving this reality, but he would have to accept the change. Only sheer luck had allowed them to outrun the police.  Again, Ricardo studied his notes. By constructing a reality geared toward prodigious defense expenditures, he would possess a private empire, selling to the government as he accumulated great wealth and power. He wanted no more boredom. Now, they might work instead of totally subsisting within the playboy atmosphere of the last fourteen months.   He checked his personal computer. A number of companies fit his profile. But these corporations were only models. He had about sixteen hours left before they landed in Denver and continued over the mountains to Cibola. The Aabaec consciousness, the remnant outpost of a long since vanished galactic civilization, would construct his corporation and his world.  2

Alternatives Robert P. Fitton   1     Peter Sturgis climbed the platform steps as everyone in town cheered and the school band produced a strained rendition of Stars and Stripes Forever. Jeannie and the kids jumped up and down, applauding from the first row as he approached the mayor. She smiled and pointed behind him to a huge red, white, and blue banner attached to the brick school wall.     PETER STURGIS   CITIZEN OF THE YEAR   Congratulations, Peter." The mayor shook his hand and the crowd yelled louder as she motioned toward him. " You aren't thinking of challenging me, are you, Peter?"   " I'm one of your biggest supporters, Susan."   " Good. I think you'd trounce me if they held a vote today." She moved up to the microphone, tapped it a few times and raised her arms into the air to quell the crowd. " Ladies and Gentlemen. The man beside me you know as your Little League baseball coach, fundraiser for Boy Scout troop 35, active in soccer and basketball here in town, a member of the church council... He has worked at Riccom Corporation for the past thirteen years, first as an accountant, and now in the controller's department. He is a great father to his four children and married fifteen years to his wife Jeannie... I am describing, Ladies and Gentlemen, Peter Sturgis, Westerly's Citizen of the Year!"   Peter nodded, somewhat embarrassed as he stepped up to the mike. He looked over his friends and his family and toward the Riccom plant below the shadowing mountain range. Through the jubilation, his mind drifted back to what he had found at Riccom last night. Melvin had helped him audit the computers after they spotted the irregularities on a report two weeks ago. The crowd simmered.   " Thank you. Listen, I want to thank my manager." He pointed to Jeannie, her mass of brown hair furrowing in the wind and she produced a wide smile. Then he waved her up on the platform with all the kids. His son David, wearing his baseball uniform, picked up Petey, his youngest son, as Jeannie led them up the stairs. She kissed him and put her arm around him. " Don't give him the mike."   " Are you saying I'm long winded?"   " Yes!" called big Fred Watson from the Chamber of Commerce. He stood with his petite wife and when he laughed his jowls shook from his cheekbones to his shirt collar.    3

Alternatives Robert P. Fitton     2   Peter arrived at the cinder block lodge hall before two-thirty, parked his minivan and entered the darkened hall through the front. A baseball game blasted from the wall set ahead as he looked around. There were a few guys sitting at the tables, but no sign of Melvin. He moved over to one of the groups. All of his friends stood and then pretended to bow.   " All right. All right, knock it off you guys."   Eddie Fitzpatrick, owner of Eddie's All Night Gas Station, raised his beer mug into the air. " It's Citizen Sturgis!"   " Listen, has anybody seen Melvin?"   " Follow the cigarette trail," said Brian Simmons, Peter's friend from the bank. Simmons looked as if he was still dressed for work.   " I've told Melvin to cut down. He just keeps smoking," said Peter as he walked up to the bar.   " Hey, Peter," said Ritchie behind the bar.   Peter stared at the comb marks frozen into his greasy black hair. " Ritchie, you seen Melvin? He was supposed to meet me here at two-thirty."   " Old Melvin usually spends Sunday with his wife's sister. I like Melvin. Good guy. Wife's a lunatic."   " Mildred can get a little emotional at times."   " I don't know how many times Melvin has been in here after taking a poun- ding. "   " Yup." Peter turned as the front door opened, momentarily letting in the sunlight. The silver haired Melvin, belly bulging into his white shirt, walked inside.  Ritchie put his hands on his hips. " Speak of the devil. If it isn't Melvin Pervis."   " Pervis worked for the FBI," said Melvin. He adjusted his black rim glasses and kept a stern face.   Peter smiled, but sensed Melvin's fear and fatigue. Melvin sat on the next stool, said nothing and lit a cigarette. He shook the match before he threw it in the ashtray.   Ritchie pulled the tap and filled two chilled mugs.   " Thanks, Ritchie." Melvin exhaled, took the beer and looked at Peter. He wiggled his frame off the stool. " We need to talk, come on."   " Was it something I said?" asked Ritchie, grinning.   " Call me Pervis again and I'll kick your butt, Ritchie." Ritchie smiled and nodded. Peter followed Melvin's smoke to one of the back booths. Melvin set his beer on the laminated table and squeezed into the tight fitting booth.   " Ah... Mildred keeps telling me I have to shed twenty pounds."   " Melvin, what is this about the IRS?"   " Have I got you sufficiently upset?"   " Yeah, you've got me sufficiently upset. Is this guy Berringer really coming over here?"   " Good question, good question. I don't think I can fully address that question."   " Why have you dragged me down here on a Sunday afternoon? We were going to bring the kids to my brother Mike's house. Jeannie is all ready there."   " Berringer is on his way over here." Melvin took a huge hit from the cigarette and spoke as he exhaled. " They want to get Ricardo."   " Oh, man... Let's just drop it." He pushed his fingers back through his hair. " I don't want trouble. "   " I don't think you fully understand the magnitude of this thing at Riccom."   Peter took a gulp from the beer, still swallowing as he spoke. " I know what we found was serious... Did you call Berringer?" Melvin said nothing, looked away and grabbed his beer. " Then you did call him. Melvin, if Ricardo ever found out what you did, he'd have both our asses on a silver platter! I have kids to support."   4

Alternatives Robert P. Fitton      " Peter, those kickbacks are illegal... Listen, I think Ricardo's people might know about our work on the computers."   Peter closed his eyes. Everything was going so smoothly at both work and home; and now this. He had worked at the company a total of thirteen years, his first real job since college, and had started at the order entry position. Nights and weekends had pushed him up the ladder. More responsibility and more money. He was secure in his work and his life.   " Okay, they trace the money back to us. What can Ricardo do?"   " He's a powerful man. We need the IRS. Who knows what he could do to us?"   Peter leaned back and then banged his fist on the table. He closed his eyes as he thought. " You're telling me you alerted this Berringer? What did you tell him?"   " Everything we know, the fudged records, the government payoffs."   Peter turned back toward the door as Melvin lit another cigarette. He grew increasingly nervous and feared being questioned by the IRS. For the next fifteen minutes he waited silently, not even watching the game, as Melvin kept smoking.   Near three p.m., a dark haired man of medium height and build, dressed in a plaid jersey and jeans, moved into the hall. Melvin held up his hand. The man nodded, but did not change his neutral expression.   " Melvin, sorry I'm late. I was caught up in a conference call outside." He turned to Peter and stretched out his hand. " Mister Sturgis, I'm Phil Berringer, Internal Revenue Service."   " Seems as though you all ready know who I am," said Peter. " Must be in one of those files you guys keep."   " Nope, just a deduction," said Berringer. " No pun intended." Melvin laughed, but soon coughed. Even Peter could resist chuckling. At least the guy had a sense of humor.   " I thought all you guys wore white shirts and black ties."   " You mean like Melvin?"   " Yeah, like Melvin." Peter motioned for Ritchie to bring a beer to Berringer.   During the next half hour, Berringer maintained a direct dialogue. Because Peter and Melvin worked in the controller's office and had access to the financial records, he wanted them to provide his office with incriminating information. Once they had reviewed the raw data, an official investigation could go forward.   " There is another consideration. You guys know Ricardo is coming into town this week. He has scheduled a dinner party for employees. We hope he is not in town to find out if anyone suspects his activities. Hopefully, this is just a PR thing."   " Melvin thinks he knows."   " Maybe he does."   Melvin ground a cigarette into the metal ashtray and leaned toward Berringer.   " Ricardo never visits the plant. I'm very leery of this trip."   " Melvin, you're leery of everything," said Peter.   " Peter, I need to plant a recording device on you and on Melvin. I need you to engage Ricardo in conversation about-"   " What? I don't even know Ricardo." Peter had a burning sensation in his stomach. " What do I do, just walk up to him and say: Hey, Ricardo, speak into the mike. I need you to tell me, in detail of course, how you defrauded the United States government."   Berringer, genuinely laughing, took another a sip of beer. " I don't think he will know or even remotely suspect that one of his employees will be recording him. We can take care of the legal ramifications."   " Wait a minute, Mr. Berringer. Please. You just get through telling me how savvy this guy is. How suspicious he is. How he might be on to us. And now you want me to go in there, wired, and record him. Come on. If he ever finds out-"   " He won't," replied Berringer. " There is another consideration."   " Here it comes. Melvin. He's going to start telling us about out patriotic duty." Peter rolled his eyes and fidgeted with his feet. He thought of Jeannie and the kids. There was no way he would put them in jeopardy.   5

Alternatives Robert P. Fitton     " We can't have people like Ricardo milking the taxpayers' money. Think about it. Your money and mine being loaded on a conveyer, leading right to Ricardo. That is intoler-able to me. I want to nail him now. He's an arrogant self-promoter who deserves to be behind bars. I need your help."   Peter stroked his chin and then shook his head." I don't know. I just don't know if I can take the chance,"   Berringer paused for a moment as if he were collect-ing his thoughts. He looked down, holding the beer glass and then leaned toward Peter. " Okay, I won't push you. Ricardo will be in town for the dinner party on Thursday night. Is that right, Melvin?"   " Thursday at The Plaza. Eight o'clock."   " So, you have some time to think about it. You won't be broadcasting, Peter. You will be recording. The device is so minuscule that no one will see it. Even your wife."   " I don't know. My wife is pretty sharp," he said with a smile. " Listen, I'll think about it. That's all I can tell you."   " Okay." Berringer took out his wallet, pulled out a red lettered card, and handed it to Peter.   " I appreciate your meeting with me this afternoon." He slid across the bench and stood next to the table. " I'll be speaking with you."   Berringer reached into his wallet again, walked up to Ritchie and put a twenty on the Formica counter. Then he turned and Peter listened to the sound of his boots hitting the floor tiles. This was all so risky. When the door closed on the incoming sunshine, he turned to Mel-vin. 	" All right, Melvin. Let's hear it. You have to do it, Peter. You can't leave me alone. You're the only guy who can do it, Peter."   " All of the above is correct."   " I have to think about this. This is not an easy decision."   Peter felt as if he were on edge of the abyss. Why did this have to happen? Yesterday, Citizen of the Year; today secret agent. He kept thinking about Jeannie and the kids, and wondered how he could ever put them at risk.   " I think you're worrying about this too much, Peter. There is no way that Ricardo will know we are recording him. No way."   He pointed at Melvin and spoke in a lower voice. " I hear you, Melvin, but there's this little voice getting louder inside my head. And that voice is telling me to mind my own business and let them take care of it. I have to think about it. Weigh everything and then... then decide." 8

Alternatives Robert P. Fitton          3     Ricardo emerged from the bedroom and put on his shirt as he slammed the door. Martin, at the suite's main table, looked up from the laptop when he heard the door close. Ricardo shook his head as he buttoned the shirt. " Martin, we should have brought women with us."   " What's the matter now?"   " What's the matter? That woman back in the bedroom is a kid. I want a woman in there who knows what the hell she's doing. These local girls can go. Is that clear?"   Martin still refused to stand. " I thought we were leaving in the morning."   " We are. I want somebody down here who knows what they're doing." He buttoned the top button of his ruffled shirt and removed the tie from the hanger.   " Is this my regular tux?"   " Yes, it is... Everything is becoming a problem. It's your tux and from your line. And I'll make arrangements to have women brought in here."   " Good." Ricardo finished tying the knot as Martin closed the laptop, slid it forward on the table and quickly crossed the room. " That's why I like you, Martin. You always know how to go with the flow."   Martin carefully removed the velvet black tuxedo jacket from the hanger and Ricardo stepped into it. He walked over to the mirror, studied him-self and placed a fresh red rose, from the bouquet the bellhop had delivered, into his lapel. Martin watched as he gave himself a half smile and nodded.   " Ricardo, before we go downstairs..."   " What is it, Martin? I don't want to discuss business right now."   Martin dropped the hanger on the bed. " Well, you'd better start thinking about business. Or head back for Cibola and out of this reality."   " Not this threat of investigation again."   " Yes."   " I have people working on it. It will never come to full scale hearings nor will it enter the court system. The lawyers have assured me they can keep it out of the courts for at least a year. By then we will be back at Cibola. You worry too much, my old friend." He pinched Martin's cheeks.   " All I'm saying, if you've become too cocky. If you let this thing gain momentum, then you won't be going back to Cibola. They'll have you locked up somewhere. And God help you if you think you can buy your way out of that one."   " It isn't at the level you think. I'm not worried." He placed his hand on Martin's shoulder. " If I thought there was even a one in ten chance of jeopardizing Cibola, I would bail out in a second."   " We may be virtually immortal now, aging minutes while decades go by, but I think you're getting as bored as you were in France."   " Running Riccom, do I look bored?" He laughed and glanced back to the mirror one more time.   " No, but you're taking things too lackadaisically. Almost as if you wanted to chance it all."   " I appreciate your concern, my friend. It's noted. Now let's get downstairs. The beloved employees of Riccom, Westerly, are awaiting their leader."   9

Alternatives Robert P. Fitton     Martin rolled his eyes once Ricardo turned. " I have to make a few phone calls,"   " What?"   " The women. You wanted the women..."   Ricardo marched toward the suite door. " I'll be down there, Martin." He entered the forward section of the three-room suite and left.   Martin sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the phone, but hesitated before placing the call to New York City. All these years he did not mind being second to Ricardo. Even back in Spain before they sailed with Coronado, he had worked as a merchant for Ricardo's business concerns. But lately, doing his bidding became increasingly stressful. Ricardo would bark out more orders, sometimes belligerently, forgetting their past friendship, and treating him more as if he were a servant. Often, Martin had thought about returning to Cibola alone. But the Aabaec viewed Ricardo as the first one at Cibola, some kind of leader or first come, first serve. He would never enjoy freedom unless he entered Cibola alone.     10

Alternatives Robert P. Fitton    4     He backed the van down the driveway and gazed at the two story, Tudor style house he and Jeannie had built eight months ago. Rusty came running around the garage and Peter stopped the van. He opened the door, Rusty put his two front paws on the seat and slobbered over Peter. Peter laughed and patted his head. " Did anybody feed this guy?"   " David fed him... Good dog, Rusty..."   " Okay, time to go. Go lay down."   Peter laughed when Rusty turned, ran to the front steps and sat down. " He actually did it, Jeannie. He sat down."   " Will miracles never cease?"  Peter, still smiling, finally drove the van out the driveway, glancing at Rusty on the front steps, but very much aware of the microcas-sette beneath his suit coat. The gas gauge light sounded as he pulled out of the cul-de-sac. Jeannie shook her head and grinned. All day long she had told him to get gas.   Peter headed to the center of town. Eddie Fitzpatrick, wearing his yellow gas station shirt, came out to the pumps while Peter filled the van. He and Nicky Pedrulous from the silver diner next door started razzing Peter about being Citizen of the Year.   Peter smiled as he left. " They're good people, Jeannie." He looked down the long stretch of buildings, paralleling the mountains. " This is a good town."   " You're a lucky guy, Sturgis. You've got a good family... Great dog. The town's behind you... Job is great."   If she only knew what he and Melvin were about to do. He held her hand.   " I have plans for you later."   " Oh, you do, do you?"   Near the interstate and below the mountains, the Riccom plant glowed white in late afternoon sun. On the far side of the highway, The Plaza, seven stories high, rose over the town. They had allowed some time to visit the hotel shops and relax before the Riccom party. * * * Peter held Jeannie's hand as they walked along the exclusive, high priced store fronts below The Plaza. She brushed a few of Rusty's dog hairs from his suit and adjusted his tie. This was the first time in months they were out alone, but Peter kept thinking about Ricardo's bribes and kickbacks. He checked the activation switch under his cuff. Just two hours before, Berringer had replaced a suit coat button with a microphone and a tiny microcass-ette recorder inside the lining pocket. The IRS agent assured Peter, Ricardo would never find the device. 11

Alternatives Robert P. Fitton