Free Area 51 by Robert Doherty

to--"
    "I said he's not here-." the woman snapped. Just as quickly the voice on the other end started sobbing. "Mike's dead. He was killed in a car wreck last night."
    Kelly's hand tightened on the phone. "Where did the wreck occur?"
    "On Route 375, about fifteen miles outside of town."
    "Was he alone?"
    "What?"
    "Was he alone in the car?"
    "Yes. The state police say he must have run off the road, maybe trying to avoid hitting a deer. They acted like he must have been drunk. But Mike never drank that much.
    He didn't like it. And someone went through all his stuff here at the house.
    When I got here this morning I could tell, even though they tried to put it all back in place. I'm scared they're going to come back here."
    "Who are they?" Kelly asked. The woman gave a high-pitched laugh. "Them. You know."
    "No, I don't," Kelly said. "Who are you talking about?"
    "Forget it," the woman said. "Mike shouldn't have been doing whatever he was doing. I told him."
    "What's your name?" Kelly asked.
    "I'm not talking to no one. I'm getting out of here. I don't know what Mike was doing and I don't want to know no more." The phone went dead and Kelly slowly lowered the receiver.
    "Oh, Johnny, Johnny," she said softly. "You hit the nail on the head, I think, but it looks like the nail was harder than you thought."
    Kelly stood and looked at the dry-erase board where she kept all her appointments and job assignments for the next several weeks. There was nothing that couldn't be put off for a while with a few phone calls.
    After making her work calls she dialed a travel agency and booked a flight out of Nashville into Las Vegas, departing at noon. Then she called information and got the number for a Steve Jarvis in Las Vegas. A male voice answered. "Hello?"
    "Is this Steve Jarvis?"
    "Who's calling?"

    "This is Kelly Reynolds. I'm a freelance writer doing an article for—
    Jarvis cut in. "My fee for a print interview is five hundred dollars. That gets you one hour."
    "Mr. Jarvis, I'm just trying to find--"
    "Five hundred dollars, one hour. Cash or a money order. No checks. No free questions."
    Kelly paused and gathered in her emotions. "Can I see you this evening?"
    "The elephant bar at the Zanzibar. Be there at seven on the dot."
    "How will I recognize you?" Kelly asked.
    "I'll recognize you," Jarvis replied. "Wear red. Something sexy. Order a slow, comfortable screw from the bartender."
    Kelly clenched her teeth. "Listen, I'm a professional and I'm coming out to Las Vegas to do a legitimate job. I don't need--
    "Obviously," Jarvis cut in again, "you don't need to interview me, then. It was nice talking to you, Miss Reynolds."
    Kelly waited. He didn't hang up; she didn't either. Electronic Mexican standoff.
    Finally Jarvis spoke. "Do you have the money? Five hundred? Cash?"
    "Yes."
    "All right. Just ask the bartender for me. He'll point you in the right direction. I'll be there at seven."
    As Kelly hung up the phone, a flicker of doubt crossed her mind. Was she overreacting to the situation?
    She reached down and pulled the Nellis file out of her desk and stared at it for a few minutes while she thought.
    Once before she'd been down this path. But this time was different. She wasn't just after a story. There was Johnny, out there somewhere, hopefully still alive.
    But that didn't mean she had to walk in blind. She looked up the article on Jarvis again and checked something. Then she picked up the phone and made another call.

    CAIRO, EGYPT
    T-134 HOURS, 4O MINUTES

    Peter Nabinger was also trying to answer questions, but he didn't understand the information that was appearing on the computer screen in front of him. He was in the research section of the University of Cairo, using their database to check on Kaji's story. He was glad he had access to such a sophisticated system as the university's computer, because much of what he was looking for had been reported only in academic and scientific journals or out-of-print books, and the computer