Free Blinding Fear by Bruce Roland

what all this means,” Adelmo said, waving his hand at the iPhone. “And I still don’t know who you really are!”
    “Maybe this will help,” Paul said as he reached into his pocket again. He pulled out a quarter-inch thick stack of hundred dollar bills, handing it to Adelmo.
    The man knew that simply by holding it Adelmo was tacitly, and more importantly, psychologically accepting the proposition. “That’s a good-faith down payment—three thousand dollars. You get the other two once you complete training. If I wasn’t serious and honest about my offer would I carry that kind of money around with me?”
    Adelmo said nothing in response, He simply held the money in both hands, caressing it, somewhat awestruck, never having held or seen this much in cash before. When he came north from Guatemala he’d had slightly more than a thousand, all of which he’d saved over years of night-and-day, grinding labor. He carefully looked over the fresh new bills trying to make certain as best he could that they were real. He pulled one out and held it up to the light, scrutinizing it for the various U.S. Treasury authentication markers. He rubbed his three-day growth of beard, trying to take it all in; trying to determine whether this man and his cause were genuine
    After a minute he finally spoke without looking at Paul.
    “For the sake of my family and Our Blessed Virgin my answer must be yes. But I have one condition.” Now it was his turn to look at Paul with careful scrutiny.
    “What is that?”
    “That you pay me double—ten thousand!”
    Paul leaned back into his seat, thinking for a moment, this time frowning. He nodded several times as if crunching the numbers. “All right. I don’t like it but with all honesty I expected it.”
    “And I want another two thousand right now!” Adelmo added.
    Paul simply responded by reaching into his pocket and taking out another slightly smaller stack of bills and handing it to Adelmo. “I knew you’d be a shrewd bargainer.”
    Adelmo took it laughing out loud. “My mother and family will be happy!” This time it was he who reached out to Paul to shake hands. “Very, very happy!”

Chapter 9

    Frank Whalen depressed the touch pad of his MacBook Pro and watched as the contents of the mysterious e-mail snapped into view. The page and the letter on it were unadorned and straight forward: no flashy graphics or layouts; no banners, pictures or color; no specialty fonts—simplicity itself.
United States Department of Strategic Planning and Policy for Near-Earth and Other Space Objects
    Office of the Director
Frank Whalen
Colorado Springs, Colorado, USA
    He stopped reading for a moment, wondering again: how had this organization gotten his name and address? The CBAT was supposed to be highly confidential; its servers, protocols, encryption software, etc., the latest—supposedly hack-proof. After all, amateur astronomers were far beyond secretive when it came to comet discovery claims. They were loathe to tell their spouses, girlfriends or children—much less anyone else—for fear that “anyone else” might beat them to the punch when it came time for naming rights.
    ‘Just think,’ he mused, ‘“Whalen’s Comet!’”
    Then he noticed something else in the addressing of the letter: why “USA”? If the letter had come from Uncle Sam why add anything other than what the USPS would place on any letter or document for delivery in the U.S.? Another layer to the mystery. He continued reading.
Because of the highly sensitive nature of this letter, you will have exactly 10 minutes in which to read it. At that time it will self-delete.
    Frank laughed out loud. “You’ve got to be kidding me! What is this? Some kind of script for the latest ‘Mission: Impossible’ movie!?”
    He shook his head in amazement then saw at the top of the screen a small timer counting down; now at 09:45.
    “Unbelievable!”
    He quickly began reading again.
It has been brought to this Office’s