After Brad's meeting with Wheeler, his mind began
working like lightning. His thoughts seemed almost random,
yet powerful and enlightening. He seemed to know exactly
what to do next: everything came to him as intense, sudden,
bursts; as if illuminated by a distant strobe. They say
lightning seldom strikes twice, but then it seldom needs to.
Once is usually enough. That was the case with Brad. He
knew where he could get the money.
Upon arriving at the public library, Brad headed
straight for the basement. He found Don Ralston with an
armload of microfilm reels that he was about to carry to the
shelves and file. Brad caught his eye, and he told him that
he'd be with him in a minute. Brad waited patiently at one
of the tables. He didn't feel the need to pace nervously,
because he knew Ralston would have what he needed. That's
not to say that he expected Ralston to have two thousand
dollars in cash. What he needed from Ralston was a name.
It took about fifteen minutes for him to finish his
filing. He walked to the table where Brad was sitting and
sat across from him. "Dartmouth, isn't it?"
"Yeah. I've got a few more questions for you, if
you've got a minute."
"Sure. What'cha need"
"I was wondering if there were any 'societies' that
were dedicated to studying UFO's"
"Of course; dozens of them. Societies, clubs, research
groups, there's even a therapy group that helps people that
have been abducted. Not many of them amount to much, its
kind of like joining a fan club for a rock star. You get a
newsletter, membership card, if your lucky you might get
free tickets to a UFO convention."
"I didn't know you had conventions."
"I don't, the clubs do. Like I said, most of them
don't amount to much."
"I'm interested in the ones that do amount to
something. Is there a group of scientist that research UFO
sightings?"
"Sure, a few universities still study sightings, there
are a couple scientists who do investigating in their spare
time."
"How do they get their funding?" asked Brad.
"Grants from rich folks, mostly. Sometimes a doctor or
lawyer will see a UFO, and make a donation if the
organization will investigate. The only problem with that
system is the researchers will occasionally back-up the
claim of whoever is paying them, just to make the guy feel
like he's getting his money's worth. Of course, nobody
trusts the organizations that are funded by the government,
because they think they're just trying to support the cover-
up."
"Right," agreed Brad. He was surprised that an ex-
serviceman had admitted there was a cover-up, but then
Ralston had been a victim.
"There is one group, based in Malibu, that is
especially good. Its name is Extra-Terresrial Intelligence
Network, or EX-TIN for short. The man that runs it comes in
occasionally to swap stories. He's top-notch."
"How does he finance his operation?"
"Well, he's pretty well off: owns an office services
company." Bingo, thought Brad. "His group is pretty
important. He's runs ads in all the UFO magazines, has an
800 number where you can call to report sightings, and a 900
number where you can catch-up on all the latest news. He's
uncovered quite a few hoaxes."
That alarmed Brad. "Uncovered hoaxes? Doesn't that
kind of point to him not believing in their existence?"
"Not at all. In fact, it greatly lends to his
credibility. If he were to investigate a sighting,
acknowledge it as factual, only to have it exposed as fraud
later, then it would mean that he was either involved in the
hoax or that he didn't have any idea what was going on. On
the other hand, if he exposes it as a hoax, when he finds
one that he can't explain, people will take him more
seriously. Most people who study UFO's trust him. He's
also the only man I know who is currently offering a reward
for positive evidence of a UFO's existence."
"How much of a reward?"
"I think he's offering twenty-five thousand. Have you,
ah, got something?" asked Ralston.
"You've talked to this guy?"
"Yeah. He's shown me his operation. Have you got some
good information?" asked Ralston a second time, his voice
laced with more than a trace of impatience.
"Tell me about EX-TIN, and I'll let you in on what I
know. What's the man's name?"
"His name is Baker, Michael Baker. He's a quiet guy,
kind of nervous, into spy movies and books. His life pretty
well revolves around UFO investigations, spy stories, and
his business. He runs EX-TIN like it were a branch of the
CIA, could be for all I know."
"His business sells office supplies, computer
equipment, office furniture and partitions. It's housed in
a warehouse/office building and EX-TIN has a suite in the
building. He doesn't publish the address, so not many
people know where it is. How EX-TIN works is by taking the
sightings reported on the 800 line and inputting them into a
computer. The computer checks to see if there is more than
one sighting, if not it simply logs it in what Baker calls
his slush pile. If there were multiple sightings, then it
is referred to an investigator."
"He's got two full-time investigators who call to find
out if the reporters are local troublemakers or pranksters.
They're very thorough. If everything seems to be
legitimate, either he, or one of the investigators will go
and check things out. Now, what have you got?"
"Can you help me get an appointment to talk to this
guy?" inquired Brad.
"If you don't tell me what's going on, you'll get an
appointment with a doctor because I'll wring your neck!"
joked Ralston. Correction: half-joked Ralston.
Brad didn't return Ralston's smile. He sat, totally
devoid of emotion, and said, "I have talked with an Air
Force veteran who has confirmed the existence of captive
aliens. His wife told me the general area of the camp, and
I have a third source that has substantiated the Sergeant's
claim. Lastly, I am talking with a man who can pinpoint the
alien's exact location."
"No shit! How many are there? Where are they?" asked
Ralston excitedly.
"I shouldn't say yet, not until I talk with Baker."
"What do you need Baker for?"
"I've got a plan, but it's going to take a little money
to get it to work."
"What's the plan? I mean, if you go public with the
story the Air Force will just move the aliens to a new
hiding place. It's gonna take some major, hardcore evidence
to force this into the open. You forget, I used to be in
the Air Force, I know how they work."
"If my plan works, they won't have time to move them."
"Okay, I'll get you an appointment with Baker under one
condition: when this thing goes down, whether you're right
or wrong, I want to be there. I want to see these aliens--
dead or alive-- I want to see them."
"Deal."
Ralston stood and started toward the phone, but stopped
midstride when an uneasy thought hit him. "Listen,
Dartmouth. This guy, Baker, is really sharp. I wouldn't
try to scam him. He's half my size, seems harmless, but its
the quite, nervous kind you don't want to piss off."
"I don't think this is a scam. If it is it'll be news
to me, too." The answer seemed to satisfy Ralston. He made
a phone call, and made Brad an appointment with Baker at
ten-thirty the next day. The ball was in motion, and Brad
left the library confident that it wasn't the Eight Ball.
He had one last thing to do before his meeting with Baker.
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