Sentient Conspiracy

Michael J. Bossé

• Publisher: Resource Publications
• Year: 2022
• eBook ISBN:
  9781666796384
• Print ISBN:
  9781666737189
  9781666796377
• Subtopic: Crime & Mystery Literature

While each quarreling trio member has responsibilities to safeguard classified files, the power-hungry colonel will kill to protect the secrecy of a decades-long governmental cover-up of known sentient extraterrestrial life on Earth. Tate's stealing of the files places him in the colonel's crosshairs. Robert, investigating the content of the files and the suspicious death of his friend, gets caught up in an elaborate and dangerous conspiracy. The colonel surveils and hotly pursues Robert. Guided by some cryptic text messages, Robert has only one solution to protect himself, his family, and friends--a solution that may place him in an even more dire situation: to let the entire world know what the government is hiding. Can Robert complete his task before the colonel closes in? Can those who dare to challenge the colonel help to protect Robert's family? Will Robert's family be safe? While the life-and-death chase transpires, Pastor Alex and others wrestle with the theological implications of extraterrestrial life to Christianity.

Chapter 1

Day 8: Friday

“Hey, Hon. I’ve got to run to Wilkesboro for a few minutes. How about if I pick up dinner at Olive Garden on the way back?” asked a clean-shaven, somewhat portly Caucasian man of average height in his mid-forties. He would have been described as average, typical, or ordinary in far too many ways. Nothing unusual about him caught anyone’s attention. He often used this to his advantage as he preferred to disappear in a crowd. His hair was an average brownish with an expected amount of natural graying. He was neither attractive nor unattractive. While he cared about his health, he rarely paid a great deal of attention to his appearance; it was simply not that important to him. Even his attire was commonplace for the September mountains of North Carolina. He wore jeans, hiking shoes, and a thick, plaid flannel shirt. For this dress, possibly the most distinguishing feature was not wearing a baseball cap. He was known to love his family deeply; he would do all he could to make a great life for them and protect them. He had a solid career which gave the family stability.

His comparatively overly-beautiful wife was fair-skinned, tall—about three inches taller than him—thin, athletic, with jet-black, shoulder-length hair. She was exquisitely beautiful. Now, as a stately, dignified, and successful realtor, she still evidenced a past tomboy childhood, particularly when she put her hair in a ponytail for a jog in her neighborhood, in Mount Jefferson State Park, or on the greenway in Boone. Her competitive nature often took hold when running near twentysomethings or during not-so-friendly community volleyball games. She still took pride in being able to whip ‘young-uns’ twenty to twenty-five years her junior. Almost all recognized—but dared not say, that she was way out of her husband’s league. He gleefully showed off his arm-candy wife wherever they went. Recognizing the disparity in their appearance, he and his wife would tell others that she married him because he had potential. Even her son’s friends enjoyed coming over to sneak a peek at her, hoping that they would catch such a beauty in their futures.

His eighteen-year-old son followed the lead of his mother. He was very athletic and played in as many sports as fit into his schedule. He was near six feet tall and built like a tank. He also shared her dark hair. Everyone looking at him knew who his mother was, but few could see any likenesses to his father.

His fifteen-year-old daughter was in a darkened bonus room, in some position between sitting and lying down, with a laptop illuminating her emaciated face. She had been struggling with juvenile leukemia on and off for a few years. It had taken a toll on her body which should now be robust and healthy, rather than gaunt with deep-set eyes and hollow cheeks. She was videoconferencing with a number of her ‘LeukBuds’ around the country.

As good as his medical plan was, it was insufficient to care for all the needs of his daughter’s long-term disease. To meet her needs, he had bled his retirement dry, and then his wife surrendered hers, their family savings was spent, and the debt added up to what he perceived was an insurmountable amount—and there were still possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars to go. Lately, as the financial desperation grew, he and his wife had debated selling their log cabin. “As much as we love it,” he said, “it is only a thing. It can’t be compared to the value of our daughter.”

From his living room chair, the small log cabin efficiently transmitted his information and question to his wife in their bedroom and his eighteen-year-old son in his bedroom.

“You’re gonna go to Wilkes?” his wife verified.

“Yes. I need some things, and I could use a drive alone to think. And Olive Garden would be a nice treat.” I need a drive. Time to think. Not sure what’s going to happen. And Robert? His wife had noticed that he had been agitated for a week or so. A drive alone might help alleviate some of his tension. He loved the mountains and always found them calming when driving through the country.

His wife had long recognized him as occasionally acting somewhat irrational, if not foolish. While he was very bright, as demonstrated by his employment, he was equally capable of making unwise decisions. Not being a mechanic, he once bought a clunker. It was a disaster from the first day, and she made sure that it never happened again. He occasionally desired to purchase items that he could not afford. Although he rarely followed through on these purchases, he may have spent them into poverty had she not intervened. She occasionally thought, How can someone so cautious in what he does do such foolish things? He once took a significant financial beating many years ago after bailing a less than trustworthy friend out of jail, who skipped out on bail only to commit another crime.

She saw him as an ever-loving and always well-intentioned Ralph Kramden. She was glad that he was a great family man, making all the time possible for his family. His quirks were his own—apart from when they negatively affected the family. She loved him dearly, despite his faults. Their love was true, and they recognized that opposites attract. She had learned to interpret most of his actions through the lens of good intentions and that, on minor issues, it was less effort to let slide his more minor misdemeanors against wisdom. Indeed, many of his antics became the substance of comic relief for family and friends.

Today was such a case. The weather was not the best for a drive off the mountain. While it was not a foolish gesture, the weather made it less than fully wise. However, she would let him have his way and save any disagreements for more significant issues.

“Well, actually, Olive Garden sounds good,” she responded.

“Yeah, Dad, I want some lasagna,” came a call from a cavernous teenage stomach.

“Same here, Hon, and some breadsticks.”

“Okay, I’ll get that. I’ll call it in on the way. Be back by six. Be ready when I get back.” The trip would be rather ordinary. He would travel down his road, intersect 221 South between Fleetwood and Deep Gap, and take 421 South off the mountain and toward Wilkesboro. The one-way trip would be just under thirty minutes.

“We caught him on the bug. He’s heading to Wilkesboro . . . alone,” came an announcement on a radio.

“Roger. We will begin pursuit at 221,” responded another radio.

In the late afternoon, the clouds had descended thickly upon the mountains, and the rain had started about thirty minutes before his drive. Although the visibility was somewhat diminished, he was very confident driving the steep, curvy mountain roads. His forest green Subaru Outback had excellent traction and control and was perfect for the mountains. Turning onto 221 South, the driver paid no attention to the two full-sized, black SUVs which began following him.

“When?” came a question on the radio.

“Not here. Too flat. He’s going to Wilkesboro. Between the Blue Ridge Parkway underpass and the Watauga runaway truck ramp. Make him go off the side of the mountain. You can use the intersections at either Stony Fork Road or Mount Zion Road. Or, if you need to, Chestnut Mountain Road. You know what to do. An accident.”

“Roger.”

Minutes later, the Subaru took the exit to 421 South, went under the Blue Ridge Parkway underpass, crested at the Continental Divide, and began the curvy five-mile descent off the mountain toward Wilkesboro. The car radio played the XM Seventies channel—Carry on Wayward Son by Kansas. Mmm mmm mmm my mmm mmm son. Mmm mmm peace mmm mmm mmm done. Lay mmm mmm mmm mmm mmm rest. Mmm mmm cry mmm mmm. The tune rang in his head, and there was a comfort and relaxation that came from hearing the tunes that his parents played in the car when he was young.

The fog was dense but certainly not as enshrouding as it could often be. He knew that it might clear out as soon as he hit the flat near Fall Creek. He was driving cautiously but in a relaxed manner consistent with mountain experience. Deep Gap was notorious for some heavy fog which could diminish highway driving to 30 mph. When the fog was that dense, it was dangerous to go full speed and probably equally dangerous to slow down and be hit from the rear. Hazzard blinkers helped to keep from getting tailgated. The safest following distance seemed to be far enough behind another car to just barely see its taillights. This provided sufficient reaction time while imagining the invisible road's curvature based on the vehicle ahead.

In what seemed like an instant, one of the black SUVs passed him on the left and pulled in dangerously close in front of him. Too close! Idiot! Tourist!? Simultaneously, the other SUV pulled up and paralleled him on his left. Whoa. Too close. Back off. His visibility immediately went from mediocre to very limited by the size, proximity, and spray from the SUV directly ahead, and the opaque mass obliterated all visibility to the left. Can’t see. Can’t . . . His Outback, dwarfed by the SUVs, he grasped his steering wheel firmly. His sense of comfort was instantaneously replaced by helplessness, realizing that if either SUV did something stupid, there could be an accident. He tried to calm himself, thinking, this won’t last long. These idiots will keep going in a few seconds.

But five seconds led to ten and fifteen. Little was visible apart from the taillights of the forward SUV. A tightening started to form in his stomach. Can’t see. Get out of the way! Get out of the freaking way! He glanced at the SUV beside him and shook his hand to inform the driver to give him some room. COME ON! However, the elevated windows of the larger SUV and the tinted glass gave him no confidence that the driver noticed his gesticulations. He can’t see me.

In what felt far more like frustration than fear, he could feel his anxiety rising. With no option to fight, he opted for flight. He decided to slow down and escape out the back of the formation. However, with the lack of visibility, he did not want to slow too abruptly and be rear-ended by another vehicle.

Between the decision to slow and the first tap of the breaks, the mammoth SUV on his...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• Prologue
• Chapter 1
• Chapter 2
• Chapter 3
• Chapter 4
• Chapter 5
• Chapter 6
• Chapter 7
• Chapter 8
• Chapter 9
• Chapter 10
• Chapter 11
• Chapter 12
• Chapter 13
• Chapter 14
• Chapter 15
• Chapter 16
• Chapter 17
• Chapter 18
• Chapter 19
• Chapter 20
• Chapter 21
• Chapter 22
• Chapter 23
• Chapter 24
• Chapter 25
• Chapter 26
• Chapter 27
• Chapter 28
• Chapter 29
• Chapter 30