Eventually it dead-ended at a lovely vantage point a few yards above the high-water line. A couple of crude wooden benches knocked together by the Park Service offered surcease to tired travelers. They were more level than the surrounding rocks, but not much softer.
As the first stars began to emerge they sat down side by side. To Ross Ed it seemed perfectly appropriate (indeed, required in such a place) that he put his arm around Caroline. She edged a little closer, and not just for warmth.
“I’ve been thinking,” she began.
“So have we,” asserted a voice.
They turned sharply. Squinting in the gathering darkness, Ross thought he recognized the couple from the dinner seating. Elderly and nondescript in appearance, they had been at the next communal bench over from his. The woman was plump and pink-cheeked, the man taller and well built. They appeared to be in their early or mid-sixties. Typical travelers, utterly unremarkable in any way.
Neither carried a pack. Both were clad in jeans, hiking boots, and flannel shirts. The only difference in attire lay in their respective accessories: her gun was much smaller than his. Alongside the magnum her husband hefted, her little snub-nosed .25 seemed barely adequate.
Caroline slumped. “I guess army intelligence comes in all sizes and shapes.”
“Army intelligence? Did you hear that, luv?” The woman smiled at her companion. “She thinks we’re army intelligence.” The man chuckled.
Ross Ed experienced a sinking feeling of the sort usually reserved for those times when wildcatters’ accountants failed to show up come payday.
“If you’re not army intelligence, then who are you working for? The FBI? CIA?”
The man ran the fingers of his free hand through his shock of snowy-white hair. The muzzle of the magnum remained absolutely steady. “No, no, my boy. We’re strictly freelancers. We work for ourselves. I’m Gennady Larkspur, and this is my wife, Miriam.”
“I do alterations,” the kindly little old lady explained helpfully. “You know; take in sewing? Gennady pretty much runs the dry-cleaning business by himself.” She gave her husband an admiring look. “Gen’s very efficient.”
Caroline’s gaze narrowed. “You sure you’re not from some super-secret government agency that we’ve never heard of?”
“No, we’re from Indiana.” The woman looked past them. “It really is pretty out here. Quiet, too.”
“What is it you want from us?” Afraid he knew the answer all too well, Ross Ed still felt compelled to go through the formality of asking the question.
“I think you know that, young man.” The grandmotherly figure gestured with the .25. “We want your alien corpse, of course.”
“Oh, great,” muttered Caroline. “More saucer people.”
Gennady Larkspur corrected her firmly. “You misunderstand us. We’re not part of or party to any organization or cult. We are strictly independent.”
“We’ve been tracking you ever since you left El Paso,” the woman explained, “waiting for just the right opportunity to relieve you of your luggage. Those army people you’re so concerned about kept getting in the way. Clumsy, aren’t they? Everyone’s always in such a rush these days, unwilling to wait until the right moment. Like those unfortunate young men you encountered in Lordsburg, and then those poor, deluded saucer folk.”
“Localized meteorite storms, telekinesis or something like it we have no name for, and then the appearance of real, if cantankerous aliens.” The man’s eyes sparkled. “Yes, indeedy, we’re very impressed with your deceased little companion.
“We thought our chance had come when you left it behind while you went out to dinner in Tuba City.” The woman frowned. “But for some reason, as soon as you left, the night clerk went into your room and didn’t come back out until you returned. Gen and I could have gone in anyway, but our success all these years has been predicated on protecting our anonymity and avoiding confrontation whenever possible. So we restrained our impatience and continued to shadow you after you checked out the next morning.”
“Actually, it was fun following you down here.” He looked pleased. “Gen and I are great walkers.”
“I thought we got the last cabin,” Ross Ed remarked.
“You did, my boy, but I’m sure you won’t mind letting Miriam and I use it.” The man’s voice was fiat and matter-of-fact.
The color had drained from Caroline’s face. “You … you’re not going to shoot us?”
“Why, luv, what do you think these guns are for?” The woman was apologetic. “Besides, fit though we are, I’m not sure Gen and I could keep pace with you two going uphill.”
Ross Ed staned to fumble with the pack straps. “You don’t need to do that. We’ll give you the alien.”
“Yes, you will, sonny.” Again she gestured with the pistol. “‘Jed,’ I believe you call it.”
“I don’t understand. How do you know all this?”
“We have our sources.” Gennady Larkspur smiled thinly. “In Washington. Even in the army. Whenever anything crops up that they think we might find interesting, they let us know. As to how we’ve managed to keep in touch with you, well, when appropriately modified, cellular phones are wonderful tools for listening in on other folks’ conversations.”
“We have to get out once in a while,” his wife added. “As you can imagine, dry cleaning and sewing doesn’t make for a very exciting life.”
“It doesn’t pay as well, either.” Her husband shifted the heavy pistol to his other hand. “You’d think the IRS or someone would ask how we can afford the town house in Zurich and the condo in the Caymans, but they never have. I guess they’re too busy prosecuting the poor schnook down the street for his last hundred-dollar underpayment.
“Gen is very efficient,” his wife reminded them.
“But why do you have to kill us?” Looking from one elderly face to the other, Caroline found intelligence and wisdom, but no sympathy.
“Oh, all right, I suppose we don’t.” Gennady Larkspur might as well have been discussing a stained shirt collar with a customer. “Though if you don’t do exactly as we say, I promise you that we’ll do exactly that. Both Miriam and I have killed before.”
In the increasing darkness they no longer looked so kindly, Ross Ed decided. Ghostly now; ghoulish even, their Midwestern twang fraught with menace.
“If you shoot us, the campers at the ranch will hear your guns,” Caroline pointed out.
“I don’t think so, luv. Why do you think Gen and I waited until you hiked over here? That was very thoughtful of you.” She glanced to her left. “Just listen to that river! Isn’t that magnificent? And loud. You could fire a rocket-propelled grenade down here and no one would hear it back at the ranch.” She gestured with her free hand, indicating that it was time for Ross to hand over his inanimate companion.
Caroline nudged him. “Go on, Ross Ed. There’s nothing we can do. I’m sorry.”
Resigned, he resumed fumbling with the pack. “If you’re going to shoot somebody, shoot me. Leave her alone. She has nothing to do with this.”
