The FBI loaded the body into a gray van. A Bureau diplomat approached Jeff. "We appreciate your consideration in this matter, Mr. . . ."
"Boeing. Jeff Boeing."
"Mr. Jeff Boeing. You understand that the alien's devices may tell us something just as important as its body will."
'Like new ways to kill people,' Jeff thought. "Okay," he acquiesced, "I'll let you keep its — uh — belt. The rod and the disk attached to it may have some uses, though I haven't figured them out. As for the box, um . . . I'd rather keep it."
"I'm afraid we can't let you do that."
"Ah," Jeff thought he understood. "Federal bureaucracy?"
"More than that," the diplomat informed him. "National security. We couldn't hand any of this over to you any more than we could hand it over to the Soviets."
"Aha," Jeff nodded, "The Russians. I knew they'd get involved in this somehow. Don't they always." His sarcasm was as clear as the Joshua Tree night had been.
The FBI diplomat cleared his throat uncomfortably. "We would also appreciate your continued cooperation, Mr. Boing."
"That's Boeing. Like the airliner company."
"Boeing, Boeing, 'scuse me. You see, we also shouldn't let any of this get out to the press until they're . . . ready for it. So, I'd like to ask you if —"
"If I'd keep my mouth shut about it. Right. Come on! I found this . . . this creature, not you."
"Yes, you did, and I speak for the Bureau when I say that we all appreciate your sense of duty in turning it over to us."
"I didn't turn it over to you. I reported it to the local police, and they turned it over to you."
The diplomat exhaled uncomfortably. "All right, I wasn't going to tell you this, but I'm afraid I'll have to burst your bubble. You weren't the first to spot this anomaly: Edward's tracked this bogie on radar all the way down. When we sent a team to the site, all we found was a shallow crater and marks in the sand leading away from it, showing that someone had been here before us and had dragged whatever it was away. The LAPD bulletin this morning put the missing pieces together for us, and we came right over and picked the creature up. So it's not 'yours'."
"It's not 'yours,' either," Jeff replied.
"Mr. Boeing," the diplomat stared at him levelly, "Are you familiar with a long-standing legal precedent known as 'eminent domain'?"
"The right of the State to take private property for public use without the owner's consent," Jeff replied without skipping a beat. "Last I heard, it requires an act of the Legislature, and I don't remember seeing the House of Representatives taking this to a vote on C-SPAN."
The diplomat grunted. "Nevertheless, this is still a matter of national security, and that gives us a power of temporary seizure until the lawmakers or courts decide. I'd advise you to divulge as little as possible. Um, good day, Mr. Boeing; we'll be in touch." He turned to leave.
"Just a moment," Jeff interrupted him. He drew a long, calculated breath. "There's a lot of people in that precinct house who saw the alien besides me."
"Y- yes . . . so?" The diplomat was visibly nervous.
"So it would be reeeally easy for me to get some of the local newspapers down here and convince these cops to corroborate my story. If I told them."
The FBI representatve shook his head. "All right, all right, Mr. Boeing. What do you want?"
"Take me with you," he said matter of factly. "Let me see what happens to the creature and its tools."
The diplomat sighed, and pursed his lips. "Oh, okay. I suppose it's the least we can do. Hop in."
And in he hopped, cramping the front seat of the van with yet another passenger. That alien, or whatever it was in back of him and behind the van's metal separator wall, was bringing him all the sights that this vacation could ever offer.
Unfortunately, those sights became progressively less interesting as the trip wore on. The driver turned into the warehouse district and made his way to the low rent end of town. All the paint was worn off of the two story brick warehouse they finally parked inside of; and all of its windows were either broken or boarded up. Jeff figured it was either scheduled for demolition or built to look that bad on purpose.
Judging from the professional, glittering high-tech gear he found inside, he guessed that his latter assumption was probably correct.
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