Planet Fever (34 page)

EZ leaned over the counter. “May we check out two trail bikes, ma’am? Preferably ones with shock absorbers, please.”

“You are such a gentleman, Ezekiel Buckminster. ‘Twould be my pleasure, sir.” She smiled.

EZ blushed.

I sensed—I mean Eddie sensed a sweet romantic charge between the two as they stood there beaming at one another for a moment. Then she turned to go get the bicycles.

“Cool chick,” Eddie said.

EZ nodded. “Yeah. Real cool chick.”

The “Brave New Trail” was a long mountain bike trail that traversed its way along the backside of the resort, zigzagging its way down to the bottom and near what EZ called “off limits” turf.

It had been a while since Ed had ridden a bike, so he had to re-acclimate himself with all the gears.

“Remember to lean back if you get going too fast. And use the back brake first before you ease in the front one. Otherwise….”

“Otherwise I know—I’ll go over the handlebars. Trust me, I’ve learned that one the hard way.”

Once they got comfortable on their rides, they made their way down the path. The trail rolled and wound in and out of the forest. They coasted over a few little bridges, traversed across ski runs, and dashed around berms. Eddie was getting high from the mountain air brushing against his face and the exhilaration of the ride. The flickering silver light in and out of the trees enhanced the experience.

Better than any drug. Better than booze.

At the bottom of the mountain, the trail opened into a lush valley inhabited by an old chair lift and a few picnic tables. EZ rode around the perimeter, searching for the inconspicuous trail Fillono had mentioned.

“Like the boss said, here it is,” EZ said, and began riding the barely-visible trail encompassed by tall grass.

Eddie followed him, and after pedaling though the valley at a casual pace for about ten minutes they came to an old barbed-wire fence with a sign that said
Private Property: No Trespassing
.

EZ dismounted from his bike and said, “Private Property? That makes no sense. I know for a fact this is the military property. And they just got this rickety ‘ol fence with this sign?”

“Maybe they’re trying to be more low key,” Eddie said.

EZ lowered his bike into the grass. “Let’s check it out.”

Eddie followed EZ to the fence, and they climbed up and over to the other side.

THEY WALKED
through the tall grass and Ed took stock of the huge mountains surrounding them, the deep blue skies with the interlude of a silvery-white cloud blocking the sun every now and then, and the fresh mountain breeze blowing through the trees.

After a half-mile or so, EZ stopped walking. He turned his head this way and that, with his ears perked up, listening.

“You hear that?” he asked.

Through the grassy breeze and the cicadas and random bird, there it was: a low, droning hum. Yes, indeed Eddie heard it. He nodded.

“It’s real low, and pulsating.” EZ continued walking.

They walked and the low, pulsating hum became more pronounced. Whatever emitted this hum was either generating or receiving a tremendous amount of power. Ed knew this because as they got closer the hair on his arms stood up and something akin to static electricity permeated around his skin, hair and teeth; and because EZ told him this was a sign of something emitting or receiving a tremendous amount of power.

The closer they got, the greater the hum, until they came upon it: a satellite dish about as wide as a Volkswagen Bus next to a small transmission tower, which was loosely disguised as a tree. EZ examined the configuration and found more mini-satellite dishes on the tree/tower, pointed back at the direction from which they came. He then examined the dish, and visually traced it to where it was pointed to, which was toward the top of an adjacent peak.

“Up there.” He pointed. “That’s where this dish is receiving its signal, and it looks like it’s relaying it back toward the chair lift. I’m willing to bet the lift acts as a cable relay also. Million Dollar Pyramid inquiry: who is relaying what from where to where and why?”

“It’s gotta be military,” Eddie said.

EZ shook his head. “Naw, man. Military does it in a controlled, tight way. This would be like stumbling upon a Navy sub just parked on the beach in some remote beach in northern Cali. Ain’t gonna happen. This has to be some covert shit, because they’re hiding it plain site, and who would think that something this big and important would just be out here unguarded with just a janky barbed-wire fence and a rusty
keep out
sign?”

Ed caught EZ’s drift: most people, if they wandered to here for whatever reason, which would most likely be some lost hikers or, in the winter, a lost skier, wouldn’t think twice about this. If they gave it any thought, they’d just think the guy that owned this property really took his satellite TV seriously.

“But isn’t this military property?” Ed asked.

EZ kept his gaze on the dish and the tower, shaking his head. “Supposedly. But how do we know that? Maybe this is some ‘off the books’ military operation Col. West cooked up, kind of like that Iran/Contra jive a few years back. Them black-ops types like to do it that way, work with legit businesses as cover, and use them, without the other channels in government, or even in their own military branch, any wiser. Shit, maybe he just
told
Fillono this is military property. Why wouldn’t Fillono believe him? He is, after all, a bonafide military Colonel.”

Ed listened and nodded his head. The low, pulsating hum was rather soothing, and Ed caught himself zoning out a few times. His eyes wandered to the top of the mountain, where there was a giant satellite dish pointing up to the sky, directly at the daytime full moon. Where had he seen that image before?

Mona’s painting….

“Gotta check it out.” EZ snapped Eddie out of his rumination.

“Huh?”

“We gotta get up on top of that mountain and see what the gig is up there. My cash is down on that being the primary hook-up, where the main signal is received and/or transmitted. If I nab some of my equipment, come back and hike up that mountain, I might be able to crack this cipher. You feeling me?”

“EZ.”

“Yeah young blood?”

Ed took off his backpack and took out his notebook and a pen. He began to write, then stopped. He tossed the pen back into the pack, fumbled around then brandished a stubby pencil, worn down almost to the eraser, which was also almost completely worn down.

“I feel you,” Eddie said, and wrote:
I guarantee our conversation is being monitored
.

EZ turned his attention away from the dish and focused on Ed. He nodded after he read what Eddie had written.

Eddie said, “I’m beat, man. I think I need to go home, figure out this thing with Mona, and sort all this other shit out.” As he said that, he scribbled:
but I gotta plan, and it involves you and me splitting up.

EZ slowly nodded his head. “I feel you.”

“I don’t think I can handle all this pressure right now. With the book. With all this ‘saving the universe’ stuff … I just need some time.” He wrote:
it involves me handing myself, and my work, over to the bastards.

“Yeah, this shit is pretty crazy,” EZ said. He gestured for Eddie to hand him the pencil and notebook, then wrote:
Hand yourself over? And the book? Are you crazy?

“You bet,” Eddie said. He took the notebook and pencil.
I am going to write out the plan, then you will read it, then I will erase it. But it must be timed perfectly.

EZ didn’t say it or write it, but Ed intuited what he was thinking:
shiiiiit.

EZ took out his snuff, pinched some between his thumb and forefinger, and sniffed it. He offered Ed the tin. Ed took it and imitated EZ, but his attempt wasn’t nearly as graceful as EZ’s sniff. His eyes watered, he didn’t know whether to sneeze, cough, bellow, bark, cry or yell, and his face contorted into an absurd, abstracted look of a man who has just sniffed a vile dog fart.

EZ doubled over in laughter.

THEY WALKED
back to the fence, hopped over and mounted their bikes. When they got back to the chairlift, EZ walked around the base of it, examining every detail. Then he pointed to the top.

“There it is. The receiver dish.”

Sure enough, there it was, perched atop the chairlift terminal. So EZ was right: the chairlift itself acted as a signal-relay for some reason or another. And he had never been clued in to it, even though he was supposedly the head engineer of the entire place. How had he missed
that?

They hooked their bikes onto the chairlift for the ride up.

“Miss your lady, eh?” EZ asked.

“Yeah. Well, I suppose she’s my lady. Or at least she’s a good actress playing my lady. I don’t know. But I think I like having her around. Maybe she’ll inspire me,” Eddie said, jotting down his plan.

The chair whirred up the mountain.

“Maybe I’ll bring her by one of these days. We can double date,” Eddie said as he finished writing. He handed the notebook for EZ to examine.

EZ read and nodded his head. “You talkin’ about me and….”

“You and that Lisa librarian girl. Come on, I sensed a vibe there.”

“You’re too much.” He finished reading and handed the book back to Eddie.

“Ask her for coffee. See what she says.”

“Finish this book of yours.”

“I will.” Eddie said, then erased everything he had just written. “Maybe when I get off of this mountain and back home to L.A.”

“All right then, I will ask her out.”

That is how that conversation ended. They took the rest of the ride up the lift in silence. Upon returning their bikes, EZ asked Lisa out for lunch and she accepted. Then Eddie and EZ each caught an alpine-slide back down to the village.

THE NEXT
morning, Fillono, EZ and Ed were seated at the
Shelley Cafe
, a small literature and horror movie-themed cafe at the base of the mountain in the main village.

“Well, Fred. It certainly has been an eye-opening experience. Thanks a lot for your hospitality.”

Fillono sipped from his little espresso cup, Ed followed suit and so did EZ. The scene was rather cozy and charming. EZ wore a large cowboy hat and aviator shades and was examining all the technology around in a different light. There were hundreds of those tiny satellite dishes scattered about everywhere, and what looked like tiny transmission towers, but in the guise of bric-a-brac artwork, fence-posts, sculptures, and just plain antennae.