Chapter 25
Cash stepped into the Santa Fe Plaza and angled across it toward her destination.
It was brutally hot, and she was sweating despite having donned a sleeveless shirt and light pair of cotton pants tucked into rubber boots.
Her hair was up with untidy strands sticking to her face.
Sweat pooled in the small of her back, and she could feel the beginning tingles of sunburn across her nose and cheeks.
The smell of melted cheese and chile wafted across the plaza, making her mouth water.
She was hungry—-but also late. No time to stop.
She made her way to the adobe facade of the hotel La Fonda, pausing just inside the door in appreciation of the sudden cold rush of air--conditioning. Thank God. She threaded her way through the colorful interior and to the lobby.
“Lumpkins Ballroom? For the UFO convention?” She leaned up against the concierge desk.
The man eyed her with disapproval and finally said, “You mean UAP convention? Down the hall to the left.”
Cash made a note to herself not to use the UFO acronym.
She had decided to take a quick flight from Denver to Santa Fe—-just for the day—-to find out more about Castillo, his UAP activities, and who might have wanted him dead.
According to Reddit, this convention—-Truth in the Skies—-was one of the more important UAP conferences held in the United States.
Castillo had attended as a speaker and panelist the past two years, and according to phone calls and emails found on his cell, he was planning to attend this year as well.
She was hoping she could find some attendees who knew him—-and she never turned down the opportunity to dig into some New Mexico green chile while in Santa Fe.
Her empty stomach rumbled at the thought.
She headed toward the ballroom, perusing the occasional shop window displaying wood carvings and chunky New Mexican jewelry. She passed a blue--haired woman wearing a T--shirt printed with a picture of a flying saucer and stenciled with the words I BELIEVE, DO YOU?
“Convention pass?” said a messy--haired young person manning a desk at the ballroom entry.
Cash pulled out the day pass she’d picked up at the registration desk, and he nodded her in.
She entered the ballroom, keeping her law enforcement badge and lanyard hidden underneath her jacket. The ballroom featured several grand chandeliers and booths lined strategically across a garish red, yellow, and green carpet. The room was crowded, laughter and conversation filling the space.
Cash stopped in front of a booth run by a man with brilliant blue eyes encased in wrinkles.
Strands of sandy hair had been swept across his scalp in an unsuccessful attempt to hide his age--spotted scalp.
He handed her a pamphlet, which Cash stuffed into her pocket without a second glance.
His booth displayed several black--and--white aerial photographs of a circular scar on the land and surrounded by trees lying flat on the ground in a radiating pattern.
“What’s this?” Cash said, pretending to be interested.
The man’s eyes lit up at the opportunity to speak to a visitor. “The Tunguska event. You’ve heard of it, of course?”
“A little,” Cash lied.
He began gesturing with liver--spotted hands at the various photos that had been pinned to corkboard across his booth. “Occurred on
June 30, 1908, near the Tunguska River in Siberia.
Two thousand square kilometers of forest flattened with no explanation.
A blinding blue light was seen in the sky, shock waves sent people tumbling hundreds of kilometers away, and windows were shattered.
The force was more powerful than an atomic bomb.
NASA claims it was an asteroid that exploded in the skies over Siberia.
But of course”—-the old man raised his chin—-“we know the truth.”
“Aliens?” Cash tried to keep the sarcasm from her voice. She needed these people on her side if she was going to find anything out about Castillo.
“Of course,” the man said, not seeming to notice.
“A spaceship that landed on Earth. It’s the only explanation that makes sense.
There was no physical evidence of an asteroid.
No crater. A Russian expedition claims to have recovered unusual metal fragments from the impact site.
There have been other Tunguska--type impacts as early as AD 1178.
I analyze these facts in my book, Earthfall of Unidentified Aerial Phenomena. ”
He handed her a copy from a stack on one of the tables. She flipped it over. A much--younger version of the man in front of her smiled at her from the back cover. She took note of his name: Earl Wield.
“How long you had a booth here at Truth in the Skies, Earl?”
“Around five years, but been coming for fifteen.”
“How much for a copy?” She waggled Earthfall of Unidentified Aerial Phenomena in the air.
Wield grinned excitedly. “Twelve dollars, miss.”
Cash fished a twenty out of her wallet and handed it to Wield. “Keep the change, but mostly for addressing me as miss.” She smiled. “Listen—-maybe you can help me. There’s a UAP scholar I was hoping to meet. Javier Castillo. He spoke here last year. Do you know him?”
“Sure.” Wield rubbed his chin. “Lots of people know Javi.”
“What did he talk about last time?”
“The Pentagon cover--up. Smart guy. We spoke at length about the Tunguska event. He runs a nonprofit that was investigating UAP touchdowns around the world. Wanted to know more about my work.”
“What was the nonprofit called?”
“Paradox.” The man chuckled. “Cool name.”
Cash remembered Castillo telling her he ran a nonprofit investigating UAPs.
Paradox was the same organization Margie Brooksfield had been transferring money to.
But Brooksfield had denied knowing Castillo, denied having any idea who Grooms was calling on her sat phone.
Had she been lying? Could Brooksfield and Castillo have conspired to defraud Grooms out of his money? The possibilities swirled in her mind.
“Um, why is it called Paradox?”
“It’s short for Fermi paradox, of course.”
“Fermi paradox?”
He looked at her a little oddly. “You don’t know about that?”
Cash internally winced. She was looking more and more out of place here. “Can you refresh my memory?”
“It goes back to a famous incident in 1950, in the secret city of Los Alamos. Four physicists, including Enrico Fermi, were walking to lunch. The conversation turned to flying saucers and aliens before drifting on to other subjects. Halfway through lunch, Fermi suddenly blurted out, ‘Where is everybody?’ and then he scribbled a bunch of equations on the probability of advanced civilizations in the Milky Way capable of space travel. The numbers showed that the galaxy should be teeming with aliens and that we ought to have been visited many times. That became known as the Fermi paradox—-the paradox being that we seem to be alone. The mystery of the silentium universi, the silence of the universe.”
“Interesting. Did Javi mention any specific UAP touchdowns he was looking into?”
“Not that I can recall. But he’s good friends with Lyla Castleton, who runs the forbidden archaeology booth. She might know more. Why you wanna know?”
“Interested in learning more about UAP touchdowns.” Cash kept it short and simple. It was the truth, after all. “Where can I find the forbidden archaeology booth?”
Wield pointed across the ballroom. “Booth closest to the stage. Can’t miss her. Bleached blond and loud. But smart as an octopus—-high brain--to--body ratio—-she’s got an Ivy League PhD.”
Cash nodded, thanked the man, and snaked her way through the booths toward the stage. She heard Castleton before she saw her. A clarion voice echoed through the room, and as Cash approached, she saw that an excited group of people were clustered around the booth.
Castleton was one of the tiniest women she had ever seen, with an enormous head that looked out of proportion to her body, like a bobblehead one stuck on the dash of a car.
She sported a helmet of bleached--blond hair that made her head look even bigger than it was, and she was wearing a bright green collared shirt and dark slacks.
She was mid--speech when Cash approached.
“—-and our consciousness expands a little more and we’re floating on a blue--and--green pebble in space and not the only ones here.”
It was clear what the excitement was all about.
Castleton’s booth contained an intricate construction of colored paper cut and folded into 3D structures of sci--fi--looking cars and cities.
The impressive features of the booth were made even more compelling by Castleton herself, who was a masterful speaker full of energy and inflection.
Before approaching, Cash waited until the woman had finished her presentation and the crowd had dispersed a little. She considered for a second continuing to pretend to be a civilian, but decided against it. She took out her lanyard and let it dangle for a moment.
“Lyla Castleton, my name is Agent Frankie Cash.”
Castleton considered her. “You’re investigating Javi’s death.”
“Yes.”
Castleton motioned to a young girl to take over the booth and stepped away. “I need a drink.” Cash recognized her change in demeanor as grief. “Let’s check out the Fiesta Lounge.”
They made their way back to the front of the hotel to a nondescript bar next to the lobby, and Castleton plopped tiredly into the seat.
“Mind if I record?” Cash asked.
“Yes. I do. No recording,” Castleton said, with a finality that warned Cash not to push the issue.
She leaned forward, eyes bright with moisture.
“I saw the video of his body. Those horrible kids. Saw his head floating in the lake—-” She choked up, looking at a point past Cash’s left shoulder.
“Do you know what it’s like to have that be your last memory of a person you cared about? ”
“I’m sorry, Lyla. I really am. What can you tell me about him?”
Castleton dabbed at her eyes with a bar napkin. “Shot of Hornitos tequila,” she said to the bartender. She downed the shot as soon as it was placed in front of her and then ordered another one on the rocks. She sipped this one now, deep in thought. Cash made no move to rush her.
“Coauthored a paper with me. A genius, Castillo was. Always thinking outside the box. He could also be a flake, unfortunately. Stopped answering his phone and email halfway through the study, and I ended up having to complete the paper by myself.” Castleton took a sip of the tequila.
“Found out later he’d rushed off halfway around the world in pursuit of some Laotian guy in the jungle claiming an abduction.
He was a good person, despite his faults. ”
“May I ask how he lost his leg?”
“That’s a story. About three years ago, he was trekking out to a UAP crash site in Portugal in the Serra da Estrela mountain range.
Waded into a river to get a picture of a water vole on his iPhone, cut his leg.
Sepsis did the rest. UAP--ology had taken his career and his leg, he used to say. The man was obsessed.”
“What can you tell me about his organization, Paradox?” Cash asked.
“That was his baby. A nonprofit investigating UAP evidence.”
“That’s it?”
Instead of answering the question, Castleton asked, “You think his involvement with Paradox has something to do with his death?”
“Maybe. Who else was involved with Paradox besides Castillo?”
Castleton’s mouth turned downward in a frown. “Castillo claimed he ran it. He was board chair. But … there were rumors.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“That some European big shot was the firepower behind it all.”
“What’s his name? And where in Europe?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why the secrecy? Was there some kind of other purpose to Paradox besides UAP research?”
“I don’t know.” Castleton’s eyes shifted away from Cash’s gaze. “I hope you find whoever did this.”
“Did he have any enemies? Anyone who might want him dead?”
“I don’t think so. Everyone liked him.”
“Back to this European guy. Can you tell me anything about him? Any other rumors about him?”
Castleton shook her head. “I don’t even know if he exists.” She stood up, brushing invisible crumbs from her pants. “Gotta get back to the booth.”
Cash could tell she was done answering questions.
She watched her disappear from the bar. She paid the bill and returned to the convention, which was winding down for the day.
She asked around. Everyone knew about Paradox—-it seemed to be a respected and legitimate nonprofit—-but nobody seemed to know anything about a cryptic European recluse or what his connection was to Paradox.