The Experiencers

By Val Tobin

Agency assassin Michael Valiant deals death without question. He knows it’s all in the name of duty and the fight against terror, particularly at a time when the earth is as close as it’s ever been to self-destructing.

But Michael questions the Agency's motives when he's ordered to silence a group of UFO enthusiasts who look less like terrorists than they do housewives and nerds. His attempts to uncover the truth arouse the suspicions of his partner and boss with tragic consequences. Michael finds himself running for his life and dragging his intended target along with him.

Can he save them both, or will the Agency and the aliens find them first?

A thrill-ride filled with conspiracy, betrayal, suspense, and romance, "The Experiencers" is like Jason Bourne meets The Ghost Whisperer on an X-File.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Val Tobin
• Release date: Mar 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9780992093303

Val Tobin

Val Tobin writes speculative fiction and searches the world over for the perfect butter tart. Her home is in Newmarket, Ontario, where she enjoys writing, reading, and talking about writing and reading.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Michael Mick Valiant checked his watch and realized he was going to finish work early. The upside was he’d be home for dinner; the downside was he’d be home for dinner. He cringed. The thought of going home reminded him he might be getting separated soon, perhaps even the next time he was home long enough to see his wife before she went to bed. Jessica had something on her mind lately, and he suspected it was divorce.

He pulled his thoughts away from his marriage and refocused on the job. Michael sat behind the driver’s seat in the back of a white van displaying a cable company logo on the side. The video monitor before him showed the inside of the sprawling brick bungalow across the street. His target, Patty Richards, was inside the house.

Aside from the stats he needed for the job, Michael knew little about Richards. He knew her only as a threat to the Extraterrestrial Alliance Project, or ETAP, as those involved referred to it, and any threat to the Project had to go.

Michael glanced over at his partner, Gerry Torque Muniz, who sat next to Michael, also staring at the monitor. Judging from the vacant look in Torque’s eyes, he wasn’t seeing what was there. Sweat beaded on Torque’s broad forehead. Hair around his bald spot spiked up, reminding Michael of a porcupine with tiny black and grey quills.

Why don’t you take off that jacket? Michael asked. You’re drenched.

Torque shook his head, eyes still unfocused. He continued to sit and stare, brows furrowed. Finally, he spoke. I hate leaving them alive.

He meant Ralph Drummond. They’d forced him into a mental institution to silence him. It hadn’t been their typical job. As if they hadn’t had this conversation numerous times since they’d been handed Drummond’s dossier, Michael said, Then why did we?

Have you looked at the rest of the targets?

This was new. In previous conversations, at this point, Torque would say, I don’t know, to which Michael would reply, Then why worry about it?

Michael did a job, following orders precisely, and then forgot about it. It helped him maintain his detachment and his sanity. The Drummond job had been no exception though his initial gut reaction to it had been different.

When he’d first read the file on Drummond, he’d felt uneasy, like something was off. But he’d ignored it and carried on. With Torque’s reminder of Drummond and his file, the uneasiness returned. He looked at Torque. I’ve read the list.

No, Torque said. Have you looked at the list in detail?

What’s your point?

I figured out why we didn’t kill him, and why the other two won’t be killed either.

Okay, Michael said. Why?

They’re abductees, and killing them would interfere with the experiments.

Where did it say that?

It didn’t. Not explicitly. They’re all members of the same UFO group, except this next target. The ones we can’t terminate are flagged as ‘catch and release.’ The aliens want them for their experiments. We have to get creative if we want to silence them. Drummond goes to the mental hospital; the other two are disappeared to the Agency.

Why didn’t I see that?

You wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t looking for it.

Carolyn Fairchild and Arnie Griffen. I saw they weren’t to be terminated.

Michael didn’t have the other files, but he picked up the Richards file and opened it. Torque was right. Nothing in the file indicated she belonged to the same UFO group as the others. In fact, she wasn’t a member of any UFO group. He saw on her schedule that tonight she was due to attend a concert at her daughter’s school. Michael felt a twinge. She’d be dead by then.

A note in the file stated Richards was Drummond’s associate, maintained a blog, and travelled around North America doing speaking engagements. What’s the blog about? he asked.

Torque shrugged. Doesn’t matter.

Michael nodded, understanding. He removed his weapon from a pouch at his side and marvelled, not for the first time, at how something so small could be so deadly. The size and shape of a penlight or laser pointer, the weapon discharged a microwave beam that could penetrate walls and kill a person from over twenty metres away. Soon, when he deemed the time right, Richards’s heart would stop, and the coroner would list it as natural causes.

In no hurry, he waited and watched. He ran his hand through his hair, an absent-minded gesture he’d repeat often when he was waiting to kill. He glanced at Torque, expecting a remark. Torque was back to staring vacantly at the screen and hadn’t noticed.

Michael looked up when he heard the door to the house open. Two teenagers stepped onto the porch. Their light and jovial voices carried through the open windows of the van. The girl was Patty’s daughter, Michelle. The male would be Ian, the daughter’s boyfriend.

Ian said something too low for Michael to make out. It must have been funny because the girl burst out laughing. The hearty laugh jarred Torque out of his stupor, and he looked up from the monitor at Michael.

Michael continued to wait. The two teens scampered down the porch steps and jumped into a black Volkswagen Jetta parked in the driveway. Sleek and shiny, the car couldn’t have been more than a few months old. Had to be the kid’s father’s car. But perhaps not. Kids these days were spoiled. The car could very well be his.

Michael glanced at the clock on the dashboard and waited for the kids to pull out of the driveway. He’d have an hour before the husband returned. That would be plenty of time. Most of the neighbours were also at work.

The Jetta eased onto the road, the back end swinging past the van. Michael glimpsed Ian’s face as the kid straightened the wheel and then accelerated the car down the street. Neither kid spared the van a glance.

Michael checked the monitor and changed the view to the kitchen. From his periphery, he saw Torque turn back to the monitor.

Richards, her long hair tied back in a ponytail, stood in front of the kitchen island, stirring something in a bowl. She resembled her daughter. It would be easy to mistake them for sisters even though Patty was more than twice her daughter’s age.

Michael realized he was holding his breath and exhaled. Sweat trickled down his back, and he checked the thermometer: twenty-two Celsius. Hot, for the end of April in Southern Ontario, but not hot enough to make them roll up the windows and turn on the air conditioning. Fortunately, there was a breeze and only slight humidity.

He started to lift the weapon, but paused. His hand drifted back to rest on his thigh. This looked wrong. It felt wrong. But he had the right target. All the information he had bore that out, the clincher being the carefully installed surveillance equipment the grunts from the Agency had placed inside the house. Michael felt another twinge. This reminded him of the Drummond job—like someone had made a mistake and he was silencing the wrong person.

What are you waiting for? Torque’s voice startled Michael, but he didn’t flinch. He cleared his head and focused.

Michael lifted his weapon and pointed the business end of it in the direction that put the Richards woman in its path. He clicked a button and locked it into place, keeping the weapon on and trained at her. On the monitor, he saw Richards sway. She turned off the mixer, but before she could set it down, she collapsed, dragging bowl and mixer down with her.

The bowl shattered when it hit the floor. Batter and glass sprayed everywhere. The mixer plug yanked free of the outlet, the cord snaking down on top of her.

Michael waited.

She jittered and thrashed. Then she was still.

He waited.

She didn’t move.

Michael took his cell phone from his jacket, which hung on the back of the passenger seat behind him, and speed-dialled Jim Cornell, his boss. He heard a click, and Cornell’s voicemail kicked in. When the beep sounded, Michael cleared his throat and spoke. Hi, Jim. Valiant here. We’re done at the job site and on our way back. He ended the call and returned the phone to his jacket.

A glance at the monitor verified Richards was still motionless. Michael stuck the weapon back into the pouch at his side. Mindful of the low ceiling, he climbed into the driver’s seat. He started the van, anxious to leave, but waited while Torque shut down the equipment and climbed into the passenger seat.

When they reached the south end of Richmond Hill, Michael’s cell phone rang. He punched the speaker button. Valiant here.

Yeah, Mick. It’s Jim. I got your message. Good job.

I’ve gotta ask, Jim: what did these people do? They don’t seem like our typical targets.

You can ask, Mick, but trust me, they’re a threat. And this isn’t something we discuss over a cell phone.

Right. He hung up the phone, but his doubts continued.

I wouldn’t question Cornell if I were you, said Torque. If you want to ask someone anything, ask me. If I don’t know the answer, it’s because we’re not supposed to know. Are we clear?

Michael nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. Torque was right. But he persisted. Don’t you think it’s odd, though, that we’re targeting housewives now?

Maybe they aren’t just housewives. It’s not our job to verify that the targets are correct. What’s up with you? I’ve never known you to question an assignment.

This feels different.

Torque stared at him, one eyebrow raised, his lips pursed. You going all new-agey on me? Have you been spending too much time on Carolyn Fairchild’s file?

Carolyn Fairchild, one of their catch-and-release targets, was a psychic medium running a holistic practice from her home. Michael laughed, shaking his head. Thanks for that. I needed a good chuckle.

Let it go, Mick. Don’t worry about if they’ve been properly vetted. You can be sure they have. Whoever the Agency targets, they no doubt earned the recognition.

Michael didn’t reply. He exhaled, releasing tension. These were career-limiting thoughts. He needed to get over them, or risk, at the least, his career, at the most, his life and perhaps even Jessie’s life.

Two hours later, Michael pulled the van into a reserved spot in a parking garage in downtown Toronto. Torque looked around the van. Don’t forget your jacket.

Michael nodded, retrieved his jacket, and picked up his files. He locked the van and walked around to where Torque waited. Torque already had his ID badge clipped to his lapel. Michael pulled his own badge out of his pocket and pinned it on.

Have time for a drink after we report to Cornell? Michael asked.

Still avoiding the home front?

I guess. I have to make it up to her, but I don’t know how. Even as he said it, Michael knew he wouldn’t have that drink with Torque, he wouldn’t be home for dinner, and he wouldn’t let it drop. He’d hole up in his office and do a little digging on that UFO group.

Michael mentally reviewed the list of remaining targets: John and Carolyn Fairchild, Shelly and Steven Rudolph, and Arnold Griffen. But first, he would find out why Ralph Drummond and Patty Richards were considered such threats they’d had to be silenced immediately.

Chapter 2

Michael delivered a hurried verbal report to Jim Cornell, who seemed by turns complacent and suspicious. When Michael tried to ask again about some background information on the targets, he swore Torque and Cornell had exchanged looks. Michael knew he was pushing it, but somehow, the words kept spilling out of his mouth.

It was the way Richards had twitched on the floor, batter and glass speckling her body, and the sight of her daughter, who’d never again have her mother watch her in a school recital. A visceral need to know why compelled him to continue talking about it.

At first, there was stunned silence while Michael sputtered about hitting the wrong target. Then Cornell asked Michael to leave the room.

Now Michael hunched over his computer at his desk, Patty Richards’s blog open on the screen. He scrolled through the page. Richards referenced Ralph Drummond often, and they frequently collaborated on speaking engagements. While Richards wasn’t listed as a member of any UFO groups, she was often a guest speaker. Michael clicked on a link to see on what topic Richards had last spoken.

The Government Conspiracy with Extraterrestrials to Plan the End of the World

Well, she wasn’t far off the mark. Michael could see why it would attract attention. He wondered where she’d found her information and checked her schedule. She’d spent the last four months touring North America. She was slated to present more talks in early May. Obviously, it was too soon for the websites to be updated with information on her death.

Michael opened up a popular video site and searched for anything that might show one of her talks. He found a large collection, clicked on one, and let it play, immersing himself in it.

Ten minutes later, he heard the sound of someone in the outer office. He paused the recording and toggled the screen to a document with his report to Cornell.

Torque stuck his head in the door. What are you doing here, Mick? I thought you were going home for dinner.

I stayed to finish some things.

Such as?

Writing up that report for Cornell. He tried to sound bored. I thought I’d wrap this up tonight.

You mean you thought you’d avoid Jess tonight.

Michael flushed and averted his eyes. He glanced at the time. It was 7:00 pm. If he dropped everything and left now, it would take him at least an hour to get home. Jess would’ve had her dinner already, and he’d eat alone. But he wasn’t leaving yet. At this point, he wouldn’t get home tonight until after she was in bed.

Torque stepped into Michael’s office and shut the door. Listen. Cornell asked me to make sure you fall in line. This isn’t a threat—yet. We’ve worked together a long time. You’re doing well. Never mind what the targets are up to or why they were selected. Leave it alone. If you don’t, you could find yourself on the list, and there’d be no questions asked by anyone about why you’re on it. Go home. We have more jobs to do, and I expect you to carry them out the way you’ve always done. Will you do that?

Without missing a beat, Michael said, Sure. No worries. Did Cornell leave yet?

He just left. Anything I can do?

No. I’ll catch him in the morning.

Torque stood in the doorway, frowning. Just remember what I said. He turned and left, closing the door behind him.

Michael waited for a few moments, making sure his partner was gone. He flipped back to the paused video and clicked play. Richards’s voice, impassioned, floated up.

The facts I’ve presented point clearly to a coming catastrophe. Sadly, the whole thing is being orchestrated and accelerated by our government. And our government isn’t alone in this. They’re joined by covert agencies from the governments of other countries: The United States. The UK and other member states of the European Union. Australia. The conspiracy is far-reaching, but it includes only a select number who will survive what comes.

Michael paused the video. He’d heard enough. He wondered again where she’d found her information. She was right, up to a point. The conspiracy existed, the earth was in trouble, but the Agency wasn’t accelerating the damage.

He had a horrifying thought. As far as he knew, the Agency wasn’t accelerating it. Was that why they’d killed Richards? Was she exposing something even those who thought they were in on it didn’t know?

Michael searched for Drummond’s blog. When he found it, he could see right away where Richards got her information. Drummond was vocal. He also had links to videos of his talks about the conspiracy and the coming catastrophe, but he was talking as if he had first-hand knowledge. Do we have a leak in one of the agencies? In this one?

No wonder Drummond had been silenced, and it made sense they wouldn’t want Richards to keep talking. Was Drummond’s source one of the others on the list? No. If the source were known, he or she would’ve been the first to go.

Drummond must’ve had evidence at his home, but the Agency would’ve removed whatever was there. The Drummond house was also bugged and loaded with hidden cameras. Drummond was paranoid—but he was one of the few paranoids who had a valid reason to be.

Michael opened a drawer in his desk and removed Drummond’s file. Included in the dossier were the addresses of Drummond’s home and a cottage he and his wife owned. It was possible Drummond stored backups of whatever he had at his cottage, but the Agency would’ve thought of that.

Only Ralph Drummond would be able to tell him anything, but Ralph wouldn’t willingly talk to Michael. He’d be suspicious of anyone trying to get information from him—particularly one of the men who’d helped lock him up. Perhaps the wife, Beth, would be helpful? But if he approached her, then Torque and Cornell would know he hadn’t let it go.

Perhaps he could find what he was looking for at the Agency? Whatever they’d retrieved from the Drummond house would be in the evidence room in the basement. Michael had access, but only on Cornell’s authority. However, there’d be no one there right now. The room had security cameras, but no one would have any reason to review the footage on the cameras if he left no evidence of tampering.

Michael slipped a lock-picking tool case and roll of packing tape into his briefcase. After verifying his digital camera and netbook were in there, he shut down his computer.

Ten minutes later, he was jimmying the lock on the storage room door, careful not to do any damage. Once inside, Michael switched on the lights and locked the door. An orange couch rested along the left wall, and two matching orange armchairs sat along the right wall.

The furniture in here always reminded Michael of a hippy commune in the nineteen-sixties—not that he was old enough to have seen one. But he’d never seen furniture more outdated and garish in his life, and it out-gassed a musty odour, like salvage from a flooded basement. The art wasn’t any better. Dogs playing poker hung above the couch, and a velvet matador challenged a bull above the chairs.

An attendant usually sat behind the reception counter. A bulletproof glass pane, drawn across the counter, sealed off the space. When an agent came to retrieve something from storage, he or she would hold the requisition form and ID up to the window. If everything checked out, the attendant would open the door on the right of the counter to let the agent through. Michael went directly to the door and jimmied the lock, again being careful not to damage the locking mechanism.

Michael switched on the light in that room and turned off the lights in the main reception area. He returned to the storage area and locked the door behind him.

A long table against the wall on the right, across from the attendant’s desk, held the latest evidence to be catalogued and stored. He hoped whatever had been retrieved from Drummond still sat on this table and not on one of the hundreds of shelving units that filled the 700 square metres of the storage room. He didn’t want to have to crack into the database to find it.

Michael started with the boxes brought in two days before and worked his way down the table. The third set of boxes looked likely. There were four boxes. One contained a laptop, external hard drive, and a few memory sticks. The others contained a digital camera, file folders with papers, and larger documents rolled up and secured with elastics.

He removed his netbook from his briefcase, booted it up, and opened one of the file folders. When he saw Drummond’s name, he knew he’d found what he was looking for. The folder he held contained copies of Patty Richards’s blog posts. Michael put it back in the box. Even if the site was shut down, and he expected it would be, he could still find copies online through an archiving website.

While files transferred from the memory sticks, he unrolled the scrolled documents. Maps. He flattened them onto the table, using nearby boxes to keep them from curling back up. A detail map of Algonquin Park showing canoe routes caught his eye. He leaned down to examine it more closely.

A black, oval mark in an area near the centre of the park, north of Highway 60, indicated an alien underground base. He’d never seen this base before, and he was sure he’d been made privy to all the ones located in Ontario. Michael photographed everything, but put the map with the base into his briefcase. The other maps returned to the boxes.

He picked up the next folder and opened it.

The next time Michael looked up, he checked his watch. It was 9:00 pm. Surprised he hadn’t heard from Jess yet, he reached for his cell phone, but realized he wouldn’t have service down here. He’d have to retrieve any messages from Jess when he left. It also meant he wouldn’t be able to call to let her know he’d been delayed. She’d just have to understand.

By the time he’d reviewed half the folders in the box, he’d copied everything from the memory sticks and had cracked the login to the laptop and hard drive. He discovered Drummond didn’t store files on the laptop. That left only the external hard drive, so he started transferring the files over to his netbook.

Twenty file folders remained. It shouldn’t take him long to go through all this since he wasn’t reading everything. When he found something he thought would be useful, he took a photo of it to review later. He reached into the box, pulled out the next folder, and opened it.

When he saw what was there, he wished he’d listened to Torque and gone home. He closed his eyes as if to try to un-see it.

Chapter 3

Jessica Valiant turned off the television and stared at the dirty dinner plate on the coffee table—another meal eaten alone in front of the TV with no word from Michael. Jess picked up her plate and took it to the kitchen. When her bare feet hit the cold linoleum of the kitchen floor, a shiver went through her.

It had felt good to strip down to the bare minimum when she’d first arrived home, hot and sweaty from her commute on the bus from Toronto, but now she felt chilly after sitting in the air-conditioned house. She checked the clock on the stove. It was already after nine.

She rinsed her plate and cutlery and put them in the dishwasher. Jess looked around the kitchen, wondering what to do next. She’d already tried calling Michael, but all she got was his voicemail. She’d left one message. The other two times she’d hung up. Frustration welled up.

They’d spent five years in Canada, and no matter how much Michael promised her things would be different up here, nothing changed. Her routine still consisted of coming home from work to an empty house, eating dinner alone, and then going to bed alone.

Her friends and family thought she was crazy for putting up with it. Most of them told her to get a life. There seemed to be an even split between those who told her to get a hobby and those who told her to get a divorce. She didn’t want to get a hobby.

Jess was afraid if she went out and joined something, she’d meet someone else. She didn’t want anyone else. She wanted Michael. But, like her friend Sarah said, it didn’t look like Michael wanted her as much as she wanted him. Still, she wasn’t ready to leave him. She wanted to be with him. She loved him.

To be fair, he had a demanding job. An expert in climate change, the issues of the world consumed him. His concerns weren’t limited to what happened locally. He wasn’t having an affair. His job was his affair.

When they’d first met, she too had been passionate about her work and spent all her time focusing on her career. It made them a perfect match, especially since she also was a scientist. Her specialty was nutritional research, and she was a formulator for one of the top vitamin manufacturers in North America.

Sometime over the last five years, Jess decided she needed more in her life, and reneged on a promise she’d made to Michael when they first married. She brought up the subject of having a baby. He balked, of course. He’d made it clear to her he didn’t want to have children.

His work made him pessimistic about the future of the planet, and she understood how that might make him cautious about bringing a child into this world. But she was sure they could manage no matter what happened. Shouldn’t life go on with optimism? So Jess decided to do what she wanted and hope for the best.

She’d stopped taking the pill a few months ago, but her opportunities to entice Michael into bed were rare. In what she concluded was masterful manipulation on her part, she’d inveigled her sister to let them use her cottage for a long weekend the month before. She’d calculated her most likely time to be fertile, insisted he take the break from work, and lured him out to the cottage.

He’d kicked and screamed about it, but had gone along, and they’d had