Contact in Nevada

By Ian G Dalziel

The young archeologist thought he’d found something important in the Egyptian tomb.
“It’s a fake,” said his colleagues, sneering at the small tablet. “Just look at the images of the alien heads.”
“It’s very old,” said a wise old Italian, “and it has instructions for how to contact the UFOs that fly in Earth’s skies.”
The young man and the Italian’s granddaughter began a long journey to the deserts of Nevada, hoping to meet the aliens and avoid a world-wide conflict.
A covert group, operating deep inside the US government was intent on destroying the aliens, and wanted to stop the two travelers at all costs. The chase was on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ian G Dalziel
• Release date: Dec 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370930883

Book preview

Chapter 1 Strange Alloy

I don’t understand what you’re saying, Paul, Alan said, looking up from his desk, you think this is modern? He turned the metal plate this way and that, examining it closely.

Of course it’s modern. Paul stood beside Alan’s desk, gazing down at the object. Just look at the sheen on it. It’s some kind of alloy. Where did you get it?

I took it from the top of the sarcophagus myself, Alan said. In the oldest of the three tombs we found using those new deep sonar techniques.

Paul frowned. Show me where. On the maps.

Alan put the object down, then pulled a map from the stack at the side of his desk.

It was this location here, he said, tapping his finger on the chart, at Giza, near the Great Pyramid. I think it’s a stele—you know, a tablet or plate with inscriptions on it.

I know what a stele is, Paul said, slightly annoyed. I’m an archeologist too, aren’t I? It’s way too small for a stele, and those are usually made of stone or wood. This is something else.

He turned the object, looking carefully at the front and back.

I’ll tell you something, Alan, I think this thing is a hoax. Some joker got into the tomb before you, and placed it there.

Impossible, Paul. I opened the place up myself. The walls were covered with hieroglyphs, with not even the slightest crack to show that someone got in. The stele was lying there, covered in centuries of dust.

Yeah? Well someone could’ve gone in from the ceiling, or come up through the floor. Grave robbers are clever, you know.

Except that this wouldn’t be grave-robbing, would it, Paul? It would be grave . . . provisioning, or something like that. Why would anyone do such a thing?

Paul snorted. To get in and steal items from the tomb, then have fun fooling people like you. He paused, then said, Still, let’s see what we can figure out.

He took the item in his hands.

It’s about twelve inches by three, Paul mumbled. An alloy of some kind, and probably modern, like I said. The markings are weird, though, and they can’t have been incised or etched into the surface. Their fine lines seem to be an integral part of the thing. And the motifs, well they . . .

Paul’s voice trailed off, and his expression changed to one of shock and surprise.

What is it, Paul?

The figure here at the top. It’s a head.

I can see that.

"But it looks like an alien head, Alan. I don’t like this one bit."

"Are you superstitious, Paul? We are scientists in the Smithsonian for God’s sake. All sorts of cultures made images that look like alien heads."

Paul set the object down on the desk, then stepped back.

"No, I’m not superstitious. Of course not. But I’d rather not waste any more time on this thing. I don’t want my department to be a laughing stock around here.

You know, Alan, when I hired you I had very high hopes, because you were curious, and eager to do good work. But if you get distracted by oddities like this, then you won’t make progress here in the museum.

You’re the Boss, Paul. But do you have any objections if I check into it in my spare time?

No, of course not.

Alan smiled. Great. Then where do you suggest I get help with it?

Paul thought for a moment. Maybe Emilio Visconti. Visconti-Canossa, to be exact. He’s from a noble Italian family.

I don’t know the name. Is he here in Antiquities?

He’s not Smithsonian, Alan. He’s independent, and lives in Milford, New Jersey. A bit of an expert on . . . let’s say, fringe issues.

Fringe? Are you sending me to see a weirdo?

Paul chuckled. Everyone is somebody’s weirdo, right? No, Emilio is a nice old guy, and he might have some suggestions for you. Look, I’ve got to get going. Good luck with your very modern find. But don’t spend museum time on it.

Okay, Boss. Thanks for looking the thing over.

Alan shifted the object on his desk, nudging it to beside his computer keyboard, then began logging the item into the museum’s inventory.

Let me see, he said. Nature of item? Small stele or tablet. Dimensions? Hmm, better measure it exactly.

He found a ruler, and carefully lined it up along the edges. Twelve point two inches by three and a quarter.

He continued entering information—the date, time and location of the discovery, the names of the individuals present at the scene and their affiliations.

Finally, he provided an overall description, mumbling as he keyed in the data.

A single hole bored or molded into one end of the item, implying that it may have been hung on a cord. Too large to be comfortably worn as a pendant, but could have been suspended from an altar or similar location.

He propped the item up against a row of books, so that it stood vertically, with the hole at the top.

"Top to bottom, there are six panels of images, Egyptian in nature, but with inconsistent images of alien or unnatural human heads.

"One panel shows a triangle made up of rows of small dots, with detailed markings at the side and underneath it. Another has a row of what appear to be paired sun-and-moon images, and there are a few other signs whose meaning is unclear.

Made of an unidentified alloy. Motifs have fine lines, but show no signs of having been etched in or inscribed.

Alan reviewed his entries, then clicked on the screen icon to log the item into the museum’s database.

There. Done and dusted.

He picked up his phone and made a call.

Cousin Tom? Alan here. Could I spend this coming weekend with you and Cynthia? I’ve got someone to see in Milford, and that’s just along the Delaware from you, right? I’ll come up on the Moto Guzzi. It should make for a nice, long bike ride.

Good to hear from you, Alan, Tom said. Of course you can come and stay with us. It’ll be great to catch up.

Sure will, Alan said, and I could use a quiet weekend at your place by the river. See you Friday.

Chapter 2 The Viscontis

On Saturday morning, Alan left his cousin’s home, and made his way along the rural roads to Milford, New Jersey, glancing at the Delaware River as he rode. Recent rains had made the level unusually high, and he stopped to watch the churning brown water rush by.

He reached the Inn on the main street, then turned into a narrow alley, and made his way up a gradual slope to an area where a cluster of homes sat above the little town.

Alan found the address he was looking for, so he dismounted, took out a small briefcase from his bike’s saddlebags, then walked the last few steps to the front door.

He stood for a moment, looking at the house’s well-maintained appearance, and the heavy, European-style wooden shutters on the windows.

Moments after he’d used the brass knocker, the door was answered by a young woman. She was slim, elegantly dressed, and extremely pretty.

Who are you? she said. Are you looking for work or something?

Er, no, Alan said. I’m a scientist. An archeologist.

"So, you’re looking for meaningful work, then."

What? mumbled Alan, taken aback.

You’re here to see my grandfather?

Emilio Visconti, yes, Alan said. Assuming that he’s your grandfather, I mean.

Best not to assume anything, don’t you think? said the woman. You can’t be a very good scientist if you do that. She paused, then added, Of course, is archeology even a science?

Hey, wait just a minute—

Come in. My grandfather’s by the window in his study, as usual. Go in there. She pointed to the door on Alan’s right. Don’t get him excited. He’s elderly and quite frail.

Alan walked in, and entered the study. There, in an armchair, was a white-haired man, with a woolen throw covering his legs. He was reading from a large book that was lying open on his lap.

Come in, come in, young man, Emilio said, smiling broadly. Who are you, and to what or whom do I owe this pleasure?

I’m Alan Baker. I’m an archeologist at the Smithsonian in DC, and a colleague there suggested I talk with you. His name is Paul Bissett.

Bissett? Oh yes, I recall meeting him some time ago. In the eighties, I think it was. He chuckled. Not the nineteen-eighties, you understand—my eighties, and that was a few years ago. He laughed, then looked again at the young man standing in the center of the room.

First, let me thank you for seeing me, Alan said.

What else would I be doing? Emilio said, his voice shaky. I’m just an old man, lost in his books and memories. Now, what can I possibly do for you?

Alan took an immediate liking to Emilio. He was probably in his nineties, but seemed cheerful and friendly. A refreshing change from the granddaughter.

I brought an object for you to look at, Mister Visconti. Alan opened his briefcase, took out the tablet, and handed it to the old man.

I can also leave you some photos that I printed of it, Alan said, as he placed them on the nearby table.

Emilio looked intently at the object. Hmm, interesting this, he said, turning the item in his bony hands.

He looked up. Ah, here comes Amber, with our tea and cookies.

The young woman walked gracefully in, then placed the tray on a low table beside the two men.

Please be seated, she said to Alan, pointing to an armchair.

He did so, then watched as Amber lowered herself gently onto a stool next to her grandfather.

That’s wonderful, Amber, Emilio said. He looked at Alan. She’s such an angel isn’t she? Thank you, my dear, for making our guest welcome like this.

Amber smiled sweetly at Emilio.

Alan’s eyes narrowed. She certainly deserves high marks for the welcome she gave me. In fact, I’d really love to leave her with a mark of some kind.

He looked Amber sternly in the eye, and she returned his gaze without flinching.

Alan turned back towards Emilio, and pointed at the object. That was found in an Egyptian tomb. The intriguing thing about it is that it looks kind of modern. We can’t figure it out.

He pulled out his phone, and looked down at the screen. The exact dimensions are—

Twelve point two inches by three and a quarter, said Emilio, chuckling.

Alan’s eyebrows rose. How can you tell that?

Because it’s a paiza, Emilio said. Maybe one of the very first to have been made. He smiled.

A what?

A paiza, Amber said, leaning forward to get a better look. In ancient times, these were used as passports, to help VIPs travel safely in unfamiliar territories. These things were mostly found in Asian lands, not so often in Egypt.

Why is it so big? Alan asked. Shouldn’t it be smaller, and easier to carry?

The old man chuckled. Tell me, young man, what would have been the biggest threat to a traveler in ancient times? And I don’t mean wild animals, I mean the threat from humans.

I’m not sure, Alan replied.

Archers, Amber said. The paiza had to be big enough to be noticed by an archer at normal firing distance. Hence the large size.

Emilio smiled. "They were often made of gold, or edged in gold. That way, they would glint in the light, to be even more visible from afar.

"A dignitary would keep it hanging from his neck, covering the chest where an archer usually aimed. Take my word for it, you wouldn’t mind carrying this around if it kept