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.He had been working for quite some time before he began to get the creeping realization that someone was watching him.Smith had no idea what triggered his sixth sense.He only knew that his old CIA training had kicked in, alerting him to potential danger.Page 32ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlHe continued to type as if unconcerned.But even as his hands swept purposefully across his plastic keyboard, his eyes shifted upward.It was just a moment's glimpse.But it was enough.Peering over the bifocals of his rimless glasses, Smith instantly spied the man sitting across the terminal.He was in his thirties or forties.His flat, owlish glasses were similar to Smith's.A week-old beard sprouted in scruffy patches from his sunburned face.A green nylon knapsack sat between his worn hiking boots.His faded jeans were torn at the knees.In spite of the heat outside, he wore a khaki Army field jacket.Sitting, he seemed very lanky.He was certainly several inches above six feet.He was also staring directly at Smith.Shocked, the CURE director focused back on his computer.His mind reeled even as his fingers typed nonsense strings of letters.Look casual.Do not appear obvious.Smith tried to pull himself together.It could be that the man just happened to be looking at Smith at the same time Smith happened to be looking at him.Coincidence.That had to be it.Convinced that this must be the case, Smith cautiously looked up.His eyes again locked with those of the stranger.Worse, the man stood, collecting his knapsack.Heart thudding, Smith looked back down at his computer.The man was leaving.That was it.The only real explanation.The stranger would step outside, and afterward Harold Smith would get on the first plane back to New York.Chiun could deal with the Remo situation.It was foolish for Smith to have come out here in the first place.The very idea was a security risk.Staring at his laptop, Smith waited for the stranger to step past him and continue toward the exit.But the man did not go.As Smith felt his bowels clench in sick fear, the khaki jacket slid into the seat beside him."The truth is out there," the man said cryptically.Smith continued to type.His mind swam.Fingers pressed blindly against keys."Trust no one," the man said.His voice was hushed."Excuse me," Smith said, not looking up from his computer."I am trying to work."There was silence for a moment.Smith felt the man hovering somewhere to his left."Is that some kind of code?" the stranger said suddenly.With a start, Smith glanced up from the jumbled letters of his bar screen.The strange man was leaning back in his seat, peering at the CURE director's hidden laptop.In a surprisingly swift move, Smith slammed the lid on his battered leather briefcase, shutting the lid on the laptop in the same move.He didn't even care if the device was broken."That is none of your business," Smith snapped."Relax, old-timer," the man said."Arthur Ford," he held out a hand, smiling broadly.Smith didn't know what else to do.To refuse the gesture would have been to draw more attention to himself.Feeling the life drain from him, he shook the man's hand."You're a believer.I can tell," Ford said cheerily."You dress the part."Smith shook his head, baffled."Part?""You know," Ford insisted."The X-Files.We get a lot of your kind around here.I'm more a Star Trek man myself, but to each his own.""I am sorry," Smith admitted."I am at a loss.""Sure you are." Ford laughed."I suppose you're going to tell me you don't know what happened here in Roswell?"Smith was beginning to relax slightly.He had obviously caught the eye of a local nut.Still, he had no desire to engage the man in conversation."I am busy," he said."If you would not mind.""Aliens," Ford insisted."They crashed in the desert.Everyone knows about it.There's been a big government cover-up of the whole thing.The military is Page 33ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlusing reverse engineering to figure out how their ship works
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