Destiny's Daughter - Alien Mysteries Investigations PT3

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© A Sunderland 2011
Dawn’s left hand slowly withdrew a carbon fiber pin, concealed as part of her purse. Her right hand nonchalantly touched a seemingly innocent metal hairgrip. She shuffled round to get both men in view. Precise fluid movements would neutralise their threat instantly.
Langan listened in silence for a few more minutes and then nodded his head. “We’ll treat her as hostile,” then closed the phone.
Dawn’s fingers tightened on the hairgrip, her right arm poised like a praying mantis. The razor sharp points of the grip driven into a man’s neck would disable, if not kill, immediately.
“Are you alright?” Langan asked.
She would get only one chance. This was the moment. Grasping the eight inch pin tightly she turned to Langan, “Err what?” she asked, distracted.
“You look very tense, worried even.” He smiled reassuringly
“All this seems, um, well rather―”
“I must apologise for this rather melodramatic meeting, but Two F-sixteens shot down an unidentified aircraft earlier this evening,”
“So the air force has asked you to investigate?” She eased her grip on the weapons.
“No,” he replied. “They ignored clear protocol and decided not to inform me. I only found out about it from a contact at the Defense Department!” he thundered.
“It is probably just a light aircraft off course,” Dawn surmised.
“We’re pretty sure now that it is alien and almost certainly in this area for a specific purpose.”
“Oh really?” Dawn asked.
“There have been reported sightings from some of the sleepy, little towns scattered around these parts,” Langan said. revise
“Maybe it was a weather balloon. After all no alien contact has ever been confirmed.”
“You’ve never been to Area 51, have you?” the Assistant Director asked.
“No. Of course not! But I watched Roswell High on T.V.”
“Bit young for that aren’t you?” he asked, slightly amused.
“It was research for this job,” she replied. That and endless hours of tedious television and ludicrous sci-fi films, she thought to herself. Everything ever written or produced on the speculation of alien life.
“Well you didn’t bombard the T.V. studio with Tabasco sauce did you?”
“No,” she replied, confused. “Why would I do such a thing?”
He laughed at her bewilderment. “I’m just teasing.”
“Well the whole concept was just ludicrous anyway,” she replied self-consciously.
“In what way?”