The Ferris wheel creaked and groaned as it spun, defying gravity. As a kid in the southwest, I had a love/hate thing with Ferris wheels. But something was alluring about seeing the world perched atop a rickety wheel held up by bars of steel and willed to turn on demand.
Pushing memories aside, I headed for the ticket booth. A kid barely old enough to shave looked at me like I was crazy and handed me my stub in return for what I thought was too much money.
The line to board the contraception consisted mainly of parents and small kids. My contact said he would be wearing a blue windbreaker and a Bills ballcap accompanied by his small kids. He was right about the Bills cap, as there are few Bills fans in this city. I spotted him, waiting in line, and slipped in line behind him. I sat in the seat behind him and his kids, two small boys who were excited to have a day with Dad.
As the wheel groaned and came to life, the baskets swung as they gained altitude. I had been watching the wheel most of the morning and timed out about how long each turn took and how many turns it took, so I knew exactly how long I had. Leaning forwards, I shouted over wheels creaking, screaming kids, and the howling wind.
“Robert.”
He turned and looked at move over his shoulder sideways. “Don’t turn around.” He sat straight in the wooden carriage seat. ‘You came.”
“I said I would. You have it?”
“Yeah.” In between keeping his two kids sitting still in their seats, he managed to fish a long envelope from inside his jacket. He held it at almost shoulder level. I glanced around, then reached and snatched it from his hand and slipped it into my jacket.
“I’ll contact you again later. You enjoy the rest of your day with your kids.”
By now, the wheel was on its final spin, and the kids were getting bored and antsy. They weren’t the only ones who wanted off this god-awful machine. When It finely settled down, I waited until Robert and his kids were out of sight, and I headed for the nearest coffee shop, ordered an espresso, and sat down in a dark corner. I opened the envelope.
The old black and white photos revealed alien ships shot down in Roswell, New Mexico, over fifty years ago.
I already knew that.
Robert, one of our best operatives, wouldn’t tell me who had the photos, but he promised they would no longer be an issue. Without corroboration, the photos were useless. The government would claim someone faked the photos.
I put them back in the envelope and smiled. As I finished my drink, I booked a flight to New Mexico. My grandfather will be excited to see some old family pictures.
Pushing memories aside, I headed for the ticket booth. A kid barely old enough to shave looked at me like I was crazy and handed me my stub in return for what I thought was too much money.
The line to board the contraception consisted mainly of parents and small kids. My contact said he would be wearing a blue windbreaker and a Bills ballcap accompanied by his small kids. He was right about the Bills cap, as there are few Bills fans in this city. I spotted him, waiting in line, and slipped in line behind him. I sat in the seat behind him and his kids, two small boys who were excited to have a day with Dad.
As the wheel groaned and came to life, the baskets swung as they gained altitude. I had been watching the wheel most of the morning and timed out about how long each turn took and how many turns it took, so I knew exactly how long I had. Leaning forwards, I shouted over wheels creaking, screaming kids, and the howling wind.
“Robert.”
He turned and looked at move over his shoulder sideways. “Don’t turn around.” He sat straight in the wooden carriage seat. ‘You came.”
“I said I would. You have it?”
“Yeah.” In between keeping his two kids sitting still in their seats, he managed to fish a long envelope from inside his jacket. He held it at almost shoulder level. I glanced around, then reached and snatched it from his hand and slipped it into my jacket.
“I’ll contact you again later. You enjoy the rest of your day with your kids.”
By now, the wheel was on its final spin, and the kids were getting bored and antsy. They weren’t the only ones who wanted off this god-awful machine. When It finely settled down, I waited until Robert and his kids were out of sight, and I headed for the nearest coffee shop, ordered an espresso, and sat down in a dark corner. I opened the envelope.
The old black and white photos revealed alien ships shot down in Roswell, New Mexico, over fifty years ago.
I already knew that.
Robert, one of our best operatives, wouldn’t tell me who had the photos, but he promised they would no longer be an issue. Without corroboration, the photos were useless. The government would claim someone faked the photos.
I put them back in the envelope and smiled. As I finished my drink, I booked a flight to New Mexico. My grandfather will be excited to see some old family pictures.
