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  “Okay, here goes,” Monroe said.

  He ran a slideshow. Autumn woods. A park service sign for the Melvin Hazen Trail and Rock Creek Park. The creek with a common gray bird on a stone. Another shot of the same bird lifting its head. Somebody was really into birds. The pictures were full of rich detail. More birds followed, some in flight and some so camouflaged in the underbrush they were almost invisible. A spectacular hawk with a very dead mouse in its talons. A black triangle on the ground.

  “Christ, what’s that?” Travis said.

  Monroe stopped the slideshow. “You got me,” he said, and went to the next photo. The black triangle again.

  The strange craft lay at a bad angle in thick weeds and had no cockpit, no wings, and no visible insignia. The streaks of mud on the hull, the broken tree limbs, and crushed weeds were so real that Travis could almost touch them. Behind the triangle the woods faded into the horizon.

  “Looks like a UFO,” Travis said.

  “You’re not pulling something, Maguire, because I’m late already and I don’t have time for this crap.”

  “Come on, man, I just found the camera ten minutes ago.”

  Monroe gave him a skeptical look and continued the slideshow. Over a hundred and fifty shots of the triangle from all angles. Wide windows. Ripped metal. Gouges in the forest floor where the thing had plowed across the ground. The pictures returned to the woods with a series along the creek. Then a figure appeared in the trees.

  Travis leaned forward.

  The picture was slightly out of focus, as though the photographer had taken it in a hurry. A towering woman with gigantic girth was striding toward the camera. Her pale chopped-off hair brushed the collar of a long gray garment that flared over her feet.

  Monroe enlarged the section. In the close-up they could see her small eyes and massive neck and how her features twisted as she squinted at the photographer. There was something frightening about her expression, but Travis wrote it off. A lot of people weren’t photogenic.

  Did she know about the crash?

  “That’s it, the last one,” Monroe said. “Maybe a military plane came down in the woods.”

  “It’s not a military plane. Look how narrow it is. What’s the date on them?”

  Monroe clicked on a picture. “Yesterday.”

  “And what about the sumo-wrestler woman? What’s her date?”

  “Yesterday, like everything else.”

  “So what’s this thing doing in the woods?”

  Monroe leaned back and gestured with one hand. “Well, something happened. That’s obvious. You know, I’ve got an open mind and I’m not going to say that UFOs don’t exist because I just don’t know. The main thing here is even if you think that UFOs are real, a UFO just can’t crash in the middle of the nation’s capital without people knowing about it. First of all, it would never get past the military. It wouldn’t happen.”

  “Unless, of course, it had technology that’s beyond us,” Travis said.

  Monroe didn’t seem to hear him. “And even if it did get past the military, just for the sake of argument, somebody somewhere would’ve seen it. People are up twenty-four hours a day. Cops. Cab drivers. People in cars. Somebody would’ve reported it. There has to be an explanation.”

  “Like what?”

  “I have no idea.” Monroe shook his head, copied the pictures to a flash drive, printed one shot of the black triangle and the giant, and gave everything to Travis. “Annie’s waiting for me. I’ve got to go.”

  Travis made coffee, went upstairs, turned on his laptop, and rang his mother.

  “It’s me,” he said. “Didn’t Burke Collins used to work for the Associated Press?”

  “No ‘hello Mom’?” she said. “How about a ‘how are you’ for your poor old ancient mother?”

  “Hello, Mom,” he said in a slow, theatrical tone. “And how are you this evening?”

  “Oh, I’m fine,” she said. He pictured her just in from her advertising agency, wearing jewelry and a suit. “I’ve never been better. I feel like a queen. Burke worked for the AP years and years ago.”

  “What’s he do now? He’s in politics, right?”

  “He’s a consultant, and he’s doing very well. He has his own firm on Capitol Hill. What’s this about, Travis? You’re not looking for a job, are you? You know you have to finish college and get your Master’s.”

  “I just need his cell phone. I want to ask him something. It’s not that big a deal.”

  “I’ll have to look it up.” She sounded annoyed. “I talked to Lisa a few minutes ago. They’re going to look at a condo tomorrow after they land. She’s so excited. She says they’ve been looking online for a month. Remember that we’re eating at six, so be sure you’re here at five, Travis. I’m going to need your help with this dinner and I don’t want to hear any half-assed excuses. And speaking of asses, your father called. He wants to fly you up to Halifax for Christmas.”

  “Happy holidays in Halifax. I’ll talk about you the whole time.”

  “Not funny,” she said.

  “I’ll wait while you get the number.”

  “I’ll send it to you, sweetie.” Click.

  Sweetie. She really knew how to get on his nerves. Travis shook his head and went out on the upstairs screened porch. He’d lived on the porch all summer, reading novels into the night, but it was too chilly now to stay out there for long.

  So Lisa and Ian were coming back to D.C. after two years in London. Ian planned to work on a textbook and teach philosophy at a Washington university next fall. Lisa had left her British magazine and lined up something in Washington, too, although he wasn’t sure what. He missed his sister. She’d flown to D.C. for a week every summer, but it would be good to have her around all the time.

  Faint sounds came up the hill from Connecticut Avenue, horns and rumbles amplified by the clear night air. His thoughts turned to Rock Creek Park. Beyond the avenue the skyline gave way to the city’s great swath of wilderness.

  The black triangle might be lying in there now.

  He stared down the hill at the dark trees and then up at the sky, looking for stars, but the glare from the city drowned them all out.

  When he went in, his mother had emailed Burke’s cell phone number with a rambling reminder about the dinner tomorrow. He propped the print of the black triangle on his desk, took out his phone, and tried to find the right words. Foley came up and jumped on the bed.

  He knew that Burke used to work for the AP, he texted, careful not to say too much. He wanted his professional opinion about some digital photos, the most incredible pictures he’d ever seen.

  While he waited for an answer, he went through the photos again. The photographer shot everything over a four hour period, but other than a park sign and a few scenes of the creek, there were no landmarks, just hundreds of trees that all looked the same.

  Did the photographer wander around or take a straight path?

  He Googled Rock Creek Park and found the Melvin Hazen trail, the path he’d scrambled down off Connecticut Avenue. The park itself was twelve miles long in one place, had twenty-five miles of trails, almost eighteen-hundred acres of wilderness, deer, raccoon and fox, overgrown bridges, and the ruins of old mills.

  The letters on the camera bag had to be the photographer’s initials. Who was JF?

  Burke’s text came in. He had a meeting with a client in the morning and was picking up a train ticket at Union Station. He’d be there at noon near the theater.

  Monroe loped across the parking lot toward Maxwell’s. The restaurant had closed for the night, but he could see Annie in the adjoining store, straightening bottles of organic wine and sleek cooking equipment on the shelves. She waved, pulled her long hair over her shoulder, and came to the door, fastening her coat over her jeans. His heart skipped a beat when she smiled.

  “Hey, you,” he said.

  She leaned up to kiss him. “I’m starving. I’ve been craving a bagel with cream cheese and tomato al
l day.”

  Monroe laughed. “The deli’s closed. Maybe the pub has bagels.”

  They went into Sullivan’s, an Irish watering hole with a floor full of half-empty tables. A gaunt, fortyish waiter took their order when they sat down near the bar. Sully’s didn’t have bagels. They didn’t have cream cheese, either, but the waiter said the kitchen would come up with something just as good. Monroe ordered a bottle of water.

  “I still want a bagel with cream cheese,” Annie said.

  “Let’s get married,” Monroe said.

  She smiled and looked down. “I’ve heard that before.”

  “We’ll have a bagel and cream cheese wedding cake.”

  “I want sixteen children. You should know that.”

  “Fine with me,” he said. “Let’s have twenty-five.”

  She toyed with her silverware. “How many children do you really want?”

  “I want to get through law school before I even think about that.”

  “I still want sixteen.”She looked down again.

  The baby conversation again under the banter. He’d put his studies aside when his parents died and promised himself he would get his law degree before life swept him away again.

  “I’ve never seen that necklace,” he said, trying to turn her mood.

  Annie smiled. “It belonged to my mother. She brought it with her from China when she came here as a girl. The characters say ‘forget me not.’”

  Rain was falling by the time they left Sully’s. The wind gusted through the leaves and rattled the signs in the parking lot. They had just stepped off the curb when she grabbed his sleeve.

  “What’s that?” Annie said.

  A mangled mass of gray feathers and curled up red claws lay under the streetlight. The head was missing and a thin stream of blood ran over the wet sidewalk. Monroe looked up. Flocks of pigeons roosted above the stores and in the trees near the Metro. This one must have been a straggler.

  “A pigeon,” he said with disgust. “A cat must have gotten it.”

  Annie took his arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter 3

  The Woman in the Photo

  “UFOs aren’t real,” Burke said with derision. He handled the print as if it had lice and put it down on the cafe table. In his thirties with eyebrows that rose in mock surprise and an immaculate suit and tie, he had the soft look of a man who lived in his office.

  Travis took his black coffee and settled in a chair, feeling like a lowlife in jeans and sneakers. Behind them a crowd moved through Union Station’s glittery food court.

  “Looks real to me,” Travis said. “When you worked for the Associated Press—”

  “I covered politics, not UFOs.”

  “Just tell me, with your professional experience, do you think somebody could’ve staged these photos?”

  “Sure they did,” Burke said. “They put a toy against some bushes to make it look like it landed from outer space.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s not a toy, and those aren’t bushes. That’s obvious. They’re trees. Look at that. It’s unbelievable. How can you say that’s a toy?”

  Burke laughed. “Okay, it’s probably not a toy. You know what it is? A movie set. Some ridiculous low-budget movie that somebody shot in Rock Creek Park, and after they filmed it, they lost their camera.”

  “They don’t make movies with digital cameras. They use movie equipment and computers.”

  “Hey,” a voice said.

  Travis looked up at The Most Beautiful Girl in the World. Most Beautiful wore jeans, a white sweater and black jacket, and had twisted her long honey blonde hair into a loose braid. Small silver half-moon earrings shone on her perfect ears. Everything else about her looked perfect, too. Then he realized she wasn’t talking to him. She was looking at Burke.

  “Got your ticket?” she asked him.

  Burke nodded affectionately. The blonde sat down at the small table, put a small shopping bag on the floor, turned her blue gaze on Travis, and introduced herself.

  Her name was Lexie. She asked Burke about a trip to the Adirondacks he was taking that weekend. Looking at her, Travis felt all hands, elbows and bulky coat, too big for the tiny table. Burke was her brother, which was a surprise. He had to be at least ten years older and in a bad light could even pass for her father. She’d transferred to American University and moved in with him. Travis asked her what she was studying. History, she told him.

  “I go to AU, too,” he said. “Literature. I might teach.”

  She gave a polite nod. “Oh. So what’s up with you two? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on,” Travis said. He reached for the print, but her brother snatched it away and put it back on the table.

  “No, show her,” Burke said. “It’s invasion time.”

  “I never said that,” Travis told him.

  Her eyes widened. “A UFO. Where did you get this?”

  “I found a camera with these photos.”

  “What do you mean, you found a camera?”

  “In Rock Creek Park.”

  “So somebody took this,” she said. “It’s not made up.”

  “Oh, come on,” her brother said. “Of course it’s made up.”

  “Did you see Seeing is Believing?” she asked Travis.

  “No, what’s that?”

  “The documentary. They interviewed all these people who saw UFOs, a truck driver and police officers and pilots. Some of them saw black triangles, too. I own it. I’ve watched it a hundred times.”

  Her brother stared at her as if she’d lost every brain cell in her head.

  “Hey, maybe I can borrow that from you sometime,” Travis began, and then felt his guts twist. “It’s her. I can’t believe it.”

  The giant from the photos moved into the crowd that poured out of the Metro at the end of the hall. Her unmistakable figure pushed through the crush of tourists, commuters, homeless people, and shoppers, but the mob was ignoring her. They were all intent on the escalator. The giant wore the same gray floor-length cape that she’d worn in the photo, a heavy garment with deep folds that hid her feet. She reached the escalator and wedged her bulk on the rising steps. More people exiting the Metro pushed on after her and began to glide up, too. In a moment she would be gone.

  Travis leaped up, scattering napkins all over the floor. “The woman in the photo!”

  Lexie stared at him. “What woman?”

  “Somebody photographed her in the woods after the UFO—”

  “Where is she?” Lexie asked, jumping up, too.

  But he didn’t have time to answer her. He grabbed the print, elbowed through the crowd, ignoring the dirty looks, and made it to the escalator.

  By the time he arrived at Union Station’s wide open upper level, the strange woman had disappeared. Cold air rushed in with the revolving doors. Did she go outside? He ran to the windows. People were coming and going in and out of cabs. A couple dragged their children toward the station. Porters crossed the sidewalk. Not there. In dismay he turned around. Travelers burdened with luggage bustled across the marble floor, crisscrossing through crowds of sightseers and shoppers, and suddenly he spotted her. He slouched over a table in front of a bookstore and hid his face behind a stack of books.

  Lexie hurried across the floor with her brother trailing behind her.

  “Where’s the woman?” she asked, flushed with excitement.

  “Over there, the giant.” Travis pointed to the Amtrak corridor where the strange woman stood with her back turned to them. Her pale hair brushed the rolls of fat on her neck.

  “She’s going to catch a train, for God’s sake,” Burke said. “Better hope she doesn’t take Amtrak to Alaska. Stalking her across the United States could get expensive.”

  Lexie rolled her eyes. “Did you ask her about the pictures?” she asked Travis.

  “No, no, no,” he said. “I didn’t ask her anything.”

  “What if she saw the crash?”

  “Oka
y,” he said. “Let’s let do it then. Let’s ask her.”

  They crossed the floor together. The giant seemed to be getting her bearings. Was she lost, a confused traveler? The station was full of people trying to find someone, or an ATM, or a place to get a cup of coffee. She was even bigger than she’d appeared in the photo.

  “Excuse me,” Travis said, but she didn’t seem to hear him over the noise in the corridor. He tapped her shoulder and pulled his hand back, disturbed.

  Her gray coat looked like wool but felt like coarse animal hide.

  The giant turned around. Pale hair, pale skin, an albino. Their eyes met. She stared at him with the primitive calculation of a crocodile that had been sunning itself in the wild until a fool poked it with a stick. She was three times his size, a boulder of flesh. He took in her massive neck and squat head and his mind went blank. The photos. He couldn’t find the words to ask her anything. They shouldn’t be standing so close. Something was horribly wrong with her.

  The voices of people pulling their luggage through the corridor sounded muffled and faraway, as if they were talking underwater. When a group of business travelers crowded against them, the giant moved away.

  “She’s awful,” Lexie said.

  Travis shoved his hands in his jacket, mad at himself for freezing up. “I’ve got to see where she goes,” he said, and took off with the others at his heels.

  The giant descended the escalator again. Once she reached the downstairs hall, her eyes lingered on a clerk straightening magazines in the newsstand window, but then she moved on to the Metro, shoved the glass doors back with crablike hands, and entered the swarm of people rushing up from the trains.

  Travis raced to the farecard machines. They were going to lose her.

  Lexie tore through her purse. “I’m out of change.”

  “Take this,” her disgusted brother said, coming up with the fare. “This is outrageous. I’m going home. We can’t follow some woman we don’t even know all over Washington.”