Anaz-Voohri by Vijaya Schartz Read Free Book Online

right,” he yelled in Lobo’s ear. “They probably bugged the house again.”
    Lobo’s helmet shook as he laughed. “Poor bastards could be up all night. I feel sorry for their wives.”
    “At least they have wives,” Zack railed.
    “Dude, if they stole the bogus files from the computer in your room, they are in for a surprise.”
    “That’ll keep them busy for at least a week." Since the last time the Feds had stolen his files, Zack had booby-trapped his old computer, which had become a bed of viral infection. The real files remained safe with him at all times, on CDs and the laptop he carried in his back pack.
    “About time we give them something to worry about." Lobo chuckled. “Might be fun to get these guys scared for a change." He seemed to think of all this as fun.
    Avoiding a glance toward the black van, Zack pulled into the driveway, next to his mom’s car. No need to leave space for his stepfather, who’d taken yet another assignment overseas. It happened a lot lately, and Zack couldn’t blame him. The atmosphere in the house had become rather depressing since his mom had stopped working and vegetated on the couch like a recluse, finding refuge in her bottle of Blue Heaven, the new liquor the color of sapphire that matched her eyes.
    After his sister’s disappearance, his parents had sold the house in Granada Hills. Too many memories of Ashley. They’d bought another home close to Berkeley campus, so Zack could stay at home while going to school. It made his mom feel less alone. A lot of good that did.
    Zack and Lobo entered through the front door.
    Sitting alone on the fancy sofa, Zack’s mother glanced up from the television. “Hi, Lobo. Hi, Hon. How did your test go?" Her speech sounded slurred, and Zack noticed the glass of blue liqueur on the coffee table. His mother had lost her professional polish. She looked old and tired and frail in the semi-darkness. But he understood her pain and couldn’t blame her.
    Zack held up his black belt and diploma for her to see. “Got it, Mom.”
    “I’m glad." Her smile waned and she turned her attention back to CNN.
    Zack knew she still hoped the CIA would find Ashley among the terrorists, somewhere in Iraq or Afghanistan, so she kept up with all the developments in the middle-east. Zack felt bad about it. He’d broached and lost the argument so many times, he didn’t even try anymore.
    Zipping through the kitchen, Zack snatched two cans of soda from the fridge then bounded up the stairs with Lobo. Once in his room, he locked the door and dropped all the stuff on the desk. He glanced through the window and considered the black van with foreboding. Would the Feds really hurt his family if he went too far? They would go ballistic when he released his book. They were in it, with all the dirty little tricks they’d pulled on him for the past two years. He closed the navy blue roll up blind before turning on the light.
    His space had a very different feel from his old room in Granada Hills. No posters of Angelina Jolie here. One wall featured detailed renditions of the alien Zack had seen that night, along with other alien portraits from his mind contacts with Ashley. Maps of the stars covered the ceiling. Another wall featured artist sketches of what Ashley would look like now, with long hair, short hair, no hair at all. Anasazi drawings and pictographs Zack had gleaned from his psychic travels on the alien ship dotted the other walls. Among them, many representations of Kokopelli, the legendary flute player.
    Zack had met Lobo while researching Kokopelli. Although his friend was Apache, he had connections with many tribes. So Zack had learned from an old Hopi artist from Arizona that Kokopelli was actually a well-endowed fertility god, and what he played wasn’t a flute at all. That’s why he always looked bent, not because of the sac of grain on his back. They’d had a good laugh that day.
    Lobo, who knew the debugging routine by now, already