Pagan's Spy

by Matt Eaton

  Table of Contents

  Pagan's Spy (Verus Foundation, #3)

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY ONE

  TWENTY TWO

  TWENTY THREE

  TWENTY FOUR

  TWENTY FIVE

  TWENTY SIX

  TWENTY SEVEN

  TWENTY EIGHT

  TWENTY NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY ONE

  THIRTY TWO

  THIRTY THREE

  THIRTY FOUR

  THIRTY FIVE

  THIRTY SIX

  THIRTY SEVEN

  THIRTY EIGHT

  THIRTY NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY ONE

  FORTY TWO

  FORTY THREE

  FORTY FOUR

  FORTY FIVE

  FORTY SIX

  FORTY SEVEN

  FORTY EIGHT

  FORTY NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY ONE

  FIFTY TWO

  FIFTY THREE

  FIFTY FOUR

  FIFTY FIVE

  FIFTY SIX

  FIFTY SEVEN

  FIFTY EIGHT

  FIFTY NINE

  SIXTY

  Pagan’s Spy

  Matt Eaton

  ONE

  Tuesday November 18, 1952

  President-elect Dwight Eisenhower had been sure they were leading him toward the Situation Room. He was surprised to find his Secret Service man instead taking a different corridor past the White House Mess to what at first appeared to be a dead end.

  One of the agents then tugged on a panel in the wall which opened a well-hidden door to reveal a dimly lit spiral staircase leading down to a tunnel walled in rough concrete. There were pipes hanging from the ceiling and the tiled floor looked like it hadn’t been swept in years.

  “Is it safe in here?” the President asked hesitantly. “It looks like a construction site.” Ike was wondering whether this might be Harry Truman’s idea of a practical joke.

  Secret Service agent Elmer Deckard stepped into the tunnel, immediately followed by fellow agent Jim Hipsley.

  “It’s quite safe, sir,” Deckard assured him. “It always looks like this.”

  “Did Harry run out of money or something?” Eisenhower wondered aloud.

  “The tunnel is a well-guarded secret, sir. President Truman ensured it doesn’t appear on any of the official White House plans,” Hipsley replied.

  Harry Truman had gutted the White House in 1948 and expanded upon FDR’s underground air raid shelter (hurriedly constructed after the bombing of Pearl Harbor) to accommodate a nuclear-age concrete bunker directly under the East Wing. The tunnel was the most direct route to the bunker from the West Wing and allowed the President to cross from one side of the White House to the other without being seen — never an easy feat for the most-watched man in America.

  The agents led the President down the tunnel and around a bend to the door of what looked like a large bank vault.

  “We seal you inside in the case of an emergency,” Deckard explained. “The bunker has its own air supply and you are safe from all forms of attack.”

  “Save a direct hit,” said Eisenhower.

  “Well, yes, I guess that’d be true, sir.” Deckard threw a switch just inside the vault door and the space flickered before his eyes as fluorescent lights blinked into operation.

  “I hope you’re not planning on sealing me in there today.”

  “No sir. But I will wait here at the door while you’re inside. Agent Hipsley will go back now to bring down your guests.”

  Officially, the bunker was known as the President’s Emergency Operations Center (PEOC). As he entered, Eisenhower noted the wartime feel to the place. Cots lined a hallway that led to a large open meeting room containing a long table and about 20 chairs. One or two smaller rooms branched off the main area, but there was nothing much to the place. A spartan and dire hole in the ground in which to bury the Commander in Chief as the world outside went to hellfire and damnation.

  Ike pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. He hoped like hell he would never have to come down here again. He couldn’t quite bring himself to imagine that even Joseph Stalin might be mad enough to wage nuclear war against his former ally, but then again, the war had shown him men of power often acted out of spite instead of reason or good intent. He hoped to avoid such traps after being sworn in.

  He wondered if Nixon knew about this place. He figured it was unlikely. Ike relished the idea of keeping this one to himself, having some time ago decided he would only tell his Vice President what he needed to know and nothing more. They would never be friends, and Eisenhower suspected they would never work closely together while in office.

  “Hello sir, sorry to keep you waiting.” Admiral Roscoe Hillenkoetter carefully placed a folder down on the table and took a chair to sit diagonally opposite the President-elect. “It’s an odd room this one, don’t you think?”

  “That’d be putting it mildly,” said Ike, shaking the Admiral’s hand.

  “I’ve only been down here once or twice. Never liked it.”

  “Well, putting our venue to one side, I must say I’m intrigued, Admiral. A secret room for a secret briefing. What could possibly be of such critical import?”

  Hillenkoetter opened the file in front of him. “Sir, I am a member of a Top Secret grouping known as Majestic-12, or MJ-12 for short. My designation is MJ-1, being the first appointed to the group shortly after becoming the director of the CIA in 1947.”

  “Majestic,” said Ike. “Sounds auspicious.”

  Hillenkoetter placed a briefing paper down in front of the President-elect. “I’ve been directed to bring you up to speed with our work. This document, which I must insist on taking with me after our meeting, will explain to you what we’re about.”

  Hillenkoetter sat patiently in silence for the 15 minutes it took Ike to absorb the contents of the briefing paper. The front page set the tone with a warning:

  “This is a Top Secret – Eyes Only document containing information essential to the national security of the United States. Reproduction in any form or the taking of written or mechanically transcribed notes is strictly forbidden.”

  The briefing paper named all members of the Majestic-12 group and went on to explain how it was a research and development intelligence operation answerable only to the US President and established under classified executive order.

  It went on to detail the retrieval operations undertaken to gather wreckage from several crashes of disc-shaped objects dating back to 1947. It explained how four small humanoid bodies were recovered from a crash site in a remote part of New Mexico and taken to Roswell Army Air Base (now Walker Field).

  “A special scientific team took charge of removing the bodies for study. The wreckage of the craft was also removed to several different locations. Civilian and military witnesses in the area were debriefed and news reporters were given the effective cover story that the object had been a misguided weather research balloon.

  “A cover analytical effort organized by Gen. Nathan F. Twining (MJ-4) and Dr Vannevar Bush (MJ-2) acting on the direct orders of the President, resulted in a preliminary consensus that the disc was most likely a short-range reconnaissance craft.”

  The paper pointed out that while the bodies found were human-like in appearance “the biologica
l and evolutionary processes responsible for their development has apparently been quite different from those observed or postulated in homo-sapiens”.

  “Since it is virtually certain that these craft do not originate in any country on Earth, considerable speculation has centered around what their point of origin might be and how they get here.

  “Mars was and remains a possibility, although some scientists, most notably Dr Donald Menzel (MJ-10), consider it more likely that we are dealing with beings from another solar system entirely.”

  For some time after he had finished reading the words on the page, Eisenhower continued to stare at the paper, evaluating their implications. He’d heard about the crash at Roswell in 1947 when he was Army Chief of Staff. But this was the first time he’d seen or heard any mention of alien bodies. When he finally looked up, Roscoe Hillenkoetter was watching him patiently. “Who else knows about this?” Ike asked the Admiral.

  “Only people with a Majestic clearance level.”

  “What about the CIA?”

  “Well sir, as you will have noted, CIA director Walter Smith is a member of MJ-12. As to who else at the agency knows, I can’t say for certain but I believe it would be a handful of people at best.”

  “There are more than 12 people in the loop.”

  “President Truman also placed Dr Menzel in charge of another group that maintains Majestic access. It’s known as the Verus Foundation. Verus has Majestic-level clearance.”

  “Never heard of it,” said Eisenhower.

  “Which is precisely the point, sir. Verus was created as a clandestine storage hub for Majestic and all other highly classified matters, with a view to it being a library of critical data for future generations.”

  “And you’re sure this level of secrecy is warranted?”

  “We are, sir,” Hillenkoetter replied.

  Ike couldn’t help but notice a pause before the Admiral said those words. Like he didn’t truly believe it. He also saw the shadow of doubt that swept momentarily across Hillenkoetter’s face. “It says here Majestic is a research and development group. How far have you got with that?”

  “Not very far at all, I’m afraid. We are dealing with technology far in advance of anything yet devised by our own scientists. It could take decades to make sense of what we have here. It’s one of the reasons for secrecy — there are too many questions that remain unanswered.”

  If he’d been free to speak his mind, Hillenkoetter might also have mentioned a Top Secret project called FS-1 — which had deliberately been omitted from the presidential briefing paper. A project in possession of working alien technology that aimed to turn it to American strategic advantage. But FS-1 was also way behind the eight ball. It would be years before they knew what they were dealing with. Perhaps even longer than Eisenhower himself would be in office. As such, Majestic-12 had voted by overwhelming majority to take FS-1 out of the presidential approval process. They had decided that President Eisenhower didn’t have a need to know.

  TWO

  Tuesday November 18, 1952

  Eisenhower and Hillenkoetter emerged from the POEC vault to find a woman waiting dutifully alongside agents Deckard and Hipsley. Seeing her caught the President-elect off-guard, both because she was younger than he expected and because her face was familiar. “Hello,” he said.

  Edna Drake saw the look of recognition in his eyes and smiled appreciatively as Hillenkoetter made the introductions. “Hello again, sir.”

  Ike turned his head slightly and frowned. “I’m afraid you have the advantage over me, Miss Drake. I must admit I can’t recall where we met. Where was it again?”

  “To be honest, sir, I’m surprised you remember me at all. It was on Utah Beach at Normandy.”

  “Good God, I do remember that. You were helping that brave medic, what was his name?”

  “Waverley Woodson, sir.”

  Woodson — a black medic — had been forced to work single-handedly to save a score of critically wounded men at a makeshift medic station. Edna and two other nurses were rushed in from their hospital ship to help him on June 8. The rest of the 24th Evacuation Hospital didn’t arrive until four days later.

  Edna had volunteered to go on ahead, not realizing those four days would come to feel like an eternity of hell. She arrived to find the medic station a bloody shambles. Her first moments of the war were panic, pain and terror.

  A day later, while touring Omaha Beach, General Eisenhower had thanked them personally for their service. “It was one of the bravest things I’d ever seen,” said Ike. “A remarkable act of compassion. Now here you are again.”

  “I’ve been wanting to congratulate you on your election win,” she said.

  “Very kind, thank you,” said Ike, glancing briefly in Hillenkoetter’s direction. “But why weren’t you in that meeting with us?”

  “I’m not cleared to Majestic level just yet,” Edna admitted sheepishly. She hoped the President didn’t think less of her for it.

  “Miss Drake is replacing Bill Donovan as the Verus Foundation security consultant,” Hillenkoetter explained. “She’s been reviewing material already in the foundation’s possession. We haven’t yet cleared her to take part in ongoing operations.” This was at the behest of Donald Menzel — given the nature of her entry into Verus, he was yet to be convinced of her loyalties.

  Ike shook his head. “That needs to change, Roscoe.”

  Hillenkoetter nodded. “Of course, Mr President.”

  Eisenhower laughed. “Bill Donovan. That old fox told me nothing about any of this, you know.”

  During the war, Donovan had headed up the OSS, the progenitor of the CIA. Inside the agency and out, he was known as America’s spymaster. He’d never had a direct hand in agency affairs post-war because Truman didn’t like him so much. But it was a mark of Truman’s grudging respect for the man that he’d placed Donovan in charge of security for MJ-12 and Verus.

  Ike and Donovan had been good friends for years and Donovan had worked closely on Ike’s 1952 election campaign. But Donovan kept his affairs strictly compartmentalized. Since the Washington saucer flap the previous year, Ike had strongly suspected Donovan knew more about aerial phenomena than he ever let on. Yet no amount of probing or prodding had brought forth anything on the topic from Donovan’s lips.

  “He never gave up any of this, you know,” said Ike.

  “Truman thought he’d told you everything,” said Hillenkoetter. “But Bill knows how to keep a secret.”

  With the Secret Service agents leading the way, they began walking back along the sparse corridor toward the West Wing basement proper. “This place gives me the creeps,” Ike told them.

  “It’s the lighting,” Edna decided. “It feels like we’ve left the whole world behind.”

  “Too much has already been forgotten in this place,” said Ike. “But I do like the sound of this Verus Foundation. A keeper for the secrets. Yes, I like that. My door is open to you, Miss Drake, if you ever need anything.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Big shoes you’re filling. Bill Donovan is one of the greats. A real-live American hero.”

  Edna swallowed hard, reluctant to reveal she didn’t hold the same lofty view of Donovan’s character. “I’ll do my very best.”

  “I have no doubt of it,” Ike assured her.

  She wondered how Ike would react if and when he discovered Donovan was still keeping secrets. It had been Donovan who was responsible for bringing the FS-1 flying saucer onto American soil. At great personal and physical cost, Donovan had flown the spacecraft halfway around the world from right under the nose of the Russians. It struck Edna as perverse in the extreme that MJ-12 was keeping this from the new President, but she too was a keeper of secrets. To break that vow by speaking out of turn would risk life and liberty. Much as she wished to do so, it was a risk she dared not take.

  They emerged above ground near the Cabinet Room inside the West Wing. Eisenhower looked both ways, but di
dn’t move. “I’m lost — where to now?”

  Deckard led the way, taking a right turn along a corridor that led them to the West Wing lobby. “Just head out through the portico then turn left to West Executive Avenue,” Deckard told Edna and Hillenkoetter.

  Ike waved them farewell. “I’d better look in on Harry before I go. Until the next time. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Drake.”

  Edna noticed two men in conversation near the building entrance. She was certain one of them was President Truman’s right-hand man, John Steelman. She didn’t recognize the other fellow, but he had the look of a typical Washington bureaucrat and she didn’t think much about it other than to note that he caught Hillenkoetter’s eye, though the Admiral made no attempt to greet the man. Yet she was sure they knew one another.

  CIA counter-intelligence chief James Jesus Angleton did indeed recognize Roscoe Hillenkoetter, his former boss. He watched their departure with interest. “Who’s that with Hillenkoetter?” he asked Steelman.

  “I have no idea. His secretary, perhaps?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” said Angleton, though he didn’t believe that for a moment. He could tell Steelman was lying. Angleton left aside the more pertinent question of what business Hillenkoetter could possibly have with the President-elect. He suspected Steelman wouldn’t give him a straight answer, but knew then and there he absolutely had to find out more. With a new administration came new opportunities and there was nothing that opened doors like insider knowledge.

  Eisenhower had called her Miss Drake. He would make it his business to find out more.

  THREE

  Friday December 5, 1952

  A shiver ran up Edna’s spine as she turned her shiny new Ford Crestliner coupe onto the dusty track winding its way to Lee Tavon’s farm. Trees had been planted along the roadside, making it harder to see the farm from the edge of the drive. The place felt far less menacing in daylight hours, particularly given the military was now nowhere to be seen. But the memory of being kidnapped at gunpoint were still vivid, and unsettling to say the least. She had borne witness to a level of strangeness so detached from everyday reality that all these months later her recollections of what went down had become hard to reconcile. Her life had taken a sharp turn that night and it would never be the same.