Groom Lake

by Bryan O

  The sensor worked by relaying invisible laser beams to other units and forming a fence or perimeter. If someone walked through the laser, breaking the relay, a camera on the tripod would activate and send the signal to a command center.

  I must have been walking parallel to its beam, she surmised with a sense of relief before looking for other devices in the chain. Whatever they’re guarding around here must be beyond that sensor’s path, toward the north end of the valley.

  Janice scouted her surroundings for other possible entrances to an underground facility. She knew the valley had a base. She could feel it. Yet she saw no signs of life, no noises, no movement. By focusing on the indentations in the valley wall, she had paid no attention to the north end of the valley from her position above. That was her new suspicion for an entrance location. She scoured the mesa blocking her view of the north end, looking for an up-and-over route, but it was steep and could take more time to climb than she had before daybreak. Instead she considered staying in the valley and walking north around the mesa. But that too had issues: no cover and surveillance devices. So she searched for the easiest route to climb. As she panned the night vision, a blurred movement, like a giant dog dashing into a bush, caught her attention. She attempted to focus the binoculars, but the movement had ceased. All she saw was brush.

  Janice considered the falling rocks she had heard earlier and suspected someone, or something was out there, tracking her. She pulled a 22-caliber pistol from her satchel and wiggled a baby bottle nipple that was duct taped to the barrel’s end, making sure it was secure. The nipple would suppress sound from the first few shots.

  On the mountainside, the camouflaged man squatted next to a second motion sensor and extended his arm, purposely passing it through the invisible laser beam.

  Janice’s scanner started emitting a steady chirp, warning that a motion sensor had been triggered. The consequences were enormous and immediately nauseated her, but there wasn’t time to pause. She had been motionless and knew that whatever she’d seen on the hillside had triggered the alarm. Heading that direction wasn’t an option, and she’d already ruled out heading north along the lakebed. West would take her into the dry lakebed, promising no cover and an obvious trail of footsteps.

  She stuffed the gun back in her waist satchel and slipped off her backpack to leave it behind so she could travel faster as she fled south. The water in her canteen wouldn’t get her through the next day, but that was no longer a concern.

  Janice ran at a furious pace, fueled by adrenaline. Her remaining gear bounced and rattled with each step. Within minutes a thundering sound growled behind her as she fled. Glancing over her shoulder toward the sound, she stumbled, then tripped. Her momentum carried her through the air for several feet before she skidded to a stop on her right shoulder.

  The intensity of the sound grew louder. As she rolled to her back she saw a monster soar over the horizon: an MH-60G Pave Hawk. A special operations helicopter with four crewmembers and room for a small strike force.

  Janice scampered to her feet and bolted into a dry wash that carried water from the mountains when it rained. She stopped next to the remains of several uprooted Joshua trees and decided to bury herself, trying not to think about the critters that lived in the barren hideout.

  The chopper made several passes before circling back toward the triggered motion detector, giving Janice confidence that she hadn’t been spotted. She stood and hurriedly brushed herself off before darting toward an outcrop of rocks she spotted on a hillside. She neared the rocks and realized she could hide on the backside with a good view up the valley, but as she rounded the nearest bolder, the butt of an assault rifle cracked her petite nose. Her legs buckled, and she dropped to her knees, dazed, trying to regain focus, snorting blood. A boot planted in her chest, taking air from her lungs and knocking her backwards. A soldier landed on top of her, his forearm pinning her at the throat. A second soldier pressed his knee to her cheek, rolling her face to the side and squeezing her head against the ground.

  More soldiers appeared, and with swift and silent actions they vigorously grabbed and pulled at her body until she was on her belly, arms and legs hogtied in the air behind her.

  A hood was slipped over Janice’s head. She felt a sharp pain in her neck. Her eyes became heavy, and the sheer darkness under the hood prevented her from realizing that her vision was starting to blur. Her eyes narrowed, becoming heavier, heavier, heavier …

  As the soldiers carried their captive toward a waiting helicopter, an amber-lit craft streaked silently overhead at one thousand feet, coming out of nowhere and making an unorthodox ninety-degree downward turn, descending into the north end of the valley. As they had been trained, the soldiers paid it no attention.

  CHAPTER 6

  Daybreak. Papoose Valley’s human inhabitants could not see the sunrise over the Groom Mountain Range to the east. Nor could they feel the severe change in desert temperature from night to day. Temperature throughout the spider web maze of tunnels and shafts linking barracks, offices, equipment areas, meeting rooms and storage chambers remained constant in the subterranean military installation.

  Also hidden underground were two hangars, ten stories high, engineering marvels worthy of praise, but lacking any due to the strict security hiding their existence. The engineers who designed the hangars didn’t know they had been built. The builders had not known entirely what they were building. And construction crews were delivered in windowless cargo planes, flown in random patterns for hours at a time to disorient them.

  The military’s underground installations stemmed from circa 1950s studies in conjunction with the Army Corps of Engineers. Original plans called for protective shelters in case of nuclear war. Soon officials realized the practicality and feasibility of developing underground sites for security purposes. Studies focusing on logistics developed ways of generating power, circulating air, treating sewage and building underground reservoirs that made the facilities self-sufficient. Additional emphasis on security led to concealed shaft entrances in hillsides with camouflaged portals that were undistinguishable to passing satellites—foreign and domestic.

  In a stark room, strapped to a chair at the ankles, waist and wrists, Janice waited. A loose-fitting hospital smock covered her body. Blood trailed down her chin from her swollen nose, gathering in random puddles on her chest. Then the door opened and she recognized the suit-wearing man from the bar as he invaded the room, steam rising from two mugs he carried.

  “I brought you some coffee,” Damien Owens said as kindly as his raspy voice allowed.

  She responded in a bitter, nasal tone, “Are you supposed to be the good cop?”

  “Right now I’m just a man offering you coffee, but I commend your knowledge of American colloquialisms.” Standing over her, he stared momentarily with a contrived grin, then gently poured coffee from one mug across her chest. The thin smock offered no resistance to the burning liquid and grew transparent against her skin. She let out a brief cry before closing her eyes and internalizing the pain.

  “You were so comfortable at the bar with my friend Ben Skyles when you poured that drink on your shirt. I want you to be comfortable around me, too.” He pulled a chair in front of her and sat, but she turned her head away. Holding his hand near her throbbing nose, he said, “Don’t make me force you to look at me. I like studying eyes and facial gestures. They tell far more truths than words.”

  Reluctantly, she faced forward with a frigid stare.

  “That’s better. Now tell me why the Chen Di Yu is on my base?”

  Janice only offered silence. He’d need to do a lot more than scald her before she cooperated.

  Owens’ demeanor remained calm and friendly—slick. He knew what he was doing; every word and action orchestrated with the intention of intimidating, influencing and testing his victim. He stood, pacing the floor in front of her. “You’re not the first pretty woman we’ve caught out here. There were a couple of Russian agents in our
midst a few years back, just before the end of the Cold War; one was a woman. Something tells me she’s deceased now. I guess sending the KGB a copy of the transcript from her confession, which included details about the Russian government’s interest here, was upsetting to someone. But don’t worry; I’m going to try something new with you. So hopefully the punishment for your failures will be less severe.

  “Do you want to know what the Russian agent told us?” Owens’ question was rhetorical and not intended to garner a response. He continued, “In 1977, in the town of Petrozavodsk, more than one hundred and seventy witnesses reported seeing a UFO hovering in the sky for several hours. This led the Russian government to start investigating UFO sightings.” Owens interrupted himself with a smile and wink. “I wonder if they ever considered that maybe the object was American and we were playing games? In any case, they took the results of their investigations and started a back-engineering project to develop new propulsion systems and aircraft. Very ingenious, but not an original idea. We had programs like that … in the fifties. Too bad UFOs were taboo in the old Soviet Union. That narrow-minded approach to the situation forced them to focus on the space race with NASA, all the while overlooking our other celestial experiments.”

  Janice was confused by the way he offered and insinuated information instead of trying to extract it from her. This wasn’t a good sign; the more he told her, the less chance she had of being freed. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I want to see what surprises you and what doesn’t. Anyone who has heard stories about an underground base in Papoose Valley has also heard about this facility’s supposed connection with recovered flying saucers and alien bodies. Maybe we’ve got the bodies floating in formaldehyde somewhere nearby. And if we have alien bodies, surely we have their spaceship.” He widened his double-pupil, reptilian eyes and cocked his head to the side. “You want to take a gander at that? After all, you came here for technology.”

  “If you showed me technology, you could never let me go,” Janice said.

  “Depends on how much you remember when we’re through.”

  The statement concerned and silenced her.

  “We know that after the Iron Curtain fell, self-serving KGB agents sold their information about this facility to China. And you are proof that it was acted upon. Do you think we have UFOs out here, Janice?”

  “I thought you were going to tell me,” she mumbled.

  “I wish it were that easy, but we like the fact that people don’t know the truth. On any given night, lunatics are sneaking around the outskirts of this base looking for little gray men in the sky. Ufologists are what they call themselves. Most are fools looking for attention, so they conjure up stories, give themselves a title, and act important amongst their peers. Sometimes their UFO stories serve as a buffer for our operations.” Pausing for a sip of coffee, Owens asked, “Care for more?”

  His antics were upsetting enough to make her upper lip quiver slightly.

  “Can you fathom the implications of the information you seek?” Owens asked. Quickly throwing in the disclaimer, “Assuming for a minute the knowledge you’re after exists.”

  Janice only listened, and that was getting harder to do as her skin felt like it was blistering from the hot coffee. Her nose had stopped bleeding, but it was crusted and stuffed, forcing her to breath mostly through her mouth.

  “You obviously don’t understand the global social-economic issues at stake,” Owens continued. “If the information you sought is here … and it got out … we might have to modify the Bible—at least Genesis.”

  “Your mother obviously didn’t raise you to be a man of God,” Janice said, hoping to insult him.

  “My mother didn’t raise me,” he answered proudly. “So tell me, as long as we’ve segued to antiquity, has China started researching the origin of the Sumerians in their UFO studies?”

  She again refused to answer or acknowledge him.

  “Well, it’ll intrigue your superiors eventually. Now, back to our situation here; we’ve already managed to piece together some information on you during the past few days. Using your name and credit card from the rental car you were driving, we’ve found hotel stays as well as some corresponding phone records that linked you to a man in Los Angeles—Desmond Wyatt. He happens to be one of the ufologists I mentioned. I suspect he gave you tips about the external security at the base, but given your ability to penetrate so deep across the perimeter, I have to wonder if there is something more to Desmond Wyatt, or if there’s someone else involved. Did Desmond know anything about your background? It’s one thing when these people subvert national security in an attempt to satisfy their own twisted curiosity about little gray men, but to help a foreign nation … that’s deeply disturbing.”

  Janice continued her selective silence. Owens’ actions and tone were so deliberate, and absent of uncontrolled emotions, that she sensed this was a game to him, an enjoyable duty.

  “I take it you don’t want to answer that one? Tell me what you hoped to accomplish by talking to Ben Skyles. Did someone lead you to him, or was it merely fate that of all the workers at the airport, Skyles stopped to help you? He was a real treasure chest of information. That’s why we monitor his type. And that’s why we caught you.”

  Janice stared forward, concentrating on the gray cement wall in front of her, wondering if they regularly used the room for interrogations since there seemed to be no other apparent use.

  Realizing he wasn’t going to make sufficient progress through this style of questioning, Owens stood behind her and spun and scraped the metal chair on the concrete floor so Janice was facing the opposite direction.

  Janice stared at a metal table stacked with a bank of electrical equipment, all exotic to her. She considered that this was indeed some type of interrogation room, but capturing spies was not the norm for this facility; she wondered who else they interrogated here.

  Then Owens walked behind her and fidgeted with something in his hand. She turned her head and saw a needle, just as he eased it into her neck. He then started connecting her to the equipment, pasting electrodes to her scalp and slipping several under her smock and around her heart.

  “I’m sure you’ve seen or taken a lie detector test before,” Owens said, affixing the final piece of equipment—a metallic device, resembling a bicycle helmet—to her head. “And you’re probably familiar with hypnotic exercises and psychological drugs like truth serums. I’m sure the Russians sold you their research reports on psychological intelligence—everything was for sale after the government collapsed. This equipment connected to you, it’s the fruit of America’s efforts in that field.” He paused to study Janice for the last time in her present state, staring past her beaten and expressionless face into her weary bloodshot eyes. “The mental notes you’re making about this location, my words, this equipment … they’re all a waste of time.”

  CHAPTER 7

  At bedtime as a child, Ben Skyles’ mother often reassured him ghosts, goblins, spooks and other things that went bump in the night were make-believe. As an adult, he sometimes wanted to correct her about the spooks. They were real! They wore dark suits! And they worked for the federal government!

  Awaking, Skyles found himself in a small gray room with his chest, hands and legs strapped to a hospital bed. Cords and electrodes were attached to seemingly every part of his body, stretching through the air behind him like strings on a marionette, feeding his bio-signs to racks of equipment, an indicator to him that they suspected his mind was out of synch. He tried to remember how he got to this place, wherever he was, but his thoughts swirled around and around in his head, scrunched between obscure images—the moon, the stars, Earth, spiral galaxies—that ran on and on and on like a poorly constructed sentence, and he wondered why the moon didn’t have a name like Earth had a name—after all, nobody called Earth the planet—and then he wondered why he was wondering any of this at all. Rest was what helped slow his mind when it acted like this. He clos
ed his eyes, taking advantage of his solitude, unaware if his confinement was the help he needed, or trouble…

  Skyles didn’t know the suit who had confronted him at the bar by name, but despite an ailing memory, he couldn’t forget the man’s face, those obscure glaring eyes, his large stature, and the smooth confidence in his stride. The same stride that now glided through the door of Skyles’ hospital room—or observation room, or jail cell. Skyles still had not determined where he was sequestered. He shut his eyes and feigned sleep, hoping to avoid the man in the black suit a while longer. The man’s footsteps were gentle as they approached the bed, then stopped and the room became as silent as when Skyles was alone. A few awkward seconds passed. Skyles tried opening his right eye enough to see, without making it appear open.

  “Quit pretending to be asleep. I saw your eyes open on a video monitor before I came in.”

  Skyles opened his eyes, searching for the camera.

  “It’s hidden. Don’t bother looking for it,” the man said in a monotone voice as he stared down at Skyles, offering no hint of his attitude toward him.

  Skyles made eye contact for a second, but then let his gaze retreat toward the ceiling. The man’s intent stare felt like heat from the desert sun against his face. Skyles wanted to say something to break the silence but was at a loss for words, and the man’s raspy voice made him uneasy, as if the devil himself was speaking.

  Realizing how uncomfortable his presence was making Skyles, Owens smiled and said, “You don’t need to be afraid of me, Ben. As long as you cooperate.”

  “Can you tell me what’s going on?” Skyles asked, finally making eye contact with Owens.

  “I need you to tell me about that woman you were with at the bar?” Owens said in a conversational tone.