Majestic

by Unknown

  “Okay. Any questions at all?”

  “No, Chad. We’re good here.”

  “To be clear, Doctor, you will do exactly the same as we did to the other problem cases.”

  “I’m clear on that. They’ve all been successful…so far.”

  Chad played with the lock on his briefcase while gazing pensively out the window—up at what would otherwise have been a blue sky, but was now instead a sky laced with a weird spider web of chemtrail clouds.

  “Alright, then. I’ve had enough problems this week, Phil. Don’t create any more for me.”

  Chapter 35

  Visitors venturing into the David J. Spencer CDC Museum were usually unprepared for the unique experience they would have within those hallowed halls.

  It was one of the most iconic museums in the world, not just for the fact that it was associated with both the Centers for Disease Control and the Smithsonian Institute, but also because it provided an indelible learning experience that would not soon be forgotten.

  The museum was named after the CDC’s most influential director, who served from 1966 until 1977.

  Doctor Spencer was a vibrant public health giant, and a firm believer in the need to preserve the CDC’s colorful history. Under his leadership, the CDC saw dramatic expansion, adding numerous global and domestic health programs—ranging from malaria and disaster relief, to reproductive health and tobacco restraint. His drive and vision also led to the first and only worldwide eradication of one specific disease—Smallpox.

  Inevitably, at least half of the people who visited the museum were dragged in there by curious and enthusiastic friends or relatives—those with a science bent who couldn’t contain their enthusiasm.

  But, by the time the tour was finished, the reluctant ones almost always wanted to return for another visit—to try to soak up for a second time what had probably gone over their heads the first time around.

  The museum had that effect on people. Those who came in yawning, determined that they were going to be bored out of their minds, came back out again with their eyes wide in wonder—brains infused with a weird combination of horror and fascination.

  The museum used a brilliant combination of award-winning exhibits and innovative programming to educate visitors about the value of public health, and boasted quite rightfully about the vast accomplishments of the CDC over its storied history.

  About 90,000 people each year endured the strict security to get through the turnstiles. This was not an easy place to get into. The museum was actually the only building on the entire CDC campus that allowed visitors, but, even with that, the security was tight. Two separate searches were conducted on every single visitor—one while entering the parking lot, and the other one inside the front doors.

  But, once in, the trip was worth it.

  Who wouldn’t be fascinated to learn about scary things like Ebola, Anthrax, Smallpox, and Malaria? Diseases made famous in countless medical horror movies, let alone the front pages of newspapers. Afflictions that to most people were foreign and unimaginable. But, the museum made them seem very imaginable indeed—and created an appreciation for the fact that without an organization like the CDC, these horrifying and very alive “creatures” would destroy everyday lives. In fact, lives would be very short indeed.

  So, at the very least, the museum forced people to think about things they normally wouldn’t think of. They came away with an awareness of the organization’s mission of preventing disease, injuries and disabilities, and encouraging healthy lifestyles.

  The powerful long-term impact of a visit to the CDC’s museum was, quite simply, that a healthy life wasn’t to be taken for granted any longer. And that, indeed, was a good thing.

  One amazing feature of the museum was the CDC Disease Detective Camp. A fun and interactive program that was open to high school juniors and seniors.

  Through hands-on activities and seminars over a five-day period, “campers” took on the roles of disease detectives and learned firsthand how the organization safeguarded the nation’s health…and indeed the world’s. Teams of kids probed a simulated disease outbreak, using some basic epidemiology and laboratory skills, and then reported their findings to a cabal of CDC scientists. Additional activities included lecture hall sessions, mock press conferences, and behind the scenes looks at the CDC nerve center.

  Generally, students went home from these “camps” breathless. Follow-up surveys showed that a good number of “campers” pursued medical or scientific careers as a direct result of participating in this unique experience.

  Doctor Phillip Lansing had participated in these Disease Detective Camps during the early part of his career as an Endocrinologist. He was also trained in epidemiology and internal medicine, but his main area of practice and interest was endocrinology. He was thrilled to know that several of his students who had attended “camp” over a decade ago were now practising medicine. It was nice to know that he and others had had some impact on the life choices of these intelligent young people.

  He was no longer associated with the program, and he missed it. He was now confined primarily to the second basement level of the CDC Museum building, to an area that most people had no idea existed. And, those who had to know just for building maintenance purposes, didn’t have a clue as to what went on down there.

  The only ones who knew everything that went on were the members of Majestic 12. And, of course, himself as the chief physician. Even though Phil didn’t participate in any Majestic 12 meetings, and wasn’t allowed to vote or have any input into what went on, he knew pretty much everything. He had to know, because a big part of his job was ‘containment,’ and he was paid over two million dollars a year to “contain,” as well as to keep his mouth shut.

  He had enjoyed his work in the educational areas of the CDC much more than he enjoyed his work now. But, ten years ago he’d sold his soul to the devil. The money he earned now was ten times what he’d earned before and it easily financed his lavish lifestyle.

  An existence he knew—from what he knew—that in all probability had a relatively short shelf-life. So, he’d decided a decade ago to simply grab the brass ring while he could, because if he waited too long there wouldn’t be enough time left to grab it.

  Phil had a small and specialized staff of doctors and nurses who worked with him down in the well-equipped and lush dungeon of Majestic 12. All they knew was that they were dealing with human examples of health management, humans who required special treatment and diagnosis. All within the confines of the sworn secrecy of the CDC.

  They were forbidden to discuss any of the procedures that took place inside the dungeon clinic. They didn’t know what the penalty would be if they did, but Phil was pretty sure that Chad Powers had used enough of his naturally intimidating personality to get the message across that the repercussions for loose lips wouldn’t be pleasant.

  In the ten years that Phil had worked for Majestic 12, there hadn’t been one incident of medical personnel breathing a single word of what went on down there. So, ‘containment’ was working in more ways than one.

  He’d just hung up the phone.

  Talking with Chad Powers always gave him the shivers.

  The man was the devil incarnate, as far Phil was concerned.

  But, he figured that Chad was probably the best person to do the job that he had to do. Anyone weak, or with even one ounce of compassion, wouldn’t be capable of making the kinds of decisions that Chad had to make.

  Phil also knew that Chad constantly violated the protocols of Majestic 12. The other eleven members didn’t know the half of it.

  They didn’t know that ‘keeping the lid on things’ involved the kind of medical tampering that Phil and his team did. That was totally outside their ‘need to know,’ as far as Chad was concerned. Phil never disagreed with him—he understood the reasons, and his job was to execute decisions, not to question them.

  And, he was paid well for it. He just tried not to think of the crue
lty and inhumanity of it all, because, if he thought too much, his own compassion would rise to the surface. And, that would be dangerous.

  So, Doctor Phillip Lansing resolved his internal conflicts by utilizing self-hypnosis. It helped him focus and guaranteed that he was able to function most of the time as just a brilliantly-tuned machine.

  As he waited for Willy Carson to arrive, he studied his medical charts and notes. He’d done this procedure so many times now he could do it with his eyes closed. It was simple, although complex in its outcome.

  When he first started doing these procedures on the problem cases Chad sent to him, he wondered why Chad just didn’t have these people killed. God knew Majestic 12 had eliminated hundreds of others in their quest to contain information. But, Chad had outlined to him what they’d discovered about these special people over the last few decades. And, Phil understood.

  While Phil’s job was to suppress the side effects, that suppression wouldn’t change one very important fact. Each of the people who had been affected irreparably by those strange beams from above had undergone a DNA change. That could never be reversed and, in fact, would be passed on to their offspring. Nothing Phil could do would change that. All his procedure could do was suppress the side effects that were drawing unwanted attention to their weirdness.

  But, what he did learn from Chad was that each of these people were needed and couldn’t be killed.

  Because they were walking talking receptors, almost like lightning rods.

  They were living across all four corners of the planet, and some had never had to have their side effects suppressed. Because they’d followed orders and avoided x-rays. Those who had made the mistake and underwent x-rays had to be tricked into visiting the Majestic 12 clinic in Atlanta.

  But, they couldn’t be killed.

  It would be insane to kill people who were receptors, no doubt an unintended side effect of the beam weapon used on them. They were picking up signals, clues, intelligence—all information that could be used if it came to that. If the worst possible outcome looked like it was indeed coming to pass, there was nothing better than having advance knowledge—these people were equivalent to tapping into Nazi cryptic codes during WWII.

  Willy Carson would leave the clinic a different man today.

  But, not totally different.

  He most definitely couldn’t be killed because he was far too valuable.

  Phil knew that was why each of these special people received visits every couple of years or so from Majestic 12 operatives. Just to “keep in touch.” In case there was something to learn.

  Those visits would continue, and probably increase in frequency, as the thing got closer.

  Phil was an endocrinologist. An expert in his field, but a field that in his opinion was easier than a lot of specialties.

  It was the study of hormones and the glands that secreted those hormones. Hormones helped control the activities of the body and had major impacts on metabolism, reproduction, food absorption, growth, development, energy, temperament, and aging.

  Hormones also controlled the way an organism responded to its surroundings, and went a long way towards providing adequate energy for crucial functions. Sometimes too much energy; sometimes too little.

  The glands that comprised the endocrine system included the pineal, thyroid, parathyroid, thymus, adrenals, pancreas, ovaries, testes, hypothalamus, and pituitary.

  While Phil felt that his specialty was actually quite simple, he knew that was probably because he was actually quite brilliant. To the lay person, the endocrine system was complex as hell, held together by delicate balances of activity and sometimes precise levels of medication.

  Diabetes was a perfect example, as was erectile dysfunction and thyroid hyperactivity.

  In addition, the most important factors in aging could be connected directly to the endocrine system. As aging occurred, the endocrine system of glands becomes less efficient, leading to the obvious changes in the body that most people in their seventies and eighties were painfully aware of.

  Phil remembered back to a famous experiment that had been conducted a few years ago, that demonstrated this principle quite vividly. Researchers removed the pituitary glands of mice. Then, they injected all of the hormones that were known to be produced by the pituitary gland.

  Much to their scientific glee, they observed that the mice that had the gland removed lived longer than a control group of mice who still had the gland.

  The conclusion was that, even though the scientists had tried to replicate the known hormones of the pituitary gland, there was obviously at least one other mysterious hormone coming from that gland that they didn’t know about. This was why the mice without the gland lived longer, and the mice that still had the gland died at their normal expected ages.

  Something else was being emitted from the pituitary gland—some kind of aging hormone.

  The pituitary gland was a curious one—powerful as hell, and only about the size of a pea. Just a tiny protrusion off the bottom of the hypothalamus at the base of the brain, but it controlled more functions of the human body than most people realized.

  The most common method of treating pituitary tumors was for a neurosurgeon to go in through the patient’s nose due to the pituitary gland’s location. The nose was the easiest and most direct route, and there was also the benefit of leaving behind no visible disfigurements.

  The procedure was called an endonasal endoscopy.

  Phil would take that same route in—but the major difference was that he would be leaving something behind instead of taking something out.

  Suddenly, Phil’s thoughts were jarred by the ring of his office phone.

  After only a couple of seconds, he hung up. Willy Carson had just arrived at the lobby security desk.

  He took one last look at his charts, then headed out into the hallway to take the elevator up to the lobby from the second level basement clinic.

  Willy Carson thought he was just getting a medical checkup today, in order to qualify for his new role as spokesperson for Diamond Hotels. And, Willy hoped and expected that he’d be leaving there with a clean bill of health.

  He would, of course, but he’d also be leaving with an annoying nosebleed that would hopefully dissipate nicely in a couple of days or so.

  Chapter 36

  Allison glanced out the window of her Gulfstream jet, as it winged its way across the prairies of Alberta and over the tips of the Rocky Mountains. She’d made this spectacular trip many times before and never tired of it.

  Just the contrast of the golden wheat fields of the vast prairies, suddenly punctuated by massive and wealthy cattle ranches that provided the most succulent beef in the entire world, was candy to the eyes.

  Then, another contrast—the vast open spaces transformed into the gleaming glass and steel office towers of Calgary, a city that was one of the planet’s most influential energy capitals. From sublime open spaces to instant metropolis; which was an apt word for Calgary, considering it was the city used as the location for the early Superman movies, becoming the fictional ‘Metropolis’ on the silver screen.

  After the cityscape came the most amazing transformation of all. Within just a few minutes of passing over Calgary the view from the plane would change again. The foothills, this time—rolling terrain that gave a strong hint as to what was to come next.

  The snow-capped Rocky Mountains—breathtaking and snow-capped, even in the heat of the summer, because they were just so damn gigantic.

  As Allison looked down, the crests of the towering, angry peaks seemed to be so close as to be almost scraping the belly of the jet. For just a second or two, the thought crossed her mind that if a plane went down here there would be little chance of survival, let alone a chance of rescue.

  “Where are we right now?”

  She glanced across the aisle at the only other passenger on the plane.

  “Well, Senator Hartford, we’re just passing over the Rockies and headed
towards the next groups of mountain ranges—the Monashees, Bugaboos, and Selkirks.”

  She glanced out the window again. “If you look out your window right now, you’ll see Lake Windermere, then follow the river to the south and that next body of water is Columbia Lake. Soon, you’ll see Kootenay Lake, and then shortly after that we’ll be soaring down the southeast side of the massive Okanagan Lake.”

  “How long till we land?”

  Allison glanced at her watch. “About thirty minutes.”

  John checked his own watch. “What’s that place called again where we’re landing?”

  “Penticton.”

  “And what’s its claim to fame?”

  “Mainly tourism—it’s in the Okanagan Valley, which is British Columbia’s wine country, so, it gets very hot and stays quite dry. It’s one of Canada’s most popular vacation areas due to its lakes, as well as some great ski resorts.”

  John leaned sideways in his chair. “Ever since your pilots whisked us out of Montreal, you’ve been very secretive about why we’re going to this place.”

  “We’re going there to keep you safe, Senator.”

  “Allison, don’t keep me in the dark. How am I going to be safer in this…Penticon place?”

  Allison laughed. “For a famous senator, you don’t pay attention too well, do you? It’s ‘Penticton.’”

  John sighed. “Okay, Penticton, then. How will that place be safer for me?”

  “It won’t. But, after that we’re going to another place that will be. We’ll rent a car and drive about half an hour down to a town called Osoyoos. It’s only about three miles from the U.S. border at Washington State. It’s actually Canada’s only desert.”

  John unbuckled his seatbelt, stood up in the aisle and stared down at Allison. “Forgive me, but I’m accustomed to being in control of my own destiny. You’re teasing me. I don’t care whether this Osoyoos place is a desert or a rain forest. What’s there?”

  “It’s better if I just show you when we get there. It’s hard to describe, and I don’t want you forming impressions in advance and voicing your usual senatorial objections.