Majestic

by Unknown

  Helen jumped up and pulled the keys off a hook on the wall. She handed them to her.

  “It’s the Cadillac on the rear driveway.”

  “Thank you, Helen. Now, where’s the nearest phone booth, if you still have any left?”

  “Three blocks south along Baker Street, in the parking lot of the Mountain Mall.”

  Wyatt stood. “Why do that? Just use our landline here, or your cell phone.”

  Allison shook her head. “No, I can’t—not for the conversation I’ll be having. Be back soon.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, Wyatt, this isn’t a conversation for someone in your position to listen to. I won’t be long.”

  * * * * *

  After three long rings, he picked up. The distinctive southern accent that she knew so well—Doctor Phillip Lansing, chief physician for the Majestic 12 clinic in Atlanta.

  “Lansing, here.”

  “Hello, Phil. It’s Allison Fisher.”

  “Oh, hi there, Allison. Long time no talk.”

  “I need to speak with you off the grid. Go to the phone booth in the lobby of the CDC, and phone me back at this number.” She read out the phone number from the sticker on the phone.

  “I’m in Canada, so punch in the international access code.”

  Silence at the other end.

  “Phil? Did you hear me?”

  “What’s this about, Allison?”

  “Just call me back within ten minutes, Phil. I’ll be waiting.”

  She strummed her fingers against the glass of the booth while she waited. Allison knew it would be tough to get information out of Phil, because it was apparent by the appearance of Willy Carson that more was being done at that clinic than even she was aware of. But, she had no doubts whatsoever that Chad Powers was fully aware of the procedures that were being performed there.

  At the seven-minute mark, the phone rang.

  She didn’t waste time on small talk. “Willy Carson was supposed to get an injection of some sort that would offset the terrible side-effects he was getting from x-rays. But, he’s aged ten years in just over a week. What the hell did you do to him?”

  “That’s something I can’t talk about, Allison. We did nothing that would cause him any real harm. He’s…just…returning to normal now.”

  “He’s one of the ‘receptors.’ We weren’t supposed to do anything to those people.”

  She heard an exasperated sigh at the other end. “Relax. His ability to receive messages is still intact. He’s just lost some of his special talents, and his youth. And, indeed, he won’t have any more reactions to x-rays. That’s guaranteed.”

  “Does Chad know about this?”

  “Yes, he does. And, he does run the show, Allison. He doesn’t have to tell you or the others everything.”

  “Do you know everything, Phil?”

  A few seconds of silence. Then, “Yes, Chad brought me up to date on what’s out there and the estimated timelines. He trusted me and, of course, he needed to, with what he was asking me to do here at the clinic. I haven’t told anyone else.”

  “These people here in Canada have become friends of mine, Phil. It’s personal for me now. I want to know what you did to Willy.”

  “I can’t tell you that, Allison.”

  “Phil, I’ll make this very clear and I won’t repeat myself. Since you say you know everything, you must know about all the doctors, scientists, astronomers, and journalists who have died or disappeared over the last decade.”

  Allison could hear his heavy breathing. He was starting to get the message.

  “Did you hear me?”

  Softly, “Yes, I heard you, Allison.”

  “Tell me, Phil.”

  “I…can’t.”

  “No one will know that it came from you. You have my word on that, and my word is a hell of a lot better than that bastard’s, Powers. But, you also have my word that if you don’t tell me right now, I have resources available to me as a member of Majestic 12 that can make you disappear almost as fast as it will take me to hang up this phone.”

  Under his breath, Phil muttered, “Oh, God.”

  “God can’t help you now—in fact, He probably can’t help any of us. Whatever short time you have left, Phil, do the right thing to make sure you’re alive to enjoy it.”

  Another long silence. Rapid breathing was the only sound coming through the phone.

  He finally talked, so slowly and softly that Allison had to strain to hear him.

  “I inserted a chip in through his nasal passage and attached it to the external skin of the pituitary gland.

  “It has a long-life battery, and emits signals that trigger the aging hormones of the gland. The alien beams seem to have had the effect of deactivating that aspect in all of the victims.

  “While their DNA did indeed change, and they all became living ‘receptors,’ there was the unexpected suppression of the pituitary gland that not only slowed down aging and somehow gave them incredible strength, but also made each of the victims subject to transparency from exposure to radiation.”

  Alison sighed. “You’ve done this procedure to others as well, I presume.”

  “Yes. Only the few who were careless about the x-ray instructions. About a dozen or so.”

  “Can this chip be easily removed?”

  “Yes, through the nose again. The chip is on the left side of the gland—his left.”

  “Side effects?”

  “After it’s removed, the aging process will slow down again. He’ll get his strength and vitality back, and unfortunately will once again be subject to transparency. But, that’s about it. Well, maybe a bit of a nose bleed, too.”

  “Okay, you have my word, Phil, that this will stay between you and me. And, you won’t be harmed unless you decide to run to Chad and blab that I threatened you into telling me. I’ll know if you do, and I can promise you it will be one of the last things you’ll do.”

  * * * * *

  Wyatt was leaning against the door frame of his parents’ room, watching the two of them cuddled up together on the bed.

  Helen was holding a handkerchief up under Willy’s nose, catching the streams of blood that came rushing out sporadically. He was trying his best to keep his head tilted back, but every once in a while he’d get careless and the blood would stream out again.

  “The doctor said this would only continue for a few hours or so, Dad, so be a good patient.”

  “I know. I had one of these when I came back from Atlanta, too. I’ll put up with it.”

  Allison was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching them. Wyatt hadn’t said very much to her since they’d returned from the hospital.

  He’d been blown away by how accurate her assessment was about what needed to be done. So was the doctor. That phone call she’d made from the booth must have been a real doozy.

  After they x-rayed Willy and saw that insidious little chip perched on the nether regions of his brain, it was clear that Allison knew what she was talking about.

  Wyatt had protested when the doctor insisted on doing an x-ray on his dad, but Allison had calmly pulled him off to the side and whispered, “Don’t worry. He won’t go transparent this time. But, once that chip comes out, it’s back to the old story.”

  How had she known that? How could she have possibly known that x-rays made his dad go transparent?

  A million questions were running through his head.

  And, he was impatient now—he wanted answers. But, he didn’t know where to start. Why had that Atlanta clinic inserted a chip up his dad’s nose? He’d gone down there just for a simple check-up. What the hell was that chip all about? And why had he aged so much since he returned from Atlanta?

  Wyatt decided to start his barrage of questions with that one.

  “Allison, why did that chip cause aging?”

  She looked up at him, unmistakable sadness in her beautiful blue eyes.

  “It was designed to trigger the aging hormon
es of the pituitary gland, and to eliminate the side effect of transparency from x-rays. When your dad was beamed during the Korean War, his DNA changed and his pituitary gland slowed down its production of aging hormones.”

  Wyatt felt his heart racing, and a rush of blood to his face. It seemed as if the world he’d been living in had just been an illusion. First, the revelation that his dad had shared with him a few weeks ago about his powers, and about the weird thing that happened during the Korean War. And, now, this beautiful hotel executive seemed to know more about his dad’s life than even he had known until just recently. Was he losing his mind—or living in some bizarre alternate universe?

  “How did you know about that beam incident during the war, Allison? And, I never told you about his reaction to x-rays. How do you know this stuff?”

  “We know all about your dad. We’ve been watching him for an awful long time, and have had unfettered access to his medical history his entire adult life.”

  “Who’s ‘we?’”

  “It’s about time we all had a long chat.”

  Wyatt took a step towards her. “He was supposed to get a simple medical check-up at your clinic for the hotel spokesperson position. Was that just a ruse?”

  Allison lowered her pretty blue eyes and let out a long sigh.

  “I won’t be building a hotel here in Nelson, Wyatt. Not now, not ever.”

  Chapter 41

  John Hartford paced the floor of his prison. Well, not exactly a prison, but it felt like it. Right now, it was a safe sanctuary, and he thanked his lucky stars that Allison had known exactly what to do when they were running for their lives.

  He never could have imagined that his career as a U.S. senator would lead to this—hiding out in a luxury condominium underneath a vineyard in Canada.

  It had only been a day and a night so far, but it felt like a month. Allison had left him alone, telling him she was flying to a place called Nelson. Some other backwater town, John assumed—he didn’t really care. He just wanted her to hurry back, so they could figure out what to do next.

  John tried imagining what it would be like having to live down in a place like this for weeks, months or—God forbid—years. It was too bizarre a thought. Maybe for some people it would be okay, but, for a person like John, who was accustomed to using his brain constantly, it would be mind torture.

  The absence of windows was one of the worst things—the inability to look outside just to see what the weather was like, made John realize how important the simple things in life were. In his busy public life, he took little luxuries like that for granted. But, no longer—he would now treasure every chance he got to enjoy the great outdoors, to breathe in the fresh air.

  He continued to pace aimlessly, from the living room, down the hall to the main entrance, and then back again.

  Suddenly, he remembered the bar—walked over and pulled a bottle of cognac off the top shelf. Poured himself a straight shot and sucked it back. The strong liquid took his breath away, but he welcomed the feeling. Made him feel alive.

  He had no doubt that down here, after a long period of time, it would begin to feel like death—or at least make one wish for the arrival of death.

  What would be the point of living if this was all there was? And at his age, what would be the point of wasting years down in this luxury dungeon? Then, to go back out again to what? Desolation? A barren landscape? Or—the most horrific thought of all—a world ruled by alien beings? If that was the way life would be, there would no point ever leaving this underground sanctuary.

  He shuddered, and poured himself another glass. After he downed that one, he poured another.

  John walked over to the couch and sat down—figured it was the smart thing to do before the cognac kicked in.

  He picked up the remote control, turned on the TV, and surfed through the channels—only Canadian shows and news. Not even one American channel, even though he knew this little town called Osoyoos was close to the U.S. border.

  Damn Allison—she’d probably done something to limit the cable input to Canadian content only. For his benefit and safety, of course.

  He’d suspected the same thing about the WIFI. There was a desktop computer in the office area and John had already played around with it. While he was able to get internet connectivity, he could only surf sites on a Canadian browser. It was almost more like an intranet rather than an internet. A local area network in place of broad band. Very little else was available. Email applications were blocked, as were Skype, Twitter, and Facebook. All of them refused to open in the browser. And, it wouldn’t respond to his attempts to download the apps.

  He smiled. Allison Fisher was not only drop-dead gorgeous, but she was also very sly, very sharp. That darn woman was incredibly capable—could look several steps ahead and plan for every outcome.

  Well, she was an astronomer by education, so visualizing beyond the obvious was second nature to her.

  And…she had that strange ability to read minds. What was that all about? She’d shoved her fingers into her ears, and popped them right back out again. Then, for a short period of time, she could read and see his thoughts.

  While that skill was unsettling, her demonstration of it during those tense moments back at his house helped convince him to trust her. And, thank God he had, because Clint and those other two goons had come there to kill him. If it wasn’t for Allison and her weird skill, he wouldn’t be alive right now.

  For the entire duration of their mad dash to freedom—trail-riding through the forest, racing by boat up Lake Champlain into Quebec, flying from Montreal to Penticton—John had concentrated hard on trying not to think about how attracted he was to her.

  He was scared to death that she might be able to read his mind if she stuck those fingers in her ears again. But, the more he tried not to think of her—especially when they were relaxing on the plane—the more she crept into his mind.

  It was really hard to try not to think of something; it just seemed to make it worse.

  He thought back over all the years he’d known her and wondered if she’d always had that power. On more than one occasion, he’d undressed her in his mind. Did she know? Was she horrified? Did she think he was some kind of perv?

  A shiver shot up his back as he thought about some of the fantasies that popped into his mind when he’d been with her at conferences, dinners, or out for drinks. Just quick little thoughts at certain moments. Had she picked up on them?

  It wasn’t that she was just a gorgeous woman—that was the least of what made her attractive. There were plenty of gorgeous women around, each one usually more gorgeous than the last one. They were a dime a dozen, and John never had any problems with having to choose. But, most were forgettable.

  What made Allison so attractive was her brain—at least to John, anyway. A lot of men wouldn’t like that too much, but John found that quality irresistible. Her ability to argue and debate, being able to take charge of any situation, her uncanny ability to foresee and instantly calculate solutions in her head.

  She was a woman with an abundance of energy and completely adept and comfortable with taking action.

  John found all of these things irresistible. Coupled with the way she looked, Allison was the kind of lady who was hard to push out of his mind.

  Which made his efforts to keep her from reading his mind even more challenging than it would be for just the garden-variety beauty.

  It wasn’t that he was a dirty old man or anything—he just didn’t like the fact that she could see him literally drooling over her. It gave her an edge he didn’t have—she knew how he felt, but he had no idea how she felt.

  He was vulnerable, which wasn’t something the Senior Senator from Vermont was accustomed to at all. John was used to being in control and, aside from Allison’s weird talent, this situation he was in right now was making him feel very restless. And useless.

  There had to be something he could do.

  He walked over to the bar and pour
ed another cognac. Just one more. Might help him take a nap.

  It was only 3:00 in the afternoon, but time seemed to lose all meaning underground. It really didn’t matter whether it was morning, afternoon, or night. It was all the same. Just a dreary existence. An existence without purpose. No reason to get up, but every reason in the world to just go back to bed.

  John finished his drink and stretched out on the couch. He thought about all the things Allison had told him. He was astonished that as a United States senator he had known so little. Until Farmington had passed along that documentation to him, he’d had no idea that this secret organization existed. How was that possible? He was a senator, for God’s sake! Part of the government!

  Of course, he’d participated in discussions over the years with other members of Congress about how some things seemed to happen that were a surprise to them all, things that put them at loggerheads with whoever the president was at the time. Upon reflection, John now realized that a lot of the times the presidents themselves had seemed puzzled, at a loss for words, scrambling for explanations.

  He remembered Allison’s mention of JFK and how he had demanded to know everything there was to know about the UFO files. The C.I.A. had turned him down, ignored every single request he’d made. And, then, eventually, he was killed.

  The C.I.A. probably knew a lot more than anyone knew, as well as every single detail about Majestic 12.

  Allison seemed to think it was still ultra-secret, and maybe that was true insofar as how it started back in Truman’s days. But, a lot of time had passed since then, and secrets generally didn’t stay secret too long. John was convinced that Majestic 12 was just the tip of the iceberg on command and control.

  But, either way, regardless of how many other agencies were in on it, Majestic 12 was clearly a ‘government within a government.’ Which was a horrible realization for a dedicated and idealistic politician like John Hartford.

  John knew he was an idealist—which was both a negative and a positive. A negative because he could become easily disillusioned and disappointed. A positive because he was convinced that he could actually make a difference. He truly believed that good government was essential to America’s survival and prosperity. And, just like the Founding Fathers, a few good people could make an impact.