Disclosing the Secret

by Vincent Amato

  Mr. Sabre allowed himself a moment to study the images. He touched one of the black and white pictures that reacted by magnifying itself. “That looks like the vehicle that crashed at Corona, 1947 I believe.”

  He moved onto a second photo. “That is Colonel Marcel Senior, most likely a major when the photo was taken.”

  “And that looks like his son Colonel Jesse Marcel Junior,” he said now scrutinizing the 3D holograms. “But I’m not familiar with this guy.” Sabre was now gesturing at the younger man.

  Thirty-three met eyes with his subordinate. “No-one does. He is Jake Marcel, son of Colonel Jesse Marcel Junior. He has recently come to our attention because of this…”

  Without clicking a button or tapping the desk, an image of Jake’s email to the steel fabricator appeared, smothering all the other images.

  Sabre studied the hand-drawn sketch of the I-beam. “That looks oddly familiar.”

  “Indeed.” Thirty-three tapped the desk then swiped through crash wreckage images. “Almost two generations separate him from what his grandfather picked up in the desert. Which leads us to believe that his family are still in possession of non-terrestrial materials. This, of course, would be lucrative to an enterprising individual. But more to the point, if we allow exotic materials to remain in the public domain it would threaten over 70 years of national secrecy.”

  Mr. Sabre again studied the holographic image of Jake, as if measuring his ability to withstand a visit from the NSA’s deep black agency.

  Thirty-three continued: “This is a particularly sensitive target due to his relationship with one of history’s first military personnel to be linked by the media to an alleged interstellar conveyance crash event. We had always suspected that remnants of a crashed interstellar conveyance may still linger in the hands of civilians, but we need to be certain.”

  Thirty-three now spoke to Sabre over steepled fingers. “Your unique skill set will be required to assess the possible civilian exposure to any non-terrestrial materials. You are to quarantine the extent of, if any, contamination to the civilian populous.”

  And by “contamination”, you mean “information spread.”

  Mr. Sabre’s tone had the detachment of a seasoned agent. “I will give the situation my immediate attention.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Although he preferred not to park his motorbike on the footpath, the paved courtyard immediately adjacent to Jake Marcel’s office building afforded ample space for trees, street furniture and the endless stream of foot traffic, chatting on their cell phones as they hurried past.

  He was pleased to find a small cordoned off area to park his bike. It was neatly out of the way of the footpath, nestled in between a row of courtyard benches. After dismounting and de-helmeting, he tucked his gloves into his pocket and headed for the building entry.

  “Jake?” A figure seated on a courtyard bench called out as Jake strolled past.

  Stopping to turn toward the voice, Jake trained his eyes on the unknown figure. The seated man wore loose casual pants with a bulky jacket that seemed oversized for his frail frame. He had very short brown hair and dark unassuming eyes; if the man had been dressed in a suit Jake would have assumed he was an accountant from one of the nearby office buildings.

  Jake looked around before responding, “Yes?”

  The unknown man stood and gave a warm smile that radiated a placid sense of welcome, as if greeting a long lost relative. “I’m just a messenger. I could give you a false name but I won’t. Please, if you have a moment, we really should talk.”

  *

  Jake found himself drawn to the stranger for reasons he could not yet put a finger on. He found himself agreeing to listen to the other man, walking with him to a nearby park where they found a bench to sit.

  The stranger’s eyes were weary. “Thank you for staying to listen. Apologies for the unannounced arrival, but you will come to understand it was a precaution.”

  Jake felt a rising uneasiness. “And you are?”

  “I’m here because of this.” The stranger winced as he slowly handed Jake a folded piece of paper, as if the movement caused pain.

  Unfolding the sheet, Jake immediately recognized his own email containing the hand-drawn sketch of the I-beam.

  Jake shot the man a quizzical look. “Okay then, if this is because you guys can’t manufacture this shape, the guy I spoke with on the phone clearly said…”

  The stranger cut Jake off mid-sentence. “You are Jake Marcel, the grandson of the late Major Jesse A. Marcel of the air force 509th Bomb Group who retired as a colonel.”

  Jake stared at the man, trying to process what he had just heard.

  “That’s right,” Jake finally managed, feeling a surge of anxiety. “He used to warn my father and me of mysterious men who’d know all about us. That they would want to meet us in public places. So, which version of the lie are you here to ask me about? Weather balloons? Project Mogul? Or are you actually going to argue my personal favorite, swamp gas? Whichever it is, it’s my father you should be talking to!”

  The other man smiled, his voice softening. “I do agree with you; the government gave four official explanations of the crash your grandfather investigated. They kept changing their minds.”

  Jake listened in silence, unable to imagine where this conversation was going.

  The man spoke as if he had personal experience with government cover-ups. “But no, actually, that’s not why I’m here. And I do believe I have the correct Marcel. I’m here to help you.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Mr. Sabre entered the briefing room on Sub-Level 2 of the underground base, his dual security detail trailing behind. Assembled rows of off-duty sentry guards stood to attention the second the entry door slid open. He felt the weight of their inquisitive eyes; they were eager to know what had required them to all be summoned at once.

  “Anyone in this room with less than five field combat skills, LEAVE!”

  Instantly, the uniformed bodies dissolved from their rows and silently shuffled out the door. Standing ready, only six hulking figures remained.

  Sabre’s eyes perused their muscular forms and battle-scarred faces. His voice was suddenly harsh: “You’ll do.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Jake felt short of breath as he shared the park bench with the man who was yet to introduce himself. He was already uncomfortable with how much the other man knew about his background.

  The stranger paused to meet eyes with Jake. “Your interesting use of geometry in that email you’re holding reminded me of things I’ve seen in my work over the years.”

  “Your work?” Jake felt his pulse escalating.

  “How do I put this?” The man paused, as if to choose his words carefully. “Everything I’m going to discuss, well, has a classification that is stratospheres above top secret. Thus the reasons for all the precautions.”

  The stranger continued, “For a long time I worked for the US Government’s Defense Department, within an agency called DARPA, which stands for Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. It’s unofficially associated with ‘Black Programs.’ I’ll assume you know what that is.”

  Despite his shortness of breath, Jake felt his curiosity peeking. “Secret programs that officially don’t exist?”

  “Correct. That’s what they call it when something is ultra-classified. Those types of programs are managed by the National Programs Office, so when government auditors do their thing, they find nothing.”

  Jake remained silent as the man went on. “Thus, government scientists like myself could access tremendous amounts of funds to create some fantastic, and sometimes terrible things, and it’ll never been known. They call it ‘black’ because our secrets will never be learned by the rest of society; that is, never see the light of day. No-one can expose them, or expose the greed and corruption that is sometimes associated.”

  “So you’re a scientist then?”

  The man nodded softly. “My name is Dr. Charles Reilly.�
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  Jake sensed nothing but truth in the man’s eyes.

  Charles drew in a deep breath. “The primary role of the agency I once worked for was to maintain the United States’ technologically superior military capabilities, and to guard against unforeseen technological advances by potential adversaries, both terrestrial,” Charles met eyes with Jake, “and non-terrestrial.”

  Jake’s eyes widened.

  The scientist paused to allow the younger man a moment to absorb his words. “DARPA’s mission was to go beyond traditional thinking to develop imaginative and innovative research projects that are often high risk.”

  Jake was still trying to step over the previous sentence. “You worked with ET technology?”

  The scientist again flashed a warm smile. “Not exclusively, but you could say that.”

  So Grandpa was right all along! Jake thought.

  Jake sat back, a look of amazement growing in his eyes.

  In his teens he had become a skeptic, and yet deep down Jake always wanted to believe in his father’s bedtime stores. The thought that the individual seated next to him could possibly be a Black Projects scientist who may confirm what his grandfather maintained as the truth completely knocked the wind out of Jake.

  The crash was an alien craft all along. What Grandpa brought home to show Dad was real.

  Charles’s tone hardened, tearing Jake back from his trance. “The reason I’m here is because of this – your email.”

  Jake shuddered. “Ho… How did you come by it?”

  Charles’s gaze stretched out across the park. “They have the ability to intercept and assess every type of transmission known; phone call, fax, email…”

  “They? As in your formal employer? How!?” Jake interrupted.

  “How is not important,” Charles continued. “What is important is if this has crossed my desk, then it would have been brought to the attentions of other agencies too. And I suspect it will flag an alarm bell or two.”

  Jake protested, “But it’s just an email!”

  “It’s not just an email, Jake; it’s what it represents.”

  Where is he going with this? Jake wondered.

  Charles sensed the younger man’s mind was ticking over. “You come from a family that had contact with the alleged New Mexico crash site. Almost 70 years later a member of the same family produces, or is involved with the application of what resembles alien geometry in a commercial application. It’s more than a coincidence, Jake. I am willing to bet that your family still has in their possession a piece of the crash debris, kept hidden from society all these years. If I think this, then it’s a sure bet that they will think it too.”

  The scientist detected the boy’s growing apprehension. “I’ve come here to tell you that they’re not going to want any of it out in the open. Because of who you are, and now because of this.” Charles gestured toward the email Jake was still holding. “They’re going to be convinced that you, or your family, still have some crash debris in your possession. Something that the United States Government would prefer you didn’t have. They’ve spent over 70 years, and trillions of dollars, keeping what it represents in the dark. Don’t think that they won’t hesitate for a moment to send out a team to retrieve it.”

  Charles’s expression turned to one of deep concern. “I’m only here telling you all this as a warning. Be careful.”

  Jake felt the nervousness returning. “Who are ‘they’? The CIA?”

  “The CIA is just a figurehead. They’re lawyers, accountants, clerks and graduates. Their job is to gather information. But as far as intelligence is concerned…” Charles paused as if to emphasize his next point, “the NSA is far superior.”

  “And your DARPA isn’t a part of that?” Jake inquired.

  “Well, yes…and no.” Charles weighed his words carefully. “There are many agencies, with numerous departments whose objectives interlace, but sometimes they also clash.”

  Hesitant not to divulge too much, the scientist slowly explained: “Within DARPA my team’s core objectives were to determine the extent of off-world visitation at any given time, track the numbers as well as the races of visitors, determine the reason for their visits and gain an understanding of what human interaction occurred, both now and in the past.”

  Jake’s head was spinning; he could not believe his ears.

  “You may find this difficult to fathom all at once,” Charles continued, “but each race of visitors has their own ethics, morality, social structure, and of course technical advancement in comparison to our own. My team was charged with the task of gathering this intel in order to achieve our prime objective: to determine how to negotiate with them.”

  “My God!” Jake exploded, finally regaining control of his lungs. “You’re not kidding are you?”

  Jake spoke in rapid fire bursts. “This is beyond historic! Why isn’t this more widely known? Are any other countries involved?”

  “Not yet. That’s why it’s an enormous task, because every nation must have input. But for the moment, and although I’m now retired, the most pressing objective for the team is to resume negotiations with them.”

  Still speaking in rapid fire, Jake shot out, “Resume? Did they stop? When did they start?!”

  Charles shifted uncomfortably. “Okay, perhaps I’ll come back to that another time.”

  Considering carefully what to disclose, the scientist continued cautiously. “The keepers of the secret will never come forward on the question surrounding the ET presence because the government broke the law. They committed crimes in the process of the cover-up and will never want to admit it, as they won’t want to answer questions about what they did at Corona. The government committed violations against their own constitution when they used the military to threaten civilian witnesses, going so far as to tell them they would never see their children again if they talked about what they saw at the crash site.”

  Jake’s eyes were riveted on the scientist as he listened to him continue. “Putting that aside, over the years extraterrestrial conveyances have been visiting our nuclear missile sites and shutting down our ICBMS, our intercontinental nukes, to send us a message.”

  “A message?” Jake stammered, starting to feel dizzy.

  “That they have the power to easily neutralize our forces if they choose. So neither the Pentagon nor the Kremlin would ever voluntarily admit that all this is occurring. You just don’t admit to other countries that your strategic nuclear weapons, your first line offensive arsenal, are compromised on an ongoing basis by unknown entities that possess technologies immeasurably superior to our own.”

  The scientist’s eyes met Jake’s. “There have been countless claims of sightings, but it will only take a single one to be scientifically proved for the ET presence to become a reality. All it will take will be one piece of their technology or scrap of their material to be analyzed and deemed to not be man-made, not of this earth, for all of the sightings to be verified.”

  Jake was only able to nod vacantly.

  “But we don’t have any solid, tangible, physical, irrefutable evidence of the actual ETs or their crafts in the public domain.” Dr. Reilly’s eyebrows arched in intrigue. “And anything we do have is either circumstantial or is covertly retrieved and kept hidden from the public.”

  The words seem to hang in the air before they fully registered in Jake’s mind.

  But didn’t you say we have ET technology? Jake was baffled.

  “If you worked with ET tech, then don’t you have access to reams and reams of intelligence reports about your work? Isn’t that in itself proof enough?” Jake was confused.

  The scientist had asked himself the same question, and the answer was unsettling.

  “That I did.” Dr. Reilly answered after a brief pause of contemplation. “But the US Government would do what all other governments do when presented with official intelligence documentation referring to an ET presence; claim it’s a fraudulent document and deny its authenticity
. I should know this, as I was one of the debunkers acting in the interest of National Security…or so I thought.”

  The more pieces of the puzzle that Reilly laid out, the more interconnected the picture became.

  Dr. Reilly stared intensely, as if peering into Jake’s soul. “The problem is getting a sample of off non-terrestrial material out into the public domain long enough to make noise. Something you can hold in your hand that is irrefutably, undeniably not of this earth. When the governments of the world are faced with some physical evidence, only then will it be a very difficult thing for them to fight. It will only take one sample to validate every single unexplained sighting that history had recorded through the ages.”

  A wave of realization rolled over Jake. “You really think my family is still holding onto a piece of the crash?”

  A knowing smile slowly crept across Dr. Reilly’s face. He said nothing.

  “That’s it isn’t it? That’s why you are telling me all this… You think that my grandfather held on to a piece of the crash.” Jake’s eyes went wide. “That would be one thing that could prove everything! And you want it before the other agencies do!”

  “It only takes a single thread to unravel even the sturdiest of tapestries.” Charles’s tone was soft. “If you do have a family heirloom, perhaps an object that, according to the US Government is not supposed to exist, then all you need to do is hold on to it tight with both hands… History will then decide what happens next.”

  Jake felt a chill.

  Dr. Reilly waited a moment while his younger companion gathered himself. “I think you may not even know what could still be in your family’s possession. Even if there was the smallest, slimmest chance that there could be something left behind after all these years, the consequences would be so profound. So far reaching…it would change everything.”

  Jake sat in semi-paralytic silence. He was metaphorically holding onto the park bench as he felt his world spin.

  A comfortable silence slowly grew between them as they stared past each other, both contemplating the gravity of the possibilities. Across the park children were playing on a swing, their respective parents chatting and smiling as they supervised.