“You seem to have me at an extreme disadvantage, Senator,” Collins said.
Lee smiled. “Previous to your tour in Iraq, you had set up a black OP in Afghanistan. Before you had a chance to deploy your outfit on a most dangerous mission, the army pulled you out, leaving your team with an inexperienced commander to lead them. When you arrived in theater in Iraq, you heard the entire team in Afghanistan was killed during the operation you had planned, because of a mistake that was made at the command level. We won’t go into your testimony before Congress here. So, to make a long story short, the president of the United States, who didn’t agree with the army’s treatment of you after said visit to the Hill, saw fit to give you to us. I asked Niles to request you.”
Collins sat silently. He thought back to the mission he had planned to a tee only to be pulled out at the last minute by military bureaucrats. He would never forget the pain and anger that had flared when he’d learned his team had been killed to a man in a rocky valley in the armpit of the world.
“Requested me for what?” he finally asked.
Both men looked up as Niles Compton returned to the office and nodded. He gestured for Lee to continue.
“Major, outside of certain aspects of the National Security Agency, you have entered the topmost-secret facility in our nation’s government. We have been chartered in a roundabout way, since 1863.” The old politician took a moment to let that sink in, then continued, “You’ve noticed the portraits of Lincoln and Wilson, I presume?”
“Yes, sir, they’re pretty hard to miss,” Collins answered, looking at the two large paintings behind the senator.
Lee smiled. “Well, Mr. Lincoln, although he didn’t know it at the time, laid the foundation for the Event Group during the Civil War.” Lee held Jack’s stare. He liked that the major held his questions. “It’s a foregone conclusion of historians that old Abe was far ahead of his time. Hell, most schoolchildren can tell you that, but, anyway, we are secret, because sometimes we uncover things that aren’t very popular with the world, or even our own citizens. We roam the dark hallways of our government behind the auspices of the National Archives.”
Collins listened to the old man before him and had the distinct feeling he was being set up. But for the life of him he didn’t know in which direction it was coming.
Lee looked at Niles and the director nodded. He said each word slowly, thoughtfully, “Jack, the United States is most unique. Its citizens hail from every country on earth and they have a right to the truth of that history, and our job is to find it, process it, and to tell them facts that have led us to where we are, to give information to those that can use it to make better decisions for them. Information is the weapon of the future, and we will never, ever be caught off guard by not understanding the vital lessons of the past, for they have shaped and molded us into what we are. The world is shaped by pivotal Events throughout our past; they have steered us into making not just changes to survive, but civilization-altering changes. We here at the Group try and identify those moments in our current times, helping all to make the altering judgments that will lead us into our future. The current Events we identify will assist us into what we will become. Our job here is to find out the truth as history tells it, for our nation, for us, and maybe, just maybe, this world will begin to know and understand itself, and that can only bring about truth and understanding for all its peoples. The security of this nation is paramount. Oh, the CIA, the National Security Agency, and the FBI can physically gather intelligence, but it’s left up to us to find it in the past, things the other agencies are not even capable of grasping. We here learn all there is to learn about everything.”
“Yes, sir, I see.”
Niles Compton smiled and shook his head. “No, Major, you don’t see… yet.”
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Lee stated as he reached out to push a button on the right side of the desk. Then he flipped a switch and one of the many large flat-screen monitors flickered to life. “This is our computer center. If you know computers, Major, you will understand that the unit you see in the background there is a Cray Corporation prototype, generously given to us by… well, by one of our many friends in the private sector. It’s the most powerful unit in the world used for processing raw data. We are ‘hacked,’ if you will—personally, I hate the term—into almost every university and major corporation in the world, and most governments also. The chairmen of several large software companies based in the Northwest and in Texas assist us in this endeavor. Oh, they fight with the government quite often, but most are very fond of what we do here and are large contributors to our fiscal budget. These chairmen are far more patriotic than they are given credit.”
As Collins viewed the monitor’s screen, he noted about fifty or so people all working in an elaborate, state-of-the-art computer-processing center.
“These men and women, who are specially trained and hold the highest of security clearances for the Group and the U.S. government, take information from archaeological digs, finds of any kind, reports of strange happenings, myths, legends, histories, new discoveries, and they feed it all into the Cray, where it is analyzed and referenced for historical or Paleolithic importance, and if need be, we send people into the field, either as part of another organization, or in the open as a part of our National Parks Service—even foreign nations recognize our parks system and hold it in high regard. The information gained is used to better understand where it is we came from, and sometimes more importantly, where it is we are going. Only the top chairmen or founding owners of the largest companies and presidents of universities have a hint of our existence, and even they are a marked few.”
“And I fit in…?” Collins inquired.
The senator pursed his lips. “Over the years, basically since just after the First World War, we have lost over a hundred personnel in field operations.” Lee shook his head. “You see, Major, there are those that either don’t want to share the information that’s uncovered or deem it valuable enough to eliminate any who stand in their way of getting it and holding on to it. That is where you and your men come in, as field security for site operations and infiltration, and to put it bluntly, Major, I took advantage of your current predicament to get you here as you seem to be a hot potato no one wants to butter up right now.”
Collins started to say something, then was stopped by a raised hand of the senator. He rose slowly from his high-backed chair and motioned for the major to follow him. He limped across to a screen that was much larger than the one that had just shown the image of the computer room. Collins, as he followed, noticed the senator looked a little bit older than he had originally thought.
“Your record in both Gulf conflicts warrants you being here, Major. The job you did in the first Iraq conflict, rescuing that downed A-6 Intruder crew, was amazing.” The senator smiled. “You obviously have an affinity for dangerous situations.” Lee watched Collins for a reaction, then held his gaze.
“And now the hard part. Even though you have been awarded three. Silver Stars and a Medal of Honor, your career is all but over in the regular army. But as I said before, the president didn’t hold any grudges, and because he knows you’re a true soldier, he sent you to us. And with us you’ll be able to stay in the service and continue on with a meaningful career.”
Collins turned and looked at Lee. He knew of only a dozen people outside the White House who knew it had been his unit who had rescued the downed naval pilot. And no one really knew about his near court-martial after meeting with the president, Joint Chiefs, and the directors of the FBI and CIA. He was damned lucky after that to have a job at all. Whoever Lee and Compton were, they did have connections, and more than likely the strings on which to pull to get him here, wherever “here” was. So he knew this offer was for real, and Lee’s eyes held no lies about how important he thought this was.
“It might be better to show you the fruits of our labors here at the Event Group, Major Collins, and then point out how e
xpertise such as yours, and that of others, has helped us gather some of the wondrous things you are about to bear witness to.” Lee paused a moment, then turned back to face Jack. He looked the professional soldier up and down, then looked him in the eyes. “Are you a religious man, Jack?”
“No, sir,” Collins responded quickly as he held his gaze on the senator’s lone eye. “Never found the time or the need.”
The senator smiled, but the sadness of it made Collins wonder why he attempted it in the first place.
“It seems I’m looking at myself so many years ago.” Lee lightly tapped the scar that ran under the patch covering his right eye. “I wasted a lot of time proving to myself that God didn’t exist, when the question of God wasn’t even the right thing to be asking. The right question is, what’s the plan for us? The answer is maybe that plan is embedded in our past, now here we are, how did we get to this point, were we helped along, did elements just happen to combine and by fluke of nature we arrived here without us killing each other off?”
“Maybe we are just smart enough to realize how far we can push it. No divinity; maybe it’s just as you say, a fluke,” Collins countered.
The senator laughed out loud for the first time, then settled and looked at Collins once again. “It’s like you read my thoughts of over sixty years ago, son,” he said as he punched a button.
On the screen, a color picture flickered to life as the major looked on; the computer-controlled autofocus adjusted the view to fit the screen. When it cleared, it showed a panorama of an immense chamber. Buried into the walls of this chamber were what appeared to be rows of banklike steel vaults built into the solid bedrock.
“The only other person in the world who can tune in to this chamber is the president of the United States, our boss”—Lee hesitated—“and for better or worse, still your boss as well.”
Collins nodded his head, viewing the screen with interest. Some of the vaults were enormous, some as tall as 150 feet, others as small as eight. The larger ones had stairs on either side; others had glass-viewing areas built into the sides of the massive steel doors. He saw numerous security cameras sweeping the entire long, curving corridor.
“The president is a frequent visitor here, as every president since Franklin Roosevelt has been. This facility, Jack, was their favorite place to be. And before that, the likes of Woodrow Wilson and Hoover frequented our very first facility in Virginia.”
“Okay, Senator, you have my attention,” Collins said.
“Good, Jack, good,” Lee said as he punched another button on the control panel. A picture came up of what Collins assumed was the interior of one of the larger vaults. The camera shot was obscured for a moment as a man in a white lab coat walked by the lens on his way down a catwalk.
“Here at Group we have over a hundred computer technicians, thirty-five on-staff archaeologists, twenty-five top-notch chemists and biologists, two quantum theorists, four astrophysics people, five forensic specialists, one hundred field security men and women, consisting of army, navy, air force, and marine personnel, and twelve geologists.” Lee took a much needed breath. “And this is not counting butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers.” He smiled. “These are the best the country can offer, Jack. Their education is ongoing and continued by professors from MIT, Harvard, Jet Propulsion Lab, Cambridge, Princeton, and more, some with longer and far more expensive-sounding names. We spare nothing at the Event Group, Major Collins, and everyone from our cooks to field leaders have a right to furthering and deepening their minds. We don’t want nor do we need puppets.”
“Who pays for all this?”
Garrison Lee laughed. “There we have made some enemies, I’m afraid. As our budget comes out of the coffers of all the other agencies in the federal government and is hidden amongst their budgets and scattered to the winds, our front agency, the National Archives, takes a beating, but they live with it.”
“I could see why that would cause concern with the other areas of government,” Collins said.
“Our work is far more important.” The senator waved his hand and again tapped the screen with his old wooden cane, drawing Jack’s attention back to the largest of the vaults. The doors were closed and looked formidable in size and security.
“Now that looks like it belongs at NORAD, in Cheyenne Mountain,” Collins said, looking at the screen.
Collins watched as the older man spoke, his one steely blue eye fixed on the screen, and when he started speaking, he never once turned to face Collins, as if he were concentrating on telling the story right, or he was trying to imagine or live it, so it could be told right. Jack knew this was the hook that was to be fed him. The senator’s cane was still held on the large plastic-coated screen by his liver-spotted hand.
“I find myself drawn to this vault quite often,” he said softly. “What you’re seeing here, Major, was the first Event, what we here refer to as the Lincoln Raid.” The senator paused and stared a long while at the screen. Lee’s features didn’t tell anything much about what the man was feeling. “It’s a very well documented Event. Diaries and logbooks, all firsthand accounts, give an almost surreal telling of its discovery and acquisition.”
He finally turned and looked at the major with a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “I guess it gives me a sense of peace, indescribable really, or maybe it’s just my age.” He chuckled to himself at this last remark.
Jack said nothing; he just looked the senator in his one good eye, looking for that flicker of untruth.
Suddenly, Garrison Lee deftly tapped the tip of the cane against another button on the control panel. Collins watched as another camera, from higher up in the vault, he assumed, came on and produced an image of an object that caught the major off guard. He didn’t quite know what it was he was looking at, but it was enormous and undoubtedly ancient. Its raggedness gave the giant object a ghostly appearance. Without knowing he was doing it, Jack stepped closer to the large screen. A deeply buried, almost familiar memory started to burrow its way out of his mind. It was an unclear, distant thought, or was it a memory? Perhaps a memory of something he had seen as a child. But the harder he tried to remember, the more elusive it became; like the feeling of déjà vu, it came and left, leaving only a bare trace of its being there at all. Jack furrowed his brows and peered harder at the screen.
Lee stepped back to admire the view the vault camera gave them. Technicians were milling around it. Some were chipping away at it with instruments Collins had never before seen, others were writing on clear plastic clipboards, while still more manned huge diagnostic systems arrayed against one of the far walls. The giant object looked as if it had been made out of wooden beams of some kind, but had long ago petrified into near rock. The beams were curved and swept, high at one end and sloping down at a great angle toward its torn and sheared opposite end. As he watched, a three-man tech group was in the interior of the enormous object. They had a small chemical lab set up right there and were analyzing substances he wouldn’t even guess at. He looked more closely at the exterior. There were massive holes in its side and on what Collins assumed was its sloping floor, or was it a deck? It now hit him that he was looking at part of a vessel of some kind. The petrified planks of what was once wood were laid out perfectly as a deck would be. It was long, at least three hundred feet from the view they had, and looked as if it was only half there as it ended in a jagged wreck. He was still struck by how ancient the object looked. But that feeling of knowing still struck him like a hammer inside his head. He couldn’t help but get goose bumps when he gazed at the strange and mysterious object.
“What is it?” Collins asked of the hauntingly familiar shape.
“Don’t you know, Jack?” the senator asked, still smiling at him. “Well, in all actuality neither do we. There are a lot of opinions, but one thing we do know, we can’t tell the people of the world we have it, it would stir the souls of men, and we just can’t predict how they would react.”
Collins contin
ued to study the image as the old man looked as if he was thoroughly enjoying the moment.
“The reason I am showing you this particular vault first, Major, is twofold. Number one, this was the very first Event. And number two, it shows the value of the military in our fieldwork. And believe me, Jack, fieldwork is even far more dangerous today than it was in Mr. Lincoln’s time.”
Collins’s eyes never left the senator’s lone one. He nodded in understanding, but said nothing.
“It started in 1863,” Lee said, still looking at the major before letting his eye go back to the screen. “After the battle of Gettysburg, when the war had finally turned in the Union’s favor, the president of the United States, Abraham Lincoln, was persuaded by a discredited Norwegian immigrant, a history professor from Harvard, to put together an expedition to what was then known as the Ottoman Empire.” The senator paused and turned from the screen and limped the short distance to his high-backed chair beside Niles’s desk.
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