Regards,
Colonel Henri Farbeaux
THIRTY-FIVE
New York, New York
July 20
Charles Phillip Hendrix II was in the middle of a presentation to several high-profile investors from Germany and Taiwan in the boardroom of the Centaurus Corporation. Arrayed around the room were models of the various weapons systems the company had contracts in either building or providing vital systems for. The younger Hendrix had brushed the whole Farbeaux incident under the table until the Frenchman could be caught by the corporation’s security teams. Then that bastard would learn what it was to betray him, for in his opinion, if you betrayed Centaurus, you betrayed America herself.
“Gentlemen, if you will look at the growth factor for our peripheral military contracts, you will see that Centaurus has the outlook to achieve—”
At that moment the double doors of the boardroom opened and his assistant backed through them and then turned apologetically toward him. She was followed into the massive boardroom by at least ten men in navy blue Wind-breakers, and as they spread out into the plush conference room, Hendrix saw FBI was printed on the backs of all of them in bold yellow letters.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hendrix, they say they have a warrant…”
“Charles Phillip Hendrix the Second, I am Special Agent in Charge Robert Martinez. You are under arrest for the crimes of conspiracy to commit murder, industrial espionage, and treason against the people of the United States of America.” The agent took Hendrix by the arm and gently made him place his hands on the polished table.
The prospective investors slowly stood and moved away from the table and tucked themselves into a far corner, distancing themselves as far as they could.
“You have the right to remain silent…”
Hendrix wasn’t hearing his Miranda rights being read to him, he was looking at the man standing in the doorway, wondering why a naval officer was here.
Lieutenant Commander Carl Everett watched with his saucer cap tucked under his broken arm as Hendrix was placed under arrest. He removed a cell phone from the sling his arm was in and punched in a pre-programmed number and waited.
“Everett,” he said when the phone on the other end was answered, then he held the phone out to Hendrix.
“Yes!” he growled into the phone.
“Hendrix, do you recognize my voice?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” he answered as his shoulders hunched and his voice emptied of hope.
“I take it you have been placed into custody?”
“For the time being. I’ll plead my case in court direct to the American people,” Hendrix answered with as much cockiness as he could.
“I think we’re going to leave the courts out of this one. You are hereby divested of all businesses in the United States, and your personal and company assets are frozen. You are now an unpaid consultant to the federal government on the knowledge your company has discovered about extraterrestrial technology and their intentions toward us in the future. You will offer this information in exchange for your life. If at any time you renege on this arrangement, you will be arraigned in a court of law and found guilty of treason at a time of war. Be fruitful and very forthcoming with your information, Mr. Hendrix, your worthless life depends upon it.”
Everett saw Hendrix close his eyes, signaling the end of the conversation, and then Carl removed the phone and gestured to a woman who was waiting just outside the doors.
“This is Mrs. Celia Brown; she will be the caretaker for Centaurus for the foreseeable future, at least until the 1RS and the General Accounting Office can auction its divisions off.”
Celia Brown of the Event Group walked in and past Hendrix. She held her hand out to the two investors who were sitting dumbfounded on a couch in the corner of the office.
Everett leaned toward Hendrix and whispered, “Compliments of the Event Group.”
Hendrix didn’t respond, he just allowed the FBI to drag him away and into his future as a guest of the country he loved, giving up everything he had ever worked for.
The Oval Office, White House
The president hung up the phone with Everett, then stood and stretched. He yawned and sat back down in the large overstuffed chair and finally looked at his three directors of the FBI, CIA, and the National Security Agency. He then looked to the far end of the Oval Office and nodded to the two Secret Service agents who stood on either side of another man.
The president ignored the three and turned his attention to the phone and punched the intercom. “Marjorie, you can connect the call now.”
“Collins.”
“Major, we’re done here, and New York corporate is in the bag. Tell Senator Lee to have fun,” the president said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and, Jack, I want you to know I couldn’t have been more wrong about trying to hide you away like I did. That was some damn good soldiering in the desert; I want you to know that you can have any combat command you so choose.”
There was silence for a moment, and then Collins said, “I have a command already, Mr. President, I think I’ll stay in the desert air for a while.”
“Then, good luck, Jack, you take care of Director Compton for me.” The president silently laid the phone into its cradle, then he looked up at the man standing handcuffed between two Secret Service agents.
“Now, what to do with you, Agent Davis,” he said as he closed his eyes in thought.
The Sage Building, Midtown Manhattan
Collins looked at the senator, who was quietly sitting in the foyer of the Sage Building, as Jack closed the cell phone after speaking with the president. The receptionist was sitting in a chair behind his ornate desk in a shiny new pair of handcuffs not saying a word as two agents from the FBI’s New York office flanked him on either side. The senator tapped his cane, and Jack stood and assisted Lee to his feet. Alice had wanted to be here but Garrison wouldn’t allow it.
Collins winced from his healing ribs as he helped the older man to his feet. Everyone had tried to convince him not to go, but he had to be with Lee when he did this.
“Before we go down there, Jack, I want to say thank you for staying with the Group. We need you here. Niles will need the strength of a strong arm as the Group starts recruiting replacements for all the people we lost,” the senator said sadly.
“Niles is going to be just fine, it’s an honor to stay and help him.”
Lee nodded his head. “Let’s go down and meet an old friend, shall we?”
On the ride down on the ornate and secure elevator, Jack looked at the senator and knew that time had finally caught up with the old man and he was showing his age. The cane wasn’t much of a support anymore, and his hair had thinned since the Event in the desert had started. It seemed Lee had come full circle from Roswell to Chato’s Crawl and the time had come to pay the bill. Jack looked away toward the five FBI agents who were accompanying them to the sublevels of the Sage Building, which had been a gift of another scoundrel who would be Jack’s headache in the future: Colonel Henri Farbeaux.
The basement was where they were to meet the founder of the Genesis Group and Centaurus. The double doors slid open and the agents were the first out with their handguns drawn but placed at their sides. They had been the souls of propriety as they had taken all the security people into custody an hour before. Most of the detained men were former soldiers of the U.S. armed forces and were quite surprised at being pushed around by federal agents. They must have been used to doing all the pushing, Jack thought, then wondered if he had just witnessed some of the infamous Men in Black. If they had been, they didn’t look all that formidable when faced with men who could shove back.
Jack helped the senator out of the elevator, and they turned to see a well-lit riser with two large glass enclosures. In the left enclosure there were three aluminum cases, tilted up at an angle, and they could see these contained the original bodies from the Roswell crash site, as they were illuminated with spotlig
hts hidden in the ceiling above. Lee shook his head and then looked at the reconstructed saucer in the giant glass-walled viewing room on the right. Then he let his eye settle on a lone figure sitting in a large wheelchair facing the viewing area. Collins helped the senator down the small incline and past rows upon rows of theater seating. They approached the man cautiously as the FBI agents had their weapons drawn and half aimed at the figure sitting in the chair. Collins helped Lee into another, smaller chair to the right of the solitary man, and then Lee waited, placing the cane between his knees and leaning on it.
“You were alive all this time,” Lee said aloud.
The old man in the large high-backed wheelchair didn’t turn at the sound of the voice. He continued to stare at the saucer behind the glass.
“My son tells me that you had another encounter. This is true?” Charles Hendrix the elder asked.
Garrison looked at the haggard form of Hendrix; he seemed to be aging right before his eyes. The man who had been helped by Curtis LeMay and Allen Dulles to disappear in a false death these many years.
“Yes, another came down,” Lee answered as he turned away and looked at the saucer encased in glass.
“The animal and crew?”
“All dead,” Lee answered.
Hendrix sat motionless for a moment. “You know, I’ve had years to think on this. The Grays will soon tire of doing things the easy way, and sooner or later, for better or for worse, they will come themselves,” Hendrix said as he finally looked his old antagonist in the eye.
“That’s what we at the Group conclude,” Lee said. Then he looked away, then slowly back. “Hendrix, I believe your Mr. Farbeaux has given the location of my men from 1947.”
Hendrix smiled and chuckled and then pointed to his right temple. “They’re right here, Lee, they never left. They’ve been with me and have never left. So why don’t you just leave them there? Remember what I told you a long time ago, controlled violence. You never had the guts to carry inside of you the responsibility that had to be taken upon oneself to truly secure this country. I did, and I have the ghosts in here to prove it.” Hendrix tapped his head hard with his right finger. “Right in here, Lee,” he said louder, then grimaced for a moment as he was momentarily frozen with pain.
“All my staff, the civilians and the young soldiers and airmen that were lost, and you may have been able to help them with the knowledge your company has learned over the years from Roswell. Why didn’t you help?” Lee asked.
Hendrix looked at the senator again and once more grimaced in pain. “In many ways Centaurus helped those boys, helped with some of the equipment they used to fight the animals with. The same equipment that will be used time and time again to defend this country.” He grabbed lightly at his chest, wrinkling the large coat he wore. “You are still a Boy Scout war hero, Lee,” Hendrix said too low for anyone but Garrison to hear.
The old man reached for the inside of his coat and shakily brought out his nitroglycerin pills and fought with the tin lid of the ornate pill carrier. Then he fumbled it and the small pills fell to the floor, a few landing in Lee’s lap. Hendrix looked at Lee with sad eyes and the senator returned the stare. Then Lee brushed off the fallen pills and stood, waving Jack away as this time he did it without the use of his cane. Then he bent down as Hendrix’s eyes started to flutter as he went into the opening throes of a heart attack.
“Controlled violence? I guess I finally understand what you were getting at after all,” Lee said. “It seems I just now realized I am capable of it.”
He gestured for the FBI agents to assist Hendrix, but knew the old man had only moments more to live.
“Let’s go home, Jack.”
Near Roswell, New Mexico
July 22
On a desolate piece of land once worked by a rancher named Mac Brazel, Senator Garrison Lee felt he had come home. He stood leaning on Collins and had an arm around Alice Hamilton, who raised her sunglasses and wiped a tear from her eye. As Lee watched, Niles Compton was leading the actions of the forensics team, who were removing the first casualties of the invasion from another world.
“I hoped not to get too emotional over this,” Lee said as a light, cooling breeze sprang up.
“Old man, it’s all over now. You owe those men your emotions, they deserve anything we can give them, the least of which is the memory we have of their friendship,” Alice said as she used her handkerchief.
“You did the right thing, exchanging this for letting Farbeaux out of the country,” Jack said.
Senator Garrison Lee lowered his head, and finally a tear was shed as he watched Niles and his team bring the last body out of the ground where they had been buried and hidden close to sixty years before. Dr. Kenneth Early’s body was the last to be identified and the last of the skeletal remains to see the bright sunlight. Lee watched and stood straighter as his old friend was quickly covered by an American flag that caught the light breeze and rose slightly, then settled over the last member of the Event Group to finally be thanked for his duty to the country.
EPILOGUE
Two days later, after the quiet arrests and the return of their long-lost heroes, a loud cheer erupted in the Computer Center of the Event Group complex. The large back-projected viewing screen came alive for the first time in days.
The space shuttle Atlantis had successfully refueled the KH-11 satellite 41672, otherwise known as Boris and Natasha, from their own fuel stores, saving the flamboyant KH-11 from a fiery death. The shuttle crew had also had her solar batteries replaced and a new charger put in. When the old girl was turned back on, the picture was still locked on that small Arizona valley, cleared of all debris of the crashed saucers. As the applause died down, a tune could be heard coming from the speakers set behind the main viewing screen, courtesy of the shuttle Atlantis. Frank Sinatra was singing “Fly Me to the Moon.”
As Collins, Niles, Alice, and the senator watched, the picture became clearer as it zoomed in on the valley floor. They were amazed at the clarity as Boris and Natasha centered her picture exactly where it had been prior to the satellite’s supposed demise.
“We have something,” one of the computer techs called out.
As they watched, the valley and its occupants came into the camera’s view. “Go to maximum magnification on my count,” Niles called out. “Three, two, one, now, max-mag on-site.”
They all smiled as the images became crystal clear. Jason Ryan, on a thirty-day leave from the Event Group, held hands with Julie Dawes, and she in turn was pointing a finger at Billy, partially hidden under a large beach umbrella, who looked to be teasing them. Then Gus stepped into the picture, pointing at a large hole in the ground and gesturing wildly around the rocks. He was holding something out to the others, and you could tell he was smiling and happy as he danced an old-time jig. Then he clapped his hands together and the gold dust shimmered in the sunlight and fell to the ground as the old prospector kept dancing.
Another beach umbrella was next to the one Billy was under. This was brightly colored in a pattern resembling a galaxy of stars, and a large pair of cowboy boots were sticking out from under it, both gifts of the Event Group. As the wearer of the overlarge boots leaned forward and caught some of the gold particles before they hit the ground, the assembled Event staff saw it. The hand that was reaching out was green and protruded from a long-sleeved white shirt that was obviously overlarge. Then the small figure moved from beneath the beach umbrella and the arms reached around the old man’s legs and hugged him. The full view of the body was hidden beneath a giant white cowboy hat, but they could tell it had cutoff Levi’s shorts on.
They couldn’t help it, they all laughed as Mahjtic stumbled in the oversize cowboy boots he was wearing and caught himself on Gus’s trousers. Then for no apparent reason and to the complete surprise of all the people at the Event Complex, Matchstick looked skyward.
“I suggest you leave them be for a while before fully debriefing Mahjtic and questioning him about the Gra
ys and when he expects them to come visiting again. I suspect Hendrix was right, next time they will come themselves, and my guess is we’ll be fending off a full invasion,” Lee said.
The others looked at Lee and said nothing. They all knew the Grays wouldn’t stop at sending an animal; they would eventually take care of Earth the hard way.
“So, we’re sure at this point the Gray that Gus and Matchstick killed was the lone survivor of its vehicle?” Jack asked.
“As a matter of fact, while you were recuperating, the army found the remains of the second and third crewmen of the hostile ship. They had ejected over the desert in the moments leading to the crash. I’m afraid they ran into the animal life indigenous to this planet and found them much smaller than the Talkhan, but just as unforgiving,” Niles said.
Virginia Pollock entered the Computer Center and nodded at her colleagues. She carried a file and handed it to Niles.
“The autopsy report?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“This time we hung on to the bodies long enough to finally complete our files from Roswell. The other intelligence services threw a fit, but the president stalled until we got our answers. He said the government owed Dr. Early and his team at least that much,” Niles said sadly.
Garrison Lee lowered his head as he spared a thought for his long-lost men.
“Anyway, if we knew at the beginning what we were up against, a lot of boys would be alive right now,” Niles said. “Virginia…” He gestured that she should explain.
“First, the results of the animal, or Talkhan, won’t be available for many years. I suspect our friend Matchstick, who knows the animal better than anyone, will be able to shed some light on its planet of origin and biological makeup. Second, the three Grays that were recovered: the two in the desert, what was left of them anyway, and the being that was dispatched by Mr. Tilly.” Virginia looked from one person to the other. “They were dying. It will take years to figure out the toxicology, but it looks as if they were a victim of their environment. Their world must be in the final stages of a massive breakdown of their ozone layer. Not only that, their bodies were so full of toxins from their natural environment that we can only conclude that, besides the two different forms of skin cancer they displayed, and also the cancerous nature of their reproductive systems, they have mere generations left to them.”
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