She rubbed her eyes.
“It’s being done by Richard Chandra.”
She appeared weak, sat down in a chair and took a deep breath.
“He has a small lab near Johns Hopkins. He also acts as advisor for a research activity at Groom.”
“Mister Gallagan,” Jafri said, cautiously, “have you ever heard of a classified U.S. government activity calledOperation Majority ?”
“We’ve heard of it,” Katrina replied, softly. “I opened Pandora’s Box and Vladimir fell in. I feel sick. Help me out of here. Please.”
50. NOBLE GOALS
18-19 July 1994
Back in Rachel, Nevada, Deke’s investigation of Operation Majority continued. While penetrating the databases of Livermore Lab, the Justice Department and the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, he stumbled across information on other black programs that spun his interests in new directions.
He developed a theory about government conspiracies.
One evening, in the Rachel bar, after a bout of heavy drinking, he explained this theory to Marvyn Marvin III from the Planet Draconis, who—quite by chance—happened to be visiting Earth in material form in order to propose to the Lady From Venus. Both Marvyn and his bride-to-be were in a genial mood. Marvyn had shaved his Abraham Lincoln style beard with a mini leg shaver, producing a vertical grid of hairy stripes. Marvyn said it was all the rage on Draconis, but Deke thought it made him look weird.
“Secrecy’s to blame,” Deke said. “Secrecy itself is at the bottom of most government conspiracies.”
“Could you talk into this?” Marvyn said, doffing his top hat. “This has a direct voice link to the Planet Draconis. Except when it’s on my head. Then, it’s a mind link. I want the guys there to hear this.”
“And the gals,” the Lady From Venus said with an even smile.
“Of course, dear. And we shan’t forget about the neutroids.”
“No, we shan’t.”
Marvyn scanned the room, as if tuned to a channel other than reality. Finally, he said, “Okay. They’re ready to copy. Even His Most High Boomquat is on the line.” He leaned over the top hat. “So tell us, Deke, how the secrecy of Earthlings is the source of government conspiracy.”
“Well, it dispenses with accountability. No. That’s not quite true. Accountability tosecrecy is the highest priority. Has to be if you want to keep secrets a secret. Everything else is secondary. Even normal, human morality. As a result, black programs—the most secret programs that our government has—are run and operated by sociopaths—people who don’t know or care about right or wrong.”
“Interesting,” Marvyn said. “On Draconis, the concept of secrecy is alien to our thought process.”
The Lady From Venus rolled her eyes, squeezing Marvyn’s hand. “Dear—Earthlingsare aliens.”
“What would you do, Marv, if you uncovered some highly secret, but unethical program?” Deke asked.
The Lady From Venus answered before Marvyn could speak. “He’d be outraged. He’d find out all he could, then write a book exposing the whole thing and earn a million dollars for it. Marv’s just that kind of guy.”
Marvyn smiled and gave his fiancé a peck on the cheek. “You are so—”
“So you’d take action?”
Marvyn looked Deke right in the eye. “Darn right. I’m all action—in a theoretical sense.”
Deke nodded. “Action.” He gulped down the last of his root beer and slammed the mug onto the counter. “Thanks, Marv.” He turned and walked out the door.
When Deke was gone, a big man wearing a Hawaiian shirt got up from a stool next to the Lady From Venus. He paid his tab then left the bar in a big hurry.
Marvyn watched him go. “You thinking what I’m thinking, hon?”
“I wasn’t thinking anything right now, Marv, but if—”
“There was something not quite right about that guy in the Hawaiian shirt. I got... bad vibes.”
“I noticed something, too,” she said with a whisper. “He has the same aura as Quetzalcoatl.”
* * *
Deke rounded up the dog, a duffel bag with a few clothes and stacks of print-outs—results of his investigations. He left Gray with Old Missus Doonan, then drove off to the airport. With a seat to himself, he put the arm rests up, took his shoes off and curled into a fetal position. He awoke to the loud rush of landing gear locking in place, and the gentle rhythm of the aircraft as it maneuvered into the approach corridor. It was early morning.
* * *
When Jafri and Deke shook hands, their palms were moist in the warmth of a July afternoon. There was something fateful about the meeting. Each felt it. Each tried to dismiss it.
They bought some Konee Dogs from a street vendor and sat quietly on the grass of Constitution Gardens, with the Lincoln Memorial behind them, the National Academy of Sciences on one side, and the Reflecting Pool on the other.
“When do you go back?” Jafri asked.
Deke licked hot mustard from his fingers. “Tonight,” he said, standing up. He handed Jafri a briefcase. “We need to take action, Boss.”
That was the sum total of the meeting.
Jafri watched Deke’s figure recede across a field of well-manicured grass. He felt the smooth texture of the briefcase, wondering what new secrets were inside. Then he gazed out toward the Reflecting Pool with feelings of caution and growing fear.
51. TISSUE OF LIES
19-20 July 1994
Yuri and Gallagan walked to the back room of a Russian restaurant on I Street, where Anderson, Jafri and Katrina were seated. Yuri watched Katrina pour a cup of black liquid for everyone at the table. Their eyes met momentarily, and he reacted with a quick, awkward smile as he sat down.
Gallagan swallowed the black liquid, then clenched his teeth at the strength of it. “I did not want to trouble you to come to the Embassy. It would have been awkward—you an FBI agent and me, a Russian diplomat. Also, we think the embassy was penetrated. This place seemed safe.”
“Are all of you from the embassy?” Yuri asked, sipping the dark liquid. He choked, then put down the cup.
“It is good Russian kvass,” Katrina said. “You like it?”
Sverdlov shook his head, “No.”
Gallagan made the introductions. “Professor Anderson is from Georgetown University. Mister Jafri is his friend. Vladimir, of course, worked for me. You have met Katrina.”
“Yes,” he said, smiling again.
Gallagan paused for a moment, trying to read Yuri’s face, then gestured, noncommittally. “Katrina trusts you. Frankly, I do not.”
“Why?”
Gallagan shrugged, “You are—”
“We have both been deeply hurt,” Katrina interjected. “We try to solve the same puzzle.” She inspected the well-chiseled face in front of her, searching the eyes, searching for his Russian heart. “I think you are the only one who can help me.”
Yuri’s response was business-like. “So you think Jack Dugan’s death and your brother’s death are connected?”
Gallagan raised his palms, patting at the air. “All of this frankness makes me uneasy, Fontanova, without first establishing the rules.”
He locked his fingers together in a gentle clasp, looked at Yuri, and smiled. “Agent Sverdlov, you are entrusted with solving this crime. If we do not get satisfaction, we will publicize your bungled efforts, and the efforts of the NSA representative, Mr. Dugan, to penetrate the Russian Embassy. I will turn your distinguished career into troika droppings. Do you understand?”
Yuri nodded, calmly. “You can try, but you may be too late, Mr. Gallagan. Anyway, why do you believe Vladimir was murdered?”
“We have certain evidence which, at the moment, is admittedly circumstantial. I will share it with you. We are working with Professor Anderson’s environmentalist group, calledTellus .”
Anderson spoke. “Our group began an environmental study of Groom Dry Lake Base in Nevada. The Russian Embassy supplied us with certain technical
and analytical means.”
Yuri frowned and rubbed his eyes.
“I can see you are becoming uncomfortable with this discussion,” Gallagan said. “We are doing nothing illegal. The Open Skies Treaty signed by your government allows us to take pictures of your bases. It is a New World Order, hmmm? Vladimir was working with Katrina analyzing Groom.”
Katrina cleared her throat, averting her eyes. “Vladimir called me about a significant find. He was delivering results of his analysis...”
Gallagan reached across the table, pressed her hand, then finished the thought. “When the police visited us, they returned papers and valuables found on or near the body. The envelope that Vladimir had in his possession—the envelope containing satellite imagery—was not returned.”
Yuri opened his briefcase and flipped through a file folder. “No such item was reported at the scene. I have the complete case file right here. It’s not on the list.”
Gallagan released a plosivepfft ! “Why am I deeply suspicious of your answer? I believe that someone took the photographs. Someone who wanted to know what Vladimir had discovered.”
“And what exactly did Vladimir discover?” Yuri asked.
Gallagan composed his thoughts behind squinted eyes. “It took us two days to reconstruct what Vladimir had done. We found his requests for additional imagery, requests for digital enhancements and—most importantly—we found his notebook. We have evidence that something remarkable has occurred—is occurring—at Groom Dry Lake Base.”
Katrina spread a sequence of satellite photographs on the table. “This imagery is unclassified—part of a survey of North America. We sell it commercially, which is why I’m showing it to you. The first image was taken in the morning of April twenty-second. See this area on the dry lake? The shadows are from cylinders of some sort arranged in a regular pattern. Also, there is some vehicular movement from the research complex to the lake area.”
Katrina moved to another image. “This photo was taken in the late afternoon of the same day. An irregular dark pattern covers the area with the cylinders. A stereo frame shows movement of the mass.”
She moved to a third image. “This one was taken the following morning. The area is restored to its original condition. Later photos ruled out shadowing as an explanation for the dark area.”
“Can I see the photo of the dark area?” Yuri asked.
Katrina handed him the photo and a magnifying glass.
“Interesting. I can make out patterns.”
“Yes,” she said, “The dark area appears to be composed of many separate objects. The patterns you see are calledmoiré patterns. In this case, the moiré pattern combines linear scan lines of the satellite’s camera system with the regular orientation of many small objects in the dark area.”
“I’m not a photo interpreter,” Yuri said. “I’m having trouble putting all of this together. Help me.”
“We know from other data and other analysis that the dark area is composed of hundreds of objects less than half a meter in length. All the objects are oriented toward the center, and are probably mobile.”
“Mister Jafri’s friend works at the site,” Anderson said. “He found a dead animal—a rat—in the test area. We know that the animal was modified. We found devices implanted in its brain. We believe they control the animals and that the Russian satellite photos show the test.”
“This all seems pretty far fetched,” Yuri said. “But suppose the government did have some fantastic new weapon. They don’t just go out and kill people. Even the crime of treason requires due process.”
“Due process?” Jafri asked. “We’re talking about a government that performed radiation experiments on its own citizens for years without their knowledge or permission. That’s a fact!”
He slammed his fist on the table.
“Not a single official involved in those criminal acts was ever prosecuted. It’s an environment Josef Mengele would have been comfortable in.”
“The U.S. government doesn’t operate that way. We’ve got rules.”
“Normal rules have been suspended,” Jafri said. My organization has linked the base with Operation Majority.”
“What?” Yuri hesitated for a moment. Several pieces came together—Gottlieb, Weddell, the Russian Embassy intercept, Dugan’s death. It seemed too fantastic. He needed independent confirmation. “Let’s put all the cards on the table, shall we?”
Gallagan pouted. “I’m afraid they are ambiguous cards, Agent Sverdlov.”
“What is Operation Majority?”
Jafri responded with certainty. “The exploitation of recovered extraterrestrial technology.”
Yuri laughed—partly out of shock, partly out of the tension of the moment. Inside, his gut wrenched at the possibility. “You’ve got to be kidding!” He looked at the others. No one else was laughing. “Look... look...”
“We are verging on a major diplomatic crisis,” Gallagan said. “You can help bring to justice a single, out-of-control bureaucrat, or watch us supply the press with the damnedest story you’ve ever heard.”
“This is crazy,” Yuri said, trying to rationalize, even as emotions swamped his brain. “Number one, I’m just a go-between. Number two, if you’ve got evidence that someone in the government killed Vladimir Fontanov, then give it to me. The FBI will follow up on it. That’s our job.”
“Yuri,” Katrina said, “we are counting on you, not the FBI. I think you’ll do the right thing. That’s the difference between you and them. What we need first is one of the rats recovered near Vladimir’s body. If we find devices in the neural tissue, then we can establish a link with the Groom Lake test site. The second thing we need is a search of a laboratory near Johns Hopkins. It belongs to Richard Chandra. He’s connected with the Groom operation.”
“I’ll do my job.”
“And Yuri, if Operation Majority thinks you know about their activities, you may be their next target. It’s something to consider when you work through official channels. Be careful.”
* * *
Later that day, Yuri sipped a cup of coffee outside FBI Headquarters, wondering about a great many things, mind lurking between troika droppings and dead men.
A web of interconnected ideas drove the investigation. Some points on the web were truth. Some were lies. Some were probably coincidence. He felt like a bug in a spider’s trap. If he moved the wrong way, he’d be stuck. Or dead. Whatever way he moved, the act of movement itself might alert the spider. “Where is the spider? The big question!
Katrina had told him to be careful. He had already figured that part out. What he hadn’t figured out was a plan that allowed him to investigate and stay alive.
He looked for a place to throw away the coffee. All the sugar was in a single glob of goo at the bottom of the cup. A thought occurred to him:Sometimesyouhavetostirthingsup .
* * *
“They said Katrina Fontanova was here and that you are an acquaintance of hers.”
“They?” Jafri looked up from his plate at the tall, young, well-dressed foreigner.
“The head waiter. I gave him a big tip. I knew she would come here eventually to eat the Russian food. Not many people eat Russian food.”
“I’m not surprised,” Jafri whispered, patting his mouth with a napkin and eyeing a plate of jellied meat. “You’re right, by the way, about Ms. Fontanova. But she’s gone now. Back to the embassy, I suppose. I’m only still here because I have this fascination with foreign food.”
“How do you like it?”
“Disgusting.”
“I agree.” He extended his hand. “I am Kostiya Baskakov, from the Ukrainian Embassy.”
“Zfar Jafri, Embassy of the Planet Earth.” Zfar shook Baskakov’s hand.
The Ukrainian looked puzzled.
“A joke.”
Baskakov nodded, laughed, then sat down.
“So you are a friend of Katrina’s?” Jafri asked. “Close friend, perhaps?”
“Our relation
ship is... evolving.”
“Ah! One of those kinds of relationships.”
“She won’t see me. I try to call her at home and the embassy, but she refuses to talk to me.”
“You must have really pissed her off. No offense.”
“I asked her to marry me once. We were engaged.”
Jafri’s beard trembled. “That’ll do it.”
“She is very pig-headed, Mister Jafri. I want to help her.”
“Whether she wants your help or not?”
“Yes. How is she taking Vladimir’s death?”
“She seems pretty shook up. And angry. I would be too, if I thought a friend or relative died that way.”
“Look, I know you will see her again. Could you please give her this message?” Baskakov reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope.
“Sure,” Jafri said. I’ll give it to her.”
After Baskakov departed, Jafri decided to put the letter into the briefcase which Deke Dobbs had given him. Until now, he had been afraid to open it—afraid of new revelations, new horrors. He carried it around all day, like a prosthesis that gimbaled his body and his mind in an unnatural way.What I don’t know can’t kill me , he rationalized. But now he had to open it.
The shiny brass latches clicked under the pull of his fingers. The lid pulled back easily. Inside, on the very top of a thick stack of papers, was a congratulatory letter, stamped TOP SECRET MAJIC, dated January 22, 1968. It began:
Dear Whit,
Congratulations on fine experimental technique! Your brilliant efforts have finally put us on the road to a marvelous technical breakthrough. In your operating room, something was born which I believe will change the world as we know it...
Jafri closed the lid, paid the check, and rushed back to his hotel room.
* * *
The Ganymede Project Page 28