MJ-12: Endgame

by Michael J. Martinez

  Agent Sorensen was able to penetrate elaborate security inside the Kremlin and obtain several dozen photographs of sensitive documents pertaining to MGB activities both within the USSR and throughout the world. The information in those documents should be disseminated-under appropriate cover and with care to not reveal source documentation-to the relevant military and civilian intelligence agencies in the US and among allied governments. (See report under separate US Naval Intelligence cover this date from CMDR Wallace.) However, Agent Sorensen was unable to find any documentation regarding Soviet Variant activities or organization. It is assumed Beria keeps the Soviet Variant program well compartmentalized, and possible that among the current Soviet leadership, he alone knows of its existence.

  Subject-1 was able to identify ten Variants within the greater Moscow area. Among these are the following known Soviet Variants:

  - Lavrentiy Beria, who has the ability to create flames and project them from his hands;

  - Maria Savrova, who can mentally track an individual to their exact location anywhere in the world after touching them;

  - Mikhail Tsakhia, a Mongolian-Russian man who can generate fields of null-Enhancement organically; our devices were mirrored after his ability;

  - Boris Illyanov, who retains his ability to move at extreme speeds despite his age;

  - Unknown name, an individual who can project a semi-solid shadow figure of himself anywhere in the world.

  There were five others identified by Subject-1, all of whom were successfully tracked down and photographed-three women and two men. Two of the men and one woman wore MGB and/or Red Army uniforms, while the other two were seen in the kind of high-end civilian dress reserved for Communist Party functionaries-suit and tie, nice dress, greatcoats, etc. Likewise, none of the new targets identified as Variants displayed any Enhancements while under observation. While this has kept us from better identifying their potential threat, it is also continued assurance that the Variants under Beria continue to keep their presence a secret from the larger Soviet population.

  These Soviet Variants were observed entering and leaving several nondescript buildings scattered throughout Moscow. None of the buildings carried signage consistent with Soviet government or Communist Party facilities, though two addresses are consistent with intelligence obtained by MAJ Lodge via his Enhancement regarding MGB safe houses in Moscow. It appears at least some unmarked MGB facilities have begun to overlap with Beria’s Variant program.

  It is also worth noting that the MGB appears to have successfully replicated the null generator devices first perfected by the MJ-12 program. Since they have encountered them before, it is possible they have simply developed the technology on their own. Recommend, however, that all null devices be accounted for, and also conduct additional security screening for those with access to any part of the development process.

  CONCLUSION AND RECOMMENDATIONS

  None of the new Variant targets are known MGB or Red Army personnel in Moscow, and we are working with Station Leningrad to perhaps identify them there, as Leningrad remains a center of Variant program activity through the Bekhterev Institute. We are also cross-referencing other stations to further help identify these new individuals.

  We believe Beria, as part of his ascension to the Deputy Premiership, has brought several Variants to Moscow as part of an effort to centralize his authority over MGB and, possibly, over the rest of the Soviet governmental apparatus. We believe the other Deputy Premiers and high-level officials within the Soviet government remain unaware of the Variant program and Beria’s own Enhancement, given Stalin’s penchant for secrecy and compartmentalization. (Whether Stalin himself was aware of Beria’s Enhancement or the program is, at this point, moot.)

  Given Beria’s secretive nature and the power of the MGB in both government and in Soviet life, it is entirely possible that Beria could move to consolidate power while keeping his Enhancement and the Variant program a secret, placing his Variant allies into positions of authority as he works against the other elements within government. This would, of course, not only give him the upper hand in most political confrontations, but could lead to a situation in which the Soviet Union itself is led by a Variant-one who has demonstrated a callous disregard for normal people in his quest for power.

  We firmly believe that a Variant-led USSR is an existential danger to the United States, to the people of the Soviet Union, and to Variants around the world. Beria’s ascension to unquestioned leadership within the Soviet Union-on a par with Stalin or Lenin-would lead to worsening relations with the United States, greater crimes against the Soviet people, and the possibility that Variants themselves could be made public knowledge as “Champions of the Proletariat.”

  While we recognize that interfering with the internal politics of the Soviet Union is unlike any other operation heretofore attempted by CIA or MJ-12, we believe the lessons learned from operations in Syria, Eastern Europe, Iran, and South America could be useful here, and that a limited operation may prove beneficial in securing American interests.

  We propose to undermine Beria by taking covert action against the MGB and Soviet Variants within the Soviet Union and Eastern Bloc states. This operation would serve to discredit and undermine Beria’s leadership, authority and resources, prompting other competing elements within the USSR to remove him from power as the struggle to replace Stalin continues.

  We furthermore propose that this operation should not seek to back, in any way, any other candidate for power within the Soviet Union. For one, none of the other candidates present the same threat as Beria, and can be dealt with through normal diplomatic and covert means as necessary. We also believe that such a move would be far too dangerous for both MJ-12 agents as well as any Soviet official we would choose to back.

  The limited scope of this operation-discredit and remove Beria from power-ensures a greater degree of plausible deniability for the United States Government and more opportunity for reformist elements within the Soviet Union to achieve victories without seeming to be unduly influenced by outside activity.

  -END-

  March 14, 1953

  MEMORANDUM FOR THE DIRECTOR OF CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE

  Dear Director Dulles:

  As per our conversation yesterday on this matter, you are hereby directed to initiate Operation TALISMAN as suggested in the Majestic Twelve Field Report dated 12 March 53. With all due haste and consideration, you are to deploy your assets as discussed.

  Any changes to plans or procedures around Operation TALISMAN must be approved by the Office of the President after consultation with yourself and General Vandenberg.

  I must reiterate the sensitive nature of both Operation TALISMAN and the Majestic Twelve program. If either are compromised in any way, this office will disavow both programs entirely. This will be the only written record of either operation from this office, only one copy of which will be preserved. Destroy this memorandum upon receipt.

  March 15, 1953

  “Calvin Hooks, what do you mean, you aren’t coming to church?”

  Cal slipped on a white dress shirt from the closet and began buttoning it, praying that he could find a reasonable excuse for not going with his wife, Sally, to services. It was, of course, bad enough that they had to drive fifty miles into Boise to find a decent Baptist church with a preacher who could truly make the Word sing. And in winter, of course, when the roads were bad, they’d have to make do with the chaplain’s services right there at Mountain Home Air Force Base—and that chaplain, a bespectacled white boy who looked outright scared whenever proper black people were in the congregation, did not so much sing the Word as stutter through it.

  But not going at all was worse. And that was what Cal had to do.

  “I’m sorry, Sally. Truly I am. But this is how it goes. I don’t know when I get called up. Just do,” Cal said as he slipped on a pair of gray pants. “You just gonna have to pray extra hard for me today.”

  Finally, Sally came around into t
he bedroom, her hat and veil already on and looking perfect. She was in her late fifties and, truth be told, ever so slightly starting to look her age—a little gray in her hair, a few more wrinkles around the eyes. Cal knew many Negro women were blessed with the ability to defy age for the longest time—they had to have some blessings for all the Lord put ’em through—but nobody could truly outrun time.

  Except for Cal, of course. But Cal and Sally didn’t talk about that. They had, once, about three years ago, when Cal had offered to bring back some of Sally’s youth if she liked. He’d ended up spending the healing energy on the welt on his head instead. Sally was deft with a fry pan. The topic hadn’t been broached since, and Cal worked to slough off as much of the youth he gathered during assignments before he got home, preferring to stay at a healthy, robust midfifties when he was around Sally or their boy, Winston, who was now off in his first year of law school.

  “There just ain’t nothing sacred anymore,” Sally said. “You can’t tell them no? After all this time? You’ve been working for them now for seven, eight years. They put you through the wringer every time. You can’t tell them you’ll be along after church?”

  Cal shook his head sadly. “You know how it is, Sally. This job, this thing I do, this is what pays for Winston’s schooling. Pays for our house here on base, all the things we’ve been able to do since I left the Firestone factory. Ain’t no more third shift, getting all dirty and sweaty. You ain’t gotta work a job and take in laundry to make ends meet.”

  Sally walked over and started helping Cal button his shirt. “I know all that, and I’m proud of you, really I am. You’ve done right by us, and you’re doing right by your country, too. But even when you come back looking like that rough-and-tumble teenager I met back in the day, I see what’s going on, Cal. Your eyes. How long you think you can last doing what you do for them?” She held up her hand to forestall the forthcoming protest. “I know. I don’t know what they have you do. But I know enough. And I know that making sure you’re right with Jesus is more important than ever because of that. You know it well as I do.”

  Cal sighed and smiled and let Sally tie his necktie for him. “How many years is law school again?”

  “Three. Two to go after this year.”

  “All right. Two more. And I got two more after that on my ten years here. After that, maybe it’s time to see about moving on. Maybe I get a pension or something. Or we can just find a nice quiet place to work and live, without any of that stuff that’s happening down South right now.”

  Sally’s face brightened. “You mean it?”

  Cal gave her a quick kiss as she finished tying his tie. “You bet I do. Winston will be out of school, probably being some hot-shot lawyer somewhere. We’ve been able to save up quite a bit, too. But right now, baby, I have to go work.”

  Sally stepped back and nodded. “You gonna be back when I get home from church?”

  Cal shrugged on his dark suit jacket. “I don’t know. Depends if this just a meeting or if we’re heading out. I’ll try to be here either way, but if not, I’ll be sure to leave word.”

  “I know the drill,” Sally said with a sigh. “I best get going if I’m going to make it to Saint Paul’s on time. I’ll tell everyone you’re on duty again, and try to keep those church ladies from being too nosy.”

  Cal chuckled and kissed her again, feeling her body stiffen slightly. She was upset, of course. He wasn’t pleased either—what was with all the decisions and meetings coming down on Sundays anyway? Didn’t anybody in Washington ever take a weekend? Maybe go play some golf like good white people do?

  Sally offered to drive Cal into the base proper—they lived in a little cluster of homes for officers and high-ranking enlisted men just inside the outer perimeter—but he waved her on to Boise and started walking, pulling his coat around him as he went. It was warm for that time of year—a relative term when the temperature was maybe forty degrees and the wind off the mountains cut like a knife. But it had been more than three years since they moved, and he was getting used to the mercurial Idaho weather. Honestly, he was getting to like the cold. The South he knew as a child was always hot and sticky and unpleasant. And full of crackers all too eager to send calls of “nigger” and “boy” his way. Maybe some of the folk in Idaho stared a bit too long, maybe they were a little too short with their words, but it was a damn sight better than Memphis. Cal had heard some good things about Seattle and San Francisco from some of the young black men at the air base. Maybe they’d move there.

  Cal’s attention was pierced by a car horn, and he turned to see Frank Lodge rolling up in his latest car—a 1952 Buick with enough chrome to blind a man. Frank did like his cars. “Jesus, Cal, it’s freezing. Get in!” Frank called.

  With a smile, Cal jumped into the passenger seat and rubbed his hands vigorously. “Thanks, Frank. How was Moscow?”

  “Colder than this,” Frank said, pulling away toward the base proper. “I imagine we’re about to find out what’s next with all that. We missed you there.”

  “Well, a black man gonna stand out pretty good in the middle of Red Square,” Cal said with a chuckle. “Only so many times I can play an ambassador to some African country nobody ever heard of. Did much better down in Guatemala, Caribbean, Egypt. Places like that.”

  “It’s getting tougher for all of us,” Frank said. “Spent five hours in the airport before they allowed us to board. Lots of questioning. Thought they’d snag us then and there.”

  “Why you think they didn’t?”

  Frank could only shrug, but Cal knew the worry lines on his face all too well after what they’d been through together. “We were traveling with some other folks from State and Defense, heading home for leave. They probably knew they’d create a ruckus. And I don’t think Beria wants to do that quite yet. His to-do list has a lot more on it before it gets to us.”

  Cal nodded. “He wants the whole country, doesn’t he?”

  “Yep, near as we can tell. Figure Danny’s gonna tell us all about it. How’s Sally?”

  “Oh, she’s fine. Upset I’m missing church again. It’s a good life here, but it’s hard for her when I’m off on assignment. Wondering just how much more I’ll have to do before I can hang it up.”

  This earned Cal a raised eyebrow from Frank. “I’ll be real interested to see what they say to that, too. We haven’t been around long enough for anyone to retire from the program. I sure as hell hope they let you.”

  “Me too,” Cal said, grimacing as Frank pulled into one of the base’s nondescript office buildings that served as MAJESTIC-12’s headquarters. “It’s gonna be prickly, I imagine, when it comes time. I ain’t told Sally that, but I gotta wonder if they’re really gonna let any of us just leave.”

  Frank parked and turned to put a hand on Cal’s shoulder. “You know we’re behind you, Cal. All of us.”

  Cal smiled sadly and nodded. “Hope it don’t come to that.”

  The two men got out and hustled toward the entrance, where a pair of M.P.s stood sentry. Both Variants flashed their identification, and while one of the airmen gave Cal a quizzical look—the boy seemed new to Mountain Home—they entered without difficulty. The new ones always wondered why a black man would be allowed into sensitive areas of the base, something Cal was used to, even if he never quite accepted it. At least this time nobody had to give anybody a dressing down just to get in the damn door.

  Inside, down two flights of stairs into a subbasement, past another pair of sentries and down a harshly lit corridor, the rest of the Variants had begun to gather in a small lecture room. Danny was up front, going through notes, but paused to give Cal a hearty hello and handshake. Maggie rose from her seat up front to give him a hug; he returned it gratefully, but noticed she was looking worse for wear, pale and sleepless. He imagined something had gone down in Moscow, and made a mental note to have her over for dinner if and when he could. Cal always worried after Maggie, what with her ability and its side effects and all. In the yea
rs he’d known her, she’d become more and more distant. Detached. Alone. His heart ached for the poor girl, but Maggie remained stubborn as a mule about it, only going to see the assigned MJ-12 shrink because they made her.

  Mrs. Stevens was there too, and Cal got a hug from her as well. Lovely lady, Rose Stevens. Still sort of on the back foot after her divorce three years ago, but seemed to be recovering. Still kind, sort of like the program’s mother hen, always looking after the others. She was also a certified, one hundred percent genius—that was her Enhancement. She’d been a housewife prior to 1946. Now, she could make Einstein dizzy. She’d become the group’s quartermaster and chief researcher, creating spy gadgets and gear for missions, but also leading the research on the strange vortex of white light created after Hiroshima that had somehow given them all their Enhancements.

  Another Variant, Tim Sorensen, the invisible man, greeted Cal with a wave as he made his way to a seat. None of Tim’s clothes made the transition with him when he went invisible, so Mrs. Stevens had made him clothes that would. He’d started with something that looked to Cal like a pair of tight-fitting long johns, but Mrs. Stevens had been able to improve her designs so that he could wear normal-looking clothes and shoes that would disappear along with the rest of him.

  Next to Sorensen was Rick Yamato, a Japanese American who’d spent his teenage years in the internment camps out West. Yamato could create electricity out of thin air, and could shoot bolts of lightning out of his hands or short-circuit a city block with a touch. The boy was with Cal down in Guatemala in ’51. Steady man, if a little too quick to fry first and ask questions later. Cal remembered the impetuousness of his own youth, of course, and could relate sometimes, Lord help him.

  Ekaterina Illyanova sat up front without really acknowledging Cal, which was okay, as it seemed they’d never really get along. They first met in Czechoslovakia in ’48, when she was about ten. A year later she’d defected to the U.S. and MAJESTIC-12 when Lavrentiy Beria left her for dead during a mission in Kazakhstan. Now fifteen and called Katie by her new compatriots, she had become a sullen teenager—understandable, given the circumstances. She could also punch through walls and lift a jeep over her head, so most folks knew to tread carefully around her. Cal knew her enmity toward him ran pretty deep; Cal had aged the hell out of her brother, a Soviet Variant who could run fast as hell, when they’d met back in that Czech forest. Cal hadn’t meant to, but there was nothing for it now, and even a good Christian man could only ask forgiveness so many times.