Truth Insurrected: The Saint Mary Project

by Douglas, Daniel P.

  Stone’s palms sweated.

  It poked at the seam around the doorway. In an instant, it withdrew its hand and then moved away, stumbling toward the camera.

  “Boy,” Stone said, wiping his hands, “you can really feel it.”

  Extremely low-frequency sound waves resonated through the building’s structure. As the sound waves grew in intensity, the volume from the associated vibration and hum also increased.

  “Just like my son’s stereo,” Lanham said.

  Its torso heaved. In, out. Black, almond-shaped pupils constricted. A milky film dripped from its slit of a mouth onto the floor. It moved erratically around the room, seeking escape. Its large face pressed against the shield over the camera, leaving an orange smudge. Its gangly legs failed. Thirty-Seven fell to the floor.

  Arena Four’s occupants coughed several times, swallowing phlegm that ELF’s deep, pulsating tones loosened. The vibrations diminished. When they ended, Stone noticed his ears rang.

  Its torso heaved again.

  “It looks subdued to me,” Lanham said.

  “Let’s make sure.” Stone cleared his throat and picked up the telephone. “Send him in.”

  The door slid open, and a blond man, about thirty years old, entered, walking to the middle of the room.

  In, out.

  The blond man’s black turtleneck, brown corduroy pants, crimson cardigan sweater, and brown suede loafers contrasted with the white walls of Enclosure Four. Beneath neat and trim blond hair, the man’s blue eyes examined the lump that struggled to reach out at him. The man kicked away Thirty-Seven’s hand. He stepped back, unbuttoned his sweater, and removed a Colt .380 pistol from a holster concealed in his waistline. Aiming center mass, the man said, “Aren’t you going to stop me, Thirty-Seven?”

  In.

  “I’m waiting, and I’m not known for my patience.”

  Out.

  The .380’s sights aligned. Easy breaths. Two staccato blasts followed. A third round penetrated the target’s head.

  Activating the intercom, Stone said, “Thanks, James.”

  Inside Enclosure Four, James Evans looked at the camera and nodded.

  Smiling, Stone walked to Arena Four’s exit and opened the hatch. He turned to a grinning General Lanham and said, “After you, Don.”

  Chapter 18

  Watch Where You Point That Thing

  Harrison pulled into the parking lot of Old Pueblo Guns and Range and saw Janice waiting for him beside her car, a used Toyota Celica. She waved and smiled, excited about firearms training. Harrison had intended to provide her with training sometime, but figured her final exam schedule kept her too busy. But, she had brought up the topic in the midst of her tests and politely insisted she had plenty of time for it.

  Hearing nothing from Holcomb, his former FBI partner, Harrison had plenty of time too.

  He parked next to the Celica and grabbed a brown leather pancake-style holster from the passenger seat. Exiting the Dodge Charger, he said, “Did you wear a belt?”

  Janice wore a red T-shirt, blue jeans, and a leather aviator’s jacket. She lifted the jacket, exposing her slim waistline. “Why yes, I did.”

  Harrison handed her the holster, saying, “This will make it easier when you’re not firing.”

  Janice took the holster and attached it to her belt.

  After retrieving a stainless-steel Colt .45 from the trunk of his car, Harrison slid it into the holster on his belt. He reached into the trunk again and removed a blue steel Colt .45 from its carrying case. After confirming it was unloaded, Harrison gave it to Janice.

  “It’s a little older than the one I’ll be using,” Harrison said, “but I assure you, it still works as good as the day it was made, which was probably about fifty years ago.”

  “Always the history buff, aren’t you?” Janice said, clasping the pistol, unsure of what to do next.

  Harrison smiled and said, “No worries, it won’t bite. Holster it.”

  Janice pulled back her jacket and slid the gun into the holster. Harrison shut the trunk and nodded in the direction of the range. As they walked, Harrison explained the gun’s features.

  “That’s a Colt .45 semiautomatic handgun. It holds seven rounds in the magazine and one in the chamber. Eight rounds before firing. It’s a big gun, Janice, but don’t let it intimidate you. If you can handle it well, then you can handle just about any other handgun. If you ever need to defend yourself, the power of it will stop any bad guy, no matter how big. Even a shoulder or leg hit will knock him down.”

  “Won’t that just make him angry?”

  Harrison laughed. “You’ll do just fine.”

  “I’m in your hands.”

  Harrison opened the door and followed Janice inside. Norm, the range master, looked up from behind the counter and stood to greet his familiar customer. Janice chuckled, but recovered and rubbed her nose. Harrison guessed that Norm’s squeaking jeans amused her.

  “Thanks for letting me bring a guest today,” Harrison said.

  “No problem. Who’s this good-looking gunslinger?”

  “This is Janice Evans, my investigative associate.”

  “Welcome, Ms. Evans,” Norm said, shaking Janice’s extended hand. “Well, she sure is prettier than that cheap old-school fellow you work with. You bring Ms. Evans in here anytime you want, Mr. Harrison.”

  “Thanks, Norm,” Harrison said.

  Janice smiled, and then giggled as Norm moved about while providing them with ammunition, hearing protectors, and paper targets. She and Harrison walked to the end of the indoor range and settled in at the last firing lane. Harrison reached for one of the black silhouette targets, clipped it to the metal wire over his head, and pushed the button on the wall next to him, sending the target downrange. When the target had traveled about ten yards, he released the button.

  After removing four empty magazines from his trouser pockets, Harrison demonstrated how to load one with bullets. He handed Janice the others. Although an awkward task to complete at first, her proficiency improved after Harrison instructed her to load and unload the magazines several times.

  Next, using the .45 he provided to Janice, Harrison demonstrated its various functions, safeties, the slide’s back-and-forth movement, and proper sight alignment. Under his guidance, Janice took a firing stance with the gun in her right hand. Standing close and gently touching her, Harrison adjusted Janice’s stiff and tense posture for better balance.

  “Relax some,” Harrison said. “Keep a firm grip, but not too tight, otherwise your hand will shake.”

  Janice settled down after dry firing the weapon several times.

  “Breathing is important here. Calm your breathing, and just as you are about to fire, hold your breath. The firing should almost seem like a surprise.”

  When Harrison stood behind her and held her hands to explain a better grip, Janice leaned into him. He let her body relax against his while his hands caressed hers. Reluctantly, he stepped aside and showed her how to load the gun.

  “You’re a fast learner, Janice. Now the weapon is fully loaded and it’s time to fire it. Remember the grip, the stance, the release of the thumb safety as you draw it. Relaxed breathing, align the sights, aim center mass at the target, gentle squeeze on the trigger. When you’re out of bullets, the slide will lock to the rear. Drop the magazine and reload with a fresh one from your pocket. Keep your eyes and gun pointed downrange on the bad guy when you reload. Better take off that jacket first. Any questions?”

  Janice holstered the gun, and removing her jacket, she said, “Only about what came after ‘it’s time to fire it.’”

  “You’ll do fine,” Harrison said, handing her a pair of hearing protectors.

  Returning her attention to the target, Janice said, “Here goes nothing.” In a moment, she drew the Colt and carried out the steps she had just learned. “Holy cow!” she said, as the first round’s recoil jarred her hands. Janice recovered and continued firing. Hot, empty casings flew o
ver or by her right shoulder. She ignored them. After the eighth round, the slide locked in the rear position. She released the empty magazine, and it fell to the ground. And then, Janice made the mistake of looking down for the next magazine.

  “Keep your eyes downrange,” Harrison said, stepping up beside her.

  Janice zeroed back in on the target and felt for the magazine inside her pants pocket. She pulled out the magazine and used her fingertips to feel for the roundness of the top bullet. “This end up,” she said, sliding the magazine firmly into the Colt.

  “Good,” Harrison said, stepping back.

  Janice released the slide, chambering the next round. With less hesitation than before, she emptied the gun and then holstered the .45. Removing the hearing protectors and turning around, Janice exposed her broad grin to Harrison. “I like it!”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  Harrison pushed the target-return button, and the silhouette glided toward them. Janice looked at her returning target with wide eyes. She grimaced, however, when her aim revealed its results. “Ugh.”

  “Have you been to the eye doctor lately?”

  “Is it really that bad?”

  “Actually, for your first time handling such a big gun, you did fine.” Harrison winked, and then said, “Your aim will naturally improve with more training.”

  “How many hits did I get?”

  “It looks like four in the black, and as far as the others go, well, let’s just say they would have made him duck. Reload the magazines and put your hearing protector back on.”

  Harrison grinned as he attached another target to the overhead wire and sent it fifteen yards downrange. He drew the stainless-steel Colt from his holster. Rapid firing ensued, one of the casings brushing his cheek, until the gun was empty. The returning target revealed eight holes concentrated in its center.

  They removed their hearing protectors, and Harrison looked at Janice. “I never fired a gun until I was in the FBI. Before then, the mere sight of one gave me a sinking feeling in my gut. I know what you’re thinking, but I assure you, if you apply what you learn, you will improve. And if you ever have to use it, heaven forbid, then you’ll have the confidence you need to defend yourself and possibly others.”

  Janice nodded. “You got a little something there,” she said, reaching up to his face. Harrison flinched a little at first, but relaxed and let her wipe away a little stain of gunpowder from his cheek where the empty casing had hit him.

  The pair spent the next two hours on the range by themselves. Janice fired all the rounds Harrison purchased, and she demonstrated considerable improvement. He taught her more about the Colt, occasionally throwing in tidbits about its long history of service with the military, and how to use it more effectively by trying different firing techniques he had learned in the FBI. He stressed the need for firing discipline to encourage accuracy and to reduce the danger to bystanders. By the time they left the range, Harrison felt confident about Janice’s new abilities, and so did she, thanking him again for the time and attention he gave her.

  Lunch came afterward. Famished, both agreed that only a big meal of Mexican food would satisfy their hunger. There was laughter too, and political discussions about the situation in the Far East and whether or not it would improve. They solved problems, domestic and international, over tortillas and pinto beans.

  Harrison made a guess. “Pennsylvania.”

  “Kind of all over, really,” Janice said. “But much of my time has been spent in Ohio, so you’re in the ballpark.”

  They engaged in more small talk, and then Harrison said, “And your parents?”

  “Dad’s a salesman, hardware and such, and Mom stays at home. How about yours?”

  Harrison hesitated, and then said, “Dad was a salesman too. But, uh, my parents died shortly after I entered the FBI.”

  “Bill, I’m so sorry.”

  “I guess that’s why Pete’s family is important to me. They fill a void.”

  “How’d you two meet?”

  Harrison’s thoughts drifted to another place, another time. He smiled. “I met Pete probably twelve years ago or so. He was a PI back then, and I was working a fraud case that brought me through Tucson. He shared some information he had on the suspects with me, and I ended up getting a successful prosecution on that case, but I owed a lot of the credit to him. We stayed in touch over the years, and when I…when I retired and moved here, we struck up a partnership.”

  The waiter interrupted, and Harrison paid the bill.

  After a few moments more, they had to say good-bye. Studying for final exams tugged her away, so Harrison drove to the office.

  “What’s this?” Zemdarsky said when his partner came through the front door. “Why, Willy, my boy, you have a positive glow about you. Are you feeling all right?”

  “Shut it,” Harrison said, grinning and pushing Zemdarsky’s palms away from his face.

  “So, how’s Janice?”

  “Any messages?”

  “Not talking, eh? Fine, be that way. I thought we were friends, pals, but I guess not.”

  “Uh, messages?”

  “Okay, okay, your buddy, Art Holcomb, called, but he didn’t seem too talkative.”

  “Well, that’s just his way.”

  “I didn’t know you’d been in touch with him.”

  “Just gave him a buzz to rap about our Wild West days.”

  “You going to get him to confess to that Echo Tango thing? Whatever that’s about.”

  Harrison unlocked his office’s door and stepped inside. Turning around, he said, “Oh, that. I don’t know, maybe.” He shut the door and sat down, listening until he was sure Zemdarsky went on about his business.

  Then he picked up the phone.

  Chapter 19

  The Saint Mary Project

  A dial tone and a few pressed buttons later, Harrison’s call to Holcomb entered the fiber-optic stream toward the East Coast. After his fingers stopped the necessary inputs, he sat back and relaxed, but only for a moment. He lurched forward and hung up the phone. His eyes focused on the envelope tacked to the bulletin board in his office. Echo Tango’s latest message waited for him.

  “Damn.”

  No doubt the messenger had come in the night, long before the occupants arrived at the office. Harrison did not alert Zemdarsky. He wanted to avoid involving him any further, and in doing so, protect him and his family from any potential harm.

  Harrison was not worried about Holcomb. He did not have a family and held a position from which he could corroborate certain information. Holcomb also carried a badge. And a gun.

  Without taking it down, Harrison could tell the bulging envelope carried cash. He flinched, and stroked the smooth whiskers of his neatly trimmed beard. Harrison swore he could smell the witch hazel on the envelope all the way from his desk. The scent conjured up an image of his father shaving.

  As unreal as this case came across, one bit of reality struck close to home. That single scrap of fact both pushed him away and pulled him closer. Staring at the envelope across the no-man’s-land between his desk and the bulletin board, Harrison realized he stood entrenched in a battle that potentially crossed generations. Harrison cut a stretch of imaginary barbed wire and made his move. After reaching for and opening the envelope, he read the latest information Echo Tango provided…

  The copy of the news article I’ve included discusses a UFO sighting over Las Vegas from last July. It is a piece of background information necessary to understand the other news articles I’ve enclosed about two recent deaths involving air force personnel. The suicide and accident victims witnessed the July UFO sighting. However, they were in closer proximity to the craft than any of the civilian witnesses in Las Vegas. The test of a rebuilt Roswell UFO vehicle was interrupted by another UFO described in the paper. The deceased airman and sergeant were the only eyewitnesses to the apparent destruction of two F-15 fighters that were sent to intercept the craft when it appeared over the test site. Th
e status of the aircraft and their pilots, to my knowledge, is still unknown.

  The test location is known as Area 51, which is part of a larger complex commonly referred to as Dreamland. Perhaps you have heard of it in the media. It is located approximately eighty miles northwest of Las Vegas. It is heavily guarded, and the military uses it for the research and development of new aircraft and weapons systems. Until recent years, it officially did not exist. This area was remote and isolated in 1947, and the military selected it as the test area for the recovered material and vehicles from Roswell. Dreamland has received much attention lately from the outside, making it much less suitable for secret tests. As a result, an entity in control of this matter made a decision to develop a new facility. This new facility will become operational by the end of the year. It is located in the basin and range area of northeastern Nevada. Development and testing of aircraft continues at Area 51 in the meantime, but at a much slower pace than in years past.

  The air force personnel who witnessed the July incident at the test site were monitored for any unusual behavior that would indicate any weaknesses in their ability to remain silent. Unfortunately for them, both displayed strange behavior patterns following the incident, due probably more from the stress of secrecy than from the actual event. Nevertheless, the entity chose to take no chances, and a specially developed assassin eliminated them. I will reveal the methods used in these particular assassinations to you later, when the time is right.

  The money I have included is for your next assignment. I need you to travel to Las Vegas and take a room at the Sundowner Inn. It is located on the southern end of the strip. Please be armed during this next assignment. I will reveal the details to you when I observe you in Las Vegas. Be there by December 20.

  As he stood up, Harrison recalled the zigzagging luminescent sphere he witnessed last July. He held the letter and its attachments, and then exited his office. He walked to the alcove where they kept the photocopier. A quick glance into Zemdarsky’s office assured Harrison that his partner remained preoccupied. Zemdarsky talked on the phone, laughing and wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.