Truth Insurrected: The Saint Mary Project

by Douglas, Daniel P.

  Harrison made the necessary copies. He would separate them later, when he put them in a safe-deposit box he had rented. Back in his office, he closed and locked the door and then sat down at his desk to call Holcomb again. When Holcomb answered, Harrison said, “The snake charmer from India is Sigmund Freud’s grandson.”

  “J. Edgar Hoover never wore white after Labor Day.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah, except for his favorite pair of pumps. You got a nosy partner.”

  “Did you find something?”

  “More or less. Actually, it’s sort of like finding out the whore—”

  “What is it?”

  “So, I ran a search of the projects you told me about. The aerospace cases have been sealed and transferred.”

  “Sealed and transferred?”

  “There wasn’t much information left in the computer at all. The cases are sealed. There is a class-five security clearance, with restrictions, indicated as necessary for access.”

  “What the hell kind of clearance is that?”

  “Beats the hell out of me. I didn’t ask around just in case it was some sort of clearance that only aliens have.”

  “Where were they transferred to?”

  “The cases and all the associated evidence were transferred last August to the air force, to the Air Research and Development Command.”

  “To Dayton. Was any reason provided for their sealing and transfer?”

  “Yeah, you’ll love this. ‘A matter of national security.’”

  “Hmm…Anything on Roswell?”

  “The bureau did have an open case under the heading of ‘Aerospace Incident, Roswell, New Mexico,’ and it was from July, 1947. The problem with this one, like the others, is that it’s also been sealed and transferred.”

  “When was it transferred?”

  “In 1947. A class fiver with restrictions on this one too. The transfer indicates it went to a project called ‘Saint Mary.’ Stated reason, ‘A matter of national security.’”

  “Saint Mary?”

  “Yeah, but nothing came up under that name when I searched the computer records.”

  “Hmm…”

  “One other thing came up in my research, and although not specific to Roswell, it did pertain to New Mexico.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Apparently, in 1950, the special agent in charge of the FBI’s Washington Field Office wrote a memo to Hoover that concerned flying saucers recovered in New Mexico along with their occupants. It didn’t specify a location or a date for the recovery, but the information the SAC reported apparently originated from an air force investigator.”

  “It gives the case a little more traction.”

  “Agreed. Just sorry I wasn’t more helpful.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  “You’re too kind. I’m still working on the discharge records. You know how the bureaucracy can be. I’ll probably give you a ring in a few more days.”

  “You may have to reach me in Vegas if it takes longer than that.”

  “You never struck me as the gambling type.”

  Harrison filled in Holcomb on the latest information from Echo Tango, including where he would stay in Las Vegas. Holcomb seemed to absorb the information more professionally this time. He, like Harrison, thought the sealing and transfers of the cases and their designation with a security clearance neither one of them had ever heard of was troubling.

  “Watch your back,” Holcomb said. “There just may be some truth to this craziness that ET has brought to you after all.”

  “You too, brother, you too.”

  Chapter 20

  Appropriate to the Region

  With only a little over a week until Christmas, shoppers jammed the mall. But uncertainty also slowed Harrison’s progress. He resisted help initially, but eventually gave in and sought out the jewelry store salesclerk who’d hovered around him earlier.

  “She’ll like it. It’s simple, elegant, and tasteful,” the clerk said, helping him pick out something for Janice. “And, it is appropriate to the region.”

  Although convinced the woman assisting him had other motivations for wanting to make the sale, Harrison nevertheless relied on her. He had not bought a gift for a woman in a long time.

  He paid cash, paying extra for the clerk to gift wrap it for him.

  Harrison expected to see Janice at the office and planned to give the gift to her there, where he could not make a big deal about it. The gift would be a combination Christmas and going-away gift. Low key. She would be leaving tonight, for home, for winter break from school. Her finals had ended this morning.

  After exiting the store and making his way through the crowded mall, Harrison noticed Santa Claus sat surrounded by children and their parents. Elves did their best to keep everyone in line. Wish lists and candy canes blended with commercialism. Patiently, Harrison watched the scene as he waded through the crowds on his way out.

  The Dodge Charger glinted in the late-morning sun, freshly washed for the drive to Las Vegas set for the day after next. The lube and oil change cost about thirty bucks. The car seemed to purr satisfyingly during the drive to the office.

  Harrison had stepped barely inside the office door when Janice greeted him. Her outstretched arms grabbed him around his broad shoulders. Her body pressed against his, and he reached around her waist and returned the gesture.

  “What’s the hug for?” Harrison said.

  “Because I’ll miss you and Pete.”

  Releasing each other, Harrison stepped back and said, “I’ll miss you too. But you’ll be back sooner than you know it.”

  Her blue eyes looked away for just a moment, and then they returned to him. “I hope so.”

  They wandered into his office. She asked if he wanted coffee. He did, but said he could get it for himself. She got it for him anyway. The coffee was perfect, as always.

  “What’s this?” Janice said, seeing Harrison remove the small gift-wrapped box from his pocket.

  “It’s for you,” Harrison replied, reaching to give it to her.

  “Me?”

  Harrison nodded and waited for her to take it from his steady palm.

  “But I didn’t get you—”

  “No worries. I hope you like it.”

  She cradled the box in her hands and opened it. Smiling, she attached the sterling-silver roadrunner pin to her lapel. “It’s perfect.”

  “And appropriate to the region.”

  “Very. I’ll bring you back a surprise.”

  “What about me?” Zemdarsky said, interrupting.

  Harrison and Janice turned around. Zemdarsky grinned at them and said, “What about me? What about my surprise? What about my gift?”

  “How long have you been there?” Harrison said.

  “Long enough,” Zemdarsky said, winking. He settled for a hug from Janice, and Harrison told him he would have to wait until Christmas day.

  “Promises, promises,” Zemdarsky said, hurrying away. He fetched some sugar cookies from his office and returned to share. “Bounty from the pastry attendant.”

  Coffee, cookies, and conversation filled the next two hours. Harrison caught glimpses of Janice rubbing a finger over her gift from time to time. He assumed that meant she liked it. Memories of the first time he had met her brought a fond smile to his face. Janice’s eyes met his, and she nodded. She mouthed the words “thank you” at him. Sadly, her next words announced that it was time for her to leave and pack.

  Harrison walked her to the office’s front door, held it open, and wished her a safe journey. Janice surprised him by kissing him on the cheek. She wished him a merry Christmas and then waved good-bye to Zemdarsky before she headed toward the building’s lobby. Harrison watched her leave. Behind him, he heard his partner lamenting the fact that he had not received a kiss.

  Harrison closed the door and turned around. “Actually, I can arrange that.”

  “Huh?”

  “Be
ano needs a home for a few days, and she sure seems to like you.”

  Chapter 21

  The Hybrids

  Blue, pale blue. Everywhere around here, pale blue.

  Under the interior lighting, the color did not register well on her hybridized retinas. She used care while walking. Sometimes the objects looked nearly invisible. And every time she reported in to ARDCom, more obstacles seemed to stand in her way.

  Even the air policemen wore blue, ethereal figures under the dim fluorescent lights.

  “I need Evans, Janice B., class fiver,” the sergeant said.

  The sergeant’s subordinate opened a wall safe and removed a clip-on identification badge. The sergeant placed his log sheet on the blue countertop. “Please sign here, ma’am.”

  Signing the form, Janice did not need to convince herself that the white form rested on something solid. She had passed through this checkpoint often enough to know it did, but it seemed to float in midair. A side effect of her alien-human vision.

  “Thank you, ma’am. Please hand me your book bag and step through the gate.”

  As she walked through the body scanner, the airman inspected the bag. Her luggage entered the facility elsewhere, no doubt by way of a process that also included thorough study.

  Soon, it would be her turn.

  With check-in completed, Janice clipped the badge to her coat and hoisted the book bag over her shoulder. A third sentry escorted her into a nearby elevator. The airman entered a passcode into the control panel and stepped back, nearly vanishing. Janice chuckled at the effect, until the doors closed, leaving her entirely alone. She placed her right palm onto a warm glass biometric pad above the control panel and listened for the soft, synthetic voice.

  “Evans, Janice B., please state your priority access code.”

  After clearing her throat, Janice said, “Longitude.”

  “Match confirmed, entry authorized.”

  The elevator descended ninety-seven feet. Janice stared at the muddled reflection of herself in the dull aluminum doors. Waiting for them to open, she wondered if insanity could be a by-product of her construction. When they opened, she exited without any hesitation, not even bothering to acknowledge the two air policeman holding M-16 rifles who stood just past the doors. She turned left, taking a few steps to her temporary quarters, but a voice from behind halted her progress.

  “I was about to come to Tucson and retrieve you myself.”

  Dr. Schmidt’s choice of words never failed to insult.

  Janice tightened her lips together and turned around. She offered a polite, practiced smile, and then said, “Sorry, this is the first chance I’ve had to get back here. It’s nice to be home again and to see you.”

  “Come. Let’s take you to exam room twelve.”

  The march down the hallway, in tandem, gave Janice a brief moment in which to sneer at the back of Dr. Schmidt’s head. She was certain that none of the doctor’s other specimens ever did that. Liberty was fleeting in Saint Mary. And it was always solitary. But, she hoped, that would change. It had to, or else she felt she would die.

  Her suicidal thoughts were commonplace now, a silent debate that had started after General Stone’s promotion to general last summer. Everyone with class-five clearance understood the implications of his new rank and the reorganization. Now it was just a question of when he would take absolute control of her life. The two hybrids represented trophies awarded to those within Saint Mary whose duties fit best with the Circle’s priorities and good graces.

  It had to stop.

  Increasingly, dread and despair grew to be her closest companions. Except in Tucson, where they waited for her outside the city limits, lounging arrogantly at the fringes of her consciousness.

  Once inside the examination room, which looked and smelled as ordinary as those on the outside, Janice and Dr. Schmidt settled into the routine.

  “Remove your clothing.”

  Janice set the book bag and her flannel coat on the lower tier of a cart next to the metal door. While Janice disrobed, she neatly folded her garments into a tidy stack, placing them on the cart’s upper tier, shoes laid on top.

  “Stand here.”

  Dr. Schmidt, clipboard in hand, had the first checklist ready, the one with the androgynous outline of a human body.

  “Turn.”

  As this was merely the beginning of a standard battery of examinations that normally lasted three days, dread and despair huddled up next to Janice.

  “Sit.”

  The exam bench’s disposable paper sheathing crimped, making a distinct crumpling noise so noticeable during the silence of a visit to the doctor. The paper adhered to her buttocks, an effective tactile constraint keeping her still, although she felt a slow slide off the table’s edge was under way.

  “Any illnesses since your last visit?”

  “No.”

  “Are your cycles regular?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any problems associated with your period at all?”

  “No.”

  “Any sexual experiences?”

  “That would violate standing orders, so no, absolutely not. Never.”

  More questions, more answers, more checks performed. Blood pressure, reflexes. A urine sample. Dr. Schmidt withdrew some red blood, with just the slightest tint of orange to it.

  “And the exercises? Have you followed the regimen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Both sensitivity and control aspects?”

  “Yes.”

  Dr. Schmidt positioned the clipboard so Janice could not see it, then flipped to another form and stared at it. “Item A?”

  Janice found relaxation difficult, but a few deep breaths helped. Item A’s image appeared. “You are viewing a sequence of numbers.”

  Delving into Dr. Schmidt’s thoughts, or anyone’s for that matter, always put Janice at risk. Her brother’s skills were stronger. A moment of uncertainty or sympathy while scanning Dr. Schmidt could induce reciprocity. Guarding against this prospect, she learned to slow the scanning process on her subjects. It gave her protection, but apparently caused severe headaches for those who experienced her invasive or prolonged scans. Just like Harrison.

  “Eight hundred, two, seventeen,” Janice said, continuing the test. “Oh, and the letter Z, then forty point two. And, yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “You wanted to know whether I knew what you had for breakfast.”

  “And it was?”

  “A dry Denver omelet in the cafeteria. The eggs…hmmm…were a little dry. You liked the link sausage. You had five sausages. The eggs, hmmm—”

  “That’s enough. Release the scan. Fine. Get dressed and take these forms to General Stone. He is waiting for you in his office.”

  <> <>

  An air force colonel squinted at Janice’s security badge. He sat at a desk in the outer office in front of General Randolph Stone’s closed door. The colonel occupied the least space—stacks of folders filled most of it. Some folders seemed old, their various muted colors fading into a common shade of dirty yellow. There were also stacks of audio and video tapes, CDs, various other digital media devices, and what looked like jars of soil samples.

  The officer, whom Janice did not recognize, appeared busy labeling and cataloging the diverse inventory. He looked approachable enough and showed no sign of irritation when she interrupted him.

  “I’m Evans, Janice B. The general is expecting me.”

  “Just one moment, ‘Evans, Janice B.’” The colonel picked up the phone, smiling. His unexpectedly approachable demeanor caught her dread and despair off guard, and they uncoiled some from Janice.

  Continuing, the colonel said into the phone, “Janice Evans is here, sir. Yes, sir. Uh, much of it came this morning. Certainly. Lunch? No, I don’t think I’ve met General Andrews. You name the time, sir. Very well. Unit zero? My recommendation is that we retain him. Thank you, sir.” The colonel stood, saying, “He’ll see you now, Janice. I’m sor
ry, may I call you Janice?”

  “You may, thank you. And your name, Colonel?”

  “Colonel Samuel Ritter, but please, call me Sam.”

  “Thank you, Sam.”

  “You’re most welcome, Janice.”

  After opening the door to General Stone’s office, Janice found him seated on the front corner of his desk, his sharp features pointed directly at her. She believed his informal posture was for effect and disingenuous. Feeling he would hug her, she backed away to avoid giving him the opportunity.

  “Hello, sir. Dr. Schmidt wanted me to give these to you.” Janice presented her medical forms and immediately took a seat, expressing exhaustion from the trip.

  “How was your flight?”

  “Fine.”

  “It’s nice to have you home. Would you like some coffee or something?”

  “No thanks.”

  Janice endured a stiff smile and pat on the head from General Stone, then watched him fill his Air Force Academy mug with old, burnt coffee, dark as cinder. He sat in the chair at his desk, took a long first gulp, and then reviewed the medical forms.

  A black-and-white photograph above the coffeemaker caught Janice’s attention. She recognized the woman in it as Senator Vaughn from New Mexico. Vaughn gave a speech on the Senate floor. Someone, probably General Stone, had taped a piece of paper in the shape of a cartoon bubble next to the senator’s mouth. The quotation in the bubble read, “Well, if you honestly must know, I am the elusive fifth species. Now, please, take me to your leader.”

  “Very good,” General Stone said, nodding. “According to this, initial tests indicate you are in perfect health. But, of course, more data to come on that.”

  “It’s all in the genes, sir.”

  Stone’s coarse laughter made Janice think he coughed.

  “How is school?”

  “Straight As.”

  “I know that. But are your studies beneficial to you?”

  “You mean, in preparation for becoming an active Saint Mary operative?”

  “Yes.”