“Undress and change into this.” Schmidt handed Janice a blue jumpsuit and slippers. “Hurry. Then join me inside.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Janice edged herself to the end of the corridor and hastily disrobed. She glanced over her shoulder, but could not see inside the room well enough to determine what might be in store for her. The label above the hatch said “Enclosure 4.”
Putting her slippers on at last, she still made time to fold her clothes into a neat pile. She entered the small room and noticed it was about the size of her apartment’s bedroom in Tucson. Huge metal plates lined the far wall. Embedded into it, behind a thick glass panel, hung a video camera. Aside from that, and the black chair in the center of the room, everything else was white. Some details became clearer. The chair, like those in a dentist’s office, sat bolted to the floor and had straps hanging from its sides. Across from it, the white wall looked like a movie screen. Beneath her slippers, the floor felt rough. She looked down and saw grooved white floor tiles made of rubber. A large orange stain splatter disturbed a portion of the floor near the chair.
“Sit down,” Schmidt said.
Janice took a deep breath, stepped over the stain, and settled into the black chair.
<> <>
“Now, tell me again,” General Stone said, staring at Colonel Ritter. “I want to make sure I fully understand this.”
“Yes, sir. We were set and online according to schedule. The experimental must have worked as a lure, because we didn’t have to wait long before NORAD advised us of an unknown entering the area. When it was in range, we activated ELF immediately.”
“Immediately?”
“Yes, sir. Once it entered restricted airspace. Our field units deployed to recover it as far as thirty miles out.”
“And the object?”
“It had an erratic flight profile and never approached the experimental. It disappeared at t-plus seven and thirty.”
Stone folded his hands and pursed his thin lips. “We need it in closer next time before we flip the switch. We need them close.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How did the experimental perform?”
Colonel Ritter dropped his head. “Performance was consistent with recent evaluations. It only hit 5 percent of its objectives.”
“And had to be towed back to the hangar?”
“Yes, sir. The telepathic flight controls are difficult.”
“I know. Of course, if we only had the right power cell too, maybe things would be different.” Stone closed his eyes and breathed deeply. “Now, the other matter.”
“Yes, sir.” Ritter handed over a file. “This summarizes that issue. And, sir, I am sorry to say, I still have not been able to find General Taylor.”
“Uh-huh. Does this include a map?” Stone’s tone was low as he spoke through clenched teeth.
“Yes, sir. A few curiosity seekers penetrated the Ranch Annex. A patrol chased them off, but also found evidence of digging. The exact location is indicated on the map. Odd. I hoped General Taylor would be able to assist in explaining the reason—”
“Taylor is the reason,” Stone said, setting the file down and opening it to the map.
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“It is very simple, Colonel. We are being betrayed.” Stone’s chest heaved. In, out. “Dismissed.”
“Yes, sir.” Ritter stood and walked out of the office. Behind him, the door slammed shut.
<> <>
After Janice sat down, Dr. Schmidt personally strapped her into the black chair.
The chair’s right armrest had attached to it a small black-and-silver box with several holes, each encircled by a different color. Drifting into view, two technicians approached. Schmidt receded into the darkness. Silently, the first technician reached around Janice’s waist. He checked the straps, and then tightened them. Janice groaned.
From behind the chair, the other technician attached three electrodes to Janice’s forehead and one to her neck. Each wire had a different color. He, or she, slid a fifth electrode just inside the jumpsuit’s collar and affixed it to the center of Janice’s chest. The technicians plugged the electrode wires into the small black-and-silver box, according to color.
When the technicians disappeared beyond the gurney in the hallway, Janice tested her freedom of movement. There was none. The door slid shut. She settled herself and stared at the white screen, then watched the dim light fade further.
Dr. Schmidt’s voice rose from behind Janice. “You will see a series of images on the screen. Each image will have a number and three descriptive words next to it. You will tell me the number for each image, and state the word that best describes the image. Confine your statements to those two items. Do you understand?”
What is this?
Janice tried to nod, but stopped, feeling embarrassed by the movement of all those wires. “Yes, I understand.”
“Keep your answers clear for as long as possible.”
For as long as possible?
The first image slowly appeared. Children sat at desks in a room. Before them, a woman pointed at a map.
“One,” Janice said, identifying the number on the display. Then, she said, “Learning,” choosing from a list that also included “University” and “Conspiracy.”
A quick dissolve, then, fire wrapped around tall pine trees and smoke filled the sky.
“Two.” Janice looked at the three words, “Emergency,” “Forest,” and “Gothic.” She chose and said, “Emergency.”
Next, four people of various ages sat around a table with food on their plates. A large turkey rested on a serving tray in the center of the table.
“Three.” The descriptive words in the upper right corner of the screen included “Rape,” “Thanksgiving,” and “Reunion.” The choice distressed Janice, as she had never truly experienced the holiday. “Thanksgiving,” she finally said.
Another image.
The number was out of sequence. Janice ignored this variation, and then correctly said, “Nineteen.” A mushroom cloud billowed up from the desert floor. Soldiers marched toward it. “Concerto,” “Discipline,” “Technology.” Janice believed “Discipline” was probably the expected answer. “Technology,” she said, in defiance.
A shiver ran up Janice’s neck, and she coughed. Her chest tingled. Vibrations undulated through her. She coughed again, but heavier and louder this time. Several seconds passed before the next image appeared. When it finally emerged, she could not make sense of it. “Thirty? No, thirty-four.”
A man and woman walked along a beach. They held hands. The sun set behind them.
Janice started to provide a response, but realized she had not yet looked at the descriptive words. Her eyes floated upward, and “Arrangement,” “Love,” and “Friendship” slowly focused in her view. She stared at the choices, trying to breathe. In, out. In, out.
“Love,” Janice said, her voice raspy.
The vibrations increased. Beads of sweat appeared on her temples. She closed her eyes, but this only made her dizzy.
In, out.
When Janice opened her eyes, she saw another image had appeared. A flicker. The screen faded to black. Another image appeared.
Or, was it the same as before?
Janice tugged and yanked her arms; the pulsations made her feel claustrophobic, and they pressed against her, all around her.
A city’s crowded streets. Tall buildings rose into the sky. Countless people flooded the sidewalks.
In, out.
Janice examined the cityscape, trying to recognize anyone. A blurry number eighty-eight was all she could discern. Her ears rang, and she wanted to vomit.
“Eighty-eight,” she said, yelling. Saliva dribbled from her mouth.
Another list, indecipherable words.
In, out.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Dr. Schmidt, please.”
The humming, pulsating vibrations enveloped her. They squeezed her chest and stra
ngled her throat. She gripped the arms of the chair. More coughs shook her harder and harder.
A planet, Earth, hung majestically in space. It drifted above the gray surface of the moon.
Janice dropped her head, and closed her eyes. She could not feel her body, could not feel the seat, nor the belt around her, anymore. A river of colors cut a swath through the blackness.
In, out.
The chair creaked as each of her arms fell lifelessly to her sides.
<> <>
The humming ceased. General Stone coughed once then spat toward a dark corner of Arena Four. To his left, in another dim recess, an old man’s nostrils, those of Professor Moresby, whistled with shallow inhalations. Stone watched the video screen. Technicians disconnected Janice and lifted her onto a gurney.
“Could she be faking this?” Stone said. “She was close to Taylor. His special project. His job was fakery.”
He had faked Major Blair’s accident. Why dig him up?
So many scenarios flashed through Stone’s racing, paranoid mind. Continuing, he said, “Was Taylor involved in a special operation? Directed by Saint Mary? Wouldn’t I know? Directed against Saint Mary? Very risky. Directed against me?”
“So many questions indeed,” Professor Moresby said. “May I go now? This is very distressing.”
The wall-mounted telephone buzzed. Stone answered, relieved it was only Dr. Schmidt calling as expected.
“Sir, the news is bad.”
“Go on.”
“Her condition deteriorated rapidly, similar to tests conducted on Evans, James A.”
“This reconfirms our expectations. Why is this bad?”
Moresby’s nostrils stopped whistling. Stone looked toward the corner of the room and noticed a subtle nod from the old man.
“The test has left Evans, Janice B., in serious condition, possibly comatose. I’ve never seen this before.”
“Watch her,” Stone said. “Are you certain of her condition?”
Dr. Schmidt did not address Stone’s question right away. It sounded to him like she was busy speaking to someone else.
In German.
“Goddammit, Schmidt, are you listening to me? Is everyone around here out to scorn me?”
“No, sir. I have to go. The subject just went into respiratory arrest.”
Stone slammed the phone back onto its hook.
“Sounds like ELF worked well, eh?” Professor Moresby said. He stepped closer to General Stone. “Perhaps too well.”
“Then why did it fail in the desert?”
“Maybe there is something about proximity? Although vulnerable, the ship does afford some protection, to itself, to its occupants—”
“I am aware of this issue.”
“Then it has to be close, or you need a great power supply.”
“That was my predecessor’s early assessment.” Stone thought he detected a chuckle from Moresby.
“There are quite a few reminders of Taylor’s work cropping up these days, eh, General?”
“Yes.” A renewed surge of determination lifted Stone’s spirits. “You included. And all that means is that there are plenty of clues to follow.”
“I can see how this will be helpful,” Moresby said, turning away from Stone. “As for me, Saint Mary knows the length, depth, and age of every wrinkle on my ass and on parts north and south. I have been followed since before you were born.” He approached the exit hatchway. “I suggest you follow other leads.”
“I am going to, Professor.” Stone always found the title hard to utter. But in the vacant darkness, with Moresby half-obscured and opportunity nipping at Stone’s pride, he chose to use it again. “Taylor’s situation aside, Professor, I’ve come to believe the ELF operations can only succeed with your involvement.”
“I gathered that.”
“I know the hybrids are of interest to you.”
“Don’t you mean ‘hybrid’?”
“She will recover. James always has.”
“Assuming she does, what do you want from me?”
“Without your help, Professor, the Circle will not achieve its objectives. I need your cooperation. They need your cooperation. If Taylor’s security breach is real, then progress is needed more so than ever before. You know better than anybody the consequences of failure.” Stone stepped toward Moresby and put a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “And just to be clear, I’m not talking about my own failure.” He earnestly searched the professor’s eyes for understanding. “I think you know what I’m talking about.”
“Please, General, I’ve been with Saint Mary since nearly the beginning. Don’t try to frighten me with suggestions or allusions to the Circle’s contingency plans. Not even they are that crazy. Damage control against premature disclosure is fantasy. When the cat is finally out of the bag…” Moresby paused and squinted at Stone. Continuing, he said, “Yes, I know what you are talking about, but these plans are just figments of paranoid, self-destructive imaginations.”
Stone stood speechless. He did not know whether Moresby was truly uninformed or merely lying to him about one of Saint Mary’s most enigmatic functions, simply known as “the contingency.” The old man’s eyes offered no clear answer.
“If you want something, please be direct. Now, let’s begin again,” Moresby said.
Their conversation was lengthy, and the plans they discussed were complicated. Stone learned for the first time that the professor possessed specialized hardware that promised to increase their chances for success. In exchange, he offered Moresby complete access to and use of Janice.
“Pending her recovery,” Moresby added.
“Yes, and pending an inquiry.”
“Guilty until proven innocent, General?”
Stone straightened his tie and uniform, and then activated the exit’s hatchway. “Uh-huh, beyond a reasonable doubt.”
Chapter 28
The Boneyard
“God, I am pissed!”
These were Holcomb’s first words in over an hour, and he expressed them within sight of Davis-Monthan Air Force Base’s main gate. Harrison sat up in the passenger seat, winced, and looked over at Holcomb, who puffed on a cigarette.
“Did you say you had to pee again? It has been quite a long drive.”
“I don’t like it one bit, Bill.”
“Being shot at?”
“Something ain’t right. Sure, being shot at, but let’s face it, I think you and I both know this F-4 is going to be sitting here.”
“Credibility.”
“Then what? Why? And who’s going to get killed in the process?”
“The stakes do seem to be pretty high. Let’s just keep focused on the work.”
Holcomb pulled up to the gate and stopped the Dodge, which by now had bumper stickers glorifying Las Vegas on it that concealed multiple bullet holes.
“They better not give me any grief,” Holcomb said.
“Just stick to the plan.”
An air policeman stepped out of the guard shack and approached the car. Holcomb rolled down the window and said, “Good afternoon, officer.”
“What is your destination, sir?”
“We are headed to the boneyard.”
“Tours are provided only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”
“I’m no tourist,” Holcomb said, displaying his FBI credentials. “We are here on official business. A matter of national security.”
From behind dark sunglasses, the sentry scrutinized the identification. “Hold on, sir.” He turned around and walked to the guard shack.
“No grief,” Holcomb said, sighing.
The air policeman returned to the car, carrying a clipboard and a small placard. He handed the clipboard to Holcomb and said, “Sign this please.” After Holcomb signed his name, the guard asked him to set the placard on the dashboard, and then provided directions to their destination. “See Mr. Spencer in the admin facility at the site, building eight hundred.”
“Will do. Have a certified
copy of that page I just signed available for me upon my exit.” Holcomb rolled up the window and drove toward the boneyard.
Harrison looked at his old partner and said, “A ‘certified copy’?”
“Hopefully he is at the photocopier right now, wondering the same thing, but making the copy for me nevertheless.”
Holcomb rounded a corner formed by large, gray warehouses. He slowed the vehicle, and Harrison’s gaze joined Holcomb’s on the neat rows of aircraft that seemed to go on forever. The car crept along. An entire history of American Cold War military aviation filled the expanse. Fighters, trainers, transports, and bombers, all gleaming monuments in their own right to duty, honor, and country, but for their surroundings. Now, they were merely sun-bleached bones of a mammoth skeleton interred in the desert for safekeeping.
Another gray building appeared, blemishing the uniformity of the boneyard. As they drew closer, it loomed larger from behind a short row of F-15 fighters.
“That’s our admin building,” Holcomb said, pointing.
Harrison grunted his agreement and dug out a digital camera from the rucksack at his feet. “Park as close as you can. I’m still pretty sore.”
“Yeah, and you smell bad too.” Holcomb maneuvered off the gravel roadway and parked in a handicapped space near the building’s front door. “What if they are already here to greet us? It’s possible they know what we’d be after, if the story is true, that is.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.”
“And?”
“They didn’t pursue us in the desert. A little strange, don’t you think?”
“A little, but they’ve had some time to piece it together.”
“So, in that case, they’d eliminate the evidence, not take any chances, and be on alert for anyone who came looking for it.”
“Exactly my point, Bill.”
“You know what my gut feeling is? I think that plane is still out there. I think it will be gone by tomorrow at the latest. I think we are past the point of no return and that someone is giving us just enough of an edge, running interference for us, so that we stay ahead of the game for now.”
Truth Insurrected: The Saint Mary Project Page 21