“Pentagon communications control, how may I direct?” a computer-simulated voice said over the speakers in the room.
“ARDCom. Class-five link to project office, flash multi,” Stone said.
“Clearance and access codes?”
“From General Randolph Stone and Professor Francis Moresby, to the chairman. Priority access codes, ‘Drum Roll’ and ‘Skywriter.’”
“Thank you. I will connect your call.”
The image on the monitor’s screen faded, and the face of Saint Mary’s working-group chairman replaced the DOD emblem and blue screen. The chairman nodded at the two men.
“Good morning, Dennis,” Moresby said.
“Hello, gentlemen,” the chairman said. “Let’s get right to it. The Circle expects a briefing from me very soon so they can enjoy some of the Christmas holiday with their families. General Stone, what’s the status on the security situation?”
Stone cleared his throat and then said, “Our security team in Las Vegas is moving in to take the police officer into custody. Thus far, our effort to find and bring in Special Agent Arthur Holcomb has met with negative results. He is in possession of Major Blair’s civilian dental records. We’ve contacted the FBI through official channels notifying them of our concerns that Holcomb has essentially gone rogue and is interfering with classified DOD matters. Fortunately for us, Holcomb’s reputation at the FBI isn’t good and perceptions are that he is unstable. These factors should aid our cover story and his retrieval. We’ve relocated the F-4 from Tucson and purged all records. We will destroy the plane and turn it into scrap metal. This is something that Taylor should have done a fucking long time ago.”
Moresby shifted in his chair and sat upright.
“Very good, General,” the chairman said. “What about other loose ends?”
“Ensuring effective security protocols to preserve our national security is a monumental task, but we are moving as fast as possible.”
“More specifically, General, what about Blair’s remains?” the chairman said.
“What the private investigator, William Harrison, and Holcomb left behind in the desert no longer exists. Again, something left unattended to by my fucking predecessor. As far as Blair’s skull goes, we are operating under the assumption that it is with Holcomb. We hoped to determine this specifically from Harrison, but he eluded immediate capture. We believe he is hiding out in Tucson. We’ve sent in a security team to watch his apartment, office, and the residence of his partner, Peter Zemdarsky.”
“I see,” the chairman said. He fixated solely on Stone through the screen and leaned forward. “The female hybrid worked for Harrison.” His voice grew impatient and harsh. “For me this confirms it. General Taylor is guilty of treason, and by implication so is the bitch hybrid.”
“We continue to research the issue as it pertains to the female hybrid. Right now, our focus is to apprehend Harrison and Holcomb, and recover any evidence they may have acquired. As for Taylor, I have already dispatched James Evans to focus on locating and capturing him.”
“Yes, yes, I know, and I think you need to bring him back now,” the chairman said.
“Sir?” Stone said.
Moresby faced away from the monitor and General Stone to conceal his smirk.
“General, our resources in the hybrid area are perhaps a little too meager these days to risk the male hybrid on such an assignment. He needs to return and have his skills put to use on the female hybrid. She needs to be scanned immediately.”
Grunting, Moresby turned and focused on the chairman. “Janice can’t be successfully scanned. Have you read the latest status reports, Dennis? Dr. Schmidt says Janice continues to suffer from nonaligned synaptic closure. In other words, her mind is scrambled.”
Belying his tiredness, Stone interrupted. “The male hybrid has always recovered from these tests and has never been adversely damaged. In fact, he’s stronger today than he’s ever been. I can recall him. That’s not a problem, sir. As for the female hybrid’s condition, well, isn’t her condition the result we seek for the alien threat?” As Stone’s words trailed off, he peered at Moresby through narrowed eye slits.
“Then why did the ELF operation fail during the last encounter? Were the systems performing properly?”
Stone edged his folded arms along the table, closer to the screen. “The system functioned within parameters, but we engaged prematurely. Follow-up tests on the experimental suggest the ship’s antigravity field partially shields it against the ELF waves at a distance.”
“Then where are we with ELF?”
“Sir, I have instructed Professor Moresby to design an adjunct action to supplement the ELF operation.”
“Good. Professor?”
Moresby stared at the side of Stone’s head and said, “Well, at the general’s request I took some time to consider his predicament. I have come to the conclusion that a hybrid-assisted communication attempt will be necessary.”
“We’ve tried hybrid communications,” the chairman said, irritated.
Moresby nodded, and then said, “Yes, yes, but in those attempts we lacked an adequate understanding of the symbols from the legitimate crop circles. The aliens have also imprinted these same symbolic messages on the subconscious minds of abductees, recalled through hypnosis. The Dreamland encounter last July brought us further evidence revealed through the rapid clicking transmissions during the radio interference. Now, we have correlated the database to such a degree that the mathematical relationships in the less complex symbols are clearer. These symbols seem to be universal among the other species, and our hope is that the fifth species will also comprehend them. We can engage in a basic dialogue, using the hybrid to transmit the message and draw the ship, or ships, closer so that ELF can be effectively engaged.”
“But doesn’t the hybrid also have to be in close proximity to successfully transmit?” the chairman said.
“Normally, yes,” Moresby said. “Recently, however, I have acquired a piece of equipment that should not only alleviate that problem, but also enhance the focus of telepathically transmitted messages.”
The chairman looked down at a file on the desk in front of him. Without looking up, he said, “Are you referring to the ‘psychotronic generator’? I take it, then, that you have figured out how it works?”
“Oh yes, Dennis. As you recall, Dr. Semyonov from the Bulgarian Institute of Technology was instrumental not only in extricating it from Sofia, but in explaining how it functioned. Sad that he’s not still with us to see it put to good use. I never knew he had heart trouble.”
The chairman gazed at Moresby. “I am with you so far.”
“You see, the generator will allow the hybrid to project certain symbols. The specific statement has yet to be formulated. We want to encourage the unknown to land, possibly allowing us to make direct contact with its occupants. From what General Stone tells me, we would initiate ELF at the moment the gravitational field is disengaged. They would be especially vulnerable at that point.”
The chairman nodded, repeatedly, excited by what he just heard. “I’ll brief the Circle. When have you scheduled the operation?”
Stone perked up again. “A date has not been set, but we expect that it will occur within the next thirty days. In the meantime, use of the hybrids is limited pending the resolution of the security matter.”
“Uh-huh. Just one word of advice, General Stone,” the chairman said, pointing. “Handle the protocols smoothly. There may be undue scrutiny if done in haste.” He wafted his hands and then held them out toward the screen, as if he held a brick. “Our responsibility is clear. This is a crucial moment for Saint Mary. We must not disappoint the Circle. In any event, gentlemen, treat this with the highest level of secrecy, as always. Nonessentials must be strictly controlled and monitored. Even some essential personnel should be led to believe something other than the truth. Understood?”
Stone muttered an affirmative response, while Moresby sat silently. The chair
man looked down at the desk in front of him and spent several seconds typing a message on the computer. A memo rolled out of the printer next to Stone, who immediately read it as it emerged from the machine. He pulled it out and set it on the table.
“Yes, sir,” Stone said.
The video screen faded into a blank, blue field.
Moresby peered across the table. The memo authorizing Protocol One measures included four names: William Harrison, Arthur Holcomb, Nicholas Ridley, and his old colleague, General Edward Taylor.
God help us all.
Chapter 33
Welcome Back
A light from the hallway outside the infirmary was Janice’s only clue that she was finally awake. Staring at the soft glow, she grew more alert. Her body reclined on a stiff bed. She tried to sit, but soon gave up. Her temples throbbed, and any movement triggered pain throughout her body. It made her queasy. Janice lay flat on the bed and took deep breaths.
What have they done?
Despite the physical pain, she sensed an unfamiliar inner strength. She felt powerful. Her mind flashed through a frenzied series of images and memories: the first time she met Harrison; her first day in college; the color red; the face of her mentor; human bones; the desert; a silver roadrunner pin; her desk at work; a bright flash in the night sky; Colonel Sam; her brother, James…
Relax, relax.
Janice closed her eyes and inhaled. Exhaling slowly, she opened her eyes. The throbbing stopped.
The room stood empty and quiet. Janice looked around and wondered how much time had passed since her brutal treatment. She turned and saw her watch on the table next to the bed, out of reach. Leaning toward the table, she tried to grab the watch. Before she could reach it, the watch flew off the table and into her waiting hand.
Four in the morning.
Janice tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. She peered around the room and saw no one.
Was it me?
A small vial on a desk near the doorway caught her attention. She looked at it and held out her hand, making an effort to visualize it in her grasp. After a couple of seconds, the vial took flight from across the room and landed in her palm. She looked at the vial in her left hand and the watch in her right hand, and then she smiled.
Janice relaxed her grip on the vial and pictured it back on the desk. After a gentle flutter, the vial departed her hand. It glided back to the desk but landed off balance and tumbled over. The vial rolled back and forth for a few seconds before its swaying ceased.
Close enough.
Janice’s growling stomach interrupted her delight over her new telekinetic prowess. Feeling better, she stood, but several wires connected to her neck, chest, and forehead impeded any further progress. She also realized that only a thin, flimsy hospital gown covered her body.
She easily detached the wires, and after a brief search, Janice found her clothes in a closet and changed into them. Running her hands through her hair, she decided that, if she were fortunate enough to find something to eat in the dining facility, a shower was next on her to-do list.
Outside the infirmary, Janice walked through numerous deserted hallways before she reached the dining facility, also deserted. In the kitchen, she opened several refrigerators and storage cabinets. Inside one of the cabinets, next to several trays of butter and oversized condiment containers, sat boxes of apples and oranges. She reached into the boxes and grabbed two of each.
Janice bit into an apple and dabbed some of the juice, which ran from the corner of her mouth, with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. She took two more bites and wandered into the dining room. In the dimness, she found a seat at one of the tables. After laying the fruit out in front of her, she peeled an orange. At first, Janice found it difficult to do, but as she examined the piece of fruit further, she found a small notch in its rind. She pushed her index finger into the surface of the orange and pulled a large portion of the peel away. The inside of the orange felt dry and rough on her fingertips. Janice paused, and then set the orange aside.
More rapid thoughts and images emerged in her consciousness, each racing to reveal themselves. Janice steadied herself and concentrated, hoping to make sense of them: sunrise, dental X-rays, Las Vegas, airplanes, teddy bear, gunfire…
“Wait, concentrate,” Janice said aloud.
A steady flow of scenes returned: gravel, a black car, a man firing a handgun, pain…
Janice reached down and rubbed her right leg. She focused on the man firing the gun, and she felt…betrayed.
“Where are you now?” Janice said, now recognizing the man was Harrison.
Janice searched for an answer, tried to imagine Harrison’s voice reassuring her, but no clear images appeared. After a deep breath, she tried again. This attempt also revealed nothing, just darkness.
Janice returned to her regular quarters, winding through empty hallways illuminated by occasional exit signs. After rounding the corner of the final hallway, she stopped in her tracks. At the far end of the hallway, past her room, a lone guard stood watch. The soft light from an exit sign illuminated the rifle on his shoulder. Janice waited for several seconds, watching him. She got the impression the guard was numb with boredom, and was, for all practical purposes, “zoned out” while he stood watch.
Convinced the guard had not detected her presence, she visualized him sitting down and resting his head. After a few seconds, the guard took two or three steps and sat down at a nearby desk. He set the rifle aside, folded his arms on top of the desk, and then laid his head down.
Janice smiled and then strolled toward her quarters. After stepping inside, she closed and locked the door behind her. After allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light inside her room, she noticed her unmade bed and the outline of a desk next to it. Janice stepped forward and reached for the desk lamp, fumbling a bit before turning it on. She aimed the light toward her bed, and then pulled out a suitcase from underneath it.
Most of the clothes from the suitcase landed on the bed, making just enough room for her to reach in and grasp the roadrunner pin Harrison had given her. She had felt the need to hide it inside her suitcase after her first day back underground.
Putting her fingers around the gift, she realized something was different about it. For a moment, she believed she had grabbed the wrong item. Pulling her hand out of the suitcase, she saw a single sheet of notepaper wrapped around the pin. She unwrapped it, revealing the pin, which she clasped with her right hand. After further unfolding the paper, she found a brief handwritten note scribbled on it that said, “Janice, Harrison is on the run. Orders are to keep you from leaving. Situation under control, but may turn to shit fast. I will help you and Harrison if I can. Stay focused.”
“What?”
Janice reread the note, not understanding who inside Saint Mary would want to help. Regardless, the note bolstered her sense that she was not alone.
But it could also be a trap.
Standing, she ripped up the note and then walked into the bathroom. Flushing the toilet, she dropped the bits of paper into the swirling water, watching them disappear.
But it doesn’t feel like one.
Chapter 34
Room 117
Harrison paced and cursed inside his room at the Travelodge. He managed to track down Ridley’s home telephone number through an obscure, two-year-old Internet posting for a ten-kilometer charity run. A point of contact for the run, Ridley helped organize some of the event’s activities. But after repeated unanswered calls and no return calls from Ridley, Harrison feared for the young officer and struggled to contain his feelings of regret and guilt for involving him.
All day long, hour by excruciating hour, he ran different scenarios though his head.
Why hasn’t Art called?
The keys to the safe-deposit box and storage unit alternated between sitting on the hotel room’s dresser, where they sat now, and resting in his sweaty palm.
Risk getting the evidence?
Harrison needed help, so
meone to turn to. By sunset, Christmas Eve, he had called directory assistance for the number. Although fairly certain he had the right number, he hesitated dialing it. Harrison sought to avoid endangering others.
He stood, and staring at himself in the mirror, he realized that he had on the same clothes he put on yesterday morning before taking Holcomb to the airport. His wrinkled white dress shirt remained tucked into gray slacks. The suit coat, along with the tie, lay on the chair next to him. The holstered Colt .45 stayed strapped to his black dress belt. Next to it, his cell phone hung inside a clip-on case.
Unexpectedly, the thought of reaching out to Zemdarsky for help led Harrison to recall holiday memories. The thoughts gave him a welcome distraction from his current circumstances.
Harrison’s memories of past Christmases without his own family usually made him feel sorrow. But over the years, the generous and kind Zemdarsky family eased those sufferings by including Harrison in all of their holiday celebrations and get-togethers. Now, Harrison pictured Pete and Mandy in their son’s living room in California. Three generations of Zemdarskys surrounding a Christmas tree. He could almost hear the wrapping paper ripping and tearing, flying every direction, with Beano right in the middle of all the action. His sentimentality surprised him, but he embraced it, and what little embarrassment he felt faded without much effort. In the dim, quiet sanctuary of his motel room, Harrison contemplated these and other pleasant thoughts, culminating with reflections on Janice’s smiling face, beautiful intelligence, and warm personality.
But somewhere in the sliver of time between hearing the postcard slip under the door and the release of the Colt’s thumb safety, his fleeting reprieve disappeared. He rotated and knelt, pointing the .45 at the door. Dropping in behind a wood dresser, Harrison strained to listen for sounds outside.
The rush of blood slamming through his arteries with the full force of his huge heart hammered away at his head and chest. But the hand holding the gun remained steady. Eyes locked on the door, the anticipation of a final firefight surged his respiration and inflamed his nostrils. Rising heat from inside wetted his clothes and brow with salty sweat.
Truth Insurrected: The Saint Mary Project Page 25