“And you think this man was my father?”
“Yes. You see, the scientist’s letter indicates the KGB helped determine for him that this man had died in an accident, and that the component was not where the defector had left it. It’s my belief that your father discovered the cryptic trail, followed it, and found the component.”
“But wait,” Holcomb said. “If the defector had the power cell in the first place, why didn’t he just take it with him and give it to the Russkies?”
Taylor shook his head and shrugged. “Perhaps he felt it was too much of a risk at the time, or maybe he wanted to use it as some sort of bargaining chip with the Soviets. In any case, he obviously left it behind, and Bernard Harrison was the only propulsion scientist to die in an ‘accident.’ He knew its value, where it could take us, what it could prove.” Taylor’s nervous energy wore out. His voice now sounded tired. “And he would have seen to it that it was protected.”
His eyes off Taylor and on the Roswell document, Harrison felt the fuse to the past detonate its charges. Bright flashes sheared away dark mounds of deceit. Like new, the colors sparkled. The memories of graduation day, and those leading toward it, felt real for the first time. At last, their true meaning was his to know and understand.
“This was the ‘larger purpose,’ wasn’t it, Taylor? You think my father gave it to me?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Wait, Bill,” Holcomb said, trying to caution his old partner.
“It’s okay, Art,” Harrison said, giving Holcomb a reassuring nod. He looked back at Taylor. “How do I know this isn’t some insane plot by Saint Mary to use me to recover the missing power cell?”
Harrison expected a flinch, a twitch, something that pegged the general to a fraudulent scheme. All he got was an urgent, desperate stare and more of the tired voice.
“This Roswell document is for you. Protect it, along with the other evidence. I’m prepared to turn myself in now if you would like. But I think we need the power cell. The naysayers won’t believe us unless we bring them a piece of it, some hardware, a goddamn tailpipe or a power cell, that can bring infinite horizons within our reach. And that’s the way it’s always been.”
Harrison sighed and folded his arms. Holcomb slumped farther into his chair.
“You should also know that Saint Mary has James Evans in Los Angeles now. We can probably assume your family’s former residence and Griffith Observatory are being watched.”
Harrison furrowed his brow. “Well, I think I understand why my old home in Pasadena would be under surveillance, but I don’t quite follow about the observatory.”
“At various times during your father’s career with Saint Mary, he maintained an office there. Of course, if we visited these places, we would be exposed, but it might also present us with a chance to eliminate the male hybrid.”
“Doesn’t sound like you like this guy very much,” Holcomb said. “Uh, what’s a hybrid?”
“He’s our most immediate threat,” Taylor said.
Harrison shook his head and said, “But if he had time to scan us, it would put Janice and your contact in danger. We won’t go to either place and risk that happening.”
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In the Metropolitan Suites’ lobby, James Evans sat, legs crossed, in a puffy, brown leather chair. Intuition had tugged him into the building. The sensation was fresh, stronger inside the hotel than outside. The air vibrated with a blend of hatred, fear, and grief. Notions about justice and atonement cut a wake through the pedestrian preoccupations of approaching New Year’s Eve celebrations.
James stared at the female desk clerk, waiting until she finished her telephone conversation. Her name was Karen, and she was very pretty.
She can give me what I want.
Chapter 43
The Tailpipe Solution
“I was concerned all along that you may not recall anything about the power cell, even when presented with this evidence about your father,” Taylor said. “The witch hazel was also meant to spur memories of your father, memories that could be scanned. He used it every day after shaving.”
“Janice?” Harrison said.
“She was there to help you remember. Her scans were necessary to help stimulate faded memories, anything that might assist us in our search.”
“And what did she find?”
“Hope.”
Harrison averted his blurring eyes, blinking them dry. He cleared his throat and said, “I guess you had some sort of plan for resolving this case?”
Taylor nodded and said, “I had two goals in mind. First, we must halt the operation at the new base. It’s scheduled for Wednesday night. They plan to coordinate several functions of the project in order to intercept an alien craft and capture its occupants. Second, we must expose Saint Mary. To do both, we must present the evidence to Senator Vaughn from New Mexico.”
“Senator Vaughn?” Harrison said.
“She has actively pressured our government for assistance in investigating cattle mutilations, a phenomenon for which Saint Mary is also responsible. Publically and privately, she has never accepted the air force’s explanations of the Roswell event, and continues to demand the release of all government records on the subject. She is also a close friend of the President. Unfortunately, Saint Mary has effectively stalled her through well-managed disinformation. My plan was meant to overcome that, with the power cell as the best evidence.”
“The tailpipe solution,” Holcomb said.
“Wouldn’t she have the same fears that motivate Saint Mary?” Harrison said.
“At what cost though?” Taylor said. “The continued deterioration of legitimate government? Her values and integrity are beyond reproach. She will see the truth and know we are better served by it than fear, murder, and deceit. If we are to face a new world, then we should face it with a clean slate. We have to force those who have destroyed so much to be accountable for their crimes.”
“A senator, no matter how well intentioned or well connected, can’t possibly make the kind of difference you’re talking about,” Holcomb said.
Taylor’s sunburnt face reddened. “Your cynicism is counterproductive. Our government can never recover its credibility unless the resolution of the Saint Mary crisis comes from the institutions you so readily dismiss. And a strong government will be needed to lead us into the unknown.”
“General, I’m afraid I don’t share your faith in Washington.”
“Wait,” Harrison said. “The general’s right.” He stepped toward the window and peered outside. Turning around, he said. “Art, you wouldn’t work as hard as you do if you didn’t care. And you care because somewhere deep inside, you know Americans need people like you and organizations like the FBI. They depend on the protection you provide, protection of their rights against forces that can overwhelm them. If they don’t believe our government can still do that, then Saint Mary will forever sweep aside our history, our traditions. Can the government reign in Saint Mary? It can if we help. After all, the government is not some sort of enemy or abstract entity. It can be if we relinquish our control of it. It belongs to all of us, and people deserve to have it work. We get out of it what we put into it.”
“That’s all well and good, buddy,” Holcomb said. “But won’t the government still be expected to protect us against the aliens? They will, and that’s why I say we can’t expect much to change.”
“Art, threat or not, the government, our government, has no right to deny us from such a profound truth. It certainly has no right or power to violate the law. Besides, maybe the threat is only something we imagine out of fear and isn’t real at all.”
“Bill, that sounds noble, but how will it play with the bureaucrats and good old boys on the Hill, let alone the public? The status quo is the only truth that seems to matter. Civics may not have been my best subject, but politics is something I know all too well.”
“What makes you think the public is less capable than you to deal with the truth,
Agent Holcomb?” Taylor said. “It is exactly that kind of arrogance which has driven Saint Mary and keeps the cover-up in place. Honestly, I expected more from you.”
Holcomb rubbed his bald head and glared at the general. “Look, ET, I want us to succeed as much as you, but I’m just trying to point out the obstacles. We need to be realistic here.”
“Assuming we proceed with your plan,” Harrison said, attempting to intervene. “How did you intend to make contact with Senator Vaughn?”
“Following my signal, a message will be sent to the senator through discreet channels to expect a visit. I’ve laid some prior groundwork for this with her. But first, I have to ask, do you have any ideas at all about where your father may have hidden the power cell?”
Harrison heard the general’s question, but did not reply. His eyelids fluttered, and he felt pressure on his temples increase, and then give way. As his mind moved him down a path of memories, he felt like someone watched him.
Drifting back, years now, into his past, Harrison began to recall a long ceremony. It ended, and his mother hugged him. Dad gave him a gift and insisted that infinite horizons were within his reach.
This is my secret! My truth!
Harrison held the gift, smiling, thanking his father.
For a torturous moment, Harrison regained control, nearly forcing away the intruder from his mind. You will not know this!
But the trespasser fought back, unrelenting; it had so many questions.
More memories blended with images, images that encroached from outside, from the intruder. Harrison gave Janice a silver roadrunner pin. As she lay on a blue gurney in a blank, white room, he told her that he would come for her. He assured her that he could help, just as she tried to help him. Soon, her lonely existence in Saint Mary would end.
And then the intruder took control of his thoughts. Memories twisted into revelations. His mind ached as the intruder solved the deep, unknown riddle that Harrison’s father had concocted.
Harrison jogged up a long set of white steps. Slowing, and then setting down the briefcase, he looked across the National Mall, through the falling snow. Behind him, the Capitol dome rose into the low cloud cover. He searched the horizon and spotted the Jefferson Memorial. Smiling and raising his hands above his head, he slammed the old globe his Dad gave him against the cold, hard steps. It split evenly down the middle, revealing its secret, an alien power cell capable of bringing infinite horizons within reach. The cell tumbled downward, out of reach. As Harrison stared at the piece of exotic metal and mesh, the intruder told Harrison to open his briefcase. He complied.
“Bill, you okay?” Holcomb said.
Harrison stepped away from the hotel-room window, feeling arrogant, decisive, and headed to the hotel room’s door.
More muted questions emanated from behind him, but he needed to unlock the door.
Harrison drew his Colt, unlatched the door, and turned around, holding Taylor and Holcomb at gunpoint. He clicked off the gun’s thumb safety and applied light pressure to its trigger.
Chapter 44
The Old Globe
Taylor and Holcomb dropped their guns to the floor and raised their hands. Harrison ordered them to back up, toward the window.
The intruder told Harrison to shoot them; they did not need them any longer.
Gasping for air, Harrison fought the wrongful urge to shoot.
“Fine!” the intruder said.
Harrison took a slow, deep breath. His eyes, wide and clear, saw nothing as he lowered the Colt. He felt, somehow, it would not enter the room until he put the gun down. His hand shook.
“Put the gun on the nightstand.”
The clear voice emanated from behind him. He listened, but fought back.
“Seems like infinite horizons are within your reach,” the intruder said.
Harrison felt so grateful for the gift. But then, a sharper noise interrupted.
“Hey, buddy, take it easy, okay?”
Harrison fought to focus. His eyelids fluttered again, sucking stinging sweat into his eyes.
Holcomb stood before him. “Just do what he says, Bill.”
“Just put the gun on the nightstand and no one will get hurt.”
Then, he heard another voice from behind him. “You should do what he says.” The voice belonged to Janice. “Bill, he knows what he’s doing. Trust me.”
Harrison took a step, and then stopped. He fought for control. “Where are you?”
“Trust me, Bill.”
“I can’t.”
It hollered at him to lower the gun. “Now, just drop it!”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” Harrison said, twisting toward the door.
It ordered him to turn back. “Besides, Janice did not want anything to do with you. She loved Saint Mary, not you.”
Harrison fought the lies. Images of a distant memory appeared at the end of a dark tunnel. The vision tugged his consciousness down the shadowy passageway into the light. He and Janice embraced, they told each other good-bye, and they felt unconditional love for each other.
“Liar!” Harrison shouted at the intruder.
The pressure evaporated, and in that same instant, Harrison felt a rush of fear. But he was not the one who felt afraid. He pulled the trigger. At the end of what seemed like an eternity, the Colt fired, sending a single round through the door.
A muffled cry erupted from the hallway.
Harrison collapsed onto the floor. He clutched his head and lurched toward the door.
“Throw it open!” Holcomb said.
Harrison’s left hand tugged at the door, yanking it open, but he fell to the floor again.
Holcomb recovered his 9 mm and then jumped past Harrison, kneeling in the doorframe. He looked left, then right. “He ducked into the stairwell.”
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James Evans stumbled down the first flight of stairs and landed hard against a concrete wall. The pain in his right arm intensified with each hysterical breath. He had never experienced panic, except when he sensed it in others. Dizziness dimmed his surroundings, and distress gripped him. General Stone would never forgive him for rushing in without help.
The pain and panic pushed James onward, trying to distance himself from his pursuers. He needed time to use his phone. Not much use to him, his right arm dangled at his side drenched in blood. The right side of his sweater was saturated, and he clutched the seeping wound with his left hand. Descending the stairs, he could feel the shattered bone in his arm swing loosely by its tendons.
At ground level, shock sieged his consciousness. A sensation of drowning threatened to suffocate him. He could feel nothing in his right arm and shoulder. With his left hand smeared with blood, he tightened his grasp on the wound and stopped to rest.
His chest heaved.
In, out.
From above, the sound drew closer—metallic tapping, like that heard in the stairwells of the underground Saint Mary complex.
James had never felt so alone, and he fought hard not to cry. He summoned all of his courage and what remained of his strength. Then, he cleared his mind.
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Holcomb aimed the 9 mm through the railing on the stairs. His quick movements carried him downward. He did not wait for Harrison to recover before beginning the chase; he believed his friend would be there soon enough to back him up.
With sweat dripping from his forehead and with heavy breath, Holcomb descended the stairs. A fleeting, floating sensation trifled with his concentration. He jerked back, pressing against the wall, next to a reddish-orange smear. Thick drops of it splattered the steps in places. Above, he heard a door slam and hoped Harrison was on his way. The sensation tugged him again, and Holcomb worried he had made a mistake.
But a possible solution revealed itself.
Another tug.
Holcomb performed the necessary functions on the 9 mm, and then let the thing tug him down the stairs.
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Harrison preferred not to kill James Evans, but he resolved himself to stop the hybrid from communicating the knowledge he’d stolen from him. And if that meant killing him, then he would do it without hesitation to protect Janice and the truth.
Descending the stairs, limping, hurrying despite the pain throbbing in his thigh and head, he hoped Holcomb would take care of himself should his friend encounter the hybrid alone.
And at the bottom of the stairs, Harrison ran into both of them. Holcomb, poised to shoot, aimed the 9 mm at Harrison.
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Taylor collected the Roswell engineering document and his snub-nosed .357 magnum revolver. He patted his chest and confirmed that he carried his cell phone. A quick check of Harrison’s suitcase revealed no other items of importance.
Entering the hallway, he offered a few official-sounding words to the handful of people who had gathered following the disturbance. He announced the police were already on their way and that everyone should remain calm and return to their rooms to await their arrival.
Then, he headed for the elevator.
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“Shit!” Harrison said, diving for cover up the stairs. His right foot got caught up on one of the steps, and he tripped, falling flat on his chest. He spun around in time to watch Holcomb pull the trigger.
A resounding, superficial click echoed off the concrete walls as the 9 mm’s hammer made a firm connection against the firing pin. The firing pin struck an empty chamber, and Harrison discerned no sign of a magazine in the weapon.
Tearing his focus away from his friend’s gun, Harrison aimed the .45 at the doorway, but James had already escaped. The exit’s metal door made a heavy bang as it struck the outside wall.
Holcomb fell to his knees.
“We’ll stop him yet,” Harrison said, stepping by his dazed friend.
“Ahh, my head.”
Outside, a woman’s scream near the entrance of the hotel drew Harrison in that direction. After hobbling a few steps, he spotted James running past a large group of Asian tourists taking pictures in front of the hotel. He took off after him, followed by Holcomb, who reloaded his gun.
Truth Insurrected: The Saint Mary Project Page 32