Truth Insurrected: The Saint Mary Project

by Douglas, Daniel P.

  While holding his breath, Harrison heard a vehicle drive right by their location. With its windows obviously rolled down, loud, techno-style music came from within the car. It passed them and parked a short distance away in a dark corner of the parking lot.

  No car doors opened or closed, and after a few minutes, it became apparent to Harrison the occupants of the vehicle presented no threat. Faint sounds of lovemaking floated across the parking lot.

  Harrison chuckled in relief and then resumed his entry into the vehicle. The key fit into the passenger side door and it unlocked with ease. He lifted the handle and the door popped open. After reaching inside behind the driver’s seat, Harrison felt a gym bag with a round object within it. “Let’s hope it’s a globe and not a basketball.”

  Out came the gym bag with a quick tug. Harrison opened it and under the dim light saw a familiar object. A gift. An intact container that held an ultimate secret within.

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  With the gym bag, donuts, and coffee in tow, Harrison and Taylor piled out of the cab at the executive terminal building. They met up with the Zemdarsky’s at the plane.

  After climbing aboard, Harrison gave Henry a thumbs up gesture.

  The young pilot closed and latched the door and then headed into the flight deck.

  “Thanks for the treats,” Pete said. “Looks like you had a successful mission.”

  “We’ll find out for sure right now,” Harrison said.

  General Taylor handed off the donuts and coffee to Pete and then sat down next to Harrison.

  The Cessna’s turbine engines spooled up, sending a rising hum through the cabin.

  Harrison unzipped the gym bag and removed the globe.

  “That looks familiar,” Pete said.

  “Very,” Harrison said. While he inspected the object for several seconds, Harrison recalled—with more clarity than ever—that special moment when his father presented it to him as a gift. He closed his eyes and thanked his father in silence. Also in silence, he thanked God for blessing him with wonderful parents and asked Him to bring success to their impending efforts.

  Harrison opened his eyes and then he unscrewed the stand’s connections with the globe. After detaching the globe, he set the stand aside. He held the sphere in front of him and the United States of America peered up at him. Harrison smiled and then let his eyes drift over other parts of the globe. As he examined it closer, Harrison noticed a few worn areas along the seam covering the globe’s equator.

  While still inspecting the seam, Harrison said, “Does anyone have a pocket knife?” Taylor’s hand appeared in view. A Swiss Army knife rested on his palm. Harrison grasped the knife and then cradled the globe in his lap.

  Harrison made gentle slices into the seam. He worked the knife around the entire equator. Afterwards, he folded up the knife and handed it back to Taylor. Harrison separated the equatorial halves. The globe’s hemisphere in his lap cradled the featherweight and translucent power cell.

  Chapter 46

  Hate to Lose

  During the short flight from Tucson to Las Cruces, Harrison moved up to the cockpit and sat next to Henry, and spent most of his time reassembling the globe, power cell inside, using some duct tape from a tool kit he found in the main cabin.

  “We’re on final approach,” Henry said. “Airport is just ahead and we’ve been cleared to land. Our instructions from the tower are to taxi to a hanger at the southeast corner of the airport. I guess that’s where Vaughn will be waiting?”

  “Let’s hope.” Harrison yawned and looked back into the dim cabin. Pete read the technical manual about the Roswell craft, and Taylor’s eyes remained fixed on the dark, middle-of-the-night skies outside his window.

  As Harrison looked forward through the cockpit windshield, he could see the lights of Las Cruces, as well as those of the approaching runway. He ran his hands along the surface of the globe, cradled in his lap, and checked the equatorial seam that he had just finished taping together.

  The plane shimmied when Henry lowered the landing gear. Other than that and a slight bounce when they landed, their arrival was smooth.

  “Welcome to Las Cruces,” Henry said.

  Harrison smiled. “Thanks. One step closer to our destination.” He ran his hand inside his coat and loosened the Colt in its holster. Just in case. He kept a firm grip on it while scanning their surroundings the entire way to the hanger.

  “Looks like they are expecting us,” Henry said, pointing out the entrance to the hanger. “Doors are open and lights are on. Let’s roll right in.”

  As they approached and entered the hanger, Harrison looked for anyone who might be waiting for them.

  “There’s George,” Pete said. “And there’s Judy. Looks like the senator means business.”

  Fists on her hips, Senator Vaughn stood next to her husband, both bundled in winter coats. George waved to the plane then covered his ears against the sound of the jet engines. Vaughn’s fists remained on her hips.

  As soon as the plane stopped, Pete popped open the cabin door and scrambled out, Roswell technical document still in hand. He headed straight to his good friend George Vaughn and his wife, Judith.

  “Just stand by here, Henry,” Harrison said. He exited the plane, still gripping the globe. Taylor followed right behind him. They caught up to Pete while he hugged both George and the senator.

  “I couldn’t tell you much on the phone earlier, George, so thank you for meeting us here at this ungodly hour. Believe me, it is a matter of national security of the highest order,” Pete said. “These gentlemen are William Harrison and Edward Taylor. Senator, I believe you already know the General.”

  “Yes,” Vaughn said, nodding at Taylor and offering Harrison a firm, quick handshake. “And if what you say is true, then there isn’t much time. I’ve already spoken to the President. He wants to meet us in person at Camp David as soon as possible. Do you have the evidence?”

  Pete raised the Roswell technical document for all to see, and Harrison did the same with the globe. “The rest is on the plane, and more is with a forensics specialist in Virginia,” Harrison said.

  “These two items in particular,” Taylor said, “are most crucial, and we would not have them if it weren’t for Mr. Harrison. The long-missing power cell is in his hands, but the Saint Mary threat remains, and they are at their most dangerous right now.”

  “They are also very vulnerable,” Harrison said. “Look, lives are at stake. Real people, people I know, are in peril, as well as the nation and perhaps the world itself. I need to know if the President is prepared to take action. He must authorize a raid on North Range. Saint Mary must be confronted…” Harrison paused, recalling and then sharing the words of one of his political heroes. “‘There here is no escaping either the gravity or the totality of its challenge to our survival and to our security.’”

  “‘Its preparations are concealed, not published. Its mistakes are buried, not headlined. Its dissenters are silenced, not praised. No expenditure is questioned, no rumor is printed, no secret is revealed.’” Vaughn said, quoting from the same speech about secrecy by John F. Kennedy. “You know, Mr. Harrison, some say President Kennedy was killed because of those beliefs.”

  “Then justice must be served, otherwise, they win and we continue to lose.”

  “As an American,” Vaughn said, “I believe in this cause. And as a politician, I can tell you, I hate to lose.”

  “And as a wife,” George said, nudging Pete with his elbow.

  “All right, gentlemen, let’s go,” Vaughn said. “I’ll get us clearance to land at Andrews Air Force Base. The Secret Service will take us from there to Camp David. Is your pilot ready?”

  “Hank is ready, Judy,” Pete said. “We are serving donuts and cold coffee in coach if you’re hungry.”

  Harrison handed the globe to the senator and said, “Please take this. I have a call to make. And thank you for helping us.”

  “Thank me when we cross the finish line
,” Vaughn said, grasping the globe. She joined the others who were already boarding the plane.

  Searching his phone for Margaret O’Donnell’s telephone number, Harrison tried to calculate a place and time for her to meet them. Sending her to Andrews might be risky. On her own and without direct protection, any number of Saint Mary operatives at the base could intercept her.

  Got to keep her safe.

  In his mind, he pictured the once familiar geography of Virginia, Maryland, and Washington, D.C., and then smiled when he remembered one place in particular.

  He dialed Maggie’s number. After several rings, the first attempt reached her voicemail. He tried again, and heard a groggy voice answer the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Maggie?”

  “Who wants to know?

  “Maggie, it’s Bill. Bill Harrison.”

  “I can only imagine what this is about.”

  “Rock around the clock, Maggie. Rock around the clock.”

  “Okay, you’ve got my attention. Where is Art?”

  “I don’t know, but wherever he is, I am sure he needs help. And so do you. We are coming to get you, but you need to make your way north along with the evidence.”

  “I can do that. Where should I meet you?”

  Despite Taylor’s earlier assurances about their cell phone calls, Harrison wanted to protect Maggie as much as possible. “Do you remember that road trip I took with you and Art? The one where we ended up making a stop because Art’s food poisoning really kicked in?”

  “Lord, how could I ever forget. He made quite a scene.”

  “Meet us there. I figure we’ll pick you up in about five hours or so, but be early just in case.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Thanks, Maggie, and be safe.”

  Harrison ended the call and headed toward the plane. Once aboard, he heard Henry start up the engines. He took a seat next to Pete who offered him a donut and the widest grin he had ever seen.

  Chapter 47

  Closing In

  The only sound inside one of the dim briefing rooms at North Range emanated from a television mounted on a wall sprayed with a recent coat of cottage-white paint. A digital clock next to the television indicated 7:00 a.m. local time. The CNN announcer broadcasted a message that engulfed the men watching it with apprehension.

  “The Department of Defense and F.B.I. have not provided any further details on William Bernard Harrison, a private investigator and former F.B.I. agent who is a suspect in an espionage ring that a Pentagon spokesperson described as ‘directed by a rogue nationalist group in Russia.’ A second suspect, Arthur Holcomb, currently an F.B.I. agent from Baltimore, also remains at large…”

  An unflattering photograph of Holcomb appeared on the screen.

  The CNN announcer continued, saying, “The Pentagon requests assistance from citizens in locating Harrison and Holcomb. They say both are armed and considered dangerous. If anyone sees these individuals, they should contact the police or nearest F.B.I. office immediately. The Pentagon spokesman also stated that a third suspect was involved, but declined to offer any further description because doing so may jeopardize the investigation. In other news, Taiwan has shot down a Communist Chinese aircraft that strayed into its airspace, prompting the President to make a statement from Camp David where he is spending the holidays. He reassured allies and leaders at home that the situation is being closely monitored, and that preparations for all options to defend the region are being made…”

  General Stone lowered the volume with the remote. Air Force weapons specialist General Lanham sat across from him. He cleared his throat and said, “So as far as the public is concerned, they have no idea we have Holcomb in custody?”

  “Correct,” Stone said, “An element from our security detachment spotted him in the vicinity of the hotel. A short car chase ensued and our agents captured him. Only we know the truth about his capture.”

  “And the incident with the male hybrid?”

  Stone looked at the officer who had asked the question. Admiral Horner dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief even while the room’s temperature hovered at a comfortable seventy-two degrees. Stone worried some of working-group officers would break under the strain. He projected confidence when he spoke.

  “Unfortunate. But, our security teams acted quickly, and they gained control of the situation before local authorities initiated an adequate investigation.” Stone nodded at the officer next to him, the only officer who looked relaxed. “Colonel Bennet’s efforts with implementing the disinformation protocols are taking hold. Hell, even our own personnel will probably begin to doubt what they saw.”

  “But wasn’t there a nonessential FBI agent at the scene?” Admiral Horner said, wiping his forehead.

  “We managed to remove him from the area,” Stone said.

  Some of the officers around the desk stirred.

  “But he is under active, very active, surveillance,” Stone said. “And we will continue to monitor him closely until this situation calms down and the necessary asset is available for further resolution.”

  “What about the President?” General Lanham said.

  At one end of the table, two hands cut a swath through the air. “Our D.I.A. associate personally briefed the President earlier today,” Dennis, the working group’s chairman, said. “Containment has been easily achieved in that area. We don’t anticipate any problems arising from the White House. In fact, it was the impression of our associate that the President seemed quite satisfied and in a hurry to resume his holiday vacation at Camp David in peace.”

  Despite the foul gush of breath from the chairman’s mouth that drifted in front of Stone’s nose, he managed a polite smile. He wanted to appear as optimistic as possible and not reveal his concern about Harrison and Taylor’s escape.

  “And what about Harrison and General Taylor?” Lanham said.

  “We are employing various methods on Holcomb to learn more and will determine their whereabouts soon,” Stone said. “The female hybrid is interrogating Holcomb right now. When she is finished, more traditional methods will also be employed as a double check.”

  “I understand,” General Lanham said, “that Colonel Ritter recovered the globe you spoke about at last night’s briefing?”

  Now that question posed a problem for Stone. The question required him to answer, but he knew it meant including other information the officers would find hard to swallow.

  James had been wrong, simply wrong, and insubordinate.

  “When we opened it here,” Stone said, “the globe contained nothing. Harrison must have been mistaken about the power cell’s location if he was the one from whom James extracted the information.”

  Stone saw questions brewing on their lips, so he hurried his next words. “On a more positive note, Colonel Ritter did uncover some new information when he was in Tucson. While he was in Harrison’s office retrieving the globe, he found a bank statement that someone had apparently slipped under the door. An attached note said, ‘This was delivered to our office by mistake.’ The bank statement had Harrison’s business address on it, but the name ‘Donald Hiatt’ appeared as the addressee. Ritter used the information and located a safe-deposit box containing potentially dangerous information.”

  “What was inside?” Colonel Bennet said, finally showing some interest.

  Stone ran down the list. “Some anonymous letters, no doubt from Edward Taylor, copies of documents pertaining to Major Blair, the air force’s accident report, next-of-kin notification, the Protocol One memo authorizing that activity, and some old police reports dating from the late forties and early fifties.”

  Bennet’s green and brown eyes widened behind the horn-rims. “Police reports?

  “Single-vehicle traffic accidents concerning military police personnel with direct involvement in the Roswell incident,” Stone said.

  Bennet relaxed. Green and brown became indistinguishable. He mumbled something about tragic coincide
nces.

  “Gentlemen,” the chairman said, “we need to make a recommendation to the Circle. As you are aware, the Circle’s members are due here later today for the demonstration. Given our current situation, do we recommend they come, or not? What are some alternatives?”

  Stone faced away from the cloud of halitosis that floated his way and encouraged his colleagues to speak freely.

  They did, profusely, and their caution soon formed a consensus.

  The chairman decided to advise the Circle to delay their visit until the security situation gained further clarity and their operatives closed in on Harrison and Taylor. The results of Holcomb’s interrogations would require evaluation too.

  The gathering quickly dissolved into various fragments. Stone signaled to the chairman and escorted him to the detention area.

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  Colonel Ritter approached General Stone and the chairman as soon as they entered the detention area. “I was just preparing to phone you, sirs.”

  “What’s her status?” Stone said, stepping past Ritter, out of the range of the chairman’s bad breath.

  Ritter fidgeted between the two men, uncertain whom he should address. He opted for Stone. “She scanned Holcomb and then drove him to the floor in pain.”

  “He fought back?” the chairman said.

  Still facing Stone, Ritter said, “And he continues to do so.” Ritter pointed at Holcomb, who sat in a metal chair on the other side of the one-way mirror. The agent’s face contorted into a twisted, reddened mess. Drool lapped at his chin. He cried tears too. The audio speaker mounted above the observers’ heads hinted that Holcomb strained to verbalize his mental anguish.

  Janice stood next to him, fists thrust into her hips.

  “I assume she is almost done with him,” Ritter said.

  “Very good, colonel,” Stone said, eyes fixed on the FBI agent.

  Holcomb fell out of the chair. The handcuffs around his wrists cut harder into bone. He twitched and rolled onto his stomach, panting, crying.