Truth Insurrected: The Saint Mary Project

by Douglas, Daniel P.

  “Very good,” Lanham said.

  After hearing the report as well, Stone invited his colleagues to join him on the observation platform. Once there, he unlocked a metal cabinet next to the elevator and handed out night-vision binoculars to his fellow officers, then privately reviewed the final preparations for Operation Rainbow.

  In approximately two hours, he would issue orders for the experimental, Rainbow One, to lift off. Synchronized with a countdown already under way, technicians activated the craft’s internal systems and components and conducted last-minute checks. The hybrid and psychotronic generator team, Rainbow Two, would move into position soon and would initiate reception of telemetry from the tower once an unknown appeared. When that happened, they would aim the psychotronic generator and transmit communication signals though it to convince the unknown’s occupants to land. The landing would result in the vehicle shutting down its grav-shield, making it vulnerable to Rainbow Three, the ELF team. Already deployed to the crest of Timber Peak two miles north, northeast of the tower and five hundred feet above the airfield, Rainbow Three’s technicians busied themselves with the process of charging the ELF system’s power system and fine-tuning its frequency range.

  Stone raised a pair of binoculars and peered out the window. His gaze drifted past the transports and black-clad recovery teams mounting Humvees, and settled on the sleek, graceful Gulfstream parked near the bio-research building. He admired the attractive aircraft for a moment, noting its shape seemed to yearn for flight. Panning the binoculars back to the northeast corner of the airfield, he looked directly at the command bunker, where the Circle’s members headed. Although obscured by a ring of juniper trees, the bunker’s access ramps remained partially visible. For a moment, he caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a nurse wheeling an IV stand and oxygen tank along the ramp.

  He hoped everything was all right.

  Chapter 54

  Matador Jones, US Army

  Over southern Alberta, Canada, a flight of six C-117s carrying elements of the First Brigade, Eighty-Second Airborne Division, continued its course toward the Far East. Inside the lead plane, some of the troopers held quiet conversations. The newer ones talked and joked to forget the stress and nervousness they felt. Knowing that sleep remained a precious commodity in combat, the more experienced troopers allowed their bodies to lull into unconsciousness.

  Toward the front of this particular transport, the brigade’s commander stood solemnly, looking through brown eyes over his men. Seeing the shoulder patches on their uniforms sent a proud shiver through his body. Colonel Matthew “Matador” Jones chomped on a fine Cuban cigar and nodded. Fumes from the thick cigar drifted upward and swirled past a “No Smoking” placard. A few feet above the sign, a draft nudged and twisted the smoke throughout much of the plane.

  Jones leaned back and checked his watch. “Now’s a good time,” he said to himself while unzipping the top of his field jacket. He reached inside and removed a sealed envelope from an inside pocket. As he held it in front of him, a few of the troopers sitting nearby glanced his way, and then resumed their own business. Jones broke the envelope’s seal, pulled out the single sheet of paper it contained, and unfolded it. While puffing on the cigar and reading his orders, clouds of smoke settled momentarily around his head before arching toward the ceiling.

  Brown eyes narrowed and jaw muscles tightened.

  Even before they had left Fort Bragg, this night’s deployment stood out as truly unique to Jones. A personal visit from the President had made it so. “You are a guardian of democracy, truth, and justice,” the President had told him. Jones read the contents of the envelope the President had personally handed him. The details of this deployment redefined his whole reality.

  From above, Jones heard one of the plane’s crewmembers approach him. The figure descended a metal ladder between the flight deck and cargo area. Jones folded the orders, put them away, and awaited the usual reproach.

  “Pilot wants you to put that cigar out.”

  Raising his voice over the steady hum of the engines, Jones said, “This ain’t no mundungus crap, boy. This here’s a fine Cuban of the utmost integrity. The pilot has no goddamn taste!”

  “But, sir—”

  “You tell the pilot we can argue later. For now, have him turn this flock of birds due south. Balls to the wall. I’ll be up to give him new grids when I’m done smoking.”

  The crewman hesitated.

  The colonel glared at him through a tempest of smoke.

  Following a restrained cough, the crewman ascended the stairs.

  Jones watched him leave and said, “Goddamn air force. Fucking civilian branch of the armed forces.”

  A few of the troopers sitting nearby heard the remarks and chuckled.

  Matador Jones beheld his troopers again. The Eighty-Second Airborne shoulder patches and youthful faces beamed back at him. “Best goddamn soldiers in the world,” Jones said, shouting.

  A chorus of “oorahs” echoed through the plane.

  Jones and the plane’s other occupants felt a turn to the left. Then, one by one, the following aircraft initiated the maneuver until the entire flight of six C-117s headed due south.

  Chapter 55

  They Are Here

  General Lanham moved along the observation platform that extended around the upper set of windows in the control tower and noted the time.

  1940 hours.

  Through the windows, he saw the barely perceptible, split-second flicker of runway and exterior building lights. The ELF system’s electrical demands strained the base’s power flow, but the fact that the lighting remained on during the final grid connections reassured him his design had succeeded. His shoulders relaxed and, straightening his uniform, he rejoined the other officers.

  “General Stone, you have a phone call from Rainbow Two,” a communications officer said from below the platform.

  “Patch it through here.” A moment later, a phone near the general rang. He picked it up, saying, “Rainbow Control? Very good, Professor, proceed to the designated area with your personnel and stand by. Control out.”

  Lanham edged closer to Stone and said, “The hybrid is on the way?”

  “Roger, pass the word along,” Stone said. He lifted the phone and pushed the button for the command bunker. He spoke to the chairman and provided him with a brief update. Then, the conversation turned to other matters. “Now, as to Protocol Ones, shall we proceed with the FBI agent?”

  “Yes, and that Vegas cop too. I think we know their purposes and information. They’re easiest to resolve.”

  “I agree. We can utilize the terrain here for them.”

  “Put them in a hole and then burn them to ashes. And make sure it’s a deep hole. After tonight, we will work further at resolving the remaining problems.”

  “Yes, sir.” Stone hung up and redialed. “Infirmary? Yes, I need to speak with a patient who’s there for a blood test.”

  <> <>

  Maxwell took the call and made a mental note of his instructions. His visit to the infirmary left him unsettled, despite reassurances from Stone and a dried-up old German woman. He concentrated, instead, on a forthcoming big paycheck while he made his way to the underground motor pool. Once there, he checked out a Humvee and drove it to the command building.

  As Maxwell passed through the security entrance, his DOD credentials gained him quick access to the detention area. According to Stone’s instructions, Maxwell intended to enlist the assistance of one of the interrogators to complete the assignment.

  After entering the cell-lined hallway, he moved toward the detention control room. He brushed past an air force colonel with a uniform bearing a nametag with “Ritter” on it. Ritter appeared to head topside in a rush.

  Maxwell knew it was a busy night for everyone, so he ignored the officer and sought out one of the men in black. He found one, and he looked like a…blackbird?

  Together, they collected Holcomb and the struggling, wounded
Ridley, and then escorted them outside as instructed.

  <> <>

  A tame crosswind swayed the junipers around the command bunker. Their delicate new branches shimmied back and forth. Stone and Lanham watched the area for a moment through binoculars, discussing the success of the ELF system’s activation. After that, Lanham dismissed himself and drove to the main ELF antenna at the crest of Timber Peak.

  Once there, Lanham entered the red-and-white-striped building that sat close to a steep precipice. Two technicians sat between a colorful panel of buttons, dials, switches, keypads, and another console containing multiple display screens. A third technician stood in front of a stack of digital oscilloscopes and radio spectrometers. A pleasant warmth engulfed the room, and after placing a pair of headphones over his ears, Lanham felt his icy fingers begin to thaw, restoring their freedom of movement.

  “Rainbow Three to Rainbow Control,” Lanham said into the headset, and then he waited for Stone’s reply.

  “Rainbow Control, go.”

  “Rainbow Three in place. All systems normal. Standing by for execution.”

  “Roger. Your code is omega, say again, omega. Rainbow Control out.”

  Lanham stepped closer to the air-traffic display screen and poked a white, glowing button marked “XP.” Through his headphones, he could hear the countdown under way for the experimental’s liftoff. At that moment, the computer-simulated voice ticked off the remaining time at ten-second intervals.

  “T-minus forty-one minutes, thirty seconds.”

  <> <>

  Inside the security bunker, several hundred feet below Lanham’s position, Professor Moresby and Janice sat in front of the communications console. This time, however, only the two of them occupied the room. No technicians, officers, or observers of any kind remained in the darkened chamber. Three air policemen stood guard outside the door and were under strict orders to ensure that no one disturbed the two civilian “meteorological consultants.”

  To protect the operation against any of Moresby’s misgivings, Stone had personally given the hybrid permission to contact him directly if the old man showed any signs of weakness. Janice graciously accepted the extra responsibility and even suggested her willingness to carry out additional instructions Stone had regarding Moresby’s stay at North Range.

  From a speaker on the console, the quiet rhythm of the countdown continued: “T-minus thirty-five minutes, forty seconds.”

  Moresby cleared his throat and tapped the eraser end of a pencil on the console. “They say English is becoming a universal language.”

  Janice chuckled. “I don’t know why. It’s so hard to spell and pronounce.”

  “Oh, honey, at least we know the alphabet. If I need a word, I just look it up in good old Webster’s. Here, if I have to look something up, I have to find a wheat crop in the middle of Scotland.” He lowered his head. “Come to think of it, I’ve never been to Scotland, or spoken to any of our guests personally. How did it go?”

  In her recliner, Janice gently rolled her head to the side. She could barely make out Moresby in the darkness. “The conversation went well. They are not beings who experience emotion like we do. They are rational in their thinking and are generally unified in their interpretations. They are very interested in our future and the danger we pose to ourselves.”

  “Any insights about the fifth species?”

  “No.” Janice took in a deep breath and exhaled. “No. They have as many questions about the fifth species as we do. They are not certain of their origin, and think they may be from a different time. To them, the fifth species is emotionally motivated and self-interested.”

  “Fascinating.” Moresby scratched his chin. “So many mysteries to solve and here we are, laying a trap for them or whoever happens to be passing by.”

  “Francis, how did you, I mean, why do you work…? I’m sorry, what I’m trying to ask is—”

  “I know, I know. Funny thing is, even if you performed your deepest and most intense scan on me, I doubt that you would find your answer. I don’t know the answer.” His chin crinkled and his eyes moistened. “Truth is the greatest mystery. The problem is that truth has too many masters, and not enough servants. Saint Mary offered me a chance to serve profound truths, to reach out into this glorious universe, and say ‘hello’ to the neighbors. But the masters had other plans. I wanted to learn so much. And I did. I did. I kept reaching out. We need to reach farther, but we can’t if there’s no one behind us to hold on to.”

  Janice reached for a wrinkled hand and held it gently. She wanted to embrace her friend, but taut wires running from her forehead to the console prevented her. Sighing, she said, “Do you think they will come?”

  “Hmm, hard to say. If they do, the telemetry feed from the tower will tell us which way to point the contraption upstairs, and then you send the messages in sequence as we have rehearsed. What alternative is there?”

  Janice subdued the urge to an answer.

  “T-minus twenty-nine minutes, fifty seconds.”

  <> <>

  Four of the occupants inside the command bunker reclined on cushioned seats, weary from their long flight from Dulles Airport. Glassy eyed, they peered at an arrangement of screens on the wall in front of them. Video displays from cameras equipped with night-vision lenses and sensors switched between dozens of images from around the facility. The locations of mobile units, recovery teams, ELF antennae, and the experimental resting on the test pad also appeared as blue and green dots on an illuminated map. Overhead speakers allowed the visitors to monitor radio broadcasts and the ongoing countdown.

  The chairman stood at the back of the room, glancing between the screens and the members of the Circle. His superiors’ every sneeze or hacking cough shattered any semblance of relaxation he felt. Two nurses maintained regular attention to their patients, checking blood pressure, heart rates, pupil response. Their examinations appeared endless. A muscular orderly who had lifted two of the members into the special seats also kept busy, adjusting, tightening, and polishing wheelchairs, walkers, and a cane in the back of the room.

  “How much longer?” a bald-headed, sunken-faced man said.

  “Dr. Barnem,” the chairman said, “the countdown—”

  “I can’t hear it! Turn it up!”

  The chairman stepped over to a volume knob on the console below the screens. Despite the already loud volume, the chairman increased it. “How’s that?”

  “A little more. Yes, yes, that’s good. How much longer?”

  Barnem received his response from the computer-simulated voice. “T-minus twenty-two minutes, thirty seconds.”

  The other Circle members sat without speaking. They looked overwhelmed by the multiple audio and visual stimuli surrounding them. Trying to regain his concentration, the chairman turned to the screens and focused on a video monitor that displayed a murky image of the experimental. The metallic surface of the silvery disc appeared to him in the low light after he stepped back a little. He knew that soon, when its grav-drive propelled it aloft, the craft would shimmer and become enveloped in pale yellow light.

  The nurses and orderly must leave the room very soon.

  “Dennis?”

  “Yes, Dr. Barnem?”

  “Has Rainbow One checked in yet?”

  “No, sir. The confirmation is tied to the countdown. Rainbow One is scheduled to check in at 2055 hours. We’ll know if there’s a delay or an abort. General Stone will contact us.”

  “Thank you, Dennis.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.”

  As the nurses finished another round of checks, the chairman walked over to a wall switch and further dimmed the lights. Since Stone had not provided additional seating in the command bunker, the chairman walked over to the orderly and borrowed one of the wheelchairs. He eased himself into the chair, looking around to see if anyone of importance noticed his choice of seating. Overhead, the speakers announced another update.

  “T-minus nineteen minutes, ten
seconds.”

  <> <>

  A mile south of the command bunker, inside the control tower, Stone and some of the other senior officers, including Admiral Horner, scanned the horizon through night-vision binoculars, patiently waiting for the signal informing them the experimental stood ready to go.

  Below them, the controllers and communications technicians continued their monitoring responsibilities amid the chattering beeps and electronic buzzing of computers and tapping keyboards.

  Bored with the view of rocky hills and endless acres of dry, arid land, Admiral Horner left the observation platform and descended the metal staircase.

  Give me a heaving carrier any day.

  He wandered behind the young lieutenant who had handled the earlier NORAD uplink, and noticed the junior officer had finally calmed his jittery nerves.

  “How’s it look?” Horner said.

  “All clear, sir.”

  “Good. What’s your name, son?”

  The lieutenant peered up at the imposing figure. “Palmer, sir.”

  “Palmer, eh? I sailed with a Palmer once. You have any relatives in the United States Navy?”

  “No, sir. At least, none that I know of, sir.”

  “Too bad. Nothing like the navy,” Horner said, slapping Palmer on the back. “Oh, I know you air force people believe you have a good thing going. But where’s the history, the tradition? The air force has only been around barely any time at all. But the navy! Now there’s an outfit with some history.”

  “Yes, sir. How is naval history connected to Nevada?”

  “Uh, well, you go about your business. Don’t let me keep you. Let’s see, what quadrant do you have?” Horner bent toward the screen in front of Palmer.

  “Northern, sir. The edge of the radius.”

  Looking at the lieutenant’s console first, the admiral then panned his eyes down the aisle of screens. “Hmm, all new equipment, Palmer?”

  “Yes, sir, the latest.”

  “Wish we had this where I work. Of course, trouble is, takes a long time to get the bugs out. This stuff can be so sensitive. Never can tell if you’re looking at a MiG or a firefly.”