by T. D. Kohler
Just then a cell phone rings and St. Clair picks it up, looking at his partner with raised eyebrows like they got busted, mouthing, “It’s the director.” Lifting the phone, he says, “St. Clair here.” After listening for a short time, he sets the phone down. “Pack up. Directive has changed. We’re off to Louisiana. That was Director Harris. He says Nika Carol is not answering her phone and neither is the agent she was partnered up with. We’re driving up tonight. I suggest we get a power nap.”
Frustration flashes over Nomi as she gives him her best pouting face, getting him to smile and shake his head. Heading for the door, she stops, and without looking back, she says, “I miss her, but as much as I miss her . . .” Pointing down at the DVD player, “. . . this asshole needs to be stopped before he does this again.” She turns her head to see that her partner was going to say something, but she raises a hand stopping him. “I’m just saying.” She turns and heads out the door towards to her room.
Associated Foreign Exchange,
Baton Rouge, LA
July 20, 1302 hours
Stepping out of the Shisha House, a stranger wipes his beard with a napkin and then wipes the sweat that is forming in the midday heat. He walks to his Cadillac Deville taking out a silver briefcase. After looking around and eyeing the sparsely filled parking lot, he walks two doors down into an unmarked corner section of the outdoor mall.
Opening the door, the air conditioning welcomes him. The room is a well-lit office space with a customer service desk to the right. There is a young woman behind the desk helping an older man fill out paperwork. She looks up at the stranger and gives him a quick wave and a smile. The stranger motions for her to take her time.
He sits on the waiting couch, brushing his slacks down, and sets the briefcase next to him. Opening a panel on one of side, he adjusts the thumb locks. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches the facial expressions of the young lady. Watching her as she takes a large, exhausting breath, the older man runs his forearm across his forehead, wiping the early stages of perspiration.
Checking his watch, he looks around the room, noting that the air conditioning was on full blast. He affords himself a small smile and continues to sit with his hands on his lap, watching the door leading to back room.
The young woman is leaning on both arms, her breath becoming labored as the old man has lost all posture and is leaning back in the chair. The door opens and a tall man steps into the main room, dragging his feet, sweating, and massaging his right arm. With barely a glance in the stranger’s direction he leans on the desk next to the old man.
Out from the back room, a tall man staggers out massaging his neck. He notices the man on the couch and gives a polite nod. The sweat is beading up on his forehead, and he wipes it off with his sleeve. He recognizes that the older man is struggling, attempting to stand, and grabbing his thigh as if to use it as a brace. Helping the man up, he escorts him to the door. Once at the door the taller man opens it as a green-hue wave fills the room, knocking everyone to the ground.
The green hue remains, making the air cloudy and heavy. The stranger stands up and scratches under his beard as he looks around. “This is interesting.”
He walks over to the taller man, to watch him struggling to lift his arm for help. Reaching down, he checks the pockets and locates two sets of keys. After examining the keys, he drops the set that has a car key on them. The man on the floor tries, but cannot lift his arms to resist the stranger, and he passes out.
Standing back up, the stranger looks back at the door lodged open; he takes a small step outside. Looking around he notices and some people are passed out next to their cars. Sounds of vehicles, nearby crashing catches his attention. Scratching just under his beard, he turns back into the office space. “Very interesting.”
Making his way past the receptionist towards the back room, he looks around one of the main offices. Seeing a small picture that is too small to be a wall picture, he walks over to it, reaches up to the right side of the picture, and gives it a tug. The picture falls away, crashing onto the floor. The stranger shrugs and continues to look around.
Walking over to the desk, he takes a moment to sit in the chair. Scratching under his beard, he surveys the wooden structural highlights on the wall boarders, giving the room an 80’s private eye feel. Pushing himself back up, his thumb presses a lever just under the lip of the desk and on the floor a square door pops up, “Interesting.”
Opening it, he pulls out one more bone-like Ingots with strange petroglyphs. Taking a moment to look them over, he notices they are similar to the ones from the bank. Shrugging, he puts them into his backpack he has hidden underneath his suit jacket.
* * *
Outside on the streets police cars have their sirens blaring as they scream by to get to one of the accidents. One by one, as they get out of their car, they are immediately affected by the green hue. The driver shakes his head as if to clear cobwebs and look at his partner, confused. His partner is breathing heavy and just smiles, shaking his head.
They make their way to the cars to find everyone in the first vehicle passed out. The older officer attempts to motion for his partner to check the other vehicle, but the muscles in his arms are fatigued and heavy. The other officer understands the subtle gesture and checks the status of the people in that car to find the same, everyone passed out.
With a labored breath the lead officer takes on a worried look. “What da heck is dis?”
The younger officer, struggling to keep his legs under him looks at his partner. “How’d I supposed to know? You’ve lived here for a while, have you ever seen this?”
Slowly shaking his head, he says, “Nah, never seen nor heard any ting like dis.”
Using the car to hold himself up, the younger officer is applying pressure on his eyes to try and clear his thoughts. “This shit is alien man. I kid you not.”
With a gasp of a chuckle, the lead officer says, “Regardless, alien or not, get on da radio and call dis in. Oh, and if I were you, I wouldn’t mention a word about alien when you call it in, or we’ll never live it down.”
The younger officer shuffles his feet back to the car. “You don’t need to worry about that.” As he gets to the car, his legs give out and he falls to the asphalt, passing out.
With a surge of adrenalin, the older officer forces himself to his partner’s side. Kneeling down, he checks for vitals to find he has only fallen asleep. Feeling his eyes getting heavy as the muscles throughout his body ache, he gets into the car and closes the door. His head begins to clear. Picking up the radio, he calls in the accident and requests paramedics on site.
* * *
Inside the Associated Foreign Exchange, the stranger prepares to leave. As he does he notices the old man is posed holding his left arm, eyes open, and unblinking. The taller man lies asleep as the young lady lies sleeping on her desk.
Stepping out into the parking lot, he hears a crash in the distance of two more vehicles colliding. Making his way to his car and hears a sizzle and a snap sound and turns into the direction, He notices the electrical substation directly behind the building. Tilting his head, he looks down at his briefcase then back at the substation. Closing the panel, he turns off the briefcase; the green hue begins to dissipate.
“Interesting.” He gets into his vehicle, circles, and exits the parking lot.
As he leaves the parking lot he pauses and watches the electrical substation. He turns right to head towards the freeway, and he notices two police cars and an officer motioning for him to slow down and come to a stop.
The officer’s breathing appears to be labored, and he is struggling to keep himself standing. The stranger comes to a stop.
With a hand circle, the officer tells him to lower the window. Gripping the car door to keep himself standing, his knees give, but he is able to recover.
“Sir, there has been an accident and Interstate 12 and it is now blocked.” Taking a deep, labored breath he pushes himself to a standing pos
ition. “If you want, you can turn right here and make a right on Old Hammond, then ’bout a mile down you can make a right on Millerville Rd. That’ll take you back to da interstate.”
With a nod, the stranger allows the police officer to back away. Then as he is turning the car around, he watches the officer crane and massage his neck. As he follows the directions given to him, sirens fill the humid air and emergency vehicles scream past him, towards the accident.
1989
Base,
Outside Groom Dry Lake, Nevada
March 20, 1435 hours
A seasoned man with thinning hair is sitting at his desk looking over some preparation files when a tentative knocking on his door catches his attention.
“Gerald, I am old, so I really wish you would knock with a purpose!”
Opening a door marked Caretaker, is a short, husky man with youth on his side. “Sir, I apologize, however, well to make this brief, you see, well, we were auditing records, and we found a, or rather in this case, did not find—”
“Can you please get to the point? I am not getting any younger.”
Gerald straightens himself, sticking his chin out. “Yes, sir. There are files missing on Project Galileo and other projects.”
“For forty years we have managed to prevent this from happening, and we have kept a lid on everything we’ve accomplished.” The Caretaker massages his temples. “Do we know who is responsible and what he or she has?”
Gerald looks down at the clipboard he is holding close to his chest. “It appears to be Robert Lazar. At least he has been unaccounted for today.”
The Caretaker quickly raises his head to watch the man with the news. “How do I know that name . . . New guy from Los Alamos, what does he have?”
Flipping through his clipboard, Gerald thumbs the papers, as if he is still looking for the information that was missing. Walking around the small room, he bumps into a chair, nearly knocking it over. He stops to see the Caretaker waiting. “I apologize, sir.”
The Caretaker looks at his associate, expecting more.
“Well that is where it gets interesting. The files on the autopsies, photos, and the filming were in the files that cannot be located,” Gerald confesses.
The Caretaker stands up too fast, causing him to get light headed, He quickly places his hands on the desk for support to regain focus. After a few seconds, and with a cool strength in his voice, he says, “How did he get that away from the facility?”
Folding his clipboard back to his chest, Gerald takes a step back. “We don’t. We are unsure.”
“Thank you for the information. I will see how we can recover from this.” The Caretaker mumbles to himself, “Colonel Corso would be pissed if he knew about this.”
“Sir, it’s been over twenty years since he was here. I doubt he would give this news a second thought.”
“If this gets out, everyone will give it a second thought.”
Noting the finality of his tone, the younger man exits the room. Seemingly frozen, locked in time, the Caretaker eventually sits back in his chair and continues to stare at the phone. After a few more moments of reflections he reaches out to the phone and dials.
A few rings into the call, the Caretaker is just about to hang up when a familiar, strong voice on the other end.
“What can I do for you today?”
“You have always gotten straight to the point, haven’t you, Ms. Watkins?”
El Cortez Hotel and Casino,
Las Vegas, NV
March 25, 2049 hours
A man wearing a trench coat is holding a newspaper to block the rain. He is thumbing through the directory attached to the pay phone booth. Fumbling around with the pen in his hand he manages to put the quarters in the slot and dial a number. A no-nonsense voice cuts through the chill of the rain.
“KLAS, how may I direct you?”
“Ummm, yeah, I would like to talk to George Knapp?”
“What is this regarding?”
Trying to keep dry, he looks around, watching headlights drive by. “An investigation, please.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Leaning into the phone, and in a firm, stage whisper, he says, “No! I can’t right now! After a moment of silence, he hears the phone ringing again. A friendlier voice brings his attention back from looking around.
“KLAS, George Knapp, how can I be of help?”
Stomping his feet to remove some of the wetness from his jacket, he says, “Did you get the files?”
“Who am I speaking to? Are you in danger?”
Looking around to see if there is anyone hanging around he says, “This is Dennis, and I can’t talk now, but I have some more information you need to get out and let the public know.”
“Dennis, I’ve examined the files you sent, and as much as I am enjoying these phone calls, we need to meet. Is there a place or a number I can reach you?”
After a period of silence, Dennis takes a deep breath. “Okay, but I need to set something up . . .”
An exasperated voice interrupts him, “Can you give me something? I need verifiable information on you before I can meet with you. You and I know Dennis is not your real name, and it has been working for now. But for a face-to-face interview I need to know who you are. Name, background, something.”
“My name is Robert Lazar. I am a physicist and a researcher for a testing facility out of Groom Lake. I graduated from MIT and California Institute of Technology. I worked at Los Alamos National Laboratories. That should help you verify who I am. I will contact you tomorrow so we can meet.” After another moment’s pause, he says, “Mr. Knapp, we are not alone in this universe. We are not even alone on this planet.” With that he hangs up.
The rain has lightened up, and he scans the area again. He goes to put the pen in his jacket and misses the pocket and it drops to the sidewalk. Bending down to catch it he stumbles forward and lands in a puddle. Something catches his eye. Another vehicle takes a turn too fast, loses traction, and slams into a parked car. Feeling his nerves completely on edge, he looks around one more time then gets into his car and drives off.
Los Alamos National Laboratory,
Los Alamos, NM
March 26, 0826 hours
In the parking lot of the facility, Director Siegfried Hecker gets out of his BMW. Walking over to the hood of his car, he lays his briefcase down and opens it. As he is inventorying the contents, an imposing woman with strong features walks up to him while holding out a badge.
“Director Hecker, Director Siegfried Hecker? May I have a moment with you? This is regarding a former employee of yours.”
Hesitant, he slides his back against the car, closing his briefcase. Stopping, he watches the woman walking towards him when out of the corner of his eye he notices two gentlemen in suits standing not too far from her. Checking his watch, he looks around only to find nobody else in the area and then looks back at his watch.
“How can I help you?”
Lightening her posture and tone the woman stops just before his car, she says, “This is regarding Robert Lazar…” and she pauses to look around as a car pulls into the parking lot. Closing her eyes, takes a deep breath, and smiles. “Can we walk and talk?”
Gaining confidence, he takes a step, and then pauses as a thought occurs to him, I believe she is allowing me this confidence. Shaking it off, he looks at the well-groomed, well-dressed woman and smiles. “Absolutely, it is a beautiful morning.”
On that note they begin to walk through the parking lot. The other two gentlemen remain behind for a moment then walk towards a black Ford Bronco.
“I apologize, who did you say you were with?”
“Let’s not make this about me, this is about Mr. Lazar. He has gotten involved in something, and as a result, he has lost all clearance and himself has become a national security threat.”
The director turns pale. “Not again. This can’t be happening again. We cannot afford another incident relating to national s
ecurity leaks.” He throws his hands up in the air out of frustration.
The woman takes a step back, “Sir, you need to relax and pay attention. I am not aware about any other concerns.”
He stops and studies her strong features. “In 1945 Klaus Fuchs betrayed this company and the country by giving the Russians detailed information of our nuclear program and schematics on the very bombs we ultimately used on Japan.” He rubs his hands alongside of his slacks as if he was wiping his hands of the incident. “I do not see Bob doing anything inappropriate like what you are saying. He was one of my most trusted employees. I can’t see him doing anything to ruin all he has accomplished.”
Straightening her suit jacket, the woman makes her way back to the Bronco. “I am afraid so. I am only showing you this courtesy in telling you this in case he returns here for further employment.”
“This is unbelievable, what has he done?” The director takes a couple steps to catch up.
“I assure you that this is true, however, I cannot mention the things he has done due to national security concerns. You understand.”
Looking down, defeated, he rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, yes, yes I do.”
“You need to protect the work and all you have accomplished here. I would suggest you erase all records of him in order to maintain the integrity of any project he was working on during his tenure here.”
Lifting his head, Director Hecker looks around the parking lot, then back at the woman. “That is a drastic measure.”
“It is a strong recommendation, for your protection.”
Director Hecker sticks out his chest. “That is an excellent idea. I will work on that first thing today. I have so much to do.” Shaking his head, he says, “We cannot afford this again.”
The black SUV pulls up behind them, and before she opens the door she turns to him and says, “Director, the United States government appreciates your help, and I appreciate your help, thank you.”