by T. D. Kohler
Without waiting for a response, she gets in the car. Standing there he watches it drive away, noting the government license plate. Nodding his head, he adjusts his tie and then turns with renewed purpose as he heads into the building.
Super 8,
Las Vegas, NV
March 30, 2140 hours
Sitting in a dark room, Bob Lazar checks his watch then peers back out the window. After a few minutes of watching cars drive by, he stands and paces as he gets lost in thought. There is a knock at the door, causing him to jump and make a quick dash to look out the window.
Outside, a gentleman is wearing an off-color blazer and is carrying a backpack, as well as a tote behind him. The man glancing between what appears to be a photograph and the door.
Releasing the curtains, Bob gets up and tentatively walks to the door. The gentleman knocks again just as it opens. He looks at the photograph then at Bob. “You must be Robert Lazar.” Smiling, he offers out his hand.
Shaking his hand, Bob says, “And you, are George Knapp. Please come in. We should not be talking with the door open.”
With his bags in tow, Knapp walks into the dark room while folding up the photo. “I’m not sure we should do this interview in the dark either.”
“No, you’re right.” Turning on the lights, he gestures towards a small table near the window. “If you don’t mind, can I ask you what that photo was a picture of?”
Unlatching his tote, Knapp takes out a collapsible tripod. Standing up, he turns and faces Mr. Lazar. Taking the photo from his jacket he hands it to him.
“That is a photo of you at a company picnic in Los Alamos. I talked to one of your co-workers, and he gave me this.”
“You went to Los Alamos?”
Knapp raises a hand motioning for him to wait. “Before we go any further, do you have a driver’s license and can I see it?”
Taking out his wallet, Lazar shows the reporter his license. “If you already have a verified photo of what I look like, then why did you want to see this?”
After finishing attaching a video recorder to the tripod, Knapp motions to a chair. “Well you may want to sit down for this.” Watching Lazar take a seat with his back to the window, he grabs the other chair and sits next to the recorder. “It would appear that you no longer exist. Meaning there are no records of you graduating from either California Tech or MIT. No records of you working at Los Alamos National Laboratories, despite an employee that remembers you. And to top it off, there is no record of your birth.”
He leans back in the chair and takes out and pen and notepad while watching Robert Lazar’s expression of disbelief.
“They cannot make me just disappear.” Lazar goes to stand back as the reporter holds his palm out to stop him.
“That is why we need to video record this interview,” Knapp mentions, matter of fact, as he reaches and turns on the recorder. “Perhaps we should start with your credentials. Who you are, and where do you work?”
Pursing his lips and nodding his head, Lazar pauses as he looks at the video recorder. “My name is Bob Lazar. I work, or rather worked, at an above top-secret research facility outside Groom Lake, here in Nevada.”
“What do you mean by, above top secret?”
Lazar nervously glances between the reporter and the recorder.
“I had a Majestic Clearance, which is thirty-eight levels above the well-known top-secret level. We worked on Project Galileo at S-4 with a small division of researchers, such as myself, who held that clearance.”
“How many people worked on the project with you?”
“Twenty-two people.”
Knapp glances up from writing. “Twenty-two people on the project?”
Lazar tries to keep his excitement in check, not wanting the reporter to confuse any facts. “No, twenty-two people total that worked in S-4. This is why I am contacting you. It's just unfair, outright, not to put it in the hands of the overall scientific community. There are people much more capable of dealing with this information and by this time would have gotten a lot further along than this small, select group of people working out in the middle of the desert. They don't even have the facilities, to completely analyze what they're dealing with."
“Are you referring to the flying saucers?”
Lazar chuckles and says, “Getting right to it, aren’t you? The conspiracies regarding the crash in Roswell may or may not be true. What I do know to be true is the ships they have there are not of this earth. The technologies they are reversing are taking decades to complete.”
“Can you give us an example of this technology?”
“Anti-matter reactors that allow the ships to produce their own gravitational fields. The old argument that we can never be visited by an alien race is due to the sheer distance, even at the speed of light.”
“What do you mean when you say gravitational field?”
Adjusting his glasses, Lazar straightens his back.
“Around the turn of the century, Nikolas Tesla was interviewed by the New York Times. He talks about an incident where he saw the past, present, and future at one moment. You see, gravity distorts time and space, Einstein theorized this. Just like if you had a waterbed and you put a bowling ball in the middle. It warps it down like that; that's exactly what happens to space. Imagine that you were in a spacecraft that could exert a tremendous gravitational field by itself. You could sit on any particular place and turn on the gravity generator and actually warp space and time by folding it. When you shut it off, you'd be a tremendous distance from where you were. However, time would not have even moved because you essentially shut it off.”
Lazar takes a moment to catch his breath and push up his glasses. “I mean it is so farfetched, people. It's difficult for people to grasp, and as stubborn as the scientific community is they'll never buy it, but this is, in fact, just what happens."
“Albert Einstein and Nathan Rosen theorized something along those lines. However, they theorized that the physics would make it impossible to use.” Leaning back in his chair, Knapp is proud of his burst of knowledge.
"Well, when you harness gravity, you harness everything. It's the missing piece in physics right now. We really know very little about gravity."
Taking a moment to open a water bottle and trying to register what was just said, all he can do is offer Lazar a water. “This is all interesting, but how do you suppose they, I mean these ships, are able to harness it, if you will. I mean it sounds all too fantastic to exist.”
“The technology to harness gravity not only exists; but, is being tested at S-4. If such technology is beyond human capabilities, it must have come from someplace else.” Reaching out he accepts the water bottle. “This is more than conjecture. There is an element that cannot be found on the periodic chart. The element, called 1-1-5, it is stored in these casings, and these ships utilize this element, creating a magnetic field that is capable of creating its own gravitational field. The government has five-hundred pounds of it, and it cannot be found or manufactured on Earth.”
Struggling to keep up, writing in his pad, Knapp raises a finger for him to hold on a second.
“There are a few elements on the periodic table that are man-made. Perhaps it is one of them and it just has not made it there as of yet.”
Lazar takes a second to sip his water. “It would be almost impossible, well, it is impossible, to synthesize an element that heavy here on Earth.”
Knapp smiles. “At least right now.”
“I don't think you can ever synthesize it. You essentially have to assemble it by bombarding it with electrons, atom by atom, and it would take an infinite amount of power and an infinite amount of time. The substance has to come from a place where super-heavy elements could have been produced naturally.”
Writing in his pad, Knapp has a feeling of overwhelming dread wash over him. “That type of technology sounds dangerous. If that is just one type of the technology that is being worked on there… What if some of these techno
logies were to get out and into the wrong hands? How much damage could even one person be able to cause?”
Lazar leans back in his chair. “I am not saying we should just open the gates, but we just need to let people know we are working on such things.”
Reviewing his notes, Knapp looks up and stares, concerned. “I’m for the Freedom of Information Act, but even I would be concerned if such technology fell into the wrong hands.”
2015
Alexandria International Airport,
Alexandria, LA
July 21, 0505 hours
Sitting in the back of the truck, Agent Nomi looks around the parking lot of AEX, “You know, I was researching the USS Eldridge on the drive up here. What did they call it? Project Rainbow?”
Leaning against the truck, Agent St. Clair unfolds his arms and raises his hands. “Don’t look at me, I didn’t name it.”
“Did all that really happen?” Nomi questions him with a disbelieving tone.
St. Clair chuckles. “Which part?”
Nomi kicks her feet harder. “You know, the green cloud, disappearing and reappearing in Norfolk.”
“That is where me and some friends of mine, Duncan and Edward Cameron, got off the ship. We jumped off—well we sort of freaked out when we started see my shipmates walking through the bulkheads.”
“Wait, that’s what you can do,” Nomi quips. “You call it phasing.”
Turning towards her he grips the edge of the truck bed. “You are getting ahead of the story again. Anyways, when we resurfaced from the water we were picked up by a small group of people that claimed they were waiting for us and that it was no longer 1943, but 1983.”
Pure awe and shock take over Agent Nomi. “You traveled in time? Can you do that now, too?”
St. Clair ignores the question. “These coils that have become part of my body are similar to the ones that Einstein, using Tesla’s technology and theories, used on the USS Eldridge. Now they allow me to exist, as in not phasing away completely.”
“So, the stories about sailors going mad or vanishing are true.” Squinting her eyes, Nomi peers at her partner.
St. Clair shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. I was not there, remember? I was sitting in a lab forty years later.”
“What do you know about these two agents we are waiting for? I’ve never heard of them.” Pursing her lips, Nomi shifts her gaze.
“Well Chatter, or Agent Eleadora Selenia, unbelievably intelligent, remembers everything, right down to the smallest detail. We call her Chatter because, well, she never shuts up, unless she’s reading or watching something. As for her partner, Grunt, we’ve never met. I heard about him though. They say he never talks, which is why they call him Grunt.”
“What kind of name is Eleadora Selenia?”
Giving her a double take, St. Clair scratches the back of his head. “You know, I’m not sure. I never thought to ask.”
Sitting back up and showing her frustration Nomi asks, “Why do we have to wait for them? Why can’t we just go after Nika’s killer ourselves?”
“Simple, Director Harris told us that we may need the help. We have no idea what we are up against, and I agree—we could use the help.” He sets his phone down as he watches Nomi’s reaction.
Nomi kicks her feet harder. “So, if I understand this right—and correct me if I’m wrong—we know where, and they know who, and that is why we are waiting for them.” Nomi pauses for effect. “You and I can take out anybody.”
“All true, but it is more like strength in numbers. Two days ago, two agents went to observe, and one was killed and the other is missing.” A tear begins to form in his eye. “I’m going to miss Nika. I was going to see if she wanted to go for drinks when we got back from Houston.”
Taking on an endearing tone, Nomi reaches up and lays a hand on his shoulder. “She is too young for you, Little John, and I don’t think she’s your type.”
The inner voice interrupts Nomi’s thoughts, “Was, not is, she’s dead.” Cringing at the voice she grips the tailgate, bending the metal and leaving hand impressions on the edge.
Hearing the metal bending St. Clair brushes his partner aside to get a better look.
“What are you doing? And why do you keep hurting the truck?” Straightening up, he pauses. “What do you mean she’s not my type? What makes you say that?”
“Because we were dating before our last mission outside Kandahar.” Nomi looks away and almost gets lost in thought. “Neither of us was never the same afterwards.”
“You both fought in Afghanistan? Wow, I am impressed.”
Nomi stands up in the bed and walks towards the front. Leaning against the rest window, she crosses arms. “Well don’t be, someone gave us bad intel. We had a feeling something was wrong, but we went in anyways. Out of the entire team, they only found enough pieces to put her and me together and . . .”
Raising his hand out in front of him, stopping her from saying more. “My apologies, Flea. Wait, did you say you two were dating?”
The inner voice sets Nomi’s nerves tingling all over. “I was wondering if this buffoon was going to catch that.”
Ignoring the voice, she makes her way back to St. Clair. “Yes, Little John, we dated. It hadn’t gotten to the serious level, but it was moving in that direction.” Pausing long enough to calm her nerves, she takes a deep breath before continuing. “We drifted apart after Kandahar while we were recovering with our losses. She was a strong woman, smart and gutsy. I want to know who is responsible for her death, so I can make him pay.”
A light, cheerful voice cuts into the night. “Little John! What are you doing here? You big stud you.”
The light-hearted voice surprises both agents. They turn to see a tall redhead and a short, stout man with an Eastern European complexion. Seeing the giant agent, the tall redhead rushes over and jumps into his arms. “Man, I have missed you. How’ve you been?”
After a quick, firm hug, he sets her down. “Doing good.” He gives her a look over. “Looks like you have been doing pretty well yourself. I heard they partnered you up?” They turn and look at Grunt who is looking up and staring at Agent St. Clair in awe. “You must be Agent Grunt.” St. Clair reaches out and offers him his hand.
The only part of Agent Grunt that moves is his arm as he reaches out to shake. St. Clair winces. “Nice grip.”
Effortlessly, Nomi jumps from the tailgate to the front corner of the cab. “So, are we going after these guys or not?”
Sticking his chest out, St. Clair ushers a hand out towards his partner. “Chatter, meet Agent Yukiko Nomi, or Flea as I call her.”
Agent Selenia smiles and looks at the agent sitting on the bed wall. “Agent Yukiko Nomi, born 1982. Father Japanese, mother American. Paralyzed in a botched attack outside Kandahar, became part of the ASYMB project to restore use of your legs.”
With a forced smile, Nomi looks at her partner as the inner voice sets her nerves on fire. “We need to kill her first.”
Struggling to maintain the smile, she looks back at Agent Selenia. “It is certainly a pleasure. Chatter is it?”
“I was unable to access the ASYMB program, perhaps you can tell me about it.”
“Chatter.” St. Clair raises a hand as he notices the muscles on his partner tensing up. Firming up his voice he interrupts Selenia.
Stopping abruptly, Selenia looks at St. Clair. Her eyes open in realization., “She has not told anyone.” Looking back at Nomi she says, “I am so sorry, I get carried away.” She turns her attention back to St. Clair, but before she can say something else.
Nomi speaks up. The tension is still in her tone. “So, you guys know who we are supposed to get, right?”
“Yes and no. We have police cam video of the nineteenth when we believe something happened to the agents that were there. There was an altercation with the LEO’s, however, we do not see even one of the agents until after the altercation. That agent was, or is . . . her status is still unknown, Agent Kristen Abergat
hy. She’s seen removing the cam from the car. At no point do we even get a glimpse of Agent Carol.”
Turning her back to Nomi, Selenia looks at St. Clair. “So, we are not sure if that is who is responsible.”
Agent Nomi’s inner voice takes on an impatient tone. “You know you can shut her up.”
Nomi and St. Clair look at each other as he notices her tensing up. He gives her a faint knowing, smile then looks over at the tall redhead.
“Chatter, did you say you have a video? Perhaps we could all watch it again. We’ve been in the movie-watching mode as of late.” In the corner of his eye he senses what he thinks is a slight grin from Grunt.
“Yes, we do. Grunt’s been watching it non-stop on the flight. Speaking of flights, have you guys ever flown in one of the Hawker Siddeley models? Unbelievable ride!” Grunt fishes out of his carrying bag an electronic pad, attached to it is a thumb drive. Selenia pauses long enough to see the iPad being handed to her.
“Now as you watch this, know that we have already identified two individuals. One is an agent out of the Las Vegas Branch, Kristen Abergathy. The other is more of a focus for us, Admiral Julian Kay.”
St. Clair stiffens.
Realizing this she, Selenia quickly puts a hand on his chest. “Oh, I forgot you were navy.”
Nomi notices the uneasiness of her partner, and she moves silently into a pouncing position on the edge of the truck bed. Nomi’s inner voice syncs with her own thoughts, “Now do we get to shut her up?” Before she can act on her impulses, Nomi feels a strong, heavy hand lightly grip her right foot. Looking down she sees Agent Grunt has noticed her silent movements. Their eyes make contact, and a sense of calmness relaxes her. She slowly steps back into the truck bed.
Oblivious to what is going on around her, Selenia continues to ramble. “Anyways, the admiral has stolen ATS equipment. What his game plan is has yet to be determined.” Looking at St. Clair and Nomi she continues, “The agent is an intelligent up-and-comer who is partnered with Agent Carol.”