The Roswell Protocols

by Allan Burd

  “What’s the matter?” Dr. Peterson asked softly.

  “It’s too dark. My flashlight won’t work. It’s so dark in here now,” she whimpered. “Daddy. DADDY!” Now she was yelling, clearly terrified. She flailed her arms then brought them to her chest, as if she had just grabbed Rufus for protection. “Dad—”

  She went strangely silent.

  Dr. Miller stood up and insisted, by mouthing the words, that she be woken up.

  Peterson continued. “What’s happening Stacy?”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “I want you to be a brave little girl and tell me what’s going on,” Dr. Peterson said.

  Her lips fluttered slowly. “The monsters are here. They’re taking me. Go away. Leave me alone. GO AWAY!” she screamed, her tone fluctuating again between adult and child personas.

  Peterson tried to calm her. If the adult voice took over, crucial details would be lost. “I’m right here with you, Stacy. There’s no reason to be afraid. Where are they taking you?”

  “Out of my room. They’re taking me … somewhere else,” her normal voice was speaking again but she was going with it. “I don’t know where I am anymore.”

  Damn, the adult voice was back, Peterson thought. “Try to remember,” he added, still clinging to hope that Stacy was fully in the moment.

  “I … I don’t know. It’s not home. No, it is home. I’m back in my bedroom again. I wasn’t a moment ago, but now I’m back. They’re still here. I’m in my bed and they’re still here. They’re surrounding me. Looking down at me. No, no, no, no. Get away from me. They’re doing things to me I don’t like. NOOOOOO!” she screamed in sheer terror.

  Dr. Miller jumped up from his chair. “Wake her up now.” He didn’t care about the process. He couldn’t bear to watch her suffer anymore.

  But Dr. Peterson was too close. Something was happening and now was their chance to find out what. She was finally remembering. He refused to stop. “Who’s doing things to you, Stacy?”

  “Go away. DADDY! DADDY! Make them stop,” the little girl cried.

  “What are they doing to you?”

  “They’re hurting me.”

  “Who’s hurting you?”

  “THE SHARKMEN. THE SHARKMEN ARE HURTING ME,” her adult persona screamed. Then her voice became softer. “Daddy. Make them go away, please,” she pleaded like a child.

  Then there was silence.

  No more screams.

  No more terrified expressions.

  An anxious few moments passed before Dr. Peterson spoke again. “Are you OK, Stacy?”

  “Yes, I’m OK.” Surprisingly, it was the little girl’s voice that answered.

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m back in my bedroom,” she pouted.

  “I thought you were already in your bedroom?” he asked.

  “No. I’m back in my real bedroom again.”

  The doctors looked at each other, clearly puzzled by that comment. “Who’s with you, Stacy?” Peterson asked.

  “Rufus, Mr. Cuddles, and Daddy, of course.”

  Jack didn’t like what he was hearing. “Stacy, on the count of five I’m going to snap my fingers. When I do that, I want you to remember everything you saw, every detail of your experience, and I want you to come out of the trance. One … two … three … four … five.” He snapped his fingers hard.

  “Stacy,” asked Dr. Miller, “are you OK?”

  “Yeah.” She was groggy but her voice was normal.

  “Do you remember what you just experienced?”

  Stacy hesitated. “I’m not sure. I think… Was that real?”

  Both doctors looked at each other again. Despite everything they had just heard and seen, the truth was, they really didn’t know.

  46

  COAST MOUNTAINS

  Gaines sat in front of the computer monitor in the provisional canvas tent Carlson’s team had put up. He was always impressed how quickly a dedicated group of professionals could set up a temporary base camp, even under the most difficult conditions. Doubly so that the technology they handled was such that he could communicate with Ottawa, via satellite relay, from the middle of a mountain range.

  He had just sent in his field report along with a request for full cooperation with the Americans, including the sharing of documentation and facilities after the mission was complete. He knew his request would not be well received, but they would comply anyway given the extraordinary circumstances.

  It would be a few minutes before he received a reply, along with instructions on how to proceed. To keep himself busy, he read the E-mailed intelligence estimate sent by the Admiral.

  Early morning, 0535 Eastern Standard Time, only seconds before the UFO was caught on radar, the Anik E-1 commercial satellite faltered. The Anik E-1 is responsible for the transmission of credit card transactions, electronic paging requests, TV and radio broadcasts, etc. Reason for failure was a high intensity electromagnetic storm triggered by a solar flare slamming into the earth’s magnetic field at supersonic speeds. Cause was confirmed by two observing satellites: the Fast Auroral Snapshot Explorer and the Advanced Composition Explorer. Intelligence theorizes this event was also the cause of the UFO crash. Our scientists at the university support this hypothesis.

  Interesting, but ultimately irrelevant, Gaines thought.

  Rebecca entered the tent with two cups of hot coffee. She handed one to Gaines, who eagerly took it, feeling the warmth on his hands. “The ultimate ration,” he commented before taking a sip. The hot drink was just what he needed to keep him alert and warm. Even though he had caught a couple hours rest on the plane, it had been a long day and he had a long way to go before it ended.

  Rebecca briefly peered at the computer screen, then, noting nothing of importance, paced about. “Steele’s been med-evac’d out. The doctors say he’ll be fine.”

  Gaines nodded.

  “Anything?” she asked, referring to the E-mail.

  “Not really. The think tank says an electromagnetic storm is responsible for the spaceship crashing. Imagine that. This whole affair started by bad weather in space.”

  “Hmmph. Interesting, but of no practical use.”

  Gaines grinned at her. “My sentiments exactly.” He paused. “What are the three stooges doing?”

  “Logan and Jeff are on board the ship. Logan’s trying to decipher the writing. Jeff’s … studying, for lack of a better word.”

  “Getting a head start, huh. Don’t let them near anything until it’s been swept, inventoried and tagged. Have men assigned to them too. Let’s keep a close eye on them.”

  “Already done.”

  “And Chase?” Gaines asked warily.

  “He’s in the other tent contacting his commanders. Everything he says is being monitored and documented to make sure it’s on the up and up.”

  Gaines nodded thoughtfully then took another long sip, hoping the caffeine would soon have the desired effect.

  “What are our orders?” she asked.

  “I’ll know in just a few minutes.”

  His thoughts became lost. He stared into her beautiful brown eyes, cherishing the pleasant shape of her face and her short but stylish hair. Ah, but that was only the surface. What he saw inside was even better. He admired the way she always carried herself. She was confident without arrogance. A pillar of strength that never wavered no matter what the circumstances.

  He was in love.

  He was tired.

  Tired of waiting. Tired of living alone. Tired of succumbing to his subconscious fear of commitment. As soon as this mission was over, he would tell her how he felt.

  “I didn’t say it before but thanks for saving me,” he said with a brief smile.

  Her expression warmed. “You’re welcome.”

  He loved her smile. He quickly took another sip, as if there wasn’t just a moment between them.

  The quick change did not go unnoticed. “I’m sorry about Pierre,” she said softly. “How
are you holding up?”

  He sighed. His grief too would have to wait until this mission was over. “As well as I always do.”

  The computer beeped. Words scrolled across the screen.

  “Here we go,” he said. They both turned their attention to the screen as Gaines read the instructions aloud.

  Losses regrettable. Proposal for cooperation with the Americans understood and accepted. Contact with government officials already established. Prime Minister has been alerted to possible crisis. Proceed on schedule. Transport all cargo to Yukon Base Five. Use all security measures you deem necessary.

  Rebecca stared. “Possible crisis?”

  As quickly as possible, Gaines filled her in on his remarkable conversation with Colonel Chase from earlier on in the day.

  “You believe all that bullshit?” Rebecca asked.

  “I’m expecting confirmation a little later, but yeah, I do.”

  “What are my instructions?”

  “Tell Carlson I want everything ready for transport at 17:30. That should coincide with nightfall. Tell him I want everything completely concealed, covered, and camouflaged. We’re going to take everything out by helicopter, then transfer the smaller stuff to trucks and go the rest of the way by ground. The ship is going to have to follow by air. We can’t find a low hauler trailer big enough to transport it. I’m also requesting an aerial escort of four F-18 Hornets just in case. If more aliens do show up, I want to be prepared. I need you to clear the routes leading to Yukon Base Five. I want all traffic diverted. That includes air traffic too. I don’t want anybody within fifty miles of us in any direction.”

  What Gaines couldn’t possibly know, was that right at that moment, fifty miles above him on the outskirts of space, a pair of mechanical eyes were already watching. The data received was relayed via four other satellites and downloaded into the BADGE (Base Air Defence Ground Environment) computerized system for the Japanese Air Self Defence Force. The end result was real-time photos quickly appearing on a computer screen in the Tokyo office of General Sato Yamakazi.

  Sato was extremely pleased with himself. His agents were trained well enough to recognize and purchase the most valuable piece of information he had ever seen—the exact location of the UFO. And they were loyal enough to bring it directly to him. He was certain, if they had given the information to anyone else in his government, his plans to retrieve the ship, his career, and most likely his life, would be at an end. He was just as certain that if any of those other miscreants were in charge, they would have let the most important finding of the new millennium slip away.

  But he was a visionary. And as such, in his mind, he was the only one capable of pulling off the intelligence coup of the century. No one would stop him. Not his own countrymen and especially not the ignorant Westerners. They did not deserve the ship. They were nothing but a bunch of undisciplined cowboys who charged into every situation with guns blazing and lassos spinning, regardless of the consequences to their community. Society, duty, obligation, and honor meant nothing to them.

  The truth—and he would never admit it—was that he was exactly the same.

  47

  PRINCE RUPERT

  Dr. Brad Miller paced back and forth. He did not like what he had heard at all. Not from Stacy, and now not from Dr. Peterson. Stacy was freshening up in the bathroom and out of earshot.

  “Listen,” Miller said, “I know where you’re going with all this and you’re wrong. I’ve known the man most of my life and he’s not capable of that.”

  Dr. Peterson sat at the kitchen table, undeterred while drinking his Coke. “She’s got all the classic symptoms. Weren’t you listening to her? She was with her father. After her father left, the monsters came. She was taken from her bedroom, to another similar bedroom, where somehow she was violated. She was screaming Daddy the whole time. It is classic displacement and denial. The monster is her father. While it’s happening, she displaces the event so it takes place elsewhere—even though she as much told us it’s the same place. It’s all symptomatic of a child who’s been molested by her parent. I’ve seen it before.”

  Dr. Miller shook his head. “Look. Everything you just said is true, but it’s wrong. Don’t you think I looked into that years ago? That’s not it. That poor girl is frightened to death of something and we have to find out what.” He took a seat at the other end of the table and tried to settle down.

  “I’m telling you,” Peterson insisted, “she’s frightened to learn the truth about her father.”

  “I was not molested by my father,” Stacy said as she entered the room.

  “I didn’t—,” stumbled Dr. Peterson, his face turning pink.

  Stacy stopped him before he went any further. “It’s OK. I’m not stupid. I know what you’re thinking and why, but it’s not true. I love my father. We have a great relationship and he would never have done anything like that. Whatever’s causing my nightmares is from something else.”

  The room fell silent. No one knew what to say next. Dr. Peterson wondered, what could cause a girl to imagine these things and be terrified every day since? Was it really her imagination? Did her mind create these demons in order to protect her from reality? Or was it really something else?

  Stacy rescued the moment. “You guys hungry? I haven’t eaten anything all day.” She had an irresistible smile, radiating an innocence no man could say no to.

  “Sounds like a wonderful idea,” said Dr. Miller, glad the subject was changed.

  “Fine,” responded Peterson. As he rose from his chair, he reached down for Stacy’s book, “Princess Zinfandel vs. the Sharkmen”. He decided to bring it with him. He studied the villains closely—so like the creatures she described. So like … then it struck him. What if it was real? What if?

  48

  ALASKA

  Nikolai strode through the vast warehouse, passing large empty shipping crates that smelled unpleasantly of dead fish. Ignoring the nasty stink, he headed straight toward the back door and made his way onto the loading dock. He looked around searching for the two men whose faces he had seen only in photographs; Arkady Rusikov and Ivan Lisky, better known to their coworkers as Arnie Rayce and Stephen Lester.

  His eyes scanned the row of trucks, some of which were currently being unloaded. Nikolai counted six men working, none matching the identity of the men he was looking for. He stared further and spotted Arkady on the west end of the loading dock, leaning against the wall, a cigarette protruding limply from his mouth. Nikolai removed a pack of smokes from his jacket pocket, knocked one into his hand, and then re-pocketed the pack before walking over to Arkady.

  “Got a light?” Nikolai asked.

  Arkady sized him up. He took another puff of the cigarette then expelled a long wispy cloud of smoke. “I don’t smoke,” he replied.

  Nikolai fixed his intimidating gaze upon the man. Then his features softened and he placed the cigarette on his ear. “Me neither. These things will kill you.”

  Arkady shook his head knowingly and took another puff. He turned to the men unloading the truck, then back towards the side yard where three men were cutting and sorting fish. “Hey, Steve!” he yelled out.

  The largest of the three looked up. Ivan Lisky stood six-feet five inches and was built like a tank. He was bald and his bushy eyebrows cast shadows over his unshapely face. He reminded Nikolai of some of the toughest men he had under his command. Arkady tilted his head sharply, signaling the man to come over. He nodded, then grabbed a long gutting hook from the table and approached.

  Nikolai eyed the large man, focusing on a scar that ran down the left side of his face. It wasn’t present in the photograph from his files. The large man stared back at him.

  “Looks fresh,” said Nikolai.

  “Come on,” Arkady said. “What you need is this way.”

  The three men crossed the concrete dock, making their way to the opposite end.

  “What happened?” Nikolai asked Steve.

  Arkady answered.
“Bar fight. Our friend here took exception when some loud mouth started to berate Russian hockey. He figured his charm and good looks would quiet the man. Instead, the guy unwisely smashed a bottle into his face.”

  Nikolai stared again at the scar and then at Steve, who grinned back at him, proud that he defended his countrymen. Nikolai remembered what he read in his profile: cold-blooded, merciless, perfect for small-time jobs requiring muscles more than brains. “You didn’t kill him, I hope.”

  “No,” Arkady said, “even he isn’t that stupid. Hurt ‘em good, though. Luckily, the other patrons saw his actions as self defense and the cops let him go.” Arkady stopped at the truck parked in the last slot. “This one’s yours.”

  Nikolai walked toward the front of the eighteen-wheeler, with Arkady and Ivan right behind him. He waited until he was out of the other worker’s sight, then whirled swiftly and punched Ivan in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of the big man. Ivan slumped back against the side of the vehicle gasping for air. Nikolai grabbed the gutting hook from his grasp and placed the sharp end against Ivan’s throat. Suddenly, Ivan stopped gasping and his eyes widened in fear like a deer caught in headlights.

  “You are a stupid man, Ivan,” Nikolai growled. “We spent years providing your cover and in a moment of national pride you seek to throw away all our hard work. Do you know what would have happened if you were arrested—if the police decided to delve into your background?” He leaned the blade into his neck, pushing the skin back but not hard enough to cut it. Then his eyes bored into Ivan’s to gain his true measure. Lucky for Ivan, Nikolai saw remorse. “Your position may not seem like that big a deal to you, but it is very important to the rest of us. I hope you realize that now.”

  Ivan nodded as best he could.

  “Good,” said Nikolai, moving the hook away from his throat. “But if I ever hear about anything like this happening again, our next discussion will not be as pleasant.” He momentarily played with the hook, testing its weight. Then with a flip of the wrist, he threw it. Its point imbedded into the ground only inches from Ivan’s feet. He turned to Arkady. “Is the truck properly equipped?”