by R. D. Brady
“What, you don’t believe that?” Maxwell challenged.
“Well, I’d probably believe it more if the initials of your new department didn’t spell D-E-A-D.”
Maxwell paused, his mouth hanging open, and Greg could tell he was just now figuring that out. Then Maxwell shook his head a triumphant smile on his face. “It doesn’t spell D-E-A-D. it spells D-O-E-A-D.”
Greg grinned, surprised the guy had been able to figure that out without writing it down. And then, of course, without asking how to spell extraterrestrial. “True, but I’m pretty sure everyone is going to call it D.E.A.D.”
Tidwell cut in. “Dr. Schorn, the President is asking for your help. We’ve been sent to recruit you as part of our intelligence division.”
Greg leaned back, placing his hands behind his head, and smiled. “Tell him I appreciate the request, but no thanks.”
“Your country is asking for your help,” Maxwell sputtered.
“My country tried to murder me not that long ago. So not really trusting anything they say they need from me.”
Tidwell smiled. “We’re a new agency, created by the President himself. Of course you can trust—”
Greg shook his head. “Nope, I don’t.”
She tried again. “But—”
He smiled. “No.”
“God damn it,” Maxwell growled. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Well, it’s probably the fact that I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in three months. Or maybe it’s the constant government surveillance of my home, my car, my everything. Or maybe it’s just that I don’t like you.”
Maxwell took a step forward. “Doesn’t matter. The President has said you need to cooperate. And you will, either voluntarily or involuntarily.”
Greg raised an eyebrow. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to be trusting? Are you planning on forcefully taking me to God knows where?”
“No, no. Of course not.” Tidwell stood, placing a hand on her partner’s arm, which he shrugged off.
“Good.” Greg’s voice hardened. “Because I will tell you what I have told every other agent who has attempted to strong-arm me—I have safety measures in place. If I do not send a certain message at a certain time every few hours, copious copies of my research at Area 51 will go out to all major news agencies, to all major bloggers, and to a few extra governmental entities. So think very carefully about how many people you want to know about what happened at Area 51.”
“We are not the bad guys, Dr. Schorn. And we are just looking for some help,” Tidwell said.
Greg snorted. “Yeah. I’ve heard that before. Be sure to close the door on your way out.”
Bob growled as he slammed the car door. “What a prick.”
Norah looked over at him but said nothing.
“What? You don’t think he’s a prick?”
“I think Dr. Schorn has been through a lot. And if he has had government agencies hounding him…”
“Well, boo-hoo for him. We are being sent on behalf of the President. He should be fricking honored to be asked instead of turning us down.”
Norah knew Bob was wrong about that. She’d been able to read a good deal about the incident at 51, but most of it had been redacted. The few people she had spoken with had been haunted. Three had been so nervous they could barely sit still.
By comparison, Dr. Schorn was holding up pretty well. “Do you think he was telling the truth?” Norah asked as Bob pulled out of the parking lot.
“About what?”
“About the government trying to kill him.”
“Please, the U.S. government isn’t in the murder game. Guy’s paranoid.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, we got some time before we need to drop you at the airfield. Want to grab some tacos?”
“Yeah, sure,” she said, her mind still on Schorn. He didn’t seem paranoid. He seemed angry. And she couldn’t blame him. But the U.S. government wouldn’t condone murder, would they?
CHAPTER NINE
DULCE, NEW MEXICO
Martin Drummond walked into his office, pulling back his long, still-damp, dark hair into a ponytail. He’d just finished a weight-lifting session and a five-mile run at the gym on the second level. After Area 51, he’d been spending most of his time here, and he needed the comforts of home, which included the gym for his private use and an apartment on the same level.
He’d had a steam shower installed and he had to admit it was well worth the cost. He wandered over to the long picture window that made up the back wall of his office and overlooked the lab.
Almost makes one forget they’re living six stories underground.
The facility had been created in the rush to create an underground base to hide the U.S.’s military activities from the Soviets. But soon the bases were used to hide much more from the public’s eye. This particular facility had been the site of one of Martin’s greatest coups. And over the years, he’d managed to wrest control from the U.S. government. Now, very few in government even realized it still existed.
Below him, the lab was a sea of activity. The walls by the floor were shorn clean, but higher up the mottled brown and gray rock walls remained jagged with sharp edges. Inside the lab were rows of stainless steel tables and millions of dollars in equipment. But the medical equipment, expensive as it was, was not the most expensive objects in the lab. No, the creatures held in holding cells along the back of the room were the most expensive. In fact, being many of them were the only ones of their kind on Earth, they were priceless.
He watched with cool detachment as a Birmingham-AG1 was strapped to a metal table. Long straps were wrapped around its muscular feet, knees, waist, neck, and head. The Birmingham looked reptilian with its short snout and green skin. It could barely move, which was exactly what was intended. A glass case was placed around the stretcher, offering yet another barrier. The Birmingham could leap incredible distances, and they were intelligent. The DNA used to recreate this one was technically pure alien, although the DNA had been slightly modified to make them aggressive yet controllable.
Today it was being tested with different chemicals to see which would be advantageous in a confrontation. Martin tilted his head, wondering what was being administered into the creature’s drip by the lab tech and how long they would have to wait to know.
Only seconds passed before the creature began to shake, a white foam spraying from its mouth and coating the glass case. Apparently not very long at all. The seizure lasted for another minute and then the alien went still, staring straight ahead. Martin pulled out his phone and typed.
Is it alive?
The response was almost immediate. Yes.
He put his phone back in his pocket. Promising.
This type of testing had been the entire reasoning behind Project Vault. The United States government had placed too many restrictions on experiments, in the name of humane treatment of these creatures.
Martin grimaced. Humane treatment should only be reserved for humans. They needed to know what threat these creatures offered and what potential defenses they could provide. That was the reason behind all of this, at least as far as Martin was concerned. But less-evolved minds seemed to think that science for science’s sake was important.
Martin watched as the Birmingham was locked in one of the holding cells at the back of the lab. They had tested dozens of creatures in this lab since Area 51 had been bombed. But the more they tested, prodded, and dissected, the more Martin realized he needed one creature specifically: Subject One. The one they called Alvie. He was a merge of alien and human DNA, a process Martin had not been able to replicate successfully despite all his resources. Alvie himself was a clone. The DNA was from a thousand-year-old skull found in a washed-out cave in a canyon in Mexico in the early twentieth century. Dr. Maeve Leander had escaped from Area 51 with Alvie and an additional three clones.
Unlike the other creatures the A.L.I.V.E. Project had created, Alvie could and did communic
ate. He also demonstrated incredible dexterity and, much to Martin’s surprise, aggressive skills. Replicating that within a human army would be astounding … and very lucrative. Martin was a patriot, but he also knew money was what made the world turn.
But Martin’s desire to procure Alvie went beyond mere financial gain. Alvie was the reason Martin had been exiled from the A.L.I.V.E. Project for years. He’d had to claw his way back. So getting that particular creature back wasn’t just business. It was personal.
Besides, Leander had taken Martin’s property with her. And while the U.S. government might have been the ones footing the bill, the idea behind the project, the impetus behind the projects, had come from Martin. He had helped bring Alvie into existence, and as far as he was concerned, with the time and energy he’d put into the A.L.I.VE. Project, he owned Alvie. And all the others as well.
But the attempts to get his property back had run into a rather large snag. He had searched high and low for Leander and her hybrids, but she had hidden herself well. Of course, she did have the President of the United States aiding her. Once his position as director of BOSAC had been terminated, many doors had been shut to him. But Martin had been in the intelligence game too long to let something like the lack of official connections get in his way. He had already called in markers to get the right words whispered in the right ears. He just needed a few more pieces to fall into place.
A beep sounded on his computer and he walked over to see what Hamish Rheinberg, his head of IT, wanted. He was the only one allowed to directly message him. He read the screen and smiled. And here’s one piece now.
He retook his seat and pulled up the file Hamish had sent. Cases of alien sightings or attacks were popping up all over the western half of the country, but a few had extended as far east as Ohio. There’d been over two dozen of them so far. A few had resulted in casualties, but most were just injuries, which was surprising. Each one, though, added a little more information on the subjects, which was the most critical component of them.
Originally, Martin had not been happy to learn some of the subjects had survived the blast. But it had actually turned out to be useful. Project Vault had been an attempt to discern the fighting capabilities of the alien species, but they had been limited by the base itself as to what scenarios the creatures would face. The ones that had escaped were facing a range of scenarios Martin could never have dreamed of. A Polk-AG3 had tracked and killed a group of seasoned hunters in the Moab Desert. They hadn’t even known the thing could survive in a desert environment.
An Ubatuba-AG2 had attacked a family boating in Lake Tahoe. The family survived, but the creature had taken a bite of the father’s arm.
A Kingman-AG1 had been seen in Phoenix, although it had not initiated contact with any humans. Agents had been able to apprehend it.
The list went on. They were learning more and more every day. So it was with more than a little excitement that Martin sat at his keyboard. Let’s see what you boys have been up to.
He clicked open the file and read quickly. Frowning, he read through it again. Something was wrong here. Two Blue Boys had attacked a woman and her son in Greeley County, in the western part of Kansas. And by some miracle, both of them had survived the attack. Martin inspected the pictures of the Blue Boy on the kitchen floor. Half the thing’s head was missing. The woman had done that with a shotgun, which was impressive. The flight response was more common in people when faced with a Blue, and things did not usually end well for them. But apparently this woman had the fight response and it had saved her life.
And then she had apparently tried to run down another one who was chasing her son. He shook his head. He’d heard the maternal instinct could be strong. Not that he’d had any experience with that. But apparently for Sandra Gillibrand it was damn strong if she was willing to face a second one.
And that part of the incident was fine, consistent with both the Blues’ behavior and what he knew of maternal protectiveness. It was the next part that was problematic.
The Blue that had chased the son was found in pieces in the cornfield, and the boy was nowhere nearby. From the attached photos, it was clear the boy was as skinny as a beanpole. He certainly hadn’t fought the Blue Boy off. And maternal instinct was one thing, but the mother would have needed claws and super strength to do that kind of damage.
No, something else had destroyed the creature.
The woman had returned to the farm to get help after being unable to find the boy. And the boy had been there. He frowned. Strange. He supposed the boy could have doubled back. But it felt off. There was something here. He quickly typed a note to Hamish.
Find me any reports of any unusual sightings in the Greeley County area in the last three weeks.
Will do.
Some of the subjects had not been accounted for in the aftermath of 51. He knew there were some still out there, but none would have the capability of dismembering a Blue Boy.
In fact, there were only two species that he knew that would be capable of it. One was the Kecksburg-AG1 and they had all been accounted for. As for the other …
He frowned, staring at the screen where the image of the Blue Boy in the field was still displayed.
I wonder… He grabbed the phone and dialed quickly. Hamish didn’t pick up until the fifth ring. “Yo.”
“Hamish.”
“Oh, uh, sir. Yes. What can I do for you?”
“I need you to run a check on the computer systems. Some of the projects should not have been released. I need you to make sure that they were not freed and that their containment units were destroyed.”
“Yes, sir. Um, when do you—”
“Immediately.”
“Yes, sir. I—”
Martin disconnected the call, staring at the images of what was left of the Blue Boy. It’s not him. He’s dead.
But the truth was there had been no evidence of it. In fact, Martin had searched the camera feeds personally, and he had not seen any sign of him, not even a hint.
Still, he hadn’t checked on him during the project. There’d been too much else to watch. And besides, of all the projects at Area 51, he was the one that Martin had known he didn’t have to worry about.
Because he was the one project that was not supposed to have been freed.
CHAPTER TEN
BUCKLEY AIR FORCE BASE
AURORA, COLORADO
The ground was coming up fast, and Maeve’s stomach did a little flip flop. Normally she didn’t have a problem with flying. Of course, she’d never been in a helicopter before. And the tension that had been winding through her since she’d agreed to this meeting only added to her nerves. Wilson had agreed verbally to lab access for Maeve but had argued that arranging for that access would take time. As a sign of good faith, Maeve had agreed to meet with his science committee as long as the existence of Alvie and the triplets was not revealed. Wilson had wasted no time setting it up, which was why, twelve hours later, she’d found herself leaving the ranch for the first time since she’d gone into hiding.
Since she’d arrived at the ranch, she had dreamed of getting away, at least for a little while. But now that she had the chance, she found that she hated being away from her gang. She knew Chris would protect them with his life, but after the call from Greg about the new government agency Wilson had created and the President’s quick setup of this meeting, she couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that something was in the works. Something that would not be good for her or her little family.
“Five minutes, Dr. Leander,” the pilot called through the headset.
Maeve nodded and then realized the pilot couldn’t see the action, but she didn’t seem to be waiting for a reply, so Maeve turned her attention back to the ground. She’d been driven to Denver International Airport and then the helicopter had picked her up to take her to Buckley Air Force Base.
She’d thought Buckley was an interesting choice for a meeting. Buckley employed approximately 93,000 individuals,
making it much smaller than Wright-Pat, where she, Chris, and Alvie had formerly been. But there were a few unique aspects to the base. It had a space-based missile warning system, space surveillance operations, as well as space communication and support functions. Maeve glanced down at it. That’s a lot of focus on space.
“Just a few more minutes,” Secret Service agent Mike Bileris said from the seat next to her. Maeve had met the Bileris when he had shown up in the tunnels underneath Edwards Air Force Base. In fact, he and his team were the reason she, Chris, Alvie, and the triplets were alive. They’d been trapped by Martin Drummond’s forces in the tunnels that connected U.S. military bases as far west as California and as far east as Oklahoma.
Bileris was a member of President Graham Wilson’s personal security detail. He had shown up this morning claiming that he was here to personally demonstrate how serious the President took Maeve’s participation in today’s meeting. But Maeve was pretty sure he was really there to make sure she actually attended the meeting. The President insisted it was critical in moving forward. He had not mentioned what they were moving forward to, but she didn’t think public disclosure was it.
After Area 51, Maeve was shocked that the world at large remained oblivious to the events that had unfolded at the military base. Life and death had been played out above and below the grounds of the base and the world simply kept on chugging, none the wiser. Over a hundred people had been killed and God knew how many non-humans. And the world remained blissfully ignorant to it.
On the one hand, Maeve did believe it was best for the world not to be made aware of the activities of Area 51. It would only place Alvie and the triplets at risk. But at the same time, the ability of the government to keep the death of American citizens and the explosion of an atomic bomb from the public terrified her. After all, if they managed to keep such an enormous event out of the public view, what else were they hiding?