The Goldilocks Zone

by David D. Luxton

  “Interesting look,” he said. “Listen, Ben, I’ve always had an interest in UFOs, but now with all that’s going on, I’d like to do another in-depth investigative story on the Byrnes and the Proxima Foundation.”

  I was suspicious. Did he want me to do the story because I was the story—the journalist who went to work for the very person I’d discredited for being a hoax, who claimed to be abducted by aliens, then went back to the people I’d exposed for guidance?

  I scratched an itch under my beanie. “Why not ask someone else to do it? You’ve got some good writers on staff.”

  “But you worked closely with the Byrnes—you’d have a unique perspective. There’s no one who’s had the experiences you’ve had.”

  “So it’s not about me, but the Byrnes—what it’s like being part of their organization?”

  “Something like that. And since you are no longer their employee, you’re free to do a story. I think our readers would be quite interested in hearing what you have to say, based on your experiences.”

  I was curious. “How did you know I no longer work for them?”

  Marcus smiled. “A little birdie told me.”

  I stared at him. “My non-disclosure agreement could be an issue.”

  “I can have our attorney look at it. No problem.”

  I was still suspicious. Was something more nefarious at play? Was his request part of a propaganda campaign? Was Marcus under EMF mind control influence, too?

  “What kind of author’s freedom would I have with this story?”

  “Full. I guarantee it. Of course, I have to review it. Do we have a deal?”

  “Can I get that in a contract?”

  “I’ll have the attorney draft it today, no problem. And we can pay you ten thousand for the story. Three-week deadline. Can you do that?”

  Ten thousand for three weeks of work. Not bad. I needed the money.

  “What about some of the things that I know about the Byrnes business dealing?”

  “If it’s contextual, sure. What specifically are you referring to?”

  “I have some info about their land deals and with cellular towers. They own a bunch of land with cell tower leases, new 5G towers, and they’re involved in testing some new technology involving cell towers and a mobile app.”

  “What do you mean, new technology? What does it do?”

  “Generates mind-altering frequencies.”

  He looked at me curiously. “Mind control?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, mind control.” I kept my eyes on his face.

  He rubbed his chin. “Interesting. You have evidence?

  “Of course.”

  “I’ve taken an interest in this 5G thing myself since the Yakama article. I was about to put someone on a new story, but for some reason I didn’t. Go ahead and write what you want to write on this one. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.”

  “So let make sure I’m hearing you correctly. You will let me write a story about anything I want related to the Byrnes?”

  “As long as it isn’t defamation or violate the nondisclosure you have. It’s all fair game.”

  “Full control over what I write?”

  He smiled. “Yes, Ben, though now I’m wondering what you have in mind.”

  “I’ll do it,” I said excitedly.

  We shook hands.

  I couldn’t believe it. He was giving me full control. Hot Reports prided itself on publishing articles that were controversial, even to questioning government and corporate actions and programs. They prided themselves on being an independent publisher, which is why I went to write for them to begin with.

  Over the next week, I forgot my suspicions and wrote the article. I dug deep into the possible link between cell towers and sightings of UFOs. I showed it to Marcus.

  “You have evidence?”

  I handed him the flash drive will all the data I’d compiled.

  “Are you sure about all this and the 5G mind control stuff?”

  “Yes, as far as I can tell.”

  “Go ahead and send it to the copy editor. We’ll get it queued up in the next issue. Yours will be the front story.”

  I was ecstatic.

  That afternoon, I received a letter-sized Fed Ex package with a Missoula P.O. Box as the return address. It had to be from the Byrnes, probably another cease-and-desist or death threat. I opened it. Inside the outer envelope was a second envelop made of copper foil. I carefully opened it and removed a one-page typed letter on standard office paper.

  You’ve been selected by random drawing to attend a special event at the Proxima Foundation Ranch. Daniel Byrne will be communing with a delegation from Proxima Centauri b. Due to sensitivity of the Proximians, and at their request, there will be no cell phones, cameras, or electronic devices of any kind allowed. You must bring this invitation and present at the gate on the day of the arrival.

  There was also a QR code with instructions to log onto a website on a particular day when a secure message would tell me the exact date and time to arrive. I made the list!

  My thoughts were all over the place. Was it a trap? Were they trying to lure me back to kill me? Mike and Chester had pointed guns at me and locked me in a shipping container. Why would I put myself in danger? Besides, wouldn’t they have already of killed me if that was what Daniel wanted to do? They had the perfect opportunity to do so when I was locked up in Nadine’s shipping container. Plus, they’d have to know that I’d tell others where I was going, right? I thought for a moment. What would Pulitzer-worthy investigative journalist do? Was it worth the risk to be a part of Daniel’s arrival event?

  I went to Marcus. “Look what I just received—an invite to the Proxima Foundation arrival event.”

  I handed the copper invitation to him, and he inspected it.

  “You should go. Could you take a camera or recording device?”

  “I don’t think so. It says right here in the invitation that they are prohibited. Mike has an EMF sniffer thing.”

  “Didn’t you have a friend help you the last time you filmed the hoax? Maybe you can film it from the outside?—Well, consider doing it.”

  During Thanksgiving dinner, Daniel had mentioned hidden cameras and a security detail. I wouldn’t put it past Mike and Chester to shoot someone.

  Marcus went on. “I heard back from our attorneys. You’re good to go on the story.”

  That night, Brett and I went to the bar, and I filled him in on the Proxima Foundation invite. After a second round, I brought up the possibility of a repeat of what we’d done before.

  “Hell yeah,” Brett said. “I could do surveillance with my drone.”

  “They may have electronic fences, sensors and cameras. I don’t know where or how many, but Daniel said they were going to put in extra battery-operated cameras.”

  “What about stuff in the air? Helicopters? Drones?”

  “I don’t think so. Daniel said the Proximians don’t want anything in the air.”

  “That doesn’t mean the government won’t have something up there, but we can deal with that. When exactly? Are we talking day or night operation, or both?”

  “The invite said I’m supposed to log into a web site to get the exact date and arrival time, but I already know it’s on Solstice.”

  “That’s in three days! But if this is a mind control operation, aren’t you worried about that? Are you sure these EMF hats would be enough?” he asked, sipping his beer.

  “Well, I haven’t had buzzing in my ears in months. I’m pretty sure the technology they’re using has to do with the mobile app and towers. Plus, I’ve been purging for weeks.”

  “You are looking a bit thin,” Brett said.

  I finished my beer and stood up. “I read somewhere that once you are aware of mind control, it no longer works. What do you think?”

  “If you are asking if you are crazy means you’re not crazy.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Brett stared at me. “Do I look cr
azy?”

  “Not at all,” I said.

  “But this could be state-of-the-art technology, Ben. It doesn’t care what you think.” He finished his beer and stood up. “I’ll pack up the jeep in the morning. This will be fun.”

  “Thanks, man,” I said. “We can stay at the Motel 6 and park in the back parking lot.”

  “You going to see that chick?”

  “Brenda? I don’t know. We’ve had a falling out.”

  “Too bad,” he said.”

  I checked the Proxima Foundation website that night, still no information about the ETA. On social media feeds, speculation about the arrival had gone viral. On Twitter, Solstice was indeed the day. I could hear Daniel now, ordering Mike, Chester, and the cadre of for-hire security to patrol the ranch parameter.

  In the morning we packed Brett’s jeep and headed east on 90. We hit snow on Snoqualmie Pass and had to put on snow chains. Finally arriving at one a.m., we were exhausted and checked into adjacent rooms at the Motel 6. We planned breakfast at Ramblin’ Joe’s, which meant seeing Brenda.

  39: The Plan

  I rolled over and glanced at the clock. Nine-fifteen. I’d overslept. Into the shower and out the door to get Brett. I rapped on his door. No answer. Boot prints in the light dusting of snow led in the direction of Ramblin’ Joe’s. Bastard: he was over there, flirting with Brenda. A few hundred strides and there was Brett, entertaining Brenda as she refreshed his coffee and giggled at one of his offhanded jokes.

  “What’s up?” I asked as I approached the booth.

  “Here he is,” Brett said, “bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

  Brenda and I made eye contact. I went for a hug, but she turned away. Not the warm welcome I was hoping for.

  “Coffee?” she asked.

  “You read my mind,” I said, scooting in on the banquette across from Brett. I scanned the restaurant, then looked at Brenda. “Anyone from the Foundation in here?”

  “No culties or out-of-towners, except you,” she said.

  “I told Brenda about what we’re doing here,” Brett said, “I hope you don’t mind.”

  She looked down at me, steaming coffee pot in hand. “So you’re back to being a journalist again?”

  “My old boss is giving me an opportunity to write a story on the Byrnes and the arrival event. I got an invite, so I’m going in while Brett films it from the outside.”

  “Sounds dangerous,” she said.

  Brett looked at me. “We should go over the plans.”

  Just then, two men and a woman came into the restaurant. They were obviously not locals, and by the woman’s plastic appearance, she was likely a cable news reporter.

  “Let’s go somewhere else,” I muttered sotto voce.

  “He’s right,” nodded Brett, “not the best operational security. Let’s go out to my Jeep. Map’s out there, anyway.”

  “I want to see this,” Brenda said, taking off her apron, “someone else will seat them. Follow me out the back.”

  We followed Brenda through the back and out into the parking lot. Confident we would remain unnoticed, Brett spread the map out on the back gate of his Jeep. “I’ll park three miles to the east on an old fire road and hike onto the ridge, south side of the Lolo National Forest about a half mile from the Proxima Foundation ranch.” He pointed to a spot on the map. “There’s a clearing here where I can launch and land the drone. This is public land, so I shouldn’t have to worry about any rancher throwing a hissy fit about me trespassing.”

  “Drone?” Brenda asked.

  “Check this out,” Brett said, pulling back a canvas cover in the back of his Jeep to reveal a large black box, tactical pack, and a cross-bow. He lifted the latches on the box, and there was a high-tech quad drone about three feet wide. “It’s the model 3100 with a custom configured 4K camera and night vision mode. Streams live to a mobile app. Flies fast, too.”

  “What if you lose the drone?” Brenda asked. “Aren’t drones supposed to be registered with the FAA? If it crashes, and they find it, they’ll figure out who owns it.”

  “Not this one. I never registered it. Besides, I won’t lose it. It’s got a multi-frequency transmitter for radio control. It would take a pretty sophisticated jammer to take control of it. Some military units have them. I’ll fly in, get video, and fly out. We did this all the time in Afghanistan for Taliban surveillance. Easy-peasy.”

  “What’s your plan for confronting security?” she asked.

  “I’m a wildlife photographer, which I am.”

  “Who knows Ben Davenport,” Brenda added.

  “I won’t get that close. I’ll get a look from across the ridge and fly the drone after dark,” Brett said, then looked at me. “She’s sharp, doesn’t miss much.”

  I looked at Brett. “Just get the hell out of there if anything goes sour.”

  “Got it, man, nothing to worry about. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  Brenda and I made eye contact. “I’m going, too,” she said, “I’ll help film it.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said. “Daniel has security with guns. It’s too dangerous. Just think about what happened to your aunt…”

  “I know what happened to Aunt Sally, that’s why I’m going. I want to see this for myself. Besides, there’s going to be a lot of people at the ranch, right?”

  “They’re expecting about two hundred or so, mostly media. Are you absolutely sure about this?” I knew I wasn’t going to change Brenda’s mind, but I still wasn’t happy with it.

  “Yeah,” she said, “I’ll ride with Brett.”

  “I could use help with the cameras. It’s cool,” Brett said, looking back and forth at the two of us.

  “You’d better wear an EMF hat,” I said to Brenda. “Do you still have the one I gave you?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got it,” she said.

  “I’ve got one, too,” Brett grinned. “We’ll be fine.”

  “So we get the footage—what are you going to do after the event is over?” Brenda asked me.

  “I’m going to get the hell out of there, that’s what. And if we have footage, Marcus said he’d let me run it. I’ll post it on the Internet.”

  “You trust him?”

  “Who, Marcus? Yeah,” I said. “Hot Reports is known for breaking big stories.”

  Brett addressed Brenda. “So meet me at the hotel at three this afternoon?”

  “I’ll be ready,” she said.

  “All right,” Brett said, checking his watch. “Are we are clear on the mission?”

  “Crystal clear,” I said.

  “I’ll have the kitchen cook up some breakfast and bring it over to the motel,” Brenda said.

  I wrapped my arm over her shoulder and pulled her in for a hug. I didn’t care what she thought about it. “Are you sure about this tonight? I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, pushing me away. “I want to help, and I need to do this for Aunt Sally.”

  I gave her my room number, and Brett and I went back to the motel to finish our prep and wait.

  Later that afternoon, as I drove into the Proxima Foundation Ranch, I pondered the depravity of what was going down. The Byrnes had sent copper foil envelopes and invitations to select people they thought were worthy to attend the inter-dimensional arrival of extraterrestrial beings from a star system 4.24 light-years away. How could anyone believe such a thing unless they were under the influence of mind control? This might also be Brenda’s opportunity to get to the bottom of her aunt’s murder, or was I just putting her in danger? My mind flashed through a speed reel of apocalyptic scenes—orange-tinged lighting, sulfurous wasteland, MILABs and all.

  What if the government was testing some new EMF mind control on the crowd of onlookers? Would my precautions and my resistance to the effects of the radio wave-controlled nanotech continue to work? What if Mike and Chester were mind controlled and opened up on the crowd with their AR-15s? I thought about the risk my bu
ddy Brett was taking. Sure, he was a bit post-war crazy, but he knew what he was getting into, and if anyone could carry out the mission, Brett could. I felt about him being out there with Brenda, and them together watching me below. Maybe they’d be able to go for help if needed, or at least live to tell it if everything went south in the Valley of the Moon.

  40: The Event

  I rolled up to a fortified security gate manned by two men I assumed were the hired guns Daniel had mentioned. Or were they government agents? I rolled down the window and handed one of them my copper foil invitation. They directed me to a makeshift parking lot about one hundred yards from the main house. Dozens of vehicles had already staked out their ground there, but I quickly found a spot alongside the sundry SUVs and sedans with government plates. A stab of the lock button, and off I went toward a path to another gate marked by yellow security tape. Chester, armed with a holstered pistol, checked the invitation and my ID as if he’d never seen me before, and proceeded to run a handheld scanner over my body. Finding me clear, he handed me Daniel’s arrival event program and let me enter the grounds. I walked toward the main house, flipping through the glossy pages of the event program I’d proofed for Daniel just weeks before.

  Daniel was off to the side of the house in conversation with John, the documentary director. Mike was at Daniel’s side, his sidearm strapped and a radio piece in his ear. A cameraman, sound guy, and a couple of assistants were scurrying around setting up equipment.

  Daniel and I made eye contact while Mike gave me a good once over and said something to Daniel. Smiling, Daniel approached and shook my hand, cupping his other hand over mine. “I’m glad you came, Ben.”

  “Thanks for inviting me,” I said, feeling uneasy with Mike’s eyes on me. Was he still stewing over my second betrayal of his trust? I reminded myself that if he didn’t want me there as part of the press corps, he wouldn’t have invited me.

  “I wish that I could spend more time with you, Ben, but when I get done with the film crew, I need to meet with a few folks from NASA. But feel free to take a look around and mingle. I’m sure you’ll recognize some of the guests.” He was already stepping away. “Nadine has a nice spread of food and hot drinks up at the tent. We’ve also opened the new Learning Center building. Check it out.”