Reading the nametag of the next man in the group, the general said, “Lieutenant Kendricks. What’s your involvement in this?”
“I was the first officer on the beach, sir.”
The third man, watching the general eyeball him, felt nervous, knowing it was his turn to speak. He didn’t know the general but figured he was awesomely powerful to be handling situations like this. The fact that he came alone, without an assistant, made him even more intriguing. “I’m the colonel’s assistant,” he offered.
“Have you seen it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want you to compile a list of everyone who has seen, heard, or might have heard about this. I want them all confined to base. Included on that list I want phone numbers, addresses, hometowns, and names and addresses of their immediate families. If word of this reaches beyond the present circle, that list will help us trace it back to the source. Understood?”
“Yes, sir!”
“You’re dismissed.” Not wanting to touch anyone or anything, the general turned to the colonel and said, “I can’t enter this hangar through closed doors.”
Inside the spacious hangar, a dozen soldiers stood guard equal distance around the perimeter. The general surveyed the situation, admiring the camouflage netting hung from the rafters and used as curtains to hide the young airman’s finding. “I commend your handling of the situation thus far colonel, but was it necessary to curtain off such a large area?”
“Thank you, sir. It’s a rather large object,” the colonel said in a respectful, Arkansas drawl — the emphasis on larrrge. The colonel was content speaking as little as possible. He had heard rumors about the general — none he dared repeat — and wanted him gone as quickly as he came, along with the object.
The general started a slow but deliberate pace toward the curtain. His boots made the only sound in the hangar, and to the onlookers, the echoing of his footsteps off the rafters and walls furthered the impression that they were in the presence of a mighty man. The others broke from their trance and followed, then stopped when the general stopped, a few paces short of the camouflage curtain.
“Colonel,” the general said, quietly enough to keep his words from reaching the men around the perimeter, “they instructed you to check for radiation?”
“Yes, sir. The readings were negative.”
Spotting a break in the curtains, the general slipped through. His body language gave no clue about thoughts the object provoked from him. All he offered was a dead stare. Fighting in World War II had hardened him. Nothing riled his emotions, not even the thought of his own death, for he had seen death before. Anything less he considered a part of life’s challenges. That was all this was to him — a challenge. For a moment, he wished it had stayed at sea — sank to the bottom of the ocean — but realized he was taking the situation for granted. Having the object wash ashore so close to military property spared him the agony of keeping civilians quiet — a simple thank you letter would suffice in this case.
The other three men had followed the general through the break in the curtain and were standing quietly behind him, staring in wonderment at the object.
The young airman’s naiveté led him to believe that since he discovered it on the beach, he had a right to ask questions about it. “Do you know what it is, sir? Russian probably — don’t you think?”
“Supposing I knew what this was, I wouldn’t tell you, son,” the general said.
“The object has a unique alloy, sir,” Lieutenant Kendricks said. “As you can see, it’s a dull silver now, but when you touch it, the surrounding area becomes vibrantly colorful.”
“I thought it was a big fat missile at first,” the airman admitted, “Not that I don’t think that now. I don’t know what to think.”
“Lieutenant Kendricks,” the general said, “you and the airman are dismissed.” He kept his distance from the cylindrical object, not concerned with climbing on top, nor in peering through the jagged side where it looked to have broken off from an even larger object. The current location wasn’t a suitable environment for studying it. Besides … the general knew an engine when he saw one.
PART 2
GOVERNMENT SPOOKS
PRIMARY CHARACTER LIST
Damien Owens, Intelligence Officer
Kayla Kiehl, Intelligence Officer
Ben Skyles, Contract Employee, GRATCOR
Aaron Liebowitz, Contract Employee, GRATCOR
Grason Kendricks, Special Agent FBI
Val Vaden, Special Agent FBI
The Congressman
Professor Bertrand Eldred
Blake Hunter, Assistant to Professor Eldred
Trevor Sinclair, Blake Hunter’s Roommate
Desmond Wyatt, Ufologist
Jimmy “The Pimp” Casper
Trace Helms
Dr. Rebecca Vanover
Teneil Helms
Janice Yang, Chinese Ministry of State Security
CHAPTER 1
Ben Skyles worked in a USAP (Unacknowledged Special Access Project). The government used USAPs to control sensitive research programs by segmenting the individuals and information involved. For Skyles, working in the USAP resembled a jail sentence: he had limited or no contact with his peers; incoming and outgoing information was controlled, monitored and regulated (as was Skyles himself); information about his surroundings was need-to-know; and the security was at times intimidating and brutal. Skyles often wondered what happened at the next stage of his USAP, how they used the materials and information he produced. But if he asked any questions, someone might ask questions about him.
Skyles glanced at a half circle of tinted glass in the ceiling. The camera inside wasn’t visible, but he knew it was there. Yet he didn’t know the camera was pointed at him.
In a nearby room — the White Room, codename for the Security Operations Center — a guard maneuvered a joystick to keep the camera trained on Skyles.
“Zoom on his face,” a man behind the guard ordered in a distinct raspy voice.
The guard obliged, bringing Ben Skyles’ face into full view, but he heard no additional instructions from the man for several moments. He turned his head slowly to the right, sensing the man’s presence but wondering if he might have left. The room was dim, lit primarily by video monitors, computer screens and desktop lamps. Despite the darkness, he saw the man’s arm, covered by a black suit sleeve, and noticed something in his hand — a smooth grayish object the man caressed with his thumb.
“Eyes forward,” the man said as he studied every twitch, stretch and nuance in Skyles’ facial expressions.
The checkout station was presided over by a muscular guard who always had a cup handy for discharging his tobacco-flavored saliva. On one occasion, his oral deployment spattered a worker in line, and someone had nicknamed him the Camel.
Approaching the Camel, Skyles pressed his face against an optical sensor that covered his eyes like a periscope’s viewing piece. A laser scanned his retinas, noting finite specs and lines in his eyes. Then a computer converted the results into a numerical code — Skyles’ identification number — and displayed his name and vital statistics for the Camel.
“I need you to step to the side,” the Camel said, pointing to a corner.