“To make a long story short about my Pentagon job and any hope I had of returning to the base, the 1992 presidential election came along. After twelve years of republican rule, the powers-that-be had to revamp their structure for Clinton. I slipped through the cracks.
“I had trouble working after that. Area 51 is like crack cocaine: experience it once and you’re hooked. I retired from the Air Force and started doing my own research. In the early nineties numerous UFO sightings were reported near Area 51. At first I figured these sightings were the exotic planes I saw below ground, what the public calls the Aurora program.
“The Aurora planes use a pulse detonation wave engine. When these planes fly, the heat generated by the engine embodies the entire vessel, giving it an amber glow. At first glance that explains the UFO claims, but as I read the eyewitness testimonies I became mesmerized by descriptions of vertical takeoffs, hovering, and ninety-degree turns: anti-gravity aircraft. A pulse wave engine is an advanced fuel-based engine, but anti-gravity propulsion is an extreme science that makes the Aurora primitive — kid’s stuff. The results of my research became more bizarre. I discovered stories about recovered flying saucers, back-engineered alien technology and a covert space program.
“I realize this is where some of you would like to draw the line between reality and science fiction, but hear me out. Most ufologists agree that an alien craft crashed near Roswell, New Mexico in 1947, and was recovered by our government. As individuals like myself continue to ask questions, we find more facts to support our claims. The trail now takes us to Area 51.”
Desmond paused for a sip of water. “Two separate bases exist at Area 51. The Groom Lake base that I described, and a second base twelve miles south at Papoose Lake. Some call this second facility S-4 and believe it is where they keep the recovered alien spacecraft and conduct research and development on the technology. They fly two types of craft from S-4: H-PACs — Human Piloted Alien Craft — and ARVs — Alien Reproduction Vehicles. Those two craft are the anti-gravity powered flying machines our government denies exist. Those clever sons of bitches in the military use the Aurora planes to mask the anti-gravity craft. Both facilities share the same airspace, so Groom Lake has diverted the attention away from S-4.
“Have you ever wondered why the space program hasn’t made any significant advances in the past two decades? It’s not a lack of funds stopping them. The eighties were the most prolific government-spending period in history. The reason why NASA is still dinking around the atmosphere in the space shuttle and talking about an international space station is because all significant research has become above top secret. America’s opponents in the space race no longer reside overseas, they live among the stars!”
Desmond noticed surprised looks from some audience members. “I thought the stories were crazy the first time I heard them. We’ve been conditioned to think like that when it comes to UFOs. No matter how bizarre, crazy or baffling you may view my beliefs, there’s nothing you can do to prove them wrong. It’s possible I’ve fallen prey to a widespread fantasy tale about alien contact, but something astounding is happening in the Nevada skies. I’m not asking you to jump on my bandwagon, nor am I trying to undermine the government. I want them to be honest with me — with you. So be aware of the stories, and keep your minds open. Because if you don’t, and I’m correct, then you’re being naive fools like the government wants.”
Desmond’s mind was too tired to continue so he brought up audience members to speak. For an hour they shared their experiences, ranging from flying lights they had seen above Area 51 to alien abduction stories. Desmond concluded the lecture by encouraging people to buy books or videotapes from him.
Blake tried to keep an open mind, but had trouble comprehending the alien stories, especially from Desmond’s cronies in the audience, and wondered if the meeting was a medium to sell his materials.
While the regulars showed their approval with a melodramatic standing ovation, Desmond approached Blake, “Grab a booth in the coffee shop. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
After the meeting, the adjacent coffee shop became the bar scene from Star Wars. UFO enthusiasts invaded the booths, continuing to share their stories over coffee and greasy food with people of like mind.
Like a celebrity strolling past a line of fans, Desmond moseyed through the crowd, shaking hands and saying hello. Acting friendlier than before the meeting, he sat next to Trevor and with a subtle, but confident tone, introduced himself: “Desmond Wyatt.”
“I never received the FedEx package,” Blake informed him.
“I gave your address to my assistant. Sometimes he forgets. I’ll give you some materials before you leave tonight.” Easing to another topic, “I’m sorry for being rude on the phone the other day; I have to screen people.”
“Screen them for what?” Trevor asked.
“I get a lot of unique souls calling me.”
“Looks like they come to your meetings, too.”
Desmond chuckled in agreement. “I know when I call someone unique it’s like the pot calling the kettle black, but in reality I have very little in common with most of the people here.”
“That’s reassuring,” Blake said.
“I want people to think I’m as crazy as some of my audience members. If the government believes I’m a nut, they’re apt to leave me alone. I think some of these people wish they were being followed by government spooks. They tell a tale about being abducted or seeing a UFO and it brings them attention. The tales become taller to beat the previous ones — modern day mythology. Unfortunately that makes the UFO community counterproductive. One bogus story spoils the whole lot. Some brilliant, educated people are true ufologists. That’s who the government watches. I try and keep myself one notch below them.”
“Speaking of credibility,” Blake said, “your testimony about the Pentagon was a little vague. I don’t mean any disrespect, but as a researcher I focus on specifics, and you didn’t give many.”
“Talking about my Pentagon job could jeopardize my pension, so I keep it to a minimum at lectures.” Leaning further over the table and lowering his voice he said, “I rarely flew once I started working at the Pentagon. My real position involved SPACECOM. That’s short for US Space Command. I made sure funding and other requests didn’t get held up by red tape. I processed a lot of funding. You look at the fiscal budget for SPACECOM and it’s nothing compared to the funds I saw.”
“Black budget work,” Blake commented, taking a keener interest in Desmond.
“Officially SPACECOM uses a network of radar and optical sensors to track satellites and monitor space activities such as ballistic missile attacks. Unofficially they can track everything in and around the atmosphere. They chart blind spots in foreign or domestic surveillance of the sky. Blind spots are needed to test top secret spacecraft undetected.”
While the waitress interrupted to take drink orders, Blake and Desmond sized each other up. Blake could tell Desmond spoke from the heart, but didn’t offer much technical knowledge, unless he was holding that back too.
Desmond had met hundreds of people searching for information. He could tell the difference between someone who had passive interests or a specific reason for seeking information. Blake apparently had specific interests. He hoped those interests could be aligned with his.