“That document you have, if it’s real, it’s significant.”
“I know,” Blake said. “I found a book on MJ-12.”
“Information about MJ-12 surfaces periodically, but most documents are hoaxes.”
“That’s why it’s good that I found it. I don’t want any notoriety from your groupies.”
“Are you going to share your source with me?”
Blake had considered that question in advance. “Let’s just say I received it by mistake from a credible government agency.” Blake felt a sense of power bestowed on him from the document, and liked the way he had captivated Desmond’s interest, as well as Trevor’s, who was hearing this admission for the first time. “All I’m trying to do is understand it for my own purposes, not take it public. I don’t think I need to prove its credibility for that.”
“I see your angle, but if you want my help, you’ll have to show me the second page.”
“Yes.” Blake’s indecisiveness was evident from his hesitation to say anymore.
Being doubted furthered Desmond’s interest in the document, and Blake. “I think we can help each other, Blake. If you’re interested, you should come to Area 51 with me. It’ll give us time to talk and get to know each other.”
Blake thought of the professor’s warning to stay away from Area 51. “I don’t know about that.”
“Both of you can come, have some fun in Vegas.”
“I’m in,” Trevor proclaimed.
Blake’s enthusiast-type personality found the offer to be expertly guided to Area 51 tempting. His psychological make-up predisposed him to thrills and adventures. Now the more he heard about the base, the greater was his need to see it. “There must be people who would get upset knowing I have this document. I wouldn’t want to draw attention to myself.”
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Desmond said. “We’ll be on public land. The worst thing that can happen is we don’t see anything. I’ve been there countless times, and I’m still here.”
“Let’s do it, Blake,” Trevor said. He had a movie script brewing in his head and everything rolling off Desmond’s tongue was prime material. “Think about it: you can conduct research, AND be in Vegas. No way in hell we’re not making this trip.”
CHAPTER 25
A wrinkly faced old man — a desert rat some called him — who owned two aging roadside gas pumps in front of his house/service station, left his air conditioned confines to service an infrequent patron. “This is a full service station, partner,” the codger insisted. “Let me pump the gas for you.”
Val Vaden thought the establishment fell short of full service; the window-washing bucket was dry and the air hose had no nozzle. “I’ll be done in a second,” he said, afraid that squeezing the pump might be enough exertion to do the old man in on such a sweltering day.
“You heading to the Test Site again?”
“What makes you think I’ve been there before?”
“You stopped here a ways back. My grandson was working, but I saw you and your truck, and that trailer, from the window.”
“That doesn’t mean I’ve been to the Test Site.”
Laughing, “Where else would you go on this Godforsaken road?” The man felt obligated to let Val know he wasn’t some dumb desert hermit. “Been pumping gas here since 1951. Opened after the government exploded the first nuke at the Test Site. Called it Able. A one kiloton mother the Air Force dropped over Frenchman Flat.”
“That’s a long time to be living out here. It’s good to see the radiation hasn’t hurt you.”
“They say it’s safe around these parts.” The thought of death triggered distant memories. The tattered senior stared at a lonesome highway in front of his property. “They used to call Highway 95 the Widow Maker. Sheriff would shut down southbound traffic in the morning so workers could drive from Vegas using both lanes — speed up the commute. After work it’d be the same thing the other way. Except lots of them stopped here first. That boarded up building next to my house used to be a bar I owned. People filled their cars with gas and their bellies with booze,” he paused, recalling specific faces. “Then they raced back to Vegas. That’s how the road got the name Widow Maker. Government didn’t like their nuclear specialists getting in car accidents. They built more lanes and started driving people here on buses.”
“Sad story.”
“There’s plenty of those around here.” The old man walked to Val’s pickup and tried peering through tinted windows on its shell. “So what kind of work you doing?”
“That’s classified.”
“Never stopped people from talking in the past. Especially after a few drinks.”
Val suddenly grew interested in this man’s life experiences. “Ever hear anything about Area 51?”
“You mean that place where they keep the aliens?” The old man grinned from one elephant-sized ear to the other.
“That’s the place.”
The man lost his grin, “I hear it’s not good to ask questions about that place,” and walked to the truck’s rear. The attached trailer towed a four wheel All Terrain Vehicle with knobby tires that could plow through sand. He stared, perplexed, “Where’s the gas cap on this son of a bitch?”
“It’s electric.”
“Electric? How you going to charge it out in the desert?”
“The sun.”
“Damn if we don’t have plenty of that.” But the man still didn’t understand. “Take a gander on my roof up there. See them solar panels? On the brightest of days they don’t do squat.”
“The technology is more advanced than what you’ve got.”
The man agreed, feeling no desire to ask more questions since he didn’t understand his aging solar equipment. He continued looking at the ATV. “That’s some fancy paint job you’ve got on there,” he said, referring to black circles with an internal sparkle, like a hologram, on the fenders. “I hope my tax money didn’t pay extra for that.”
Val figured at most, this man’s tax dollars might have paid for the seat. The black circles were photovoltaic cells that absorbed enough solar energy in 10-minutes to power the ATV’s flywheel battery for over an hour at full thrust.
Paying the old man, Val said goodbye.
“You didn’t give me a chance to tell you about Area 51.”
“I thought you didn’t have anything to say.”
“I’ll tell you this: if you’re outside late at night, keep your eyes on the sky. You might not hear anything, but sometimes you’ll see things.”
Val turned his truck and trailer off Highway 95 onto a two lane road — Mercury Highway — the only public access point to the Nevada Test Site, a desert region that served as the Department of Energy’s (DOE) 1,350-square-mile outdoor laboratory. America’s nuclear proving grounds. Unpopulated regions removed from public domain surrounded the region, creating a total blanket of 5,400-square-miles under government control that included the Test Site’s eastern neighbor, Area 51.
As part of his training for Operation Patriot, Val had taken a public tour of the Test Site. The DOE offered a 300-mile round trip bus tour from its Las Vegas office. The tour included a stop at the Test Site’s main command center where Val had seen a large wall map of the region. They did not allow note taking, so he memorized the location of a remote guard shack and access road leading to Groom Lake. The wall map also indicated a small research camp near Groom Lake, outside the Test Site boundaries. When Val asked the purpose, the DOE tour guide emphatically stated that the area belonged to the Air Force and he knew nothing about it. Funny, Val thought at the time, whenever the Air Force was asked about the land, they said it belonged to the DOE.