Ethan looked at the map of Antarctica dominating the briefing room as Jarvis went on.
‘I’ll leave Captain Forrester to fill you in on what we think happened after the war, and I’ll check back in again in twelve hours to find out what’s happening. We need to get this situation under control by the time Black Knight re-enters our atmosphere, because the continent’s going to get real busy once the Russians and who knows who else see the object come down and wander down there for a look around.’
‘Roger that,’ Ethan replied as the monitor went blank and he turned to Captain Forrester. ‘So, what’s your take on all of this?’
Forrester beckoned them to follow him from the briefing room.
‘I’ll show you.’
X
The mountains of Innsbruck-Land soared above the quaint village nestled at their base, the dawn sunrise touching the sky with delicate shades that contrasted with the angular granite slopes of the Mieminger mountain chain.
Victor Wilms stood on the balcony of an exclusive hotel apartment, a cup of coffee in one hand as he shivered against the dawn chill and took in the extraordinary view. Despite the cold air he always performed this ritual with the sunrise, for it represented to him a brief glimpse into what the Earth looked and sounded like without the human stain upon its surface, without the noise and the conflict and the endless suffering of so many for the peace and prosperity of a small few.
The news had reached Victor at a most inopportune moment, on the very morning that he was due to first brief the members of Majestic Twelve on the momentous events about to occur on the opposite side of the planet in the frigid wastes of Antarctica. Despite his lofty position within the cabal, Victor had never before laid eyes upon the controlling members, had never before been accepted as one of their own despite half a lifetime of service. Now he was about to be accepted into the fold and yet once again had to be the bearer of bad news.
Aaron Mitchell had vanished. That it had occurred at all staggered Victor equally as much as it had put the fear of death into Gordon LeMay. Mitchell’s escape from the most secure facility ever built in the history of the United States would have made front-page news were it not for the complete media ban placed on the event. Nobody would ever know that Mitchell had even been incarcerated there, much less that he had escaped and that his absconding had remained undetected for almost twelve hours. It had only been the keen senses of one of the security guards who had often been responsible for Mitchell’s incarceration that had detected something odd about Mitchell after the visit from his psychologist — a change of gait, a slightly different inflection of voice, an unwillingness to come out of his cell for exercise.
Upon closer inspection it had been revealed that the psychologist had taken the place of the criminal in a deftly arranged deception that Victor knew Aaron Mitchell must have had in place for years, perhaps decades. That his former protege had possessed the forethought to somehow arrange the loyalty of a man who could not be much further removed from the former Special Forces soldier did not surprise Victor at all — Mitchell had been so successful in his role as Majestic Twelve’s senior undercover operative directly because of his resourcefulness. What surprised Victor was that he had kept his doppleganger in play for so long, even now, in his advancing years. Victor had long ago thrown his hand in fully with Majestic Twelve, understanding that there was nothing else out there for him and no reason not to become devoted to the organisation for life.
A soft buzzing intruded on Victor’s reverie and he turned with some reluctance from the stunning vista outside and closed the balcony doors behind him. He pulled the blinds closed to prevent any observation from other houses in the town, and then moved across to the door and opened it.
Outside stood a tall, gaunt looking man whom Victor recognized instantly although most people could have walked past him in the street and had no idea who they were looking at.
‘Good morning Victor,’ the man greeted him with a hand shake and a sombre voice. ‘May we come in?’
‘Of course,’ Victor croaked as he backed away from the door and gestured for the men outside to enter.
One by one they walked into the room, each wearing a suit that would have cost Victor a month’s salary, watches on their wrists worth more than some luxury cars and subtle colognes from brands too exclusive to even be available in malls.
For the most part Victor did not recognize the men as they filed into the room, accompanied by two younger men who were clearly armed escorts. The apartment door was closed behind them and they variously sat or stood as Victor turned to face them. Of those that he did recognize, he knew them to be reclusive billionaires who had forged their fortunes in the stock markets of the world, real estate, agriculture and military technology. Not one of the men was less than fifty years of age, and there were just eleven of them, not twelve. Their number had been reduced a few years previously when Dwight Opennheimer, a Texan oil billionaire, had met his maker deep in a cavern in New Mexico at the hands of Ethan Warner while searching for the elixir of life, now held safely in the hands of MJ-12.
‘What news, Victor?’ asked the tallest of them, colloquially known to Victor as Number One — the reference that had in the past allowed Victor to differentiate between one member of Majestic Twelve and another during audio conversations.
Victor started with the good news.
‘Gordon LeMay has been successful in organizing and deploying a small, highly trained force of men to the Antarctic. They are operating under the pretence of a highly classified mission to liberate US possessions from enemy forces, who have seized those assets after a melting glacier exposed a secret US base.’
Victor detected an air of approval settle upon the men as they looked at him, their gazes seeming to appraise him. Victor had spent the better part of his life serving these men so they knew him well enough, and he recalled other voices long in the past that he no longer heard, founding members of the group who had long since passed away. Majestic Twelve was controlled by patriarchs, the most learned of their kind.
‘Are those assets fully under LeMay’s control?’ asked another of the men. ‘He has been somewhat unreliable of late and we all know about how the Defense Intelligence Agency has been attempting to expose us.’
‘LeMay’s tenure as Director of the FBI will likely end before the year is out, but at this time he remains a useful asset. We cannot predict who will be promoted to director upon his departure, but with the increase in surveillance of our interests we cannot guarantee that any future director will be allied to our cause.’
Majestic Twelve were more than aware of the efforts made by General Nellis, the Intelligence Director, in exposing them through the work of the Defense Intelligence Agency. Many of their most recent failures had been a direct result of the DIA’s interference in their operations, and that led naturally on to the next question that Victor had been dreading.