“Vance, I need a drink,” Winslett said. Sweat glistened on his forehead and his dark brown, defeated eyes looked bloodshot already.
“Area 51,” Derryman said, “is in New Mexico, about five hundred miles from here. It’s a base where new fighter and surveillance aircraft are created and tested. There’s a section of Area 51, called S-4, that holds what used to be lead and silver mines in the 1870s. Those mines have now been occupied, modernized, and powered as an interlocked research center. We research there any alien mechanism, device, or flesh we can get our hands on. This has been going on for over sixty years. Needless to say we’ve learned a lot we’ve been trying to keep other countries from knowing. Russia had its own program and a few other countries with the right facilities and the luck to get hold of an alien craft or artifact did as well. All that is the worst-kept secret in the world, because we can’t control all the sightings or the crashes. And let me ask you this while I can, Ethan: if the aliens who have been able to reach us have such fantastic machines, why do they sometimes crash? We’ve helped a couple come down by pilots who got scared enough to fire missiles at close range without the proper authority, but we’ve seen four crashes that seem to be mechanical error. Why is that?”
“Intricate machinery no matter how advanced can sometimes fail, no matter what the propulsion system or the intelligence behind it. That’s true all across the cosmos.”
“My God,” said Derryman, as if he’d just realized the enormity of the moment. “I’m sitting here talking to an entity who can answer the questions.” He looked at Jackson and Don, who both were stoic, and then to Winslett who appeared shaken and in desperate need of his drink. For a moment Derryman seemed about to be overcome, and then he got himself under control once more, and the hard-souled, tough-minded ex-lawyer from Connecticut came back. “Now answer my questions: what are you, where are you from and if you’re neither Gorgon nor Cypher why do you have any interest in stopping their war?”
“I am…” Ethan thought JayDee had captured it best. “I am a peacekeeper, comparable to the soldiers of your United Nations. I’ve come from a great distance. My interest in stopping their war is to save your world.” Something was intruding on his mental flow…what was it? He realized in another few seconds. “Another Gorgon warship has joined the first. A third is within sixty miles, approaching from the west. There’s a fourth…over a hundred miles away yet, coming from the southeast, but slowly. What weapons do you have?”
“ERAM surface-to-air missiles, fired remotely from a launcher up top about two hundred feet. A second launcher firing Patriots, and two radar-controlled anti-aircraft guns on rotating turrets at the peak.” Derryman paused, and Ethan knew what he was going to ask next but did not interrupt. “Will it be enough?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. Those weapons were designed to knock down enemy aircraft built by humans, not those things.” Derryman stood up; in spite of his steady demeanor and the movement of cool air in the room, a sheen of sweat glistened on his head. “Foggy, you and I need to get the other officers together.”
“Area 51,” Ethan said. “There are many alien artifacts there, removed from the ships?”
“As I understand.”
“And weapons?”
“I’ve never been there. My briefing didn’t give me the details of the layout. I really didn’t want to know.”
“Did your briefing tell you how to get in?”
Derryman was slow in replying. “Now why would you want to do that, Ethan?”
“Obviously, your weapons are not sufficient. I’m not sure, but something might be there I can use.”
That statement caused silence to fall again. Derryman studied the knuckles of his right hand and then his closely trimmed fingernails.
“You’re going to have to trust me,” Ethan said.
Derryman looked up and asked sharply, “Are we?”
“Your world is on the brink of destruction right now. I’m your best hope, but I believe you’re coming to that conclusion yourself.”
“Quite a supposition, that we should trust any alien lifeform.”
“Your choices,” Ethan said, his silver eyes aimed like energy beams at Vance Derryman, “are limited. Your time is limited too. No, that’s not a threat, sir. It’s reality. Do you want to think about this for awhile? I’d like to at least have the chance to offer the idea to your President.”
Derryman stared back at Ethan. His facial expression and cold eyes gave the others no clue as to what he was thinking but Ethan knew he was just as frightened as Foggy Winslett.
At last Derryman sat down again. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a few seconds. When he opened them again he said, “General Winslett, you have my authority to detail to this individual any information you have concerning Area 51.”
“Vance…listen…I don’t think we—”
“Do it,” came the command, and it was final.
H
Winslett’s red-veined cheeks and nose already spoke of an intimate relationship with a supply of mind-numbing whiskey. His uniform and position did not shield him from terrors in the night.
He began, with an obvious effort and a distaste for the order. “I have been there,” he said, as he stared at the beige carpet. “The base was evacuated two years ago. A security system would’ve automatically gone on-line. That’s also powered by alien technology, so it’s still active. The place is sealed up tight. Any try at breaking in would trigger defense mechanisms and ultimately blow the S-4 site to pieces. There’s a nuclear device buried underneath it. I don’t have the code to open the complex. The Vice President did. The Secretary of Defense had it, but I understand his plane went down over Virginia. The officials and scientists in the research group had blue badge clearances. They’re all missing.”
“The President has it,” Ethan said.
“He does. The code gets you in, but to go deeper requires a handprint against a recognition scanner on every level.”
“I believe I need to get inside and see what’s there. As I asked before, may I offer this idea to the President?”
Derryman and the military man exchanged glances, and Ethan knew.
“There’s something wrong with the President,” he said. “Mentally wrong?”
After a hesitation, Derryman said, “He comes and goes. He’s tried to commit suicide twice. One was last week, with sleeping pills. He…doesn’t know the full scope of what’s happened. We’ve kept it from him so he doesn’t crack completely. The First Lady keeps it from him too.”
“And the only way into the research area at S-4 without triggering the defense system is with his handprint.” It was not a question from the peacekeeper, but a statement.
“Correct. We can’t risk the President leaving this facility. He would lose his mind if he really knew, and we need him…as a symbol, if nothing else. We give him false military news. Hopeful news, Ethan, to keep him sane.” Derryman stood up again. The interview was over. He said to Jackson, “You two stay with our visitor for awhile. You’re not a prisoner, Ethan, but we would all appreciate it if you would confine yourself to this room until we get ourselves in order.”
Ethan was aware of something else now, another sensation, another set of harmonic signatures from which he drew a mental picture. His human heartbeat quickened. “I have to tell you…the Gorgon ships are converging but keeping their range…and…there are two…three…four…Cypher warships taking up position ninety…eighty-six miles to the south. Not the small Cypher craft. These are battleships. Very big.”
“Thank you for that.” Derryman sounded a little choked. “We may need your help in weapons control if our radars can’t pick up any targets. In the meantime…welcome to the White Mansion.”