Jim walked rapidly away, conscious only of a feeling that someone, or something was manipulating his mind. He had all the service personnel interviewed, and nearly everyone had experienced similar ‘black moments’.
The site was finally declared empty, as the bodies were recovered and placed into sealed metal coffins. Somehow, they all vanished whilst being shipped to Base X by truck. The trucks arrived with all the seals were intact, all coffins were still in the trucks, but each one was empty. The vehicles had not stopped, as their tachographs showed continual movement from the minute they set off.
Jim was convinced that there were more of the aliens left alive, and their mental powers were such that they could manipulate humans in order to prevent discovery.
He completed his report and his Colonel agreed. Funding was authorised from the highest level to continue the investigation.
Jim had managed to acquire three highly qualified para-psychologists who were experts in the field of E.S.P., and they were trying to recruit personnel whose telepathic ability was sufficiently strong for them to at least attempt to discover a little of their illusive quarry.
The last sighting was at the end of the 80’s, and they had nothing since. Until now, and the facemask from New Mexico he now held in his possession. It was too little, too late, as the committee was not impressed, for in this era of value for money, plans were afoot for a possible Manned Mars Mission, so Project Gopher was no longer in favour.
Kyle knocked on the open door.
“Come in Kyle. They actually did it,” Jim said.
“You thought they might. How bad?”
“A quarter.”
“You thought they might have taken a half.”
“Yeah, but still, that’s over a million bucks.”
“We need some results.”
“True. Look, have you a map of the New Mexico desert?”
“Sure, why?”
“Well, if there was a ship, why was it there? I think they could have been looking for a site to dig in another colony.”
“It’s possible,” said Kyle as he extracted a large map of the area. They laid it out across the desk.
“Here’s the highway, and here was where we found the dead cop. The tracks of the 4x4 came from a point about a quarter mile upstream, so let’s say the cop first saw the one in the water here. That means he was swept away from a point anywhere up from here, to say here,” Jim said, pointing at each location on the map with his index finger.
“Send in a team to examine this area, and I want satellite and aerial pictures, both infra-red and conventional photographs.”
Kyle nodded and left. Jim stared at the map.
“Where are you, you little grey bastards?” he said aloud.
Several thousand miles to the east, an overworked clerk was trying vainly to clear a backlog of forms.
“Michelle Czakan?” he shouted.
A very tall girl approached the desk. He remembered seeing her when she had first arrived some ten days previously. He had instantly been attracted to her then, and apart from being the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, she was always polite and respectful; something that most of the asylum seekers were most definitely not. As a result, he had sent her forms off very quickly, with a pink ‘URGENT’ slip attached. Somehow, they returned in just a few days; this was unheard of, but he was pleased for her.
He smiled, so Michelle rewarded him with a lovely smile in return.
“Your papers have been processed. Here is your National Insurance Card, and your National Health card. You need to report to a police station where you end up living, and register with them. We need to have an address where we can contact you, and, if approved where we can send your papers relating to your permit to stay in the country. Your application for naturalisation has been received, so hopefully you will get confirmation through in due course. You will then be issued with a UK passport.”
Michelle signed the forms, so he gave her the cards. They had supplied her with some money, and she had been able to buy some essentials. Some of these were feminine hygiene products, as a few days ago an unexpected, unwelcome, yet natural little visitor had visited her, which indicated that she was a normal, fertile female.
She detested the reception centre, but acknowledged the necessity of being as normal as possible. Several other Ukrainians were here, but she tended to avoid everyone. However, they had sought her out, and actually she found them no risk to her at all. They were from Kiev, so knew little about the area she claimed to be from. Her accent was perfect, so raised no suspicions. Indeed, they only reinforced her story as they accepted her for who she purported to be.
Her English ‘improved’, and she deliberately joined an English class to make her improvement appear natural. It also allowed her to pass the time, as there was little to do except watch TV, play table tennis or read. They were free to come and go, yet with little money, there was little point. The local people were antagonistic towards the foreigners in any case, so it was better just to wait and hope the bureaucracy wasn’t too long.
Several of the male asylum seekers had attempted to form a romantic relationship with the tall girl, but all had been successfully repelled. Two Iranians had failed to take no for an answer, and were now in traction in the local hospital. The police thought they had jumped out of a third floor window as protest at being refused entry. Only the two men and Michelle knew the truth, but no one was telling.
Michelle scoured the papers each day for jobs, as she was finally now able to apply.
There was one that caught her eye.
INTERPRETER WANTED BY LONDON BASED COMPANY
Must have English, Russian and a third language, preferably French.
To operate as personal interpreter for the C.E. of a progressive Communications Company that is opening an installation in Eastern Europe. With plants in the UK, USA and France, the successful applicant must be fluent in spoken and written languages, and of a smart appearance. Must be prepared to travel extensively, and with little notice, and also be prepared to work long and sometimes anti-social hours.
She went to the payphone and called the number on the ad.
Keeping her accent, she asked about the job, and was relieved to hear that it was still open.
She asked where the company was based, writing down the address. She explained that she was a recent arrival in the country, and had no CV, but was prepared to come in person to the company and take any tests they wanted.
The personnel officer was unaware that a little manipulation was being undertaken as she pencilled in Michelle’s name as an applicant for interview that very afternoon. They completed the application form over the phone.
Michelle packed her bag and walked out of the centre without a backward glance.
Gordon Fenwick was fed up. His company was doing well, so he was optimistic about the inroads they were making into new markets. His company’s computer and communications package was a desirable product, which actually was a potential money saver for emerging and new businesses. However, the language barrier, and the skills of the agency interpreters who had no vested interest in the company restricted getting it across to customers who had no English. They were paid for the job, and were not interested if a sale was made or not.
He was in the Fulham office for a week, before flying out to a couple of meetings in New York. He had wanted to be able to have an interpreter on board by then, as they were due to be in Paris for the International Computer and Communications Fair the week after.
So far, the interpreters had all been middle-aged women with children or young graduates whose practical skills were just not up to the task. He spoke French well, and had a basic understanding of Russian, but not enough to deal as an equal. He really wanted someone who could act as his representative and be able to really make an impact.