Duncan pulled a cigarette out of her purse. She pointed at the ashtray for Gullick’s cigar. “Do you mind?” She didn’t wait for an answer as she lit up. “The Cold War has been over for over half a decade, General. Keep counting the reasons.”
A muscle twitched on the right side of Gullick’s jaw.
“The Cold War may be over, but there are still nuclear missiles pointed at this country by foreign countries. We are dealing with technology here that might totally change the course of civilization. That is sufficient—”
“Could it be,” Duncan cut in, “that all this is classified simply because it’s always been classified?”
“I understand what you’re saying.” Gullick attempted a disarming smile that didn’t work. He ran a finger over the file folder that held Kennedy’s report on Duncan and restrained an impulse to throw it at her. “It would be easy to see the secrecy surrounding Majic-12 as simply a leftover from the Cold War, but there are deeper implications here.”
“Such as?” Duncan didn’t wait for an answer. “Could part of those deeper implications be that this project had been founded illegally? That the importation of people such as Von Seeckt to work in it — in direct violation of law and a presidential order in force at the time — and other activities since then would open up personnel involved in this program to criminal prosecution?”
The glowing red numbers set into the desktop next to the computer screen read T-130H/16M. That was all that concerned Gullick. He’d talked to a few of the others about how to handle Duncan and now it was time to start with what they had come up with.
“Whatever happened fifty years ago is not our concern,” he said. “We are worried about the impact publicizing this program will have on the general population.
“Dr. Slayden, the program psychologist,” Gullick said, “is on our staff for this very reason. As a matter of fact, we will have a briefing from Dr. Slayden at eight A.M. on the twelfth. He’ll be able to explain things better then, but suffice it to say that the social and economic implications of revealing what we have here at Area 51 to the public are staggering. So staggering that every president since World War II has agreed that the utmost secrecy should surround this project.”
“Well, this president,” Duncan said, “may think differently. The times are changing. An immense amount of money has been poured into this project and the return has been minimal.”
“If we fly the mothership,” Gullick said, “it will all be worth it.” Duncan stubbed out her cigarette and stood. “I hope so. Good day, sir.” She turned on her high heels and walked out the door.
As soon as she was gone, the Majic-12 men in uniform and the representatives from the CIA and NRO came back in. All attempt at being cordial slipped from Gullick’s demeanor. “Duncan’s fishing. She knows there something more going on.” “We need to have Slayden give her the data on the implications of revealing the project,” Kennedy said.
“I told her about Slayden’s briefing and she’s got his written report already,” Gullick said. “No, she’s looking for something more.”
“Do you think she has something on Dulce?” Kennedy asked.
“No. If there was any suspicion about that, we’d know about it. We’re wired into every intelligence apparatus this country has. It has to be something else.” “Operation Paperclip?” Kennedy asked.
Gullick nodded. “She made a point of mentioning that Von Seeckt and others were recruited illegally. She knows too much. If they pull on that thread too hard, this whole thing might unravel.”
Kennedy pointed at the folder. “We can go hard with her if we need to.” “She’s the President’s representative,” General Brown warned.
“We just need time,” Gullick said. “I think Slayden’s psychobabble will keep her occupied. If not”—Gullick shrugged—“then we go hard.” He looked down at the computer screen and changed the subject. “What’s the status of Nightscape 96-7?” Gullick asked the director of Naval intelligence.
“Everything looks good,” Admiral Coakley answered.
“The MSS is secure and all elements are in place.”
“What about the infiltration by that reporter and the other person last night?” Gullick asked.
“We’ve cleaned it all up and there’s an added benefit to that situation,” Coakley said. “That other fellow’s name was Franklin. A UFO freak. He’s been a pain in the ass for a long time working out of his house in Rachel. We no longer have to worry about him. He’s dead and we have an adequate cover story in place.”
“How did they get inside the outer perimeter?” Gullick demanded, not appeased at all.
“Franklin unscrewed the antennas from the sensors on either side of the road,” Coakley replied. “We got that off a cassette recorder we found on the reporter.”
“I want that system replaced. It’s outdated. Go with laser sensors on all the roads.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the reporter?”
“He’s been transferred to Dulce. He was a freelancer. We’re working on a back story for his disappearance.”
“It won’t happen again,” Gullick said, his tone of voice indicating it was not a question.
“Yes, sir.”
“What about Von Seeckt?” Kennedy asked. “If he makes any more trouble, Duncan might start asking more questions.”
Gullick rubbed the side of his temple. “He’s become a liability. We’ll just have to move up his medical timetable. We’ll take care of the good doctor and insure he won’t cause any more problems. He outlived his usefulness to this program a long time ago. I’ll talk to Dr. Cruise.”
“What’s that?” Turcotte asked.
The man in the gray flight suit looked up. “Laser firing system,” he said shortly, snapping shut the metal case on the sophisticated machinery that had drawn Turcotte ‘s attention.
Turcotte had never seen a laser that was packed suitcase size, but the technician did not seem amenable to discussing the technology. Another question to add to all the others.
“Get some sleep. You’ll need the rest,” Prague said, appearing suddenly at his shoulder. “We’ll be ready to move after dark and you won’t get any sleep for a while.” Prague smiled. “Sleep good, meat, “ he added in German.
Turcotte stared at him for a second, then walked over to where the other off-shift security men were dozing in the shade offered by several trees. He grabbed a Gore-Tex bivy sack and slid into it, zipping it up around his chin. He thought about everything he had seen so far for about five minutes, wondering what Prague had been told about him.
He finally decided he didn’t have a clue what was going on or what Prague knew, and switched his brain off.
As he fell asleep, his mind shifted to other scenes.
Prague’s final words in German echoed through his brain and Turcotte fell into an uneasy slumber with the echo of gunfire and German voices screaming in fear and pain.
Lisa Duncan had read the figures and studied the classified photos, but they had not prepared her for the sheer size of this operation. Flying into Area 51 on board one of their black helicopters, she had been impressed with the long runway and the aboveground base facilities, but that impression had been dwarfed by what was hidden out of sight.