“I want to see the duty officer,” Lisa Duncan said to the sergeant seated behind the counter at the flight operations center at the base of the Nellis Air Force Base tower.
“And you are?” the sergeant asked without much interest.
Duncan pulled out her wallet and flipped open the special ID she’d been given upon getting her appointment. “I am the President’s chief scientific adviser.” “The president of…?” the sergeant began, then he halted as he saw the seal on the laminated card. “Excuse me, ma’am! I’ll get the major right away!” The major wasn’t quite as impressed with the ID card when he heard what she wanted. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the Groom Lake area is completely off limits to all flights. Even if I could get you a helicopter at this time of the evening, they would not be authorized to fly into that airspace.”
“Major,” Duncan said, “it is imperative that I get flown out to Groom Lake this evening.”
The duty officer reached for the phone. “I can call out there and see if they will authorize a flight and then—”
“No,” Duncan cut in. “I don’t want them to know I’m coming.”
The major shook his head. “I’m sorry, then. There’s nothing I can do.” “Who do you work for?” Duncan asked, her voice cold.
“Uh, well, I work in the ops section for Colonel Thomas.”
Duncan shook her head. “Higher.”
“The base commander is—”
“Higher.”
The duty officer glanced nervously at the sergeant who had first talked to Duncan. “This base falls under the command of—”
“Who’s your commander-in-chief?” Duncan asked.
“The President, ma’am.”
Duncan leaned over the counter and picked up a phone. “Do you want to talk to him?”
“Do I want to talk…” the major repeated dumbly. “No, ma’am.”
“Then I suggest you get me a helicopter right away to take me where I want to go.”
The major looked at the ID card lying on the counter one more time, then turned to the sergeant. “Get me the PR on duty.”
“PR?” Duncan asked.
“Pararescue,” the major explained. “We always have one crew of pararescue men on call for emergencies.”
“They have a helicopter?”
“Yes, ma’am, they have a helicopter.” The major glanced at the sergeant on the phone. “And they know how to fly it.”
“That’s it,” Von Seeckt said. “The mailbox.”
There were a half-dozen vehicles parked off the side of the dirt road and a group of people scattered about. Some were well prepared, seated in recliners, while others stood, scanning the horizon with a variety of binoculars and night vision devices.
“Dim your lights,” Von Seeckt said.
Kelly pushed the button in and with their parking lights on they pulled off to the side of the road. She put the parking brake on, then stepped out. Von Seeckt joined her, while Nabinger remained in the back of the van.
Kelly walked up to an old couple who were comfortably seated in front of a pair of telescopes, with a cooler between their chairs. “Excuse me,” Kelly began. “Yes, dear?” the old woman replied.
“Do you know a man named the Captain?”
She chuckled. “Everyone here does.” She pointed to a van parked about twenty feet away. “He’s there.”
Kelly led Von Seeckt over. The van was parked so that the rear end pointed toward the mountains that marked the edge of Area 51. The back doors were wide open and a very large scope was sticking out. Behind it a man in a wheelchair had his face pressed up against the eyepiece.
He pulled back as Kelly stepped up. He was a black man, his lower half covered by a blanket draped over his lap. His hair was white and he looked to be about sixty years old.
“I’m Kelly Reynolds.”
The man simply looked at them.
“I’m a friend of Johnny Simmons,” she continued.
“So he got the tape,” the man growled.
“Yes,” Kelly said.
“Took you long enough. Where’s Simmons?”
“He’s dead.” She pointed to the west. “He tried to infiltrate Area 51 and got caught. They took him to Dulce, New Mexico. We broke him out but he killed himself.”
The old man didn’t seem too surprised. “I heard they do strange things to people down at Dulce.”
Kelly stepped closer. “I’ll tell you the full story real quick. Then we need your help.”
The officer in the flight suit stuck out a hand. “Lieutenant Haverstaw at your service, ma’am.”
“Call me Lisa,” Duncan said.
The officer smiled. “I’m Debbie.” She pointed at the other people in flight suits. “That’s my copilot, Lieutenant Pete Jefferson; our PRs are Sergeant Hancock and Sergeant Murphy.” The two men were stowing gear on the back of the UH-60 Blackhawk.
“What are they loading?” Duncan asked.
“Our standard rescue gear,” Haverstraw said.
“I just need you to fly me out to Groom Lake,” Duncan said.
“SOP — standing operating procedures,” Haverstraw said. “We always carry our rescue gear when we fly. Our primary mission, other than flying presidential scientific advisers around, is to rescue downed aircrews. You never know if we might get diverted to a mission.” She smiled.
“Besides, from what the duty officer briefed me, we’re flying an unfiled mission into Area 51 airspace. Who knows what we’ll run into? I’ve heard some strange stories about that place.”
“Do you have a problem with running this mission?”
Duncan asked, slipping her professional mask back on.
“No problem. I’ve been ordered by the post duty officer, who represents the post commander, to fly you wherever you want.” Haverstaw put her flight helmet on. “My ass is covered.” She opened the door on the pilot’s side. “Besides, I hate seeing those big no-fly areas on the flight maps. Kind of view them as a challenge. Hell, I’m looking forward to this.” She extended her hand toward the rear.
“Climb on board.”
Taking a deep breath, Kelly called out. “Excuse me, everyone! I have something to say that you all might be interested in.”
The UFO watchers all turned and looked at her, but no one moved until the Captain’s voice boomed out behind her. “Get over here!”
They gathered round, a loose circle of figures in the dark.
“These people need our help,” the Captain said. “You all know I been here a long time watching. Twenty-two years, to be exact. Tonight we’re going to be doing more than just watch.”
As the Captain spoke, outlining what Kelly had asked, a figure at the back separated from the group and slipped away into the darkness. When the car drove away, lights out, no one noticed, so caught up were they in what the Captain was saying.
The glow from the aboveground Groom Lake complex was off to Turcotte’s right as he finished descending the mountain he had just crossed. The runway cut across his front, and beyond that, the mountainside under which the mothership rested, according to Von Seeckt’s directions.
So far, so good, Turcotte thought to himself. But for the rest of the way he was going to need help. He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes. Gritting his teeth, Turcotte set to work on his knee, keeping the tendons from tightening up by jabbing his fingers into the swollen flesh and massaging it.
Sergeant Hancock showed Lisa Duncan how to put on the helmet and talk on the built-in radio.
“We’re clear to lift,” Lieutenant Haverstraw announced from the front. “You all set back there?”