“They want the full Houdini?” Mike asked. Everyone understood that the full Houdini meant invisible to radar and the naked eye.
“Yep, everything, right now. This is big, Evans, real big.” The scientist patted Evans on the back with the glaze covered hand that had held the donut.
General Durant walked up to Mike Evans, as the donut eating scientist went to select his next doughy victim. Mike wished he had made a break for the coffee and donut table.
“Good morning, Mike,” The General bellowed, as he grabbed Mike’s hand and began to vigorously shake it.
“Morning, General.”
This guy must be on his fifth cup of coffee already.
“Have they told you what we are doing this morning?”
“Something about giving seven C-17s the full Houdini.”
“That’s right. I’ve always liked you, you know that. How long have we known each other, Mike?” The General, who had spider veins across his cheeks, was a real blow hard to his men, but he was very polite to the scientists.
“About 20 years, Sir.”
“Seems like just yesterday they were debriefing me about your people being here on Earth.”
“Nope, it was twenty years, three months, and sixteen days ago when we first met. May I ask why we have to get the job done in two hours?” Mike was hoping for something of value to report to Calidus. Maybe he could trade the information for his ticket out of America; maybe he could be with Nakita in Antarctica.
“All I can say, is that this is the biggest thing to happen on Earth in 70 years. We must recover some very valuable cargo from a very sensitive locations. Secrecy is of upmost concern, and our window of opportunity is very small.” The General was as gleeful as a kid on Christmas morning.
Mike knew he was not going to get anymore, so he did not bother to ask. “We will need 500 men to get the job done in two hours.”
“You will have 200 hundred,” the General said, as he walked away.
I’ve got to contact Calidus. This may be my ticket out of here.
A few minutes later, they were being whisked away to a remote section of the base, where seven C-17s sat on the airport apron. Several busloads of airmen were being transported to the site where the planes were to be upgraded. The men piled out of the busses and waited for orders. Mike and the other scientists gathered at the front of the staging area; materials were being driven from the hangers to the site on flatbed trucks. Military police were setting up a perimeter so that unauthorized personnel would not come near the project.
“What are they going to do with these airmen that are not read into this program?” Mike asked a General standing next him.
“Probably just shoot them.” The General laughed. “Just kidding. They have no idea what they are doing, or what the result will be. They won’t even know the plane is invisible. They will sign NDAs and be told if they ever speak of what they saw here today, they will be criminally prosecuted.”
Mike nodded his head in agreement.
This is how they keep the public from knowing of our existence. A mixture of lies, half-truths, and threats. I should do something about that one day.
The airmen started placing the electrochromic tiles on the huge cargo plane. Each tile was one-foot square, and the plane was 174 feet long and had a 170-foot wing span. The Air Force’s second largest conventional cargo plane weighed in at 282,400 pounds. Once all the squares were placed on this plane, an electric charge would run through the tiles, connecting them all. Each tile had an embedded microprocessor that allowed it to work with all the other tiles, forming a super computer on the new skin of the plane. Each tile was only a few centimeters thick and attached to the plane with a super adhesive. Once attached to the plane, the tile was not going to come off.
The electrochromic tiles, working together as one Exoskin, would project a three-dimensional image around the craft. The image could be of anything, another plane, the moon, a UFO, a cloud or simply blue sky. Either way, the observer sees what the Exoskin is displaying, not the plane itself. In the past, while invading foreign territory, pilots had displayed the image of an enemy fighter. A TR3B may appear to be a MiG-31 while flying over Russia.
Still, it was a huge job; fifty percent of each tile had to be touching the other adjacent tiles for it to receive the charge and connect to the network. If even half of a tile’s edges did not touch other tiles, then the device would not activate, and there would be a hole in the invisibility cloak. A few holes, did not matter due to the altitudes and speeds at which a plane travels. But when it landed, a few holes could be all that is needed for the enemy to spot the plane. The airmen worked tirelessly to attach each square tile to the plane in such a manner that all the squares would connect to the other tiles.
As the airmen were getting close to finishing their part of the job, Mike knew his role was about to begin. Mike was part of the team that set up the pilot’s controls to operate the Exoskin and to make sure all the tiles had come online and were functioning properly. If he did his job right, the plane would disappear right before the eyes of all those on the tarmac.
“Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom,” Mike said to the officers and scientists standing around watching.
“No problem, Mike.”
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Mike said as he started to walk toward one of the hangers.
Mike had walked about 50 yards when he looked around to make sure no one was near him. “Calidus Delusor, are you there?”
“Calidus Delusor?” Mike put his finger to his ear as if Calidus’ response would be audible. Of course, the response, if any, would not be heard through Mike’s ear. Mike waited a few seconds for a reply.
“Calidus Delusor, can you hear me?” Mike said again, as he hurried to the bathroom in the hangar.
No response.
What should I do? Should I sabotage the mission? Make it so the Globe masters will become visible over Russia?
Mike pushed open the door to the grimy old restroom. The small bathroom had tiny square blue tiles on the walls and a dim, flickering fluorescent light. The restroom was empty; he was alone. Mike knew it could be hours before Calidus responded. He did not have hours; he only had minutes.
Whatever they are doing, I will be out of the loop as soon as those planes take off. For me to remain useful in this situation, I must be on that plane.
Mike formulated his plan and hurried back to the worksite. Mike sprinted up the rear ramp of the C-17, and into the cargo hold area, which was large enough to carry an M-1 Abrams tank or a Chinook helicopter. The floor of the massive cargo hold, capable of carrying 169,000 pounds of military might, could be converted from a smooth surface to a roller system for loading boxes or palettes.
In the cockpit, there were four chairs for pilots and crew; three were occupied by technicians, men and Vitahicians he knew well.
“Hey, where are we at on the project?” Mike asked.
“Five of the planes have all the tiles on them; the other two do not. This is the first plane we have been able to start working on, as far as bringing the tiles online. We have 30 minutes to finish the job, if we are going to stay on schedule.”
“Not good. Once this puppy is in the air, with a cruising speed of 515 miles per hour, it will take nearly 9 hours for the C-17s to reach their destination. That’s not even accounting for the fact that they will have to refuel midway across the Pacific,” Mike said, as he plopped down into the co-pilot’s seat and linked his laptop to the C-17’s flight controls.