“I know the risks, General,” Cal said, protest in his voice.
“I know you do, son. I know you do. And…” Vandenberg paused to fight back the tears that were nonetheless coming through. “And I know what kind of man you are. You’ve earned your peace and quiet. Don’t jeopardize that. You go have a good life now, you read me?”
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “I might just come anyway.”
“Then I’m gonna put out an alert on you,” Vandenberg said, steel entering his voice. “Please. Don’t tempt me. I can’t have more time, knowing you could end up in prison for the rest of your life. Just… go on now. Thank you. Really. But you just let me be. Go enjoy yourself. Be with your family.”
“Sir, really, I can—”
Vandenberg didn’t wait for Cal to finish, instead replacing the phone on the cradle. Only then did he allow himself to break down.
Frank walked through the McClellan Gate, an ornate red sandstone archway with an inscription in yellow-gold: “Rest On Embalmed And Sainted Dead Dear As The Blood Ye Gave No Impious Footsteps Here Shall Tread The Herbage Of Your Grave.” Frank thought it overwrought and maudlin, but it was built while the memory of the Civil War was still fresh, and the folks back then seemed to be a more florid bunch to begin with.
He took a left and began walking, past rows and rows of simple white stone markers and leafless trees, looking at the paper in his hand. After about five minutes, he found what he was looking for.
IN MEMORY OF
DANIEL J.
WALLACE
MISSOURI
MEDAL OF HONOR
COMMANDER
US NAVY
WORLD WAR II
MAR 3 1920
JUNE 23 1953
Frank shoved the paper back in his pocket, then folded his hands and stared down at the stone, at the dead winter grass, at the little American flag placed there by some school kids or ladies’ group or whatever. He thought maybe he should say a prayer, but after all he’d experienced, it seemed the entire notion of heaven and hell was just… off.
Maybe Danny was in that other place, on the other side of the white light. Maybe not. Frank knew only that he didn’t know, and he’d never know until it was his time.
“Heya, Frank.”
He turned and smiled slightly as Maggie walked over. She was dressed in a long dark coat and a blue dress, heels, a hat, the whole nine yards. She even had those little formal white gloves ladies sometimes wore, and her red hair was done up nice. She really did look like Rita Hayworth when she wanted to.
“Garbo. I always liked that one,” Frank said. Garbo was a perfect code word for a fake-double agent. The more obvious reference was the Greta Garbo picture, The Two-Faced Woman, and talking about Greta Garbo in most circumstances was pretty benign and easy to work into conversation.
The other reference, though, was far more interesting — and known only to spooks. Juan Pujol García was a Spaniard who went to work spying on the British on behalf of the Nazis — except he was really working for the British. He did so well in his double role that he got the Iron Cross from Germany. And his code name during the war was Garbo.
“You doubted me?” Maggie teased.
Frank just smiled. “Always. Why didn’t you work it in at the Lubyanka? We got the SATCHMO all-clear from Washington. Big and brassy. Could’ve wrapped it up then and there.”
Maggie grimaced a little at that. “I figured you were doing SATCHMO. But I didn’t know where Beria was keeping his nuke. I needed more time. Tried to work Garbo in there, but you were way too spooked. And then you threw a chair through the fucking window and jumped. If you had just waited a few more minutes…”
“I’m not the most patient guy,” Frank said. “Glad you got my message. You didn’t give us a chance to catch up before you got out of Dodge. What have you been up to?”
Maggie shrugged. “Laying low, moving around a bit. Staying out of trouble. Well, there was that weekend in Atlantic City. A girl’s gotta have fun.”
“I don’t even want to know,” Frank said. “What about long term? What’cha gonna do with your life?”
“Honestly? No idea. For now, just gonna find a small, quiet corner of the world, not a lot of people. Somewhere to hunker down a while and sort things out. You?”
Frank shoved his hands in his pockets and took out his cigarettes and a lighter. “Gonna travel some. I still got all these languages in my head, might as well put ’em to use. Probably just do what I did back before Danny found me. Job to job, place to place, just see what a world without all this spy crap looks like.”
They both grew silent at Danny’s name and looked down at his final resting place. “He was a good guy,” Maggie said finally. “Fought for us every step of the way. Really thought it would work, that we’d do our time and then be left alone.”
“Maybe if he were still around. Now? I mean, we were dangerous before. Now, one of us tried to nuke Korea, and the rest of us know way too much. Danny’s gone, Vandenberg’s retired and doesn’t have much time left.” Frank lit his cigarette and took a long drag. “Nobody left to speak for us. We did the right thing.”
Maggie reached over, took Frank’s cigarette, and took a drag of her own. “We should’ve left years ago. But, it is what it is.” She handed the butt back to him. “How are the others?”
Frank smiled. “Cal’s fine. He had plans in place for him and his family. Rose ended up in Switzerland, doing something with physics there, of all things, and she took Ekaterina with her, working to get her officially adopted. Sorensen just moved to Winnipeg and just made contact with his family to get them up there.”
“Not smart,” Maggie said.
“I helped him work it out, don’t worry,” Frank replied. “And Yamato’s off God knows where. I’m trying to keep my ear to the ground for the others.”
She looked at him quizzically. “Why? It’s a risk.”
“Because he’d want me to,” Frank said, nodding at Danny’s tombstone.
They both stared at the grave for a while, until Maggie broke the silence. “All right. I’m off. See you around.”
“Maggie.”
She turned around, but Frank was at a loss for words. Of all the experts who’d inhabited his head for all those years, nobody had any idea of what to say next. “Wait… yeah. I, uh…”
Maggie smiled, turned back and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Trust me, I’m the last girl you’d want around. Go find someone nice.”
That wasn’t what Frank had in mind, which he figured she already knew, but the gesture was oddly comforting. “If I need to reach you…” he said finally.
This time, she turned and kept walking.
“Don’t,” she said.
History and MAJESTIC-12
“Which parts of this are real?”
When one writes historical fantasies, that’s a completely valid question, and my excellent editor, Cory Allyn, had to ask that a few times over the course of our work on the MAJESTIC-12 books. History is full of noteworthy characters and unusual circumstances, so you might be surprised as to what’s real, and what’s not. (Editor’s note: in a series full of superheroes and supernatural occurrences, the sections I originally noted as least plausible were usually the ones that stuck closest to actual history!)
The MAJESTIC-12 books are historical fantasy (or, perhaps, historical science fiction), but they’re not necessarily alternate history, because at the end of the day, I wanted to make sure the general course of history wouldn’t need to change as a result of the Variants’ existence. Consider the MJ-12 program as more of a secret history that leans on existing events and individuals to help inform the story.