“I can’t answer that,” Von Seeckt said, “because I don’t know if STAAR really exists.”
Quinn backtracked. “But they could be using Scorpion Station, couldn’t they?”
“Perhaps,” Von Seeckt acknowledged. “It would be a good place to put an organization you wanted no one to find. Certainly much better than we did at Area 51.”
“Who would know about STAAR?” Quinn asked.
Von Seeckt’s frail shoulders moved in a shrug. “I don’t know. Majestic was hooked in to all the intelligence agencies and none of them had any hard data on it. Just rumors and bits and pieces.”
Von Seeckt coughed and took another drag of oxygen. “The interesting thing is,” he continued, “that this STAAR, if it does exist, must not have been doing much, since it’s never come into conflict with Majestic, the CIA, or any of the other various government agencies that are constantly bickering with each other.”
“Then what is its purpose?” Quinn wondered out loud.
“Maybe it is just to wait and watch,” Von Seeckt said.
“For what?”
Von Seeckt lifted his hand at the TV mounted on a wall bracket in his room. It was turned to CNN, the sound muted. The screen showed a picture of Mars. “Maybe for that. You say STAAR is taking action now?”
“STAAR’s got someone in Area 51 in charge of one of the bouncers,” Quinn told him.
“So STAAR is coming awake,” Von Seeckt said.
“But who could they be?” Quinn asked. “A branch of the CIA? NSA?”
“Why do you think they are American?” Von Seeckt asked.
“Because Scorpion was built by Majestic and Majestic was American.”
Von Seeckt cackled a laugh. “Ahh, let me back up, young man. What makes you think they, whoever they are in Scorpion Base, are human?”
CHAPTER 16
Kelly Reynolds felt a bead of sweat work its way down her back. She was standing on the hot tarmac of the Nellis Air Force Base runway arguing with a young lieutenant who did not want to let her board a helicopter that the display board in operations had indicated was flying to Area 51. She’d flown here on a departing military hop as soon as the 707 with the others had taken off. She knew the only way to stop them was to uncover more information, and the best place to do that was here, where Majestic had operated for half a century.
They both turned as a car pulled up and a blue-suited figure emerged with gold oak leaves on his shoulders.
“Major Quinn,” Kelly Reynolds said by way of greeting. She still distrusted the Air Force, despite the openness of the last two weeks. Her early experience with an Air Force UFO disinformation campaign, when her budding career in film documentaries had been destroyed in the process, had left her wary of men in blue uniforms.
“Miss Reynolds,” Quinn replied.
“Is that your helicopter?” Reynolds asked.
“Yes.”
“Can I get a ride?” The lieutenant started to say something, but his mouth snapped shut as Quinn waved for her to accompany him to the craft. Reynolds knew Quinn was doing everything he could to stay on the good side of the media. All the other members of Majestic were dead, having killed themselves like Gullick, or were being held in prison. Quinn was riding a thin line, and she also knew from Lisa Duncan that he had been ordered by the President to cooperate fully with the press.
“I just left Professor Von Seeckt,” Quinn said as they entered the side door and buckled in.
“How is he?” Von Seeckt was another person Reynolds felt little affinity for. The former Nazi had worked at Peenemunde and despite his claims of ignorance, Reynolds knew he had to have known about the Dora concentration camp, where slave labor for the missile facility had been housed. Reynolds’s father had been one of the first who entered the camp and experienced the death and misery firsthand. He’d told his daughter about it and the desire to never again let such atrocities go unnoticed or unpunished had been the driving force in Kelly’s path into a career in the media.
“Not well,” Quinn said. “The doctors give him less than a week.”
Kelly snorted. “They gave him that last week. He’s a tough old bastard.” She glanced over as the chopper lifted. “Why’d you see him?”
Quinn met her eyes. “There’s something weird going on.” He related the story of the strange person, Oleisa, showing up and commandeering a bouncer, and the messages being sent to Antarctica. He left off Von Seeckt’s last disturbing question, even though it had been the only thought rattling about his brain since leaving the old man.
“You really think Scorpion Base is being used by this STAAR?” Kelly asked.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Could it really be kept secret?”
Quinn nodded. “Yes. There’s no set satellite coverage of the land down there, and since the base was under the snowcap anyway, it wouldn’t be hard at all to keep it hidden. Also, remember that international treaty bars any weapons from being deployed on the continent, so it’s the least militarized place on the planet.
“Overflights are also virtually unknown because Scorpion Base is totally off any flight route to any of the other international bases. The vicious weather that’s common most of the time down there also discourages visitors.”
“I’ve never heard of a government agency that was able to keep a total veil of secrecy around itself,” Kelly said, realizing the contradiction built into her words as soon as she said them. “I want to know more about this.”
The helicopter was landing now, just outside the main hangar at Area 51. “I’ll show you everything I’ve managed to uncover,” Quinn said as they disembarked.
As they rode the elevator down to the Cube, Kelly reflected on the fact that just a few weeks ago Johnny Simmons had been captured trying to gain access to the very facility she was now being escorted into. If there was another secret government agency still at work, she promised herself that she would uncover it no matter what the cost.
The doors to the Cube slid open and Quinn led her to the raised desk at the back of the room. There was a subdued hum of activity from the rest of the room.
“I’ve had all our intelligence data links cued to pick up anything relating to STAAR,” Quinn said as he sat down. “I’ve also done an exhaustive search of the classified archives. There’s not much.”
“What do you have?” Kelly asked, the reporter part of her intrigued.
Quinn looked at his computer. “After the bouncers were removed, Scorpion Base remained empty for several years. Then in 1959, unknown even to Majestic at the time, someone moved in, taking over the deep chamber. I’ve got a report here from an engineering unit that put prefab structures deep under the ice, using the wide tunnel they’d dug to bring up the bouncers. I’ve checked and there’s no sign of the base on the surface. Aircraft going there are guided by a transmitter on a constantly changing frequency.”
“Who set it up?” Kelly asked.
“Scorpion was reestablished in 1959 by President Eisenhower. I’ve found a copy of the order and it’s very unusual. The presidential directive authorizing the base also stipulates that none of his successors were to be briefed on the existence of the station or the organization that ran it, known only by the acronym STAAR.”
“Jesus,” Kelly exclaimed. “How could they keep this secret all these years?”
“The appropriation for STAAR is hidden inside the sixty-seven-billion-dollar-a-year black budget,” Quinn explained. This was an area he was very familiar with from his work with Majestic. “By the same presidential directive that established it, STAAR took a specified percentage every year, no questions asked, and wired to a Swiss bank account. I bet you there’s a good chance no one in present-day Washington knows that STAAR exists.”