Gatenby chased his wife back behind the curtain as his producer signaled that they were coming out of commercial. Locating the teleprompter, he waited for his D.J. and co-host, Kyle Knori, to finish playing Abracadabra by the Steve Miller Band.
“Thank you, K.K. My next guest is a retired United States Army Colonel who has written a book about aliens… and not the ones we’re building a wall to keep out… let’s give a big Dickie welcome to Colonel Alexander Johnston!”
The white-haired man in his seventies waved at the studio audience as he strode across the stage to occupy the vacant couch next to the tattooed Brit.
Dickie held up the hard cover book that was lying on his desk. “The book is called, UFOs and Extraterrestrials: All You Need to Know. Personally, I need to know a lot. But before we talk about the book, let’s get a bit randy, shall we? You’ve had an interesting career, Colonel. Back in ’Nam, you commanded Special Forces ‘A’ Teams.”
“That’s correct.”
“Ever kill anyone?”
“Suffice it to say, I’ve seen my share of death.”
“You’ve not only seen your share of it… I understand you earned a degree in it?”
“Thanatology. It’s the study of death and dying and the psychological mechanisms of dealing with them.”
“Seems like a strange major. For the final, did you have to go out and kill someone?”
The colonel grimaced through the sustained applause and laughter.
“The subject of thanatology deals with the thoughts and reactions of the dying, something that varies from culture to culture. How an oncologist or priest prepares a terminal patient for death in America is far different than what a shaman in the jungles of Thailand will do. I was most interested in the multitude of reactions of the dying.”
“Is that how you earned the nickname, ‘Dr. Death?’ ”
The colonel forced a smile. “That was more of an academic nickname.”
“After ’Nam, you returned to the states where you went to work at the Los Alamos National Laboratory. This is a place normally associated with a whole lot of death and destruction, yes?”
“True. Los Alamos is where the U.S. government conducted its top-secret nuclear weapons programs.”
“But that’s not what you did?”
“No. My focus was on developing non-lethal warfare programs.”
“Is that because of all the death you witnessed in Vietnam?”
“I just felt that there were more efficient methods of subduing an enemy than scorching the earth with napalm.”
“For instance?”
“Well, let’s say your village was being threatened by a hostile air force. Instead of shooting them down, you could direct an electromagnetic pulse that would scramble their controls and have them dropping out of the sky.”
The colonel smiled at the applause.
“Speaking of things dropping out of the sky… UFOs. Are they real, or is this all nonsense?”
“Before I answer that, Dickie, let’s be clear here — I am not your average Joe. I’ve spent most of my adult life in the military and as a government liaison. Having spoken to hundreds of pilots and radar personnel, my view on UFOs is that, of the tens of thousands of sightings on record, approximately 5 % remain unexplained. Having investigated both the military’s and the government’s responses to these unexplained sightings, I am convinced there is definitely something to these encounters. However, I can also state unequivocally that there is no government or military cover-up, no conspiracy.”
“What about Roswell?”
“As I’ve detailed in my book, the Roswell crash was nothing more than a top secret military program called Project Mogul. It was essentially a weather balloon experiment that a bunch of yokels turned into an episode of War of the Worlds. Unfortunately, the American public, God bless ’em, can get a little riled up.”
Boos rose from the studio audience.
The colonel responded with a smirk. “Settle down. I didn’t say I don’t believe in UFOs. I was simply telling you the truth about Roswell.”
“Dr. Death, have you ever heard of Steven Greer? We had him on the show two weeks ago talking about his new book, UNACKNOWLEDGED: An Exposé of the World’s Greatest Secret, and I think he might disagree with you about Roswell.”
“Dr. Greer is a charlatan.”
More boos.
“Now, hear me out. Greer makes a lot of money taking groups out to the desert and other remote areas to talk to the aliens. It’s a bunch of nonsense, and it’s one of the reasons I wrote my book — to protect the unsuspecting public from being ripped off.”
The host held up his hands, attempting to calm his audience. “Easy now. The man has a right to his opinion, just as you have a right not to buy his book.”
The boos changed to applause.
“I don’t think they like you, Dr. Death.”
The colonel’s face flushed pink.
“Colonel, I understand you were part of a group of researchers and scientists who investigated reports of cattle mutilations and other strange alien occurrences. Was that our Mexican aliens sneaking over the border, or were these actual ETs?”
“It’s hard to say, Dickie.”
“Whoa… fella. This is public TV. You can’t say ‘Dickie’ and ‘it’s hard’ together.”
Laughter.
“Hey Al, I just realized… we’ve got a Dickie and a Johnson sharing the same stage. This interview just turned into a sausage party!”
More laughter, followed by wild applause — prodded by the producer.
“Actually, it’s Johnston… Colonel Alexander Johnston.”
“Do aliens have penises? You never hear about that, only the anal probes. Wish we could talk more about aliens and alien sex but that’s all the time we have for this segment. The book is called, UFOs and Extraterrestrials: All You Need to Know. The author, Colonel Death… I mean Johnson. We’ll be right back with Theresa Ritter and her flock of sheep dogs.”
Before the colonel could correct the annoying Brit again, he was cut off by the Steve Miller Band’s Abracadabra.
“Thanks for being a good sport, Colonel.”
The white-haired military man’s eyes seemed to burn through the back of Richard Gatenby’s skull.
“You will not sleep well tonight.”
The vault was located underground, two miles beneath the Dugway Proving Grounds near Provo, Utah. The man who had personally trained the “Army grunts” operating the EMS unit stood just outside the tunnel entrance to the facility, awaiting instructions from his commanding officer.
Scott Muse swallowed the bile rising in his esophagus. He chased it back down with a sip of bottled water, then dug inside the pocket of his lab coat and fished out the roll of antacids. Peeling back the foil, he popped two of the chewable tablets into his mouth, hoping to settle the acid reflux. He had stronger stuff at home — prescription meds. But much like his job, they carried the threat of long-term side-effects.
Seven and a half more months and you can retire… assuming the colonel lets me walk.
What if I got my gastro guy to write up a report saying that I have cancer of the esophagus? He’d have to let me go then.
Or what if it really is cancer and the bastard gave it to me…
Four decades had passed since the engineer had been recruited straight out of the University of Cincinnati by NASA on the recommendation of Wernher von Braun, the German rocket scientist who had practically founded the U.S. space program. The year was 1975 and Muse — then a doctoral candidate — had published his second paper on anti-gravitics. Von Braun recognized a budding genius and set out to recruit him before health issues forced his own retirement. Interviews were conducted, an offer made — and then another recruiter came calling.