Weller--A Novel In Work (7) The sun was just rising above the horizon as Mack Foster began to gain his cruising altitude for the return flight to Vega. Crazy MUFON guys he thought to himself!! They were practically creaming their jeans to get the video tapes he had laying on the co-pilots seat back to Parker at the station. Sometimes he wondered who was more crazy, them, or Parker? Suddenly, Foster’s chopper was practically knocked from orbit by the jet wash from a fighter that blew by him a super sonic speed. Fighting to regain control of his ship, Foster struggled with the controls. Just as he brought the chopper back into plane a F22 pulled along side of him flying at what he figured must be near stall speed to keep pace. You SON OF A BITCH he screamed at no one in particular!! Foster was a veteran pilot and he immediately knew what was happening--harassment, plane and simple. Anyone that even flew close to the restricted air space around Area 51 could expect to be escorted away, and not too ceremonially!! FUCK YOU ASSHOLE, Foster cursed to himself, knowing he was well outside of the federally protected no fly zone!! Attempting to maintain his momentarily disrupted cool, he refocused on his flight controls determined not to let the fighter jock get his goat. Momentarily confused, he watched in amazement as his instruments spun crazily out of control. His compass was spinning like a pinwheel, altimeter and artificial horizon were completely off the grid. What the fuck, Foster though to himself?? The next moment, the F22 veered away and his instruments began to return to normal. JESUS CHRIST, Foster muttered, sometime this job just doesn’t pay enough!! UPDATE # 5 STARTS HERE President Jon Mathews sat quietly in the Oval Office, a cup of steaming hot coffee untouched on his desk. This was going to be a very long and trying day. Crocker’s report had been disheartening, to say the least. Four FA-18 fighters gone, without a trace. Completely vaporized apparently. Search and rescue hadn’t found a thing. No wreckage of any kind. The Ranger’s flown to Bamsy had also all died, plus seven more at the UFO crash site. Now he had to deal with Wellington, and he hated that!! Andrew Michael Wellington III was a throwback to the Truman Administration, or more specifically, his Grandfather, Andrew Michael the first. Mathews had been prepared for many things when he took office, but some secrets the President becomes privy to defy rational explanation. After the Roswell incident, President Truman had set up a secret council of top scientific and military minds to study the UFO crash in New Mexico. To a degree, that organization still functioned today, albeit, with a great deal more knowledge and power then the original council had. Andrew Michael Wellington III was the third generation of Wellington to head the council, creating a bureaucratic dynasty which would rival Hoover’s legendary control of the FBI. Although technically under Mathews control and funded through the President’s discretionary “Black” budget, Wellington answered to no man. The knowledge he, his father, and his Grandfather before him possessed, made the man virtually untouchable. Mathews knew that Wellington was going to be pissed having been excluded from the loop early on. Oh well, fuck the arrogant bastard!! Mathew’s infrequent meetings with Wellington were always held in the early hours of the morning, before his regular staff arrived, as Wellington had an absolute obsession with secrecy. A light tap on the door signaled Wellington’s arrival. Come, the President beckoned and in walked the eloquently dressed leader of MAJIC. Good morning, Mr. President, Wellington greeted Mathews with a pleasant smile on his face. Morning Andy, Mathews replied, how they hanging? Mathews knew his deep southern roots and easy going style annoyed the stuffy, Harvard grad to no end, so he played it up whenever they had their clandestine little powwows. Ignoring the President’s obvious reference to his manhood, Wellington helped himself to a cup of the President’s coffee and sat down in an easy chair in front of the fireplace. Prick, Mathews thought to himself, knowing that Wellington had purposely chosen the seat so that his back would be to the President, thus forcing Mathews to join him, if the two men were to talk face to face. I understand the last 24 hours have been very interesting Wellington, mused? Not about to be bated, Mathews remained quite for moment then replied, everyday is interesting as President. No doubt, Wellington agreed, but it’s not everyday that the leader of the free world comes into possession of an extra-terrestrial space craft? True, Mathews acknowledged, but you’d probably know more about that sort of thing then I do? Wellington secretly loved this sort of exchange. Loved verbally baiting the President, but still there was work to be done, so he opted to cut to the chase. I’ve dispatch a team of my people to work with the engineers out at 51 on the reverse engineering of the captured craft. Mathews didn’t even bother asking how Wellington knew about the downed alien craft, he already knew that Wellington maintained an extensive network of “associates” sprinkled throughout every aspect of the military and scientific community, in not only the United States, but around the world. I know, Mathews acknowledged, I approved their presence on the base, not too subtly reinforcing to Wellington that he was the President, and still maintained some control over MAJIC operations. Thank you for your courtesy, Wellington replied with just a touch of sarcasm in his voice. Is there anything else, Mathews asked, obviously ready to end a meeting he saw as pointless and a waste of his time? Just one thing, Wellington offered almost as an after thought. The Weller woman, is pregnant. Well, I guess congratulations are in order, Mathews replied, as if to say, “what does that mean to me?” The thing is, Wellington continued, she’s not supposed to be pregnant. She’s on birth control and had a period just last week. So, birth control is not always 100 percent effective, and women’s plumbing is hardly 100 percent predictable, or reliable, Mathews replied. Perhaps, Wellington acknowledged, but we think it’s more then that. WE, Mathews questions. Yes. Wellington replied, I took the liberty of acquiring her medical files and having them reviewed by my own experts. Reviewed for what, Mathews questioned? It’s become standard practice for us Mr. President, Wellington replied. We check out as many abduction cases as possible, in light of the aliens’ obvious interest in the breeding of genetic hybrids. AND, Mathews questioned? We think there is a high probability that the Weller woman is carrying a genetically engineered alien hybrid in her womb. And if so, Mathews questioned? If so, we’d obviously want to harvest it, before the aliens do Wellington replied, rather matter of factly! Harvest it, Mathews exclaimed!! It’s a child, not a crop!! I understand Mr. President, Wellington replied, but the simple fact remains that the potential scientific value of the DNA data we could acquire is beyond the pale of any moral, or ethical considerations. I thought you guys already had samples of the Aliens DNA? Unfortunately not, Wellington replied. We didn’t have the technology available in 1947 to unravel or properly exploit the captured alien’s DNA at the time, and over the years the tissue samples that were harvested have completely degraded. So, what of the other women you’ve “tested?” No success, Wellington replied with a touch of dismay. We simply haven’t found a solid case to work with before now. So what are you proposing, Mathews questioned? Well, Wellington replied, we obviously can’t allow the Weller woman to just run about freely, can we? The “Weller” woman as you call her, is a citizen of the United States with all the rights to freedom accorded by the Constitution, so it’s not like we can just lock her up against her will, Mathews replied with indignation!! Actually, we can sir, Wellington replied. Alex Parker was waiting at the landing pad for Mack Foster as he touched down. Instinctively ducking under the spinning rotors, he met Foster at the chopper door, hand extended. Only too glad to be discharged of his cargo and through with this particular assignment, Foster handed Parker the video tapes then began his shut down procedures. Parker dashed back into the station and proceeded straight to the video editing room. Slamming the first tape into the cassette deck, he hit play and watched anxiously. Nothing but snow appeared on the monitor. Quickly fast forwarding, he scanned the monitor, but with the same results. Again and again he fast forwarded through the first and then the second video cassette with the same results. The tapes were blank!! Perry Franklin and Troy Little were dead tired. They had been up all night monitoring the activities over Area 51 and they were now contemplating rather to sleep and stay another night, or break camp and return home to Las Vegas. Franklin’s cell rang and he hurriedly answered, excited to be hearing from Alex Parker so quickly!! So, how about it Alex, awesome shit, isn’t it? There was a momentary pause, then Parker replied. The tapes are blank Perry. There nothing on them, but snow. WHAT?? Franklin exclaimed. I watched the playback before I sent them to you, Alex --they were incredible!! Dan Weller laid comfortably between the sheets of a king size bed at the Holiday Inn in Waco, Texas. Shanna was snuggled into his side sleeping peacefully. It was a moment of Zen. Adam, his son was sleeping beside them in a trundle bed. The sun was just starting to show around the edges of the blackout curtains that covered the widows. The air conditioner was humming softly, and Weller was feeling tired. Too tired to move. Too tired to think. He and Shanna had been up late, long after Adam had fallen asleep. They talked and pondered. Shanna was pregnant, at least 10 weeks. Counting back, they knew it wasn’t right. Shanna had been out of town, visiting her mother in Kansas, ten weeks before. She had been gone for two weeks. They had made love before she left and after she returned, but the math wasn’t working out. Laying in bed, his wife by his side, he shuttered briefly. There were things he hadn’t told her. Horrible things he didn’t want to have to relive. Didn’t want to think about. Things they had done to him. Mercifully, he hadn’t remembered for years. He had blocked the memories, or perhaps they had, but they were dredged back up when he had undergone regressive hypnosis. Now he remembered, but he hadn’t told his wife. He had spared her the horror!! Even now, she remembered nothing of her recent abduction. All she could remember was being on the ship with the Rangers and then being at the hospital at Fort Hood. His cell phone chirped, and he picked it up from the bedside table. A text message from Gallagher. “Call me when you wake up, Breakfast is on the President.” Alex Parker was just turning to leave the video editing room when Jamie Thomson entered. Hey, heard you had some hot video come in on the chopper, anything I can help you with. Thomson was an apprentice from UNLV, always ready to help out senior staff members in the hope that he’d have a solid job offer from the station upon graduation. I don’t know Jamie, Parker replied. Looks like the tapes are blank. What was supposed to be on them Thomson asked. I’m not sure really, Parker replied. The MUFON guys out of Freedom Ridge said they had some hot video from last night. The tapes were supposedly good when they went on the chopper, but there’s nothing on them now. Mind if I take a look, Thomson asked? No, help yourself, Parker replied. Hitting the play button, Thomson stood silently in front of the monitor observing the same thing that Parker had seen earlier, snow and static. If the tapes were good before they came to us, they might have been effected by something magnetic, Thomson speculated. Like what, Parker ask? I don’t know, maybe something in the chopper, or some outside influence. Well regardless, Parker mused, their toast now. Maybe not, Parker replied. Mind if I play with them some. No not at all, Parker replied, what do you have in mind. Well, if that were effected my magnetism we might be able to clean them up some. We’re working on some software at school for the military. You know, image enhancement stuff. Okay, Parker replied, you get me some images off those tapes and you’ll have made your bones with me. Deal then, Thomson replied. Peanut Brown was up and moving, feeling slightly refreshed, but still a little groggy from his nap. Tapping out a text he sent the message, “On my way” then headed out the door of his motel. Perhaps overly cautious, he had meticulously wiped down every surface he might have touched, before leaving the hotel room. The drive into Vegas proper took about 30 minutes, but he was still a little early for his lunch meeting with Alex Parker. JoJos was an old world diner from the 50s, famous for their succulent cheese burger and milk shakes, but more importantly, a “locals” eating place, not commonly frequented by tourist. Grabbing a booth in the back of the diner he ordered a Coke, but before it arrived, Parker was sliding into the booth across from him. You look tired, Parker remarked, yeah Brown replied, you do to. Well, I am, Parker replied. I got rolled out of bed at 3:00AM. Breaking news story, Brown asked, or pissed off husband? Neither apparently, Parker replied. The MUFON guys over on Freedom Ridge said they had some hot video of an attack on the base last night, so I sent the chopper over to get it, but when it came in, it was blank. Blank, Brown questioned? Yep, nothing but snow and static, Parker replied. We’ve got some wiz kid from UNLV working as an intern at the station and he seems to believe it might have been damaged by some sort of outside magnetic interference on the chopper. Magnetic interference, Brown questioned? Not likely, all the electronics on your chopper should be shielded, otherwise the compasses and GPS systems wouldn’t work properly. Did anything happen on the flight in, Brown asked. Happen, like what, Parker replied? Like did your pilot see any other planes on his way back? I don’t know, but we can find out, Parker replied. Thumbing through his cell phone’s address book, he speed dialed Mack Foster. Foster answered on the fifth ring, and sounded half asleep. Mack, this is Alex, did anything unusual happen on your way back from picking up those tapes this morning? No, not really Foster replied. Did you see any other planes in the area, or anything like that, Parker further quarried? Yea, you know how it is Alex, I got buzzed by a F22, but that’s pretty routine stuff anytime you get around the restricted air space out there. Okay Mack, nothing else though? No, not really, he just got in real close on me and…, I don’t know, something caused my instruments to go bonkers for a few seconds, why do you ask? Just wondering, Parker replied, go back to sleep. Relaying Foster comments, Parker watched as the wheels turned in Brown’s head. You got zapped, Alex. Zapped, what do you mean? Have you listened to the stuff I sent you? Sure, Parker replied, but that’s why you’re here. You sent me a whole bunch of radio communications between a bunch of different military units, but without a narrator, it’s pretty difficult to follow and make sense of!! You got the part where we brought down the alien craft though, didn’t you? Damn straight I did, and I can’t wait to hear the details, Parker acknowledged. We’ll we used some new technology to do it, a magnetic field interrupter. No shit, Parker exclaimed, sounds like some Buck Rogers in the 21st Century stuff. Not exactly, Brown replied. Obviously the technology is top secret, and I don’t have the “need to know,” so I don’t know exactly how it works, but as I understand it, it sends out an electro-magnetic pulse that’s strong enough to overpower the magnetic fields the alien crafts use for propulsion. Basically, it takes the wind out of their sails. Awesome Peanut, you guys obviously have the “Skunk Works” working overtime. Glad to see my tax dollars are hard at work. Yeah whatever, Peanut replied, the point is it might be that the F22 was the same F22 we used to bring down the alien craft. I know it went back out to 51 after the mission. You think, Parker replied? How would they know to zap the chopper? The MUFON guys on Freedom Ridge are constantly monitored by base security, so if they called you, based security knew, Brown replied. Son of a Bitch, Parker exclaimed!! George Orwell didn’t know the half of it, did he? Dan and Shanna Weller were sitting with their son Adam in the Holiday Inn restaurant sipping hot coffee with Roy Gallagher. Gallagher was just digging into a thick rib eye steak. Chewing as he talked, Gallagher addressed the Weller’s. Here the deal, and I don’t have specifics to give you. All I know is that I got a call from my boss way too early this morning telling me that the President would like to meet with you. The President, Weller asked with obvious skepticism? Yeah buddy, Gallagher replied. You wanted to get someone’s attention, and apparently you have!! So What’s he want, Weller asked, still a bit in shock by Gallagher’s revelations. Like I said, can’t tell you, Gallagher replied, taking another big bite of his steak. All I know is that there’s a MAC, Lear Jet sitting out on the runway at Hood with your name on it, if you want to go? Wellington sat behind his big oak desk in his plush office outside CIA Headquarters in Virginia. He needed and used the spooks enough to keep an office close to their central command center, but it was an uneasy alliance. Over the years, both he and his father had fought off several attempts by various directors to incorporate his organization into theirs. Wellington’s younger brother Carlton was sitting across from his desk. So, how did every thing go with the “mouth from the south”, Carlton asked? The President sends his regards to you also little brother, Wellington replied. Just about as we expected, Wellington continued. He understands the importance of the Weller woman, or at least he does now, since I’ve explained it to him, but he wants to appeal directly to the Weller’s to cooperate voluntarily, rather then just taking them into protective custody. Sounds risky, Carlton replied. Much easier just to bring them in. I agree, Wellington replied, but really no matter. Either way, we’ll do what we have to do. Bostick met Blalock and Hendrix on the tarmac at the Area 51 air logistics center. Blalock’s troops were jumping from the other choppers and milling around looking like death warmed over. Major, I’ve set up a chow line for you men over in the hanger, and assembled as many vans as I could scrape up to transport them over to the temporary housing complex. We keep pretty nice accommodations for visiting workers, but their pretty much empty now, because we flew all none essential personnel off base first thing this morning. I imagine you and your guys are beat, so if you could help get everyone assembled we’ll get them fed and bedded down. I have to deal with my dead and wounded first Blalock replied. Already taken care of Major, Bostick replied. Your wounded have been treated and airlifted out. The dead are in cold storage for now. Cold storage, Blalock questioned? Affirmative, Bostick replied, my orders were to put them on ice until further orders are forthcoming. Blalock just shook his head with understanding. It was the Army way. When you don’t know what to do, do nothing. Turning to his command sergeant, Blalock issued the orders required to get his men fed and bedded down. Turning back, Blalock saw Hendrix talking with Bostick. We’ve been ordered to remain here Hendrix said. Apparently, the wheels are in motion to gear up for a pretty big night tonight. What, a repeat of last night Blalock questions a touch of dread in his voice? We simply don’t know, Bostick replied, but we’re going to try to be ready for anything. Nothing personal, but you can’t be ready for what we saw last night, Blalock responded. What’s your 20 Rocky, Gallagher barked into his cell phone. On my way Boss, about half way there. Get a move on Rocky, I don’t want you out on the road after dark. No shit boss, there’s just a whole bunch of nothing out here!! Okay, call me when you get there and put your foot in it, there are no speed limits out there, and I’ve already cleared your path with the highway patrol. 10-4 boss, I’m pushing this bitch as hard as it will go now. Hanging up his cell, Rocky reached down to scan around on the radio for something to listen to. Maybe I can get Limbaugh, he thought to himself. The guys on like a 1000 radio stations. Just as he finally found a station with acceptable reception, the rented Chevy Blazer faltered, All the warning lights on the instrument panel flashed on at once and the big four wheel drive begin to slow. What the fuck, Rocky exclaimed, then drew in a deep breath as the blur of a silver disc shaped craft flew within inches right over the top of his roof. Watching in amazement, he saw the craft touch down softly on the road in front of the Blazer as it coasted to a complete stop. Quickly recovering his composure, he reached into the small of his back and pulled out his Glock 40 caliber pistol. Ratcheting a round into the chamber, he open the door of the truck and took up a defensive posture between the open door and frame of the truck. Watching with a mixture of fear and excitement, he saw a door silently open seamlessly from the side of the craft. First one, then another alien descended down the ramp that had folded out of the craft. Staring each other down from a distance of less than 50 yards, he begin to hear them in his head. “do not resist, we will not harm you.” fighting to push the voices back he took aim at the aliens, but the voices grew stronger and he began to feel very, very tired. UPDATE # 6 STARTS HERE General Alfred Crocker sat in his office dozing. He was completely exhausted. He had caught some sleep on the flight back from Washington, but for the most part he had been up and moving for over 36 hours straight, and he was really staring to feel the effects. “The alarms on his cell phone began to chirp and rousted him from his slumber. One hour, a brief combat nap. He needed more, but there was no time. Hoisting his stiff body from the comfortable, leather office chair he splashed some water on his face, smoothed his hair out and started down to the command center. Speed dialing Hendrix on the way he was relieved to hear the phone answered on the third ring. What you status Matt, Crocker asked? We’re back at 51 Hendrix replied. Okay Matt, here’s the situation, I’ve got all the specially equipped F22s available, mustered and in the air. We only have six, but at least we know they can bring an alien craft down under the right conditions. With all due respect sir, I doubt they can brink down the craft we saw last night, Hendrix replied? Our stingers were completely worthless against it. I understand Matt, and you might be right, but it’s an option we have to keep available. Jamie Thompson sat at his computer in the media lab at UNLV and tapped away on his keyboard. No doubt, these tapes were hit by a pretty potent does of magnetism. Potent, but not fatal, he thought to himself. He had digitally copied the tapes onto his hard drive and was in the process of running a series of background filters to the data. Slowly, but surely with each scan of the filters he was starting to pick up additional detail. Might not be perfect when it’s done, but it’s going to be a Hell of a lot better then it was.
Go to part: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Copyright © 2008 Woody Floria |