James Huston - Fallout

“Groom Lake? Beats the hell out of me. It’s run by the Air Force.” Crumb glanced at Luke. “You know?”

“No idea.”

“Well, Mr. Crummey,” Raymond said, “it’s where they keep all the evidence of aliens. They claim it’s related to the Air Force and keep it in ‘black programs’ and don’t tell anybody about it. And how about this, what about John Denver?”

“What about him?” Crumb asked, looking at Luke, who was equally perplexed about how John Denver might be related to black programs.

“You’ve heard of Roswell, New Mexico? The Roswell incident?”

“Sure. I saw Independence Day . Everybody knows about Roswell.”

“Yeah, well, John Denver wasn’t his real name. You know that?”

“What was his real name?”

“Schickelgruber.”

“No it wasn’t.” Crumb guffawed. “That was Hitler’s name!”

“Well, it was something like that. It wasn’t Denver.”

“It was Deutschendorf. So what?”

“So he was living his life in disguise. Then he suddenly has an airplane accident in the middle of the ocean and disappears.”

“And?” Stamp asked.

“Know where he was born?”

“No idea.”

“Roswell, New Mexico.” He beamed. “ And , his father was in the Air Force.”

Luke fought back a laugh. “Well, there it is.”

Crumb just stared at Raymond. “Raymond, I had no damned idea.”

Raymond gained a look of vindication as he stood a little taller and adjusted his hat. “So I’m always on the lookout. And if I see anything, I will let you know.”

“Thanks a lot,” Crumb said, his sarcasm ringing in Raymond’s ears.

Raymond started to leave, then turned back after Crumb’s tone began to sink in. “You think you know so much.” He put the tray down on the table next to their plates and sat quickly in an empty chair, uninvited. He pulled a thick stack of folded papers out of his back pocket. “You have any idea how much money is spent on black programs?”

“What do black programs have to do with UFOs?” Luke asked.

“They’re called Special Access Programs. SAPS. Government won’t even tell you that they exist. There are over a hundred fifty of ’em. That includes the CIA, the Department of Energy, and the Department of Defense. Most people think they have to report to Congress at least. Not true .” Raymond grew more intense, speaking slowly. “The Secretary of Defense can waive the reporting requirement completely.” Raymond unfolded a piece of paper. “Listen to this. I want you to listen to this.” He read from the paper. “ ‘Some classified programs are carried out at Edwards North base, but the most secure and sensitive programs are the responsibility of an Air Force Flight Test Center detachment based at the secret flight test base on the edge of the Dry Groom Lake, Nevada, and known as Area 51.’ Listen to this here: ‘The USAF still refuses to identify the Area 51 base, referring to it only as an operating location near Groom Lake. It is protected from any further disclosure by an annually renewed presidential order .’ “ He looked up and whispered, “This goes as high as the President of the United States.”

“Shit, Raymond, you’re jumping to conclusions. Just ’cause the government won’t tell you what’s going on at Area 51, it must be UFOs? How do you figure that? Why not assume they’re building some superhypersonic fighter that hovers one foot off the ground, weighs fifty pounds, and carries the fastest missiles ever designed? Why assume it’s a bunch of green aliens?”

“We can’t believe a thing they say. Listen.” Raymond read on: “ ‘Area 51’s linkage to Edwards Air Force Base is a form of cover, and statements which are intended to conceal the existence of a black program by creating a false impression in public are routine.’ You hear that? The U.S. government is deceiving the public intentionally! We’re talking billions and billions of dollars that are unaccounted for!”

Luke stared at Raymond. He couldn’t decide whether to ask him to shut up or to laugh it off. “Maybe it’s just where the United States government does secret airplane testing, and they don’t want you to know about it. Why can’t you let the government have some secrets?”

“It’s not secret airplane tests I’m worried about. It’s UFOs, and they’re there. I promise you.”

Luke looked at Stamp and rolled his eyes as he sat back in his chair.

Raymond could read their body language. He’d had enough. He folded up his papers, tattered from months of being carried around in the pocket of his jeans. He jammed the papers in his pocket and headed back into the café. “You’ll see,” he said over his shoulder, more in the nature of a mutter than a farewell, “you’ll see.”

“There goes one of our crack employees,” Stamp said. “Completely off his rocker.”

“He’s harmless. They’re doing a good job running the café,” Thud said.

“He’s gonna scare off the students if he starts telling them those stories about how John Denver got called home by the big UFO.” Crumb laughed.

“I don’t think too many people ask him about it, and I don’t think he feels free to share that kind of… insight with just anyone. I think he’s pretty touchy about it.”

“I sure as hell hope so.”

Kevin waited as the phone rang. It was late on the East Coast, and almost late in Nevada.

Brian picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Kevin said.

“Hey! What’s up?”

“I talked to my friend in Pakistan.”

“What’d you find?”

Kevin could hear the anticipation in Brian’s voice. He hated to disappoint him. “Really interesting. Nothing very specific, but one thing surprised me. They ran it by the Air Force attaché in Islamabad. He had actually heard of your guy.”

“Why would an attaché know about a Major?”

“A lot of people know his name. It’s one of those names that gets everybody to clam up and look over their shoulder. He’s spooked a bunch of people, but no one seems to know exactly why. Or how. The thing everybody says about him is he came out of nowhere. He wasn’t known in the Air Force at all, until recently. The attaché knows about all the movers, all the hot officers. He’d never heard of this guy before six months ago. Now everybody knows about him.”

“So do we need to worry about him?”

“There’s nothing anybody could put their finger on. Best we can tell right now is that he’s a regular Air Force Major who seems to be well connected.”

“That isn’t much. Keep looking,” Brian said hopefully.

“I can’t, really.”

“Why not?”

“I got busted. My division head jumped on my ass for calling Pakistan.”

Brian asked, “How did she even know about it?”

“No idea. It’s kind of spooky.”

“You think she had your phone monitored?”

“I’m sure she does. They’re all monitored. But what would make her listen to it? What would make her think that she even had to worry about listening in on my phone? That’s what I can’t figure out.”

“That’s just weird.”

“I agree, but, dude, I ought to lay off for a while.”

“I don’t know,” Brian wondered. “Is she really worried about you wasting time, or is she trying to protect somebody?”

“Don’t go paranoid on me. Who would she be trying to protect?”

“How the hell would I know? You’re the intelligence puke.”

“So are you. Do you sniff anything? Anything else about the government? Any side shows going on I ought to know about?”

“Just the Pakistani guys. I’m probably chasing smoke. The other day, though, when the Major found out we’re going to be test-firing some live missiles, he about came unglued. It was like news he hadn’t anticipated, that really mattered a lot, for reasons we can’t figure out. It’s probably some sort of bias on my part. I don’t know. Maybe you should just forget about it.”