David Golemon - Event

"And I fit in...?" Collins inquired.

The senator pursed his lips. "Over the years, basically since just after the First World War, we have lost over a hundred personnel in field operations." Lee shook his head. "You see, Major, there are those that either don't want to share the information that's uncovered or deem it valuable enough to eliminate any who stand in their way of getting it and holding on to it. That is where you and your men come in, as field security for site operations and infiltration, and to put it bluntly, Major, I took advantage of your current predicament to get you here as you seem to be a hot potato no one wants to butter up right now."

Collins started to say something, then was stopped by a raised hand of the senator. He rose slowly from his high-backed chair and motioned for the major to follow him. He limped across to a screen that was much larger than the one that had just shown the image of the computer room. Collins, as he followed, noticed the senator looked a little bit older than he had originally thought.

"Your record in both Gulf conflicts warrants you being here, Major. The job you did in the first Iraq conflict, rescuing that downed A-6 Intruder crew, was amazing." The senator smiled. "You obviously have an affinity for dangerous situations." Lee watched Collins for a reaction, then held his gaze.

"And now the hard part. Even though you have been awarded three. Silver Stars and a Medal of Honor, your career is all but over in the regular army. But as I said before, the president didn't hold any grudges, and because he knows you're a true soldier, he sent you to us. And with us you'll be able to stay in the service and continue on with a meaningful career."

Collins turned and looked at Lee. He knew of only a dozen people outside the White House who knew it had been his unit who had rescued the downed naval pilot. And no one really knew about his near court-martial after meeting with the president, Joint Chiefs, and the directors of the FBI and CIA. He was damned lucky after that to have a job at all. Whoever Lee and Compton were, they did have connections, and more than likely the strings on which to pull to get him here, wherever "here" was. So he knew this offer was for real, and Lee's eyes held no lies about how important he thought this was.

"It might be better to show you the fruits of our labors here at the Event Group, Major Collins, and then point out how expertise such as yours, and that of others, has helped us gather some of the wondrous things you are about to bear witness to." Lee paused a moment, then turned back to face Jack. He looked the professional soldier up and down, then looked him in the eyes. "Are you a religious man, Jack?"

"No, sir," Collins responded quickly as he held his gaze on the senator's lone eye. "Never found the time or the need."

The senator smiled, but the sadness of it made Collins wonder why he attempted it in the first place.

"It seems I'm looking at myself so many years ago." Lee lightly tapped the scar that ran under the patch covering his right eye. "I wasted a lot of time proving to myself that God didn't exist, when the question of God wasn't even the right thing to be asking. The right question is, what's the plan for us? The answer is maybe that plan is embedded in our past, now here we are, how did we get to this point, were we helped along, did elements just happen to combine and by fluke of nature we arrived here without us killing each other off?"

"Maybe we are just smart enough to realize how far we can push it. No divinity; maybe it's just as you say, a fluke," Collins countered.

The senator laughed out loud for the first time, then settled and looked at Collins once again. "It's like you read my thoughts of over sixty years ago, son," he said as he punched a button.

On the screen, a color picture flickered to life as the major looked on; the computer-controlled autofocus adjusted the view to fit the screen. When it cleared, it showed a panorama of an immense chamber. Buried into the walls of this chamber were what appeared to be rows of banklike steel vaults built into the solid bedrock.

"The only other person in the world who can tune in to this chamber is the president of the United States, our boss"--Lee hesitated--"and for better or worse, still your boss as well."

Collins nodded his head, viewing the screen with interest. Some of the vaults were enormous, some as tall as 150 feet, others as small as eight. The larger ones had stairs on either side; others had glass-viewing areas built into the sides of the massive steel doors. He saw numerous security cameras sweeping the entire long, curving corridor.

"The president is a frequent visitor here, as every president since Franklin Roosevelt has been. This facility, Jack, was their favorite place to be. And before that, the likes of Woodrow Wilson and Hoover frequented our very first facility in Virginia."

"Okay, Senator, you have my attention," Collins said.

"Good, Jack, good," Lee said as he punched another button on the control panel. A picture came up of what Collins assumed was the interior of one of the larger vaults. The camera shot was obscured for a moment as a man in a white lab coat walked by the lens on his way down a catwalk.

"Here at Group we have over a hundred computer technicians, thirty-five on-staff archaeologists, twenty-five top-notch chemists and biologists, two quantum theorists, four astrophysics people, five forensic specialists, one hundred field security men and women, consisting of army, navy, air force, and marine personnel, and twelve geologists." Lee took a much needed breath. "And this is not counting butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers." He smiled. "These are the best the country can offer, Jack. Their education is ongoing and continued by professors from MIT, Harvard, Jet Propulsion Lab, Cambridge, Princeton, and more, some with longer and far more expensive-sounding names. We spare nothing at the Event Group, Major Collins, and everyone from our cooks to field leaders have a right to furthering and deepening their minds. We don't want nor do we need puppets."

"Who pays for all this?"

Garrison Lee laughed. "There we have made some enemies, I'm afraid. As our budget comes out of the coffers of all the other agencies in the federal government and is hidden amongst their budgets and scattered to the winds, our front agency, the National Archives, takes a beating, but they live with it."

"I could see why that would cause concern with the other areas of government," Collins said.

"Our work is far more important." The senator waved his hand and again tapped the screen with his old wooden cane, drawing Jack's attention back to the largest of the vaults. The doors were closed and looked formidable in size and security.

"Now that looks like it belongs at NORAD, in Cheyenne Mountain," Collins said, looking at the screen.

Collins watched as the older man spoke, his one steely blue eye fixed on the screen, and when he started speaking, he never once turned to face Collins, as if he were concentrating on telling the story right, or he was trying to imagine or live it, so it could be told right. Jack knew this was the hook that was to be fed him. The senator's cane was still held on the large plastic-coated screen by his liver-spotted hand.

"I find myself drawn to this vault quite often," he said softly. "What you're seeing here, Major, was the first Event, what we here refer to as the Lincoln Raid." The senator paused and stared a long while at the screen. Lee's features didn't tell anything much about what the man was feeling. "It's a very well documented Event. Diaries and logbooks, all firsthand accounts, give an almost surreal telling of its discovery and acquisition."

He finally turned and looked at the major with a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "I guess it gives me a sense of peace, indescribable really, or maybe it's just my age." He chuckled to himself at this last remark.