David Golemon - Event

Bah! Sons of bitches don't know what they are talking about , the old man thought. An impossibility, they said. Well here it is right in my hand. The claw proved that this animal had existed and he would have loved to have seen it. He had lied and cajoled the old boys in the Agency so long ago, fooled them into thinking there was nothing to it. Even the Majestic 12 council, President Truman's think tank, conceived after Roswell to discover the ramifications of life beyond this world, had no idea these artifacts still existed. Even the old hawks at the time, Curtis LeMay and Allen Dulles, were just as happy never to have to deal with anything from Roswell again outside of the technology they gleaned from it. As for the possibilities of the animal, out of sight, out of mind was their philosophy.

He placed the claw back into the box and closed the lid. It would go back into his safe upstairs where no one would ever lay hands on it. This was lus only personal claim to the crash at Roswell, and no one would take it from him. He set the box on the small table and looked at the enclosure next to the saucer. They were lined up side by side. Glass viewing plates had been placed in the upper half of the lids for viewing the corpses inside.

Every once in a while he wondered if the evidence of that night should be shared with the powers that be, but then he would catch himself. He knew that it was he and his company, now his son's, that were the only ones that would be strong enough to lead the way in combating the enemy they had discovered in the scrub brush in New Mexico. Or, if it was handled just right, they might acquire a new weapon for their own country if the chance arose. After all, if it was good enough for use as a weapon outside this world, it would sure enough be good for America.

"You know, Dad, if you continue to come down here into this cold and dank basement, I'm going to leave orders for it to be locked up." The voice came from an open doorway at the top of the long theater-type aisle. "It can't be good for you."

The old man turned and faced the man who was backlit by the open door.

"It's all I have left, and now you threaten to deny me even that?" he responded, then turned back around.

The tall man let the door close behind him and made his way slowly down the descending aisle. The basement had been set up like a small theater, and the seats were strategically placed to view the craft. The old man's only son sat in the front row right behind the wheelchair his father had ordered placed on the small riser of a stage so he could see the artifacts better. He didn't say anything for a moment, just watched the old man and shook his head. He undid the waist button of his expensive suit jacket and waited. The younger man had jet-black hair that was combed straight back, and his features were just as his father's had been so long ago, aggressive and unyielding.

"I've received some information that may be of interest to you... and us," he said as he crossed his right leg over the other. He brushed a nonexistent piece of lint from the fabric of his pants.

The old man didn't say anything. His gaze never wavered from the exhibits in front of him.

"The president's been having some very interesting meetings with your old friend Garrison Lee and Director Compton."

At the mention of Lee's name he saw his father's shoulders twitch and his body tense.

"I take it I have your attention, for the moment at least?" The younger man enjoyed the advantage he momentarily had over the old man. He knew it upset his father no end that Garrison Lee still had people who depended upon him for advice, when his father had been cast aside by the ever-changing environment of a very different world, a world of science and manufacturing, not dreaming about monsters and invasions. Lee had outlasted him and he hated him for it. But the younger man decided to soften his approach. He still respected his father for his strength and foresight when America needed it the most.

"It's my understanding our distinguished president meets with the Event Group once a week, why should it concern me? It's you and our company that has a misguided interest in antiquities and mysteries from the past, not I," the old man replied without turning.

The current president and CEO of one of the largest defense contractors in the world, the son still tried to keep his father up-to-date on all that the corporation was doing, even their search for antiquities as investments.

"Even if it's something from the past that involved Roswell and Purple Sage?" the son said, letting the statement sink in for a moment. "The meeting was held in regards to a situation this morning involving an incident where two navy F-14s were downed."

"Purple Sage?" The old man went rigid in his chair.

"It's my understanding from what we received from our asset at Camp David that this incident involved two unidentified craft that closely resemble what you're looking at right now. We First learned of the incursion from our station at the pole. We even have infrared evidence of their arrival."

The old man didn't move for a moment. He just sat and absorbed the information his son had just delivered. The technology gained in Roswell had once again paid dividends. He blinked and he felt his body and mind kick into a gear he no longer thought he had.

"Purple Sage," he mumbled with a smile.

"The information has been confirmed by our Event Group asset who used the code name in his phone conversation." His father had given the Roswell Incident this code name years before.

"We must learn everything we can," the old man said as he finally used the electric motor and spun his chair to face his son. "If this is a new part of Operation Purple Sage, we must be in on it at every step, is that clear?"

The younger man stood and buttoned his coat. His father's manic demeanor where this subject was concerned was something he never liked. Purple Sage had been a godsend for the company and indeed it wouldn't even exist if it weren't for what had been found, but his father was overzealous.

"I understand how important this is, not only to you, but to the defense of our country. That's why we do what we do. But remember, it was you who drove the Genesis Group and aspects of our corporation so far underground that it was hard for us to maneuver in the light of day. It was handled so badly your friends had to fake your death. Because of the way you and those two maniacs LeMay and Dulles handled things in '47, we're underground patriots. I won't allow such misplaced zeal to harm the corporation or this country again, is that clear... Father?"

The old man ignored the reference to his past and his official nonexistence. "You have someone competent to debrief the Event asset?"

The younger man never liked being too close to his father. It was as if he still had to look up slightly into those dark eyes, as if the old man had never been condemned to that damn wheelchair, and that unnerved him, and a man in his position never liked that loss of control.

"I'm going to contact the Frenchman's Black Team in L.A. He's not using them at the moment."

"What? Why not send the Frenchman himself?"

"The asset believes he's delivering information we don't have. I don't want Farbeaux anywhere near that man, he's a mercenary we cannot trust near Purple Sage, he would try and profit from it any way he could. You have shown too much trust in him in the past. If it weren't for the antiquities we pay him off in, he would have stabbed us in the back years ago. Now, with Purple Sage, he would have a reason to forgo his rewards."

"Do as you wish, but handle it carefully."

"I'm informing the Black Team to eliminate the Event asset as soon as they arrive in Las Vegas. We already have the information he's selling, and we simply don't want Reese and his treachery to lead anyone to us."