Peter Cawdron - Feedback

“We’ll leak the footage of our investigation,” Stegmeyer said. “Once we get inside that dome and get shots of you interacting with the craft, they’ll have no way to hide. We’re going to force their hand, force them to admit this to the public.”

“I hate to throw a wet towel over all this,” Jason said, resting his coffee spoon on the table in front of him. “But I don’t know what you think I can do with this thing. I’m not even sure I believe you guys. Hell, for all I know, you’re all crazy and this is some delusional group construct.”

No one answered him.

“No offense,” Jason added. “But look at this from my perspective. None of this makes any sense. Yesterday, I was just an average guy just trying to work his way through college. Today, you want me to believe I’m the key part of some international — no, interplanetary, or is it interstellar conspiracy?

“You’re talking about committing a criminal act, a terrorist act! I don’t see how you can justify this. Even if you’re right and we get inside that dome and find a spacecraft from another star system, what the hell makes you think I can do anything about it?”

Jason looked around at Bellum, Stegmeyer and Lachlan. No one said what they were thinking, but he could see it in their eyes. They knew something he didn’t, something they weren’t prepared to tell him.

“I can’t do this,” Jason said. “Listen, I’ve got family in Seattle. I’ll head up there from Portland. I’ll hitchhike back to New York. Or I’ll call Mitch. He’s always up for an insane road trip.”

“This isn’t a game,” Lachlan said softly.

“You’ve got to tell him,” Stegmeyer added. Her voice was blunt, hinting of tragedy and heartache. Even before Bellum turned on the television mounted by the door to the cockpit, Jason understood the ominous tone of Stegmeyer’s voice. Her few words resounded like the rumble of an oncoming storm. In that instant, he knew. His heart sank. Jason didn’t know the particulars, but he understood enough to know something terrible had happened.

Lachlan nodded his consent and Bellum inserted a flash drive into the side of the TV.

The FBI agent picked up a remote and switched on the television. He scrolled through the stored memory, rewinding to a news broadcast they must have recorded earlier that morning. Lily rested her hand on Jason’s knee.

Jason bit his lip.

“The manhunt continues,” a young, petite news reporter began. She was standing outside his apartment building, fighting to keep her blond hair from blowing in front of her face as she spoke. “Police have released photos of the suspects. They are considered armed and dangerous, and should not be approached by the public.”

Jason’s driver’s license photo appeared on the screen, along with equally bland and impersonal photos of Professor Lachlan and Lily.

“Investigators have told CNN that a large quantity of homemade C4 was recovered from a storage unit rented by one of the fugitives. It appears that there was some kind of falling out with co-conspirators Mitchell Jones and Helena Young that caused infighting among the terror cell members. During a heated argument that spilled out into the street, witnesses say that Jason Noh gunned down both Jones and Young. Jones died at the scene, while Young is undergoing surgery for a gunshot wound to the head.”

Bellum froze the image. A body was being wheeled away on a gurney into the back of an ambulance. The body had been zipped into a black bag, but scarlet blood ran down one of the aluminum legs of the stretcher.

“I’m sorry,” Lachlan said.

“Why?” Jason asked. His voice was barely audible over the hum of the jet engine. He ran his hands up through his hair, grabbing at the strands and pulling at the roots in anguish.

“Why them?” he asked again looking up at Lachlan with tears in his eyes. He held out his hands in a plea for mercy. “I don’t understand. I thought you said they were working for those guys. Why would they kill them?”

“I’m sorry, son,” Bellum said, resting his hand on Jason’s shoulder. “This is the major league. This goes beyond anything DARPA has ever done before. They won’t hesitate to sacrifice anyone or anything to get what they need from you.”

“DARPA is sending a message,” Lachlan said softly. “That they’re coming after us, and nothing will stand in their way.”

Lily unfastened her seatbelt. She sat forward on the edge of her seat, taking his hand. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. He knew what she was thinking. A soft squeeze told him all he needed to know. She hated this, he was sure of it. She was grieving with him.

Jason’s head spun with the knowledge that his closest friends were dead, had been murdered because of him. Would he ever wake from this nightmare? He felt sick. Vertigo swept over him. He felt as if he were standing at the edge of a skyscraper, leaning over. A tingling sensation ran through his hands and feet. He wanted to get up, to get out of the plane, to be anywhere else. Sitting there trembling, he flexed his muscles trying to shake off the anguish washing over him.

Lily stroked his hand gently. She must have felt him shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her downturned mouth. She too felt the grief that had been omitted from the sterile news report.

A thin, black bag hid the heartache on that stretcher.

Hearing the tone of her voice, the reporter could have been talking about a lost puppy or an approaching storm, but not an entire life, Jason thought. He wanted to shout at the screen, to cry out for compassion.

Bellum turned off the television. The screen went black, but in his mind, Jason could still see the lumpy outline of Mitchell’s body being wheeled away.

Tears rolled down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Lachlan said, crouching down beside him and looking him in the eye. “You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve any of this. You’re caught up in something that’s bigger than any of us.”

The professor got back to his feet. He was staring absentmindedly at his mutilated right hand. He seemed to be flexing three phantom fingers. The scarred stubs on his hand twitched and moved.

“They’re afraid,” he added. “They’ve covered this up for decades now. The longer this goes on, the deeper the hole they dig for themselves. They’re entrenched. They think they’re protecting humanity.”

Jason wiped the tears from his cheeks, surprised by his trembling hands.

“In their minds,” Lachlan continued, “they think there’s danger in this knowledge getting out. They’re fighting to maintain the status quo while they try to figure out what the hell to do next. They’re afraid one of these UFOs will materialize in Washington D.C. and they’ll be defenseless. They’re afraid of panic if the public finds out. DARPA is convinced this is a threat to our national security.”

“And you?” Jason asked, looking at his mentor with a heavy heart.

“I’ve always believed in you.” Lachlan spoke softly, adding, “You may not have been aware of me, but I’ve always been there in the background, fighting for you, and for what I believe is in your best interests.”

Jason watched as the old man swallowed hard before continuing.

“I never wanted it to come to this. I didn’t want to endanger you, but I had no choice.”

“We’re all in this together,” Stegmeyer added.

“We’re doing this because we believe there’s another way,” Lachlan said. “We believe the public will embrace this knowledge. We don’t think there’s anything to fear from the knowledge that we are not alone in the universe.”

Jason nodded.

Stegmeyer said, “They hold all but one of the cards in this deck.”