Groom Lake Page 8

  Throwing his hands in the air, Skyles distanced himself from Owens’ words. “Hey, I don’t have that kind of info.”

  “I know you don’t. But you’re connected to him. The woman you were with at the bar, she’s Chinese Intelligence. And she is the one we caught in Papoose, following Desmond’s directions. It could just be a coincidence that she knew both of you; she was making a lot of contacts. My concern is that whoever leaked the security info to Desmond Wyatt might have something to do with your mental condition.”

  “Hey, I apologize for not coming forward when I knew there was a problem. I know I violated procedure, but I can’t afford my life outside the program.”

  “You need to trust me,” Owens said.

  “I’ll try, but you’ll put the program first.”

  “It’s costly and time consuming to replace you. We’re going to take you someplace safe until we’ve worked the kinks out of your mind.”

  “Can I say goodbye to my wife?”

  “Not in this state. I’ll check in on her later and make sure she’s doing okay,” Owens reassured. He closed the attaché, but left the equipment on and the wires connected as they proceeded outside to the Suburban.

  Two minutes after they left the bedroom, a voice-activated FM transmitter, hidden in an electrical outlet, shut itself off. Eight such devices were hidden throughout the house. Cheap mail order listening devices that anyone could purchase and install with a screwdriver. The results, however, were effective and transmitted every word spoken in the house to a recorder hidden outside.

  CHAPTER 13

  Professor Eldred had two grown kids and five grandchildren. His offspring were ideal kids: intelligent, sensible, hardworking, successful. All the qualities that made parents proud, and it was thanks, in part, to their upbringing. Yet the professor had learned late in life that the time he devoted to his children when they were kids was an investment; as adults, the time his son and daughter obligated to their father was commensurate to how they were raised.

  Professor Eldred was a kind father, but he never devoted quality time to his children. A few hours a week would have made the difference between the strong family he had and the close family he didn’t. The professor had never questioned his child-rearing techniques until his wife passed and he realized that his kids were now strangers he saw at holidays. He knew less about his son than he did his star pupil, Blake Hunter. He would have liked for his kids to share his interests, but his passion for engineering had been stolen by the government before his children were born. His children learned his dedicated study and work habits, but developed tastes and careers in other areas. By the time the professor met Blake, his kids had already graduated college and were working in business and law. With them out of the house, he began to take a keener interest in his students, and developed a close bond with Blake through guidance in and out of the classroom.

  Blake’s words were succinct when he first visited Professor Eldred’s office: “I came to school with the intentions of becoming a doctor, a choice I now realize was motivated by income potential and not personal tastes. I’ve considered business, but can’t muster any passion for the lifestyle. What I really want to do, the one thing that has intrigued me since childhood, is become an astronaut … and I thought you could probably help.”

  The professor was never one to hide his passion for space. He always wondered what could have been. As he and Blake became acquainted, his wife often joked that her husband was more excited about Blake’s dream of becoming an astronaut than Blake himself. Together, the professor and Blake solidified Blake’s educational career to pursue an undergraduate degree in engineering, tailoring his studies to emphasize aeronautics and space travel. Traditionally, astronauts evolved from military backgrounds, but the expanding duties of mission and payload specialists on shuttle flights broadened the field of prospective recruits, and encouraged Blake’s dreams.

  Even after the professor retired from teaching, he continued to advise and assist Blake, helping him earn a privileged chancellor’s scholarship to pay for his Master’s degree in System Control. However, after his wife died, the professor rejected the love offered him by friends and family, shunning Blake from his life as he did everyone else, seemingly resigned to waiting out his final days alone … so Blake thought.

  Blake pulled into a parking lot at a seaside restaurant on the Malibu coast. The lot bustled with Los Angelinos and tourists anxious to valet their cars and hurry to a packed outdoor bar with vast ocean views.

  “Blake,” the professor hollered from amidst the crowd.

  Turning, Blake was shocked by the professor’s mussed hair and splotches of gray stubble that didn’t mask a face thinned by weight loss.

  “I look like crap, I know.”

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  “Physically I feel fine. But you can’t imagine the pain of being alone this late in life. It’s like a punishment.”

  “I wish I could say something to make it better.”

  “Nothing needs to be said. Besides, I’m not one to spite God’s will. In fact, I think for the first time in my life I can appreciate his actions; God left me behind to finish a task I started decades ago. That’s why I asked you to meet me.”

  “I’m honored. But you don’t need to wait for special occasions or moments of need to call me.”

  “Yes, I know. Maybe things would be easier if I didn’t shut everybody out. I guess it was my way of not being an unwanted burden on my kids.”

  “You could never be a burden on me, Professor Eldred.”

  The aging professor placed an arm around his favorite student. “I appreciate that, Blake. You give me encouragement that calling you was the right thing to do.”

  After being seated at a table overlooking a quiet stretch of beach, the professor confessed to eating at the restaurant several times a week, alone. Blake struggled to understand why the professor insisted on perpetuating his loneliness.

  “So how’s your summer going?” the professor asked.

  “I heard from NASA,” Blake said, no excitement in his voice.

  The comment struck an inner cord with the professor. He had been an active participant in Blake’s pursuit of a career with NASA, then disappeared from his life for the culmination. He knew from Blake’s tone that the news was bad, but before he could respond, a waitress interrupted.

  “Can I get you gentlemen some drinks?”

  “More than ever,” the professor told her. “Beer, Blake?”

  “Corona please.”

  “Make that two, and two shots of tequila. A little hooch never did any harm,” he told Blake, showing his first unforced smile. “Especially after bad news.”

  “It’s that obvious NASA said no?” Blake grimaced.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Four thousand applicants for twenty spots. I didn’t even get a second thought.”

  “I’m sorry, Blake. You can reapply when you have more experience. For now, there are other options to consider. As I understand it, you have department approval to pursue your Ph.D.”

  “I don’t know if the Ph.D. is in the cards any longer. I need money. At least I want to start earning some.”

  “One rejection letter and you’re giving up on your dream? You knew that you were a long shot at this point.”

  “I know, but the thought of staying in school doesn’t sound appealing anymore. This dream about working in the space program, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve got to put in almost as many years as I would have with medical school, except there’s no guarantee that I’ll be doing what I want when I’m done.”

  “You never had a desire to practice medicine. You just wanted the salary. If money is all you’re concerned about, go into business.”

  “That’s never been an interest either.”

  “Exactly my point. You need to do what you love; eventually the money will follow.”

  The professor was again acting as the mentor Blake knew and admired,
confident and optimistic with time-tested advice. Now it was Blake feeling sorry for himself. “I’m just worried that if I get my doctorate and don’t make the space program, my career will be focused around research and teaching. I’ll be in school my entire life.”

  “And that’s not a good way to make a living?”

  The waitress returned with the drinks.

  Silently berating himself for insulting the professor’s livelihood, Blake tossed the tequila into his mouth and threw back his head to swallow. “That comment didn’t come out the way I intended,” he strained to say through a burning aftertaste.

  “Actually teaching was a concession for me.” Not wanting a young drinker to show him up, the old man downed his tequila without the slightest cringe of his sunken cheeks.

  “I always thought you were passionate about teaching,” Blake said thoughtfully.

  “I became passionate after the fact,” the professor said. “There are a few things about my past that I never shared with you, or anyone for that matter, besides Constance. Ghosts you can call them. Being a humble professor and subservient member of society kept them from haunting me. The advantage I have now is that ghosts can’t haunt a dead man, or a man who is ready to die.”

  “Talking about them seems to invigorate you.”

  “That’s God’s doing. As I told you, he left me alone in the world for a reason. I also believe he kept you out of NASA for a reason. Instead of getting down on yourself, you need to find out what that reason is.”

  “Something tells me you already know.”

  “I have an option for you to consider. That’s all.”

  “I’m wasting my days working out and lying in the sun,” Blake admitted. “I could use some options at this point.”

  “There’s a project I’ve been working on since Constance passed. The timing is ripe for you to get involved. I think we can convince the department chairs to allow you to conduct an ad hoc field of study for your Ph.D. based on our research. I’ll see that your tuition is covered and you have money to live on, and maybe have some left over for a change.”

  “This is a surprise.”

  “The experience will also be crucial to your future plans. There’s no doubt that space exploration will become more privatized in your lifetime. The foreign space agencies are also working with American firms, planning shuttle programs far more advanced than NASA’s. This research will enable you to mold your future with these private companies. To hell with NASA and any regrets you might have about not becoming a doctor. I’m going to put you in control of your destiny.”

  “Sounds like you have it all planned.”

  “Just some ideas … with tremendous potential.”

  “What’s the topic?”

  “Gravitational-based propulsion systems. I’m going to teach you to build your own spaceship.”

  “Where’d all this come from?”

  “My very distant past.”

  Blake took a moment to comprehend everything the professor had just dropped on him. “On the surface you make it sound too simple to pass up.”

  “The topic has a few drawbacks,” the professor admitted.

  “Like what?”

  “Don’t worry about that now. Take a few days to mull over continuing your education. If it sits well with you, I’ll tell you more.” The professor was still waiting to hear from Special Agent Kendricks on the specifics of their deal, and that determined the extent he would include Blake in his work for Operation Patriot.

  CHAPTER 14

  To fully understand the government’s darkest secrets, Operation Patriot needed unadulterated reports about the happenings at Area 51. But spying on the Central Intelligence Agency and Air Force at their most guarded facility proved challenging, and Special Agent Grason Kendricks devoted six months to researching, following leads and considering various contingencies before developing a game plan: sneak a man in through their back door.

  Grason needed a field operative in exceptional physical condition who could withstand harrowing walkabout journeys across the desert. The candidate also needed to be self-sufficient—a survivalist—capable of spending weeks on his own, outdoors, with minimal amounts of food, water and shelter. And most importantly, Grason needed someone he could trust, a loyal confidant from within the FBI. From inception, Grason had a particular agent in mind. Val Vaden was a third-generation agent whose father worked on cases with Grason in years past, and Grason had known Val since he was as a boy.

  In addition to the personal connection, Val’s age—twenty-seven—meant he didn’t have the rigid mindset of a veteran agent. Grason viewed the vigor of youth as an asset when investigating the gray area of legal interpretation with which Operation Patriot dealt. Val would have fewer biases than a veteran, and a strong desire to prove his commitment to the FBI’s motto: Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity.

  Due to the advanced security protecting Area 51, Grason knew Val could not simply sneak onto the base. A tout ensemble of high-tech surveillance, counter-surveillance and life support equipment called the Bio Suit allowed Val to sneak through Grason’s idea of a back door.

  Like many technological advances in recent decades, the Bio Suit originated in the space program, replicating principles of the Extravehicular Mobility Unit worn by astronauts on space walks. The military began developing land-based units after the Gulf War to reduce challenges soldiers faced while fighting in the heat.

  Properly using the Bio Suit and living for days at a time in the remote desert required training. Grason had selected a practice site where they could test Val’s equipment and develop effective methods for his mission.

  Two hours east of Los Angeles, and thirty minutes outside Palm Springs, on an expansive elevated plateau, was a region known as the high desert. Prevalent across the plateau was the Joshua Tree, a cactus species that thrived in the higher desert elevations, often growing upwards of ten feet. In some areas, the succulents dotted the reddish brown sand in a motionless landscape, like skinny leafless trees in a windless forest. A forty square-mile region of the high desert was named Joshua Tree National Park. This remote camping area typified the altitude and terrain of Area 51. Grason and Val spent weeks testing the Bio Suit in the southeast section of the park, which was accessed via a four-wheel-drive trail. It was here they traveled again, this time with a more thorough understanding of the surveillance equipment in use around Papoose Dry Lake because Val had seen it during his first excursion.

  Through a contact at the Pentagon, the congressman had arranged for the Drug Enforcement Agency to field test two suits in San Diego County’s remote border regions. One suit found its way to the DEA office in San Diego. But the second went to Grason, at which point he had some modifications made. Currently, the various components of the second Bio Suit were stowed in the back of a truck Val was driving. After this latest bout of testing, Val would again put the Bio Suit to use in Southern Nevada, investigating the establishment that had created it.

  CHAPTER 15

  Faith in America’s two-party political system had faded from the congressman’s mind long before he bought his way into the Republican Party. He felt that somewhere between republican and democratic ideology existed the American people, and their true needs suffered while politicians bickered over party lines. And the bickering served as a distraction, keeping the politicians and mainstream America from giving necessary attention to other facets of the government.

  The congressman knew the federal government held too many secrets. A subculture existed—a subculture of control and power, hidden behind classified designations. He didn’t aim to destroy or expose every classified program, only observe them. Make the leaders accountable for their actions. The same way his constituents were accountable for their taxes. Taxes that paid for the classified programs.

  While working in naval intelligence, the congressman realized the murky depths that the vast sea of classified information reached. Who controlled it was another story. Officials compartmentaliz
ed information. He rarely knew the bearing his work had on anything, why he was doing it or who called the shots. The anonymous individuals in charge were labeled by some as The Secret Government because of their ability to operate outside the normal parameters set by the federal government’s system of checks and balances.

  Over the years the congressman tried paying close attention to these elusive forces, spending many nights studying the laws and various presidential orders passed to govern the intelligence community. He discovered how this unique polity was assigned new tasks and given greater responsibilities out-of-view from the public eye.

  Illuminati. The Bilderbergers. Secret Government. MJ-12. The congressman stumbled across a variety of names and speculative scenarios used to describe the secrecy pipeline, but labels were not a concern. He wanted to unlock the doors closed by these omnipotent individuals and assure his constituents, and himself, the government’s secrets were being kept with the best interests of the people in mind.

  Joining the House Oversight Committee—a group of nine congressional representatives—was the congressman’s first step in implementing his agenda. It was through this committee he transformed Operation Patriot from an idea to a congressionally sanctioned cloak-and-dagger task force. Rather than attempting to join the prestigious House Select Committee on Intelligence or the Appropriations Committee—both known for their black budget involvement and typically reserved for those with tenure—he wanted to investigate these committees, their actions and the money they approved.

  The congressman formed what he called “an elite group of patriots,” whose priority was to ensure the power and security of the United States remained in the hands of the people as the Constitution guaranteed. He cast doubt over the National Security Council and other oversight committees, and showed how Operation Patriot would take the watchdog process a step further by conducting undercover operations. Only then could the congressman be satisfied that the label TOP SECRET FOR REASONS OF NATIONAL SECURITY was not being misused.