Area 51

CHAPTER 30

“Do you think this will work?” Kelly asked.

Turcotte was applying burnt cork to his face, turning the already dark skin black. “It’s a good plan. The best one we’ve had so far.”

Kelly stared at him. “Hell, we barely had any plans before.”

“That’s why it’s the best,” Turcotte said. “I think we’ve got a chance. That’s all you can ask for. We’ve got two chances at this. One of them should work. I don’t think they’ll be expecting us, which, as I’ve explained before, is to our advantage.” He looked out at the darkening sky. “It’s strange — General Gullick should be expecting us, but he won’t be.”

“Why should he be and why isn’t he?” Kelly asked, confused.

“He should be because it’s what he would do,” Turcotte said, checking the magazine in his pistol. “He won’t be because he’s had his ass down in that underground bunker too long. He’s forgotten the feel of being out in the field and in action.”

He slammed the magazine home, chambered a round, and put it back in the shoulder holster on his combat vest.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” Kelly said. She looked at the others. Von Seeckt was in the passenger seat up front. Nabinger was in the rear. The van was parked off the shoulder of a dirt road on the edge of the perimeter of the base range. Large signs were spaced along the west side of the road, warning that the land that lay beyond was restricted. A large mountain about four miles away was silhouetted against the setting sun to their direct west.

“You all take care of each other,” Turcotte said.

“Shouldn’t we be synchronizing watches or something?” Kelly asked. “It’s what they do in the movies, and timing is rather important to this plan — at least what I’ve caught of it.”

“Good idea.” Turcotte peeled back the Velcro cover on his watch. “I’ve got eight on the dot in two minutes.”

Kelly checked her watch. “Okay or check, or whatever you’re supposed to say.” She reached out and put her hand on Turcotte’s shoulder. “You can count on us. We’ll be there.”

Turcotte smiled. “I know. Good luck.” He turned and was gone, loping off into the darkness, lost in the shadow of the mountain.

“Let’s go,” Kelly ordered.

Nabinger turned the van around and they headed north.

The rhythm of the run had settled in to Turcotte’s muscles a half hour ago. The various weapons and other equipment attached to the combat vest had required a bit of cinching down shortly after he’d left the van, and now everything on him was silent — just as he had been taught in Ranger school so many years ago. The only sound he heard was his own breath.

The knee was holding up so far, and he was careful to keep his stride shortened to reduce strain. He was presently moving along the base of the mountain he had initially set out for. He was scanning the slope with the off-center portion of his retina. He finally spotted what he’d been looking for. A thin animal trail headed up and Turcotte turned onto it. After a quarter mile it switched back on itself. Turcotte halted and caught his breath. He looked up. There was a long way to go. He started running.

There was a phone on the outside of the Ale Inn, the local bar in the town of Tempiute. The same town where Johnny Simmons had met Franklin the previous week. The town’s main claim to fame was its proximity to Area 51, and the Inn was a watering hole for the itinerant UFO watchers who passed through continuously. Kelly parked the van next to the phone, and she and Von Seeckt got out and ambled over, he leaning on his cane. He patted his pockets, then looked at Kelly. She shook her head. “Use my phone card.” She rattled off instructions and the number Turcotte had given her earlier.

It was just before ten in the evening local time and Lisa Duncan was seated by the small desk in her hotel suite, watching CNN, when the phone rang. She picked it up on the third ring, expecting to hear her son’s voice on the other end. Instead a heavily accented voice that she immediately recognized began speaking.

“Dr. Duncan, this is Werner Von Seeckt. General Gullick has been lying to you about what is going on at Area 51 and at the facility in Dulce, New Mexico.”

“Professor Von Seeckt, I—”

“Listen. We don’t have much time! Have you ever heard of Nightscape in conjunction with Area 51?”

“Yes. They run psychological prep—”

“They do much more than that,” Von Seeckt cut in. “They kidnap people and brainwash them, and I am sure even much worse than that. They conduct cattle mutilations. They do much more.”

“Like what?”

Von Seeckt didn’t reply to that. “How about Operation Paperclip?”

Duncan picked up her pen and pulled the small pad of hotel stationery close. “What do you know about Paperclip?”

“Do you know what’s going on at the lab in Dulce? The experiments with implanted memories?”

Duncan wrote the word DULCE on her notepad. “Back up to Paperclip. I’m interested in that. Is there a connection between Paperclip and what is going on at Dulce?”

“I do not know exactly what is going on at Dulce,” Von Seeckt said, “but I just rescued a reporter who was being held prisoner there, and he killed himself in response to what they did to him there.”

“I don’t—” Duncan began, but Von Seeckt cut her off again.

“To reply to your question, does the name General Karl Hemstadt mean anything to you?”

Duncan wrote the name down. “I seem to remember hearing that name somewhere.”

“Hemstadt was the head of Wa Pruf 9, the Wehrmacht’s chemical warfare branch. Hemstadt was taken in by Paperclip. I saw him in 1946 in Dulce. During the war he was responsible for supplying the death camps with gas. He also participated in much experimentation with new gases of course, such experimentation had to be done on living humans to be truly valid.

“Since 1946 I have not been allowed into Dulce nor have I heard a word about Hemstadt again. However, I do not believe he just vanished. Such a man was notorious, and such people don’t disappear without much help from powerful people — government people.

“There is someone else you must speak to,” Von Seeckt said, and there was a brief pause, then a woman’s voice came on the line.

“Dr. Duncan, my name is Kelly Reynolds. I was given your name by Captain Mike Turcotte. He has tried twice to contact you using the number you gave him. Both times the number was reported to be out of order. He says that you must trust no one.”

“Where is Captain Turcotte now?” Duncan asked.

“He’s on his way into Area 51.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Duncan asked.

“Because we want to meet you at the Cube in Area 51 tonight. You must not inform General Gullick or any of the other members of Majic-12 that you are coming.”

“What is going on?” Duncan demanded.

“Be at the Cube tonight. No later than midnight local time. We’ll explain everything then.” The phone went dead.

Duncan slowly put the receiver down. She picked up another binder. This one had a cover identifying it as coming from the Justice Department and indicating that it was copy two of two copies made. She flipped it open and lumbed through, rapidly scanning. On page seventy-eight she found what she was looking for: General Karl Hemstadt was indeed listed as having likely been taken in by the Paperclip operation.

She gathered together her binders and threw them in a briefcase, then headed for the door. She had a taxi to catch.

Von Seeckt walked back to the van with Kelly. “What do you think?” she asked. “She finally bit when I mentioned Paperclip,” Von Seeckt said.

“Do you think she’ll alert Gullick?” Kelly asked as she got in the driver’s seat. Von Seeckt sat to her right. Nabinger was in the back, looking at the rongorongo tablet.

“No,” Von Seeckt said. “She’s not one of them. The presidential adviser was usually on the outside. After all, the slot was a political appointment that could change every four years. I know for certain she was not fully inbriefed.”

“Well, we’ll find out soon enough,” Kelly said, throwing the van into gear and leaving the parking lot.

Turcotte cut a hole for his head in the center of the thin silver survival blanket and pulled it down over his shoulders. He wrapped the blanket around his torso and cinched it tight with cord. It hung down to his knees and fit him like a poncho. Designed to keep heat in during an emergency, Turcotte was counting on it to keep him from being identified by the thermal sights that were part of the outer security perimeter of Area 51. He would still show up — especially the heat rising from his head — but he hoped that the signature would be so much smaller than man shaped, that the monitors might assume it was a rabbit or other small creature and ignore it.

What he could not ignore any longer was the pain from his knee. He reached down and felt the swelling. Not good.

But he also knew he had no choice. He checked his watch.

He was ahead of schedule, so he could move more slowly.

It would not do him any good to go over the mountain early, thermal blanket or no blanket. He continued on his way up the mountain, at a pace that kept the pain to a minimum.

“I want to see the duty officer,” Lisa Duncan said to the sergeant seated behind the counter at the flight operations center at the base of the Nellis Air Force Base tower.

“And you are?” the sergeant asked without much interest.

Duncan pulled out her wallet and flipped open the special ID she’d been given upon getting her appointment. “I am the President’s chief scientific adviser.” “The president of…?” the sergeant began, then he halted as he saw the seal on the laminated card. “Excuse me, ma’am! I’ll get the major right away!” The major wasn’t quite as impressed with the ID card when he heard what she wanted. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the Groom Lake area is completely off limits to all flights. Even if I could get you a helicopter at this time of the evening, they would not be authorized to fly into that airspace.”

“Major,” Duncan said, “it is imperative that I get flown out to Groom Lake this evening.”

The duty officer reached for the phone. “I can call out there and see if they will authorize a flight and then—”

“No,” Duncan cut in. “I don’t want them to know I’m coming.”

The major shook his head. “I’m sorry, then. There’s nothing I can do.” “Who do you work for?” Duncan asked, her voice cold.

“Uh, well, I work in the ops section for Colonel Thomas.”

Duncan shook her head. “Higher.”

“The base commander is—”

“Higher.”

The duty officer glanced nervously at the sergeant who had first talked to Duncan. “This base falls under the command of—”

“Who’s your commander-in-chief?” Duncan asked.

“The President, ma’am.”

Duncan leaned over the counter and picked up a phone. “Do you want to talk to him?”

“Do I want to talk…” the major repeated dumbly. “No, ma’am.”

“Then I suggest you get me a helicopter right away to take me where I want to go.”

The major looked at the ID card lying on the counter one more time, then turned to the sergeant. “Get me the PR on duty.”

“PR?” Duncan asked.

“Pararescue,” the major explained. “We always have one crew of pararescue men on call for emergencies.”

“They have a helicopter?”

“Yes, ma’am, they have a helicopter.” The major glanced at the sergeant on the phone. “And they know how to fly it.”

“That’s it,” Von Seeckt said. “The mailbox.”

There were a half-dozen vehicles parked off the side of the dirt road and a group of people scattered about. Some were well prepared, seated in recliners, while others stood, scanning the horizon with a variety of binoculars and night vision devices.

“Dim your lights,” Von Seeckt said.

Kelly pushed the button in and with their parking lights on they pulled off to the side of the road. She put the parking brake on, then stepped out. Von Seeckt joined her, while Nabinger remained in the back of the van.

Kelly walked up to an old couple who were comfortably seated in front of a pair of telescopes, with a cooler between their chairs. “Excuse me,” Kelly began. “Yes, dear?” the old woman replied.

“Do you know a man named the Captain?”

She chuckled. “Everyone here does.” She pointed to a van parked about twenty feet away. “He’s there.”

Kelly led Von Seeckt over. The van was parked so that the rear end pointed toward the mountains that marked the edge of Area 51. The back doors were wide open and a very large scope was sticking out. Behind it a man in a wheelchair had his face pressed up against the eyepiece.

He pulled back as Kelly stepped up. He was a black man, his lower half covered by a blanket draped over his lap. His hair was white and he looked to be about sixty years old.

“I’m Kelly Reynolds.”

The man simply looked at them.

“I’m a friend of Johnny Simmons,” she continued.

“So he got the tape,” the man growled.

“Yes,” Kelly said.

“Took you long enough. Where’s Simmons?”

“He’s dead.” She pointed to the west. “He tried to infiltrate Area 51 and got caught. They took him to Dulce, New Mexico. We broke him out but he killed himself.”

The old man didn’t seem too surprised. “I heard they do strange things to people down at Dulce.”

Kelly stepped closer. “I’ll tell you the full story real quick. Then we need your help.”

The officer in the flight suit stuck out a hand. “Lieutenant Haverstaw at your service, ma’am.”

“Call me Lisa,” Duncan said.

The officer smiled. “I’m Debbie.” She pointed at the other people in flight suits. “That’s my copilot, Lieutenant Pete Jefferson; our PRs are Sergeant Hancock and Sergeant Murphy.” The two men were stowing gear on the back of the UH-60 Blackhawk.

“What are they loading?” Duncan asked.

“Our standard rescue gear,” Haverstraw said.

“I just need you to fly me out to Groom Lake,” Duncan said.

“SOP — standing operating procedures,” Haverstraw said. “We always carry our rescue gear when we fly. Our primary mission, other than flying presidential scientific advisers around, is to rescue downed aircrews. You never know if we might get diverted to a mission.” She smiled.

“Besides, from what the duty officer briefed me, we’re flying an unfiled mission into Area 51 airspace. Who knows what we’ll run into? I’ve heard some strange stories about that place.”

“Do you have a problem with running this mission?”

Duncan asked, slipping her professional mask back on.

“No problem. I’ve been ordered by the post duty officer, who represents the post commander, to fly you wherever you want.” Haverstaw put her flight helmet on. “My ass is covered.” She opened the door on the pilot’s side. “Besides, I hate seeing those big no-fly areas on the flight maps. Kind of view them as a challenge. Hell, I’m looking forward to this.” She extended her hand toward the rear.

“Climb on board.”

Taking a deep breath, Kelly called out. “Excuse me, everyone! I have something to say that you all might be interested in.”

The UFO watchers all turned and looked at her, but no one moved until the Captain’s voice boomed out behind her. “Get over here!”

They gathered round, a loose circle of figures in the dark.

“These people need our help,” the Captain said. “You all know I been here a long time watching. Twenty-two years, to be exact. Tonight we’re going to be doing more than just watch.”

As the Captain spoke, outlining what Kelly had asked, a figure at the back separated from the group and slipped away into the darkness. When the car drove away, lights out, no one noticed, so caught up were they in what the Captain was saying.

The glow from the aboveground Groom Lake complex was off to Turcotte’s right as he finished descending the mountain he had just crossed. The runway cut across his front, and beyond that, the mountainside under which the mothership rested, according to Von Seeckt’s directions.

So far, so good, Turcotte thought to himself. But for the rest of the way he was going to need help. He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes. Gritting his teeth, Turcotte set to work on his knee, keeping the tendons from tightening up by jabbing his fingers into the swollen flesh and massaging it.

Sergeant Hancock showed Lisa Duncan how to put on the helmet and talk on the built-in radio.

“We’re clear to lift,” Lieutenant Haverstraw announced from the front. “You all set back there?”

“All set,” Duncan said.

“We’re going to fly at one thousand feet until we get close to the boundary. Then I’m going down low. It’ll get a little rough then, but I want to stay off their screens as long as possible. Give us a better chance of getting you to Groom Lake.”

With a shudder the Blackhawk lifted and then banked to the north.

“I’ve got something here,” Nabinger said, holding up the wooden tablet he’d taken out of the Dulce archives.

Through all the phone calls and driving he’d never stopped working on the translation.

“We don’t have time for that right now,” Kelly replied. She tapped her wristwatch. “Show time.”

She pulled onto the dirt road and turned west, the Captain’s van next, then the rest of the UFO watchers’ vehicles. They rolled down the road, past the warning signs and past the first set of laser detectors.