MJ-12: Endgame

26

Hoyt Vandenberg sat in an easy chair in his robe, pajamas, and slippers, with a pillow underneath him that wasn’t helping one whit, and tried to focus on the newspaper as he drank a cup of tepid tea. An intravenous unit hung from a stand next to him, slowly dripping chemicals into his bloodstream that might — just might — stem the tide of cancer inside him. It was a long shot, and if the latest round of therapy didn’t work, the folks here at Walter Reed would begin a round of “palliative care.”

What a pleasant-sounding death sentence that was.

They were already doing everything they could to make him comfortable, knowing that it was likely this would be the last room he ever slept in. There was a sitting area with his chair and a couch and coffee table, and the bed on the other wall was made up with quilts and blankets taken from home. His wife and family were already in and out, trying to give the place homey touches — yesterday, they had put up some photographs on the wall and on the nightstand next to his bed. But while he appreciated the effort, Vandenberg knew that this was the ultimate in window dressing. He had months, on the outside. Weeks if his body wasn’t in the mood to cooperate.

The phone rang, and while he desperately wished it would go away, he relented and picked it up on the fourth ring. “Vandenberg,” he said curtly.

“General, this is Calvin Hooks. You remember me?”

Vandenberg smiled, despite himself. “Of course, Mr. Hooks. I hope you’re well.”

“I am, thanks. Took a little bit, but I got me and Sally all settled in nicely.”

“I suppose asking where would be counterproductive,” Vandenberg said.

There was a gentle chuckle on the other end of the line. “Let’s just say it’s nice and quiet, and the folks here don’t care much about the color of my skin. I fit in just fine. And I’m not calling from there anyway. Just in case.”

Caribbean, maybe. Or up in Canada somewhere. Hooks wasn’t much for languages. “Well, that’s smart. And I’m glad to hear it. You deserve a break. What can I do for you?”

“Well, General, I wanted to see if you wanted some help.”

Vandenberg’s heart started to beat a little faster. “With what?”

“Heard you were laid up some. Heard the docs aren’t being optimistic. Might be something I can do.”

Vandenberg’s mind raced as he recalled Cal’s file. “I didn’t think you could do that.”

“There’s things I can’t cure, sure. But I can roll back your age a bit. Give you a little more time. Figure it’s the least I can do for the heads-up you gave us.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Hooks,” Vandenberg said, his smile growing a little wider even as his voice took on a tone of warning.

“Right. You didn’t do anything. Still want to thank you for it.”

Vandenberg tried desperately to quash the growing hope inside him. “How much time?”

He could envision Cal shrugging as he spoke. “Can’t rightly say. Months. Years. Depends on how healthy you want to look, how many questions you want them doctors to ask you.”

“But how would you get here?”

“Well, I thought about that, sir,” Cal said. “There’s places, nice and small, where I can come over without too much trouble. Then just take a bus into Washington. You’d have to set up a visitor pass for me, of course. Find me a name I could work with.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Oh, ain’t too bad. Lord knows I’ve been through worse. I can come through farm country first, take on a little juice from the livestock. Not too much trouble, really.”

Vandenberg couldn’t find any words for several long moments. It was, without a doubt, the kindest, most generous thing anybody had ever offered him, and any doubts he had about providing the MAJESTIC-12 people with the bug-out code were immediately erased. He worked with the program from the very beginning, since Roscoe Hillenkoetter came to him in 1945 with news of strange vortexes and superpowered people. But they were, in the end, good people, he’d found. Or at least Cal Hooks was, and that was more than enough.

“That’s a mighty kind offer, Mr. Hooks,” Vandenberg said, his voice cracking. “Mighty kind. But… much as I want to, I can’t let you do that.”

“But, sir—”

“No. Please,” Vandenberg pleaded. “You know they’re gonna be looking for you. I know you have some fine skills, Mr. Hooks. I figure you might even get in here and be able to do it. But getting out is another story. And they’ll notice my miraculous recovery. There’ll be questions, and there’ll only be so much I can do now that I’m retired.”

“I know the risks, General,” Cal said, protest in his voice.

“I know you do, son. I know you do. And…” Vandenberg paused to fight back the tears that were nonetheless coming through. “And I know what kind of man you are. You’ve earned your peace and quiet. Don’t jeopardize that. You go have a good life now, you read me?”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “I might just come anyway.”

“Then I’m gonna put out an alert on you,” Vandenberg said, steel entering his voice. “Please. Don’t tempt me. I can’t have more time, knowing you could end up in prison for the rest of your life. Just… go on now. Thank you. Really. But you just let me be. Go enjoy yourself. Be with your family.”

“Sir, really, I can—”

Vandenberg didn’t wait for Cal to finish, instead replacing the phone on the cradle. Only then did he allow himself to break down.

Frank walked through the McClellan Gate, an ornate red sandstone archway with an inscription in yellow-gold: “Rest On Embalmed And Sainted Dead Dear As The Blood Ye Gave No Impious Footsteps Here Shall Tread The Herbage Of Your Grave.” Frank thought it overwrought and maudlin, but it was built while the memory of the Civil War was still fresh, and the folks back then seemed to be a more florid bunch to begin with.

He took a left and began walking, past rows and rows of simple white stone markers and leafless trees, looking at the paper in his hand. After about five minutes, he found what he was looking for.

Frank shoved the paper back in his pocket, then folded his hands and stared down at the stone, at the dead winter grass, at the little American flag placed there by some school kids or ladies’ group or whatever. He thought maybe he should say a prayer, but after all he’d experienced, it seemed the entire notion of heaven and hell was just… off.

Maybe Danny was in that other place, on the other side of the white light. Maybe not. Frank knew only that he didn’t know, and he’d never know until it was his time.

“Heya, Frank.”

He turned and smiled slightly as Maggie walked over. She was dressed in a long dark coat and a blue dress, heels, a hat, the whole nine yards. She even had those little formal white gloves ladies sometimes wore, and her red hair was done up nice. She really did look like Rita Hayworth when she wanted to.

“Garbo. I always liked that one,” Frank said. Garbo was a perfect code word for a fake-double agent. The more obvious reference was the Greta Garbo picture, The Two-Faced Woman, and talking about Greta Garbo in most circumstances was pretty benign and easy to work into conversation.

The other reference, though, was far more interesting — and known only to spooks. Juan Pujol García was a Spaniard who went to work spying on the British on behalf of the Nazis — except he was really working for the British. He did so well in his double role that he got the Iron Cross from Germany. And his code name during the war was Garbo.

“You doubted me?” Maggie teased.

Frank just smiled. “Always. Why didn’t you work it in at the Lubyanka? We got the SATCHMO all-clear from Washington. Big and brassy. Could’ve wrapped it up then and there.”

Maggie grimaced a little at that. “I figured you were doing SATCHMO. But I didn’t know where Beria was keeping his nuke. I needed more time. Tried to work Garbo in there, but you were way too spooked. And then you threw a chair through the fucking window and jumped. If you had just waited a few more minutes…”

“I’m not the most patient guy,” Frank said. “Glad you got my message. You didn’t give us a chance to catch up before you got out of Dodge. What have you been up to?”

Maggie shrugged. “Laying low, moving around a bit. Staying out of trouble. Well, there was that weekend in Atlantic City. A girl’s gotta have fun.”

“I don’t even want to know,” Frank said. “What about long term? What’cha gonna do with your life?”

“Honestly? No idea. For now, just gonna find a small, quiet corner of the world, not a lot of people. Somewhere to hunker down a while and sort things out. You?”

Frank shoved his hands in his pockets and took out his cigarettes and a lighter. “Gonna travel some. I still got all these languages in my head, might as well put ’em to use. Probably just do what I did back before Danny found me. Job to job, place to place, just see what a world without all this spy crap looks like.”

They both grew silent at Danny’s name and looked down at his final resting place. “He was a good guy,” Maggie said finally. “Fought for us every step of the way. Really thought it would work, that we’d do our time and then be left alone.”

“Maybe if he were still around. Now? I mean, we were dangerous before. Now, one of us tried to nuke Korea, and the rest of us know way too much. Danny’s gone, Vandenberg’s retired and doesn’t have much time left.” Frank lit his cigarette and took a long drag. “Nobody left to speak for us. We did the right thing.”

Maggie reached over, took Frank’s cigarette, and took a drag of her own. “We should’ve left years ago. But, it is what it is.” She handed the butt back to him. “How are the others?”

Frank smiled. “Cal’s fine. He had plans in place for him and his family. Rose ended up in Switzerland, doing something with physics there, of all things, and she took Ekaterina with her, working to get her officially adopted. Sorensen just moved to Winnipeg and just made contact with his family to get them up there.”

“Not smart,” Maggie said.

“I helped him work it out, don’t worry,” Frank replied. “And Yamato’s off God knows where. I’m trying to keep my ear to the ground for the others.”

She looked at him quizzically. “Why? It’s a risk.”

“Because he’d want me to,” Frank said, nodding at Danny’s tombstone.

They both stared at the grave for a while, until Maggie broke the silence. “All right. I’m off. See you around.”

“Maggie.”

She turned around, but Frank was at a loss for words. Of all the experts who’d inhabited his head for all those years, nobody had any idea of what to say next. “Wait… yeah. I, uh…”

Maggie smiled, turned back and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Trust me, I’m the last girl you’d want around. Go find someone nice.”

That wasn’t what Frank had in mind, which he figured she already knew, but the gesture was oddly comforting. “If I need to reach you…” he said finally.

This time, she turned and kept walking.

“Don’t,” she said.