MJ-12: Inception

10

Maggie stared idly at the man seated across the table from her, a youngish, tweedy fellow with horn-rimmed glasses, slicked-back hair, and a weak chin, wearing a white lab coat. She could sense mild impatience and slight boredom from him as he fidgeted with a pen and leaned back in his chair.

“Commander Wallace,” the man said with a Boston accent, “when are we starting this up? I have to get back to check on something I have running.”

“We just needed to establish a baseline, Doctor,” Danny said. “Wanted to make sure you have a clear head.”

Behind Danny, a tall, reedy man in Navy whites — and a couple of stars on his shoulder boards — waited with arms folded, scowling slightly, and a Navy corpsman stood ready next to him with a first aid kit. At the door, one of the MPs stood guard. Maggie favored him with a slight smile, which he returned with all the subtlety an Air Force airman barely out of his teens could muster. Roger — the guard’s name was Roger Fitton — was smitten with her, of course. She hadn’t even needed her Enhancement to convince him to lend her his binoculars, which now sat locked away in her quarters.

“So, what are we going for today?” Maggie asked Danny.

“Well, it’s not strictly an emotion, but I was thinking maybe we’d try sleepy,” Danny replied. “Let’s see if there’s some kind of connectivity there between an emotional state and physical exhaustion.”

The scientist frowned, not having been briefed on the specifics of today’s testing. “What?”

Maggie held out her hand slightly. “Hush, now,” she said, focusing her ability to calm the alarms going off in his brain. A moment later, the scientist sat back in his chair again, at ease, and Maggie congratulated herself silently for her control. “Commander, I can calm someone. Like I just did here. But sleep?”

Danny merely shrugged. “It’s a reach. See how calm you can get him, for starters.”

Scowling slightly, Maggie turned back to the man across the table, who was firmly disinterested in pretty much anything going on at that moment. Normally, she drew upon her own emotional experiences to find the right thread in someone else. She would visualize her own emotional thread and entwine it with the other person’s moods, then coax the color she associated with that emotion to overtake the others. In this case, she would use the deep blue of mellow disinterest to slowly overcome the yellow-green of the man’s annoyance.

“All right, buddy. Let’s make you calm,” Maggie said, realizing from the look the two-star gave her that she may have sounded like a pet owner addressing a dog. And there were days it felt like that.

The man behind the table shrugged. “I’m already feeling pretty calm.”

Not yet, you’re not. Maggie closed her eyes slightly and tried to think of nothing but the serene calm she occasionally felt right before sleep, and fixed that feeling in her mind’s eye. She could see it, could practically reach out and cup that feeling in her hands, like a tennis ball of midnight-blue energy that hummed inside her head.

Then, gently — because, hey, this had to be calm — she let that energy snake off toward the man across the table. If the feeling were more extreme, she’d pretty much shove it up his nose. But not today. Calm.

She opened her eyes to see her test subject still sitting there, eyes half-lidded, smiling slightly. Maggie breathed in slowly, concentrating on keeping his emotions stable. “I think… well, he’s really calm. Not sleepy, but…” She smiled slightly. “Hey, can you lend me five bucks?” she asked him in a gentle voice.

“Don’t have my wallet with me,” the man mumbled in reply.

Right. Something else. “You have really nice ears. Can I see ’em?” she asked.

The man’s eyebrows twitched slightly, prompting Maggie to caress his emotions once more. “Sure, I guess,” he mumbled.

Maggie stood and walked toward the other end of the table. She took one of the man’s ears — admittedly, they were kind of large — and tugged slightly. Under her emotional guidance, he had no reaction. She gave it a harder tug, prompting his neck to bend a bit, but the scientist was still too mellow to react with anything other than a very slight wince.

A few moments later, Maggie was actively flicking the man’s ears, pinching his nose, and mussing his hair. She reached inside his jacket pocket and produced his wallet, removing the ten dollars inside and placing it back in his coat. All the while, the man was still in his half-lidded, daydream state.

“Why didn’t he give you the five bucks?” the two-star asked.

Maggie shrugged. “It’s emotional control, not hypnosis. If he doesn’t want to give me the money, I can’t actively make him do it when all I’m projecting is calm. Heck, he even lied about having his wallet. If I wanted him to love me, or fear me, then he’d be more inclined to give me the money. But I can’t make him do anything except feel.”

Danny waved a hand in front of the scientist’s face and watched as the test subject’s eyes idly tracked the movement. “He’s still awake, but this is pretty good. How much effort is this for you?”

“It varies,” she replied. “Peaked a bit when I took his wallet, because that’s going against his self-interest. Remember, he didn’t want to give me money, but I can tamp down the desire to get it back, to the point where he doesn’t care.”

Danny looked over to the two-star, who nodded and asked, “What would happen if I punched him?”

“I’m not sure,” Maggie replied. “Let’s find out.”

And with that, she reached out and slapped the scientist hard across the face.

His eyes widened a moment, but Maggie stared down at him intently, and all he did was shift slightly in his chair before settling back down. There were red finger marks on his cheek — she hadn’t held back.

“Christ, Maggie,” Danny breathed. “We talked about this.”

“That sounded like a direct order to me, Dann — I mean, Commander,” she replied quietly.

“Airman, I think we’re finished here. Can you please escort our friend here back to where he belongs?” Danny ordered. The guard gently brought the man to his feet, and Maggie began to let his emotions slide back to him. A few moments later, by the time the man got to the door, he turned around and fixed Maggie with a stare that was half anger, half bewilderment.

“Where’s my ten dollars?” he demanded.

Maggie smiled and handed him the folded bill. “No hard feelings,” she said, fixing him with her best embarrassed smile.

The scientist snatched it from her fingers and rubbed his face as he was led out.

“Miss Dubinsky,” the two-star asked, “when you’re affecting someone’s emotions, how do you feel?”

Her brow furrowed at this. “I’m not sure I understand the question, Admiral,” she replied. He was Navy and had stars, so admiral seemed appropriate.

“Well, you’re manipulating the emotions of another person — and doing a bang-up job of it, I’d say. But how do you feel when you do that? You’re playing with someone’s feelings. Like clay.”

Maggie thought a moment, then shrugged. She didn’t think the admiral really wanted an honest answer, and couldn’t think of a good reason to give him one. “I don’t know, sir. I’m not sure I feel anything.”

Roscoe Hillenkoetter didn’t exactly blend in with the rest of the desert — not with Navy whites and a pair of gleaming stars on his shoulder boards. Had the admiral given advance warning of his visit, Danny Wallace might’ve advised some shipboard khakis, at the very least. The director of the new Central Intelligence Agency had been technically placed on reserve/detached duty with the Navy to wrangle Washington’s intelligence community into something approaching cohesion. But apparently habits die hard.

Like Hillenkoetter, Danny was on detached duty with the CIA — though Secretary Forrestal still seemed to think Danny was under his command. And Danny hadn’t been in the Navy long enough to care about wearing an uncomfortable officer’s uniform out in the full-blown Nevada sun.

“I want to have a chat with your PAPERCLIP man,” Hillenkoetter said as they rode in the jeep that would take them from the “asset containment area” to the main base at Area 51.

“Yes, sir,” Danny replied, “though there hasn’t been a lot of progress yet. He’s got some ideas, though.”

“That’s fine,” the director said. After a moment, he asked, “How often does Jim Forrestal call you here?”

“Call? He doesn’t call, sir,” Danny said, shouting slightly over the wind as they rode. “He sends a cable every few days, asking about something or another.”

Hillenkoetter shook his head with a rueful grin. “Fucking son of a bitch, that man. The whole idea of a Central Intelligence Agency is that information is centralized. What the hell’s his bugaboo?”

They pulled up outside the base office building and parked the jeep.

“Mostly ‘Asset Development,’ sir,” Danny replied as they walked toward the entrance. “Spends a lot of time going over the profiles, speculating over which asset might do what. But it’s too early to determine if any of them will be effective in the field. That’s my assessment, anyways, sir.”

Danny opened the door for the admiral and ushered him in. A couple of Air Force clerks scrambled to their feet to salute; Hillenkoetter’s return was barely a wave as Danny led them to his cramped office, ordering one of them to track down the PAPERCLIP man. The admiral replied only when the door was firmly closed.

“Anyone in particular he’s on about?”

“Forrestal?” Danny nodded. “Subject-1, as always.”

Hillenkoetter frowned deeply. “Of course he is. Gotta find more Variants, right? He’s really bent on this covert ops idea. But what we need is intel. Any of your assets showing signs of help there? That woman sure seems like she could get some secrets out of people.”

Danny ushered his boss to his marginally more comfortable office chair behind the desk, while Danny himself took one of the folding camp chairs across. “They’re all potentially useful, sir, whether it’s ops or intel. Some may be more inclined toward one or the other, but it’s all in how you use them. And right now, there’s a lot of preparation left to do.”

“Right. Marine Corps training regimen, OSS training. We really need to come up with our own curriculum for the CIA. Maybe what you and Anderson got here is a good start, based off that Camp X material. Write that up for me when you have a moment,” the admiral said.

“Aye, sir,” Danny replied, wondering exactly when he might get that moment. “We’re also looking at bringing in a specialist to assist with some tradecraft training. Can we clear John Mulholland to give us a hand?”

Hillenkoetter smiled at that. Danny had done his research, and Mulholland was one of the finest stage magicians in the country. He’d given the OSS tips on sleight of hand and misdirection. “Absolutely. Consider it done. Just be sure he doesn’t get anywhere near the labs. Anything else I need to know?”

Danny thought a moment. “The assets are honing their Enhancements pretty well. We’re finding that most of them come at a cost, though, so we need to keep an eye on that.”

“Like that Negro’s long recovery period.”

“Exactly. Some of them, like Maggie, we haven’t identified yet. Still working on it.”

“And that’s why we can’t let Jim Forrestal get his hands on them before we got this all worked out,” the director said. “So, what’s your SOP when he cables?”

Danny shrugged. “We’re not sending MAJESTIC-12 intel over cable, so I tell him to sit tight for the next report. We agreed on weekly updates, which go to him, you, General Montague, Dr. Bush, Dr. Bronk — basically everyone with MAJESTIC-12 clearance except the President.”

Hillenkoetter nodded. Danny had wondered why Truman wasn’t looped in on the weekly reports from Area 51, but figured the President was a pretty busy fellow to begin with. And a bunch of reports with unanswered questions wouldn’t do much to help Hillenkoetter — or Forrestal, for that matter — keep the President happy.

“I’ll have a talk with Jim. I don’t care how many code words we use, we can’t have him asking about this over a cable. He’ll have to wait for copies to fly in, just like everyone else,” the director said.

Danny breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir.”

“Any luck running down any more signals? Or Variants?”

“Not since the one in Boston, sir. Honestly, I’ve been busy setting up shop here, but the phenomenon isn’t putting out any more pulses, either. When it does, I’ll be ready to go,” Danny said. “Should I focus more on Variant searches instead?”

Hillenkoetter shook his head. “No, Commander. You keep on this project. With Montague in Albuquerque, you’re pretty much de facto base commander, and between the lab work and the asset training, you’ve got enough on your plate. I have a couple analysts looking through the wires and newspapers for anything interesting, but as you said, there hasn’t been a signal in months. We’ll have to start figuring out how to look overseas, too. But not right now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Commander… when Jim Forrestal asks about Subject-1, you don’t tell him a damn thing beyond those reports. You read me?”

“Loud and clear, sir,” Danny replied, realizing in that moment just how difficult it was to have two bosses at odds with one another.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door, which Danny rose to get, ushering Dr. Kurt Schreiber into the room. Schreiber had been one of the beneficiaries of Operation PAPERCLIP, the program designed to bring Nazi brains to America to work for the United States, so long as their war records weren’t too atrocious. It was a rotten deal with the devil, Danny thought.

He couldn’t help but grimace at the man. He’d seen Schreiber’s file. The Nazi should’ve been shot. But… the doctor knew about nuclear phenomena, and if there was only one man alive with any inkling of what it was — it was Schreiber. And even that was still a lot of guesswork.

“Dr. Schreiber,” Hillenkoetter said, waving the white-coated scientist to another chair. “Do you know who I am?”

The German gave a thin smile as he took his seat. “I can only assume from your rank, and the fact that you’re here, that you’re in charge of Mr. Wallace here, if not more.”

“Suffice it to say, Doctor, that you wouldn’t be here without my approval, which, I should tell you, was only given reluctantly,” Hillenkoetter said. “I’ve read your reports, and frankly, I don’t have a science-to-English dictionary. So, tell me exactly what’s going on with this phenomenon. And use small words for me, OK?”

Schreiber nodded in reply. “Very well, Admiral. You know, yes, that the phenomenon has magnetic properties and is emitting a broad spectrum of radiation, mostly of the harmless variety. However, it also has no mass. So, that has us wondering where the radiation and magnetism is coming from, yes?”

The CIA director nodded. “And your theories?”

“We do not know for certain, but it is safe to say that if there is no mass here, yet the radiation is occurring, then it stands to reason that it must be coming from somewhere else. That this phenomenon is less a thing unto itself and more a window or door to another place.”

“Where?”

Schreiber shrugged. “We cannot say. If it is a door, I believe it is one-way.”

This prompted a frown from Hillenkoetter; Danny knew this tidbit wasn’t in the last report he’d seen. “Come again, Doctor?”

“Perhaps, Admiral, a demonstration is in order. Shall we?” Schreiber rose and opened the office door. A moment later, after a bit of consideration, Hillenkoetter walked out, Danny in tow.

The German scientist led them across the complex from the office building to a gigantic metal-sided building, three stories tall and larger than a football field. The MP at the door checked everyone’s ID badges assiduously, even though both Danny and Schreiber were known by sight. They took security seriously there.

Once inside, Schreiber led them through a corridor with offices on either side, which eventually opened up into a large room with a bare concrete floor. There were shaded lightbulbs hanging down from the steel-beam rafters and banks of machinery lining the walls. In the center of the room, sandwiched between two large electromagnets, was the phenomenon — now eight feet wide on all sides, still white, still swirling. Just as Danny had first seen it in Hiroshima.

It still disturbed him for some unknown yet profoundly elemental reason.

There were a handful of scientists working at tables about ten feet away from the vortex, and they scattered as Schreiber approached with his guests, a gesture from the German doctor sending them back to their offices. Schreiber was technically not the project lead, but the other scientists who reported to Danny behind Schreiber’s back called him a genius and, surprisingly, a decent colleague.

“So, gentlemen, there is a thing here that has no mass but has magnetic properties and is emitting radiation, yes? So, we can assume that the radiation comes from somewhere else and this must be a doorway. Do you follow?” Schreiber asked.

“I suppose,” Hillenkoetter said as he stared at the vortex of white light.

Schreiber picked up a tennis ball from a bucket perched on one of the work desks. “But what kind of door? And how does one go through it?” And with that, Schreiber pitched the ball directly toward the center of the light.

It passed through and bounced onto the floor on the other side.

“We have done this many times, with these balls and other objects. We have studied them afterward and found no changes whatsoever as a result of their passage. We have been experimenting on small animals as well. Again, no measurable change,” Schreiber said. “Meanwhile, seemingly at random, the phenomenon will emit another pulse of radiation and energy that, we believe, creates another Variant.”

“How closely can we track those pulses?” Hillenkoetter asked.

“It is very difficult. The best we can manage is directionally, from the point of emission. We cannot determine how far it goes yet, not without dedicated equipment placed across the country — the world, really. So, it is up to your… other assets, I suppose?… to find the new Variant.”

Danny frowned. Schreiber had been nibbling around the edges of the Variant part of MAJESTIC-12 for some time now, even asking to examine each subject to determine how the energy affected them. Danny didn’t even need to refer to Hillenkoetter’s standing orders to decline that request.

“What I’m failing to grasp, after all this time, Doctor, is how you knew to create one of these in Berlin in the first place, and how you knew what it would do.” Hillenkoetter said, finally tearing his eyes away from the vortex to fix a stern glare at the German. “Never did get an answer I liked there.”

To Danny’s surprise, Schreiber shrugged and sounded apologetic. “The answers are there, whether you like them or not. My directives came from Hitler himself, and he would not share the why of what I did. He simply ordered me to do it. And so, when Hiroshima occurred, we put our plan into motion, as laid out by the Führer himself. What he knew, the foresight he had, died with him — and to be perfectly honest, Admiral, I believe this to be for the best.”

“How so?” the CIA director demanded.

“Do you wish to have such a man in command of an army of supermen?” Schreiber asked, wide-eyed and genuine, at least as far as Danny could tell. “I can honestly say, having worked with him personally, I do not. If that means we must work to find the truth here, so be it.”

Hillenkoetter’s gaze returned to the vortex. “What do you need to take this further?”

When Schreiber told him, the color left the admiral’s face.