MJ-12: Shadows

27

Maggie waited outside President Truman’s office, Mrs. Stevens fidgeting nervously next to her on the well-appointed couch. Both wore their Sunday best, and both were armed to the teeth with briefcases full of transcripts and reel-to-reel tapes. Neither of them wanted to be there — but they both knew their futures teetered in the balance.

“It’s not fair,” Maggie muttered.

“What’s not fair, sweetie?” Mrs. Stevens said in her best maternal voice.

Maggie cast a quick look over at the President’s secretary, who was busy typing away, and at the Secret Service man at the door. “This whole investigation — it wasn’t just about patching a leak. It was about testing us. Clearing our names. All of us. Making sure we’re trustworthy.”

“And we are! I think we’ve done that,” Mrs. Stevens said. “You should be proud of what we’ve done, not just for us but for everyone else, too.”

“Yeah, but we’ll have to do it again. And again. It won’t stop,” Maggie said. “Every single time something goes wrong with a Variant, we’ll be under the gun until we prove we’re in the right. No benefit of the doubt, no innocent before proven guilty. None of that stuff. We’re guilty until we can prove otherwise. And God forbid if one of us actually fucks up.”

“Language!” Mrs. Stevens whispered quickly. “We’re in the White House!”

Maggie rolled her eyes hard. “Five bucks says the President’s said worse.”

“Well, sure, but he’s a man. And he’s in a stressful job. Even the best of us can slip up from time to time,” she replied.

“Point is, even if we’re cleared now, I think it’s only a matter of time…”

“Until?”

Maggie didn’t get a chance to answer; the door to the Oval Office opened and Hillenkoetter appeared. “Ladies, let’s go.”

The two got up, smoothed their skirts, and picked up their briefcases before entering Truman’s office. Inside, Truman and General Vandenberg were sharing a laugh about something. Two Secret Service agents were posted off to one side, fully alert. That was new — usually Truman didn’t have them around during meetings. They typically peered through a little keyhole from another room instead.

“Don’t mind the agents, Miss Dubinsky,” Truman said as he came around his desk to shake their hands. “You never know how these things will go sometimes.”

Maggie smirked a bit. “That’d be interesting.”

“Yes, it would. Though I imagine you’d have a handle on it before they could draw,” the President said.

“Maybe. How fast are they?”

“Let’s hope we don’t find out. How are you, Mrs. Stevens? That portable recorder of yours is impressive, to say the least.”

“Oh! Well, thank you, Mr. President! You know, I think with the right application of solid-state technology, we might get a lot of our electronics smaller. And I’ve been tinkering with some ideas on batteries that could—”

“Yes, yes, that sounds swell, Mrs. Stevens,” Truman said quickly. “Why don’t you and Miss Dubinsky have a seat here? I believe everyone else is cooling their heels in other parts of the building. Hilly, let’s get ’em all in here.”

Maggie watched with bemusement as, one by one, the targets of their investigation came marching through the door of the Oval Office. Louis Johnson was first, Frank Wisner right behind him. Both men were greeted brusquely by the President; no handshakes were offered. Next came Senator McCarthy, who at least received a handshake from Truman and a comfortable armchair. J. Edgar Hoover was the last to enter, all swagger and business, walking right up to Truman with his hand extended; the two shook, and the FBI Director took the chair right next to Truman’s desk — where Hillenkoetter had been sitting just a moment before.

Maggie reached out with her mind to take the President’s temperature, so to speak. He was angry and a little nervous, and he had an undeniably deep-seated hatred of Hoover. Maggie decided then and there that if Truman ran for a second full term in ’52, he’d have her vote. She’d even wear a button.

“All right, gentlemen, let’s get to it,” Truman said, sitting down behind his desk. “You know how I keep saying, ‘The buck stops here,’ right? Well, it applies to everybody in this room right now. If I hear any excuses or alibis or passing the buck, I’ll have your resignations on your way out the door. And yes, Senator, that goes for you, too. Don’t think I can’t do it.”

McCarthy looked surprise. “Now, Harry, what’s going on? I—”

Truman sat bolt upright. “Senator, I am the President of the United States, and you will address me as such, you hear me? This isn’t the Senate floor, and this certainly isn’t the Capital Grille, where I know you’ve been spending some time with these gentlemen here.”

Hoover’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. President, have you placed us under surveillance?”

Truman actually smiled at Hoover, and Maggie got the sense he was enjoying this a bit. “For the government to conduct surveillance over citizens within the United States, there would need to be an appropriate warrant, and the surveillance conducted by a proper law enforcement agency.

“So, to answer your question, yes,” Truman added, taking out a thin blue paper from a folder on his desk. “This is the warrant from D.C. Circuit Court. And these two ladies are with the Secret Service. Maybe you recognize them?”

All four men gave Maggie and Mrs. Stevens a good hard look. Only McCarthy had a spark of recognition that Maggie could sense, but he kept his mouth shut.

Truman continued. “Each of you has been recorded discussing something that you’ve been calling MAJESTIC-12, and doing so in some detail. This meeting is not for me to confirm or deny the existence of this project or its nature but is instead to determine whether I order the Secret Service to arrest anybody for mishandling classified information and, quite possibly, treason. Now, let’s start with Mr. Wisner here. Where did you first hear about this alleged project?”

Wisner was sitting stiffly, a bit of sweat at his brow that had little to do with the summer heat outside. “I first heard about the operation from Senator McCarthy in private right after a Foreign Relations Committee briefing, Mr. President.”

Truman turned to McCarthy. “Same question, Senator.”

Shifting in his chair, McCarthy seemed to ponder his words before speaking. “While I hate to speak ill of the dead, Mr. President, I have to say, it was Jim Forrestal who first told me about it.”

“I see. Director Hoover?”

Frowning as he fidgeted with a pen, Hoover simply said, “Forrestal.”

“And Secretary Johnson, who told you about this project before you stormed off to the desert this past weekend on a fool’s errand?”

By this point, Johnson was hunched forward in his seat, looking down at his shoes; Maggie could sense the genuine panic in the man’s chest and wondered if he was going to have a heart attack on the spot. “I was invited to a meeting a few weeks ago with these three gentlemen. They wanted to brief me on the project.”

Truman walked forward toward Johnson. “A project you’re not cleared for. A project none of you are cleared for.”

Johnson finally looked up. “Sir, with all due respect, you appointed me Secretary of Defense. The Senate confirmed it. Why would you keep something like this from me? After all we’ve been through together.”

Truman actually put a hand on Johnson’s shoulder. “Louis, you did a lot to help me over the years, especially with the election. And I’m grateful for that. But you and I both know you’re a politician, first and foremost. I appointed you to cut budgets and battle Congress, not fight wars or oversee classified projects. And both of us know you got a big mouth.”

Truman turned to the others in the room. “I’m going to ask you, each of you, one more question, and by God, you’d better tell the truth. Did any of you have anything to do with the death of Jim Forrestal? If you don’t fess up now and we find out later, I’ll make sure you get the chair.”

Each of the men in the room registered shock at this, and Maggie probed their emotions carefully as they spoke. All denied their involvement, and while Maggie wasn’t exactly a lie detector, she didn’t sense anything off about their reactions. Maggie glanced over at Mrs. Stevens, who’d made a quick study of body language and reactions over the past few weeks. Mrs. Stevens shook her head. They didn’t do it.

Truman looked over at Maggie, who simply nodded.

“All right,” the President said. “I believe you. Now, you likely heard a lot of nonsense about little green men or superheroes or whatever nonsense Jim Forrestal told you. Jim was my friend and a courageous, loyal American. But the job took a toll on him, and I’m willing to bet he told you a couple of humdingers about this MAJESTIC-12 thing.”

“Mr. President—” Hoover began, but Truman cut him off with a hand.

“In the interest of national security and the public trust, I know each of you will refrain from discussing any of this nonsense moving forward. If you do — and don’t think we won’t find out about it — we have ample evidence already to ensure you’ll each do jail time for violating national security. Do I make myself clear?”

All four men nodded; none of them had words at this point.

“Mr. Wisner, I’ve decided the Office of Policy Coordination within the State Department will be folded into the Central Intelligence Agency. As of this moment, I’m placing you under the direct command of Director Hillenkoetter here. I’ll let Dean Acheson know myself. It’ll be up to Hilly here to figure out what you’ll do after your office is merged. That’ll be all, thank you.”

Wisner nodded nervously and stood; Hillenkoetter walked over to the door and let him out, closing it behind him.

“Senator,” Truman said, turning to McCarthy. “I suggest that you focus your attentions on Capitol Hill elsewhere. Otherwise, you might find yourself facing very well-funded opponents when you’re up for reelection. Primary and general.”

McCarthy stood. “Mr. President, these people… Our country is in danger.”

“Yes, it is, Senator. Which is why we have talented people to help us defend it. Now, again, not a word of this to anyone, or so help me, I’ll make your life hell. I won’t enjoy doing it, but don’t think for a minute that will stop me. Thanks for coming by.”

Mouth agape, McCarthy paused for a long, confused moment before finally storming toward the door. Hillenkoetter closed it behind him with a smirk.

“Louis, if I ever catch you sticking your nose into something you’re not cleared for again, I’ll fire you on the spot. As it stands, General Vandenberg here tells me there’s been some irregularities regarding acquisitions for the Air Force under your watch. Something about a company you’re tied up with?”

“Now, Harry—”

Truman stood right up to Johnson, looking up at the man with controlled anger on his face. “If you don’t fix it, Louis, I’ll be asking you to resign soon enough. You have one more chance. Otherwise, you’ll be done here and done with politics. Understood?”

Johnson’s face visibly sagged. “Yes, Mr. President.”

“Thank you, Louis. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a word with Director Hoover here.”

Johnson trudged out of the office. Hoover was simply sitting and watching, his bulldog face alert but yielding nothing. Inside, Maggie could sense he was nervous, though not as much as the others. She figured J. Edgar was probably a fine poker player.

That reminds me, I need to get to Vegas, she thought idly. Meanwhile, Truman went back to his desk and sat. “So, Director, what are we going to do about this?”

Hoover gave a slight smile. “Mr. President, the FBI has a mission to investigate federal crimes in the United States. That won’t change.”

“No, but I imagine you’ll be on the lookout for some unusual ones from here on out,” Truman said, his friendly face masking his anger. Maggie thought the President might be an even better poker player.

“You never know where an investigation will take you, Mr. President.”

Truman finally let the mask slip. “I can tell you this, Director. Your agency will immediately alert Director Hillenkoetter here the moment you have information on any individuals exhibiting unusual characteristics. And then you will remove your agency from that investigation. Are we clear?”

Hoover remained steady. “Mr. President, the CIA has no jurisdiction over criminal cases within the United States.”

Truman looked over at Hillenkoetter. “Hilly, can you and the ladies step out for a moment?”

Maggie quickly stood and followed Hillenkoetter and Mrs. Stevens out the door, closing it behind her. Curious, she reached back to scan the emotions of the two men left in the Oval Office. Truman was triumphant. Hoover quickly went from mildly nervous to absolutely terrified in the space of about twenty seconds.

Moments later, Hoover barged through the door and hustled through the anteroom as if his ass were on fire. Hillenkoetter smiled. “Let’s go back in.”

The President had one of his patented grins on his face. “Well, that was fun.”

Maggie couldn’t help herself. “What did you say to him, sir?” she asked once the door was closed.

Truman shook his head side to side. “Miss Dubinsky, some matters should remain private. In fact, that’s exactly what I told Director Hoover just now.”

Hillenkoetter folded his lanky body back onto the couch. “He’ll hate you for this, sir.”

“Aw, he hates me already, Hilly. That’s fine. Honestly, I wouldn’t want to do it — God knows he’s not the only one in this town with those kinds of skeletons in his closet. But if it’s a choice between his private life and a global panic about Variants, well… I think even he knows that I won’t hesitate to make the right decision for this country.”

Maggie thought about that for a moment while the two men chatted further. The kind of panic and fear she’d felt out of Hoover was existential in every sense of the word. She’d only felt that from people facing death or the loss of a loved one. Or…

“He’s gay,” she blurted out.

“Excuse me?” the President said.

Maggie realized what she’d said, and felt her face go red. “Sorry, sir. Never mind.”

Truman frowned. “Whatever you may think you know about the director is just a rumor, nothing more. J. Edgar Hoover has served for years with distinction. Understood?”

Maggie nodded but was surprised at her distaste for such a tactic. “Yes, Mr. President.” Maybe he’s not getting my vote after all. “But why not just fire him?”

“Because J. Edgar Hoover has dirt on everybody in this town,” Hillenkoetter responded. “He’s been at this for twenty-some years now. Cut him down completely, he’ll spill on everyone. But he who lives by the sword—”

Truman held up his hand to stop Hillenkoetter from saying more. “All right, now, where are we with this shadow business?”

Hillenkoetter opened a folder from his briefcase. “From what we’ve been able to determine from interviews and the like, the description these two provided regarding their encounter at Bethesda is materially different from what Wallace mentally received during his encounter with the vortex, and also different from the eyewitness accounts reported before Dr. Schreiber’s escape. However, we have identified potential similarities with what Wallace believes he observed in Damascus back in March.”

Truman looked disgusted. “Christ, Hilly, let me try to get this straight. You’re suggesting that now we got, what, three or four different kinds of shadowy bullshit going on?”

“Appears to be, sir. I’m hoping to send my best agents to look into it ASAP.”

“You mean your best people aren’t already on this?” Truman snapped.

Hillenkoetter looked over to Maggie and Mrs. Stevens, and smiled. “My best people are sitting right in front of you, and you’ve kept them pretty busy, sir. But if it’s all right with you, I’d like ’em back.”

Truman relented and even offered the two women a tired smile of his own. “Permission granted. Ladies, thank you for your service.”

Maggie and Mrs. Stevens nodded and, taking their cue, rose as Hillenkoetter walked them to the door. “Mrs. Stevens, have my secretary back at the shop get you on the next flight to you-know-where to assist Wallace in his investigations. Maggie, you’re heading back to Damascus to check on something for Wallace. I’ll brief you later this afternoon.”

Maggie nodded and followed Mrs. Stevens out the door. To her surprise, she turned and gave Maggie a big hug, right there in front of the President’s secretary.

“We did it,” she said quietly. “I’m gonna miss you.”

Maggie felt the genuine emotions pouring out of Mrs. Stevens — pride, a little sorrow, and real affection. She broke off the hug and managed to give Mrs. Stevens a smile. “I’m gonna miss you too, Rose. I will. Now go fix Danny’s mess. I need to see about Frank and Cal.”

Mrs. Stevens smiled and headed off, leaving Maggie standing there a moment, wishing she could feel as vibrantly and intensely as Rose Stevens did about… anything at all, really.