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  A brief exchange among the committee members was interrupted by Senator Tiffany Townsend from Florida. “Mr. Wade, you stated that your job was to assess any threats imposed by these extraterrestrials on our Air Force facilities. Are these aliens a threat?”

  “Senator, that’s a concern which dates back to late June of 1947, the first time our radar systems knocked two of these ET craft out of the sky.”

  “Are you talking about Roswell, Mr. Wade?”

  “Yes, Madam Chair, only the craft didn’t actually go down at Roswell. The first crash site involving two of the three ships was located southwest of Corona, New Mexico. It took the military two years before they found the second crash site, which was way out west of Magdalena. When they read us in on Yankee Black—that was the security code on this particular USAP—the first thing they did was show us a 16mm movie of the recovery. There were dead extraterrestrials at the Corona site, along with the one survivor. The bodies at the Magdalena site were too decomposed to salvage.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Wade—did you just say the authorities managed to capture a living ET?”

  “Yes, ma’am. They named it EBEN, short for Extraterrestrial Biological Entity. It was taken to Kirtland Air Force Base and then on to Los Alamos. We saw footage … they kept it alive for a few years. The other bodies were sent to Wright-Patterson field in Dayton, Ohio, and placed in a deep freeze.”

  “Can you describe this creature for us?”

  “He was a Grey biped and male—all of the Greys were thought to be male. He was about four feet tall and hairless, with a large skull, big eyes, an indentation for a nose, and no visible ears. The Grey’s hands were slender, with four fingers and no thumbs, and the fingers had suction devices on the tips. Their outfits were skin-tight and they wore an apparatus on their head with what appeared to be an ear piece for communicating with their craft, which were saucer-shaped. Not all of the craft are saucers; some were oval, others cigar-shaped. There are big ones that look like a kid’s top. Different species … different craft.”

  “How many different species have visited Earth?”

  “That’s hard to say. One source told me nine; though I’ve heard as many as thirty-seven. Mind you, I’ve only seen photos of four different species. The most bizarre one looked like an insect, with big bug eyes, a large head, and a small body. They had two different hands on each arm and several joints in their legs.”

  Multiple discussions broke out, quelled by the Chair’s gavel. “Senator Townsend asked you whether the ETs pose a threat. Do they, Mr. Wade?”

  “Let me answer that first from the perspectives of the Eisenhower-Truman Administrations, then post-JFK. You have to remember that the majority of these encounters first began when the United States was testing the atomic bomb, culminating in the detonations in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Those events definitely caught our visitors’ attention, and throughout the late 1940s and 1950s there was a lot of UFO activity around our nuclear installations. Roswell had the 509th Bomb Wing—the only nuclear-capable strike force in the United States at that time, so it’s no surprise they frequented New Mexico, which was also home to the lab in Los Alamos and other nuclear testing grounds. Kirtland Air Force Base had nukes, which again drew a lot of ET activity. Between the development of the hydrogen bomb and the Cold War with the Russians, our paranoia was running pretty deep, and now Eisenhower had these ETs to deal with. Were these reconnaissance flights? A prelude to an invasion? You can hardly blame the president for wanting to keep a tight lid on everything.

  “A lot of the physicists who had been involved in the Manhattan Project were assigned to the ET problem, so secrecy was second nature to them. But there were no Intel groups back then, it was just the military and the scientists.

  “Things changed during the Truman years. You had the establishment of the NSA, the CIA, and the eventual engagement of a group called MJ-12, which became the agency overseeing all things ET. That’s when things evolved from assessing the threat to reverse-engineering the downed interstellar craft for our own use. That required secret bases and serious black budget defense funding and that’s when Truman lost control. Once the Military Industrial Complex and MJ-12 took over, the president and Congress no longer had a need to know, and suddenly the money started pouring in.

  “JFK knew about the ETs and these black budget projects and wanted to pull back the reins, beginning with the CIA. I realize that sounds like more conspiracy theory, but if you believe in the free press, then you probably believe in magic bullets and Lee Harvey Oswald too.”

  “I think we can do without the sarcasm, Mr. Wade. We’re still waiting for you to answer Senator Townsend’s question … are these extraterrestrials a threat?”

  “Madam Chair, if these Interstellars wanted to destroy us, they could have done so at anytime. God knows we’ve certainly provoked them, taking out several dozen of their craft since 1947. In my opinion, the bigger threat to humanity are these USAPs. Trillions of dollars have been siphoned out of the U.S. Treasury to pay for these vast subterranean complexes located miles beneath our air force bases—the Under Secretary has a pretty accurate list. The people working down there are well paid, but everything is kept extremely compartmentalized. The most advanced projects are run by our biggest defense contractors: E-Systems, Lockheed, Northrop-Grumman, Johnson Systems, Sandia, Livermore, Los Alamos, Techtronics … GE. Motorola had a huge facility where they were trying to figure out how the ETs’ communications worked.”

  “These reverse-engineering projects, Mr. Wade—what have they accomplished?”

  “Well, you know about the F-117 Stealth Bomber and fiber-optic cable. What you don’t know is that we solved anti-gravitics along with the energy problem more than fifty years ago. As Ben Rich, the late CEO of Lockheed-Skunkworks once said, ‘we now have the ability to take ET home.’ ”

  Once more the chamber erupted in conversation.

  “Mr. Wade, are you saying we may one day see flying cars?”

  “No. I’m saying we’ve had the technology for decades. Unfortunately, it’s been black-shelved.”

  “Black-shelved? What does that mean exactly?”

  “It means the powers that be have purposely kept it from the masses by denying patents, confiscating inventions, and then murdering the scientists who made the breakthroughs. That’s the real crime you should be investigating.”

  Applause broke out, overwhelming the proceedings.

  Senator Sampson waited for the chamber to quiet down. “Who’s in charge of these programs, Mr. Wade?”

  “Essentially, it’s a secret faction operating independently and without the knowledge of the government. Some choose to label it a New World Order … call them what you will—they run it all, just like the Under Secretary spoke about … it’s all true.”

  Adam was about to pose a question of his own when he noticed Steven Greer waving at him from two rows back.

  “Madam Chair, could we have a ten minute recess … it’s important.”

  “Very well. We’ll reconvene at eleven o’clock.”

  A buzz filled the chamber as conversations broke out among the charged-up crowd. Adam patted Jonathan Wade on the back before joining Dr. Greer at the rail separating the witness area from the spectators.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything. C-SPAN’s off the air; the bastards are jamming the signal just like they did sixteen years ago during the first hour of The Disclosure Project. Cell phones are out as well.”

  “Damn it! Okay, let me speak to Senator Sampson—”

  “Forget her, she’s useless.”

  “Then my brother—”

  “He’s long gone. Nothing said in these chambers will ever be covered by the media. Face it, Shariak, you’ve been set up and shut down, and don’t expect to find any allies on that committee. You can bet the farm they’re being issued specific instructions on what to say and how to proceed; just like the 9/11 commission was given back in 2002. I hate to say I told you so, bu
t I’ve been down this road before. Washington is toxic with money and everyone is in on the take … hey, where are you going?”

  Adam homed in on the court stenographer, her badge identifying her as Adeline Russell.

  “Excuse me, Adeline, there’s been an emergency. I need you to email the transcript of this morning’s testimonials to my iPhone right away.”

  “I can’t. The Internet’s down and no one can get a phone signal.”

  “Then print me out a hard copy.”

  “I still have to transcribe it. It’s all in shorthand.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “I don’t know … twenty minutes.”

  “But you can read what you wrote, correct?”

  “You mean the shorthand? Of course.”

  “Then get your machine, you’re coming with me.”

  “But the hearing—”

  “Your assistant can take over; I need you with me … now please.” He waited impatiently while she unplugged her machine and rolled up the cord.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’m holding an impromptu press conference on the steps of the Capitol Building. When I say, I’ll need you to read the Jonathan Wade testimony aloud to the media.”

  Pushing his way through the throng, he led her up the center aisle past security and out the rear doors of the chamber, his awkward gait helping to clear a path.

  He found himself in the mezzanine where a crowd was assembling around a circle of reporters and their camera crews. “This is perfect. Come on.” Grabbing hold of the crook of the stenographer’s right arm, he worked his way closer until he could see the person the reporters were interviewing.

  It was a Middle Eastern woman, dressed in a black one-piece Abaya—the coat-like garment topped with a matching scarf which concealed all but the bangs of her raven-colored hair. Though she was only in her early thirties, the dark eyes that scanned the crowd had witnessed several lifetimes of suffering.

  Adam froze. He knew those eyes … he had seen them in a thousand dreams.

  He was about to call out when Eugene Evans intercepted him. “Captain, we need to get you out of—”

  “There he is!”

  Suddenly all eyes and camera lenses were focusing in on him, his bodyguard, and the stenographer, who was backing away as the crowd parted before them, bringing him face-to-face with his past.

  “Nadia?”

  The Iraqi woman’s face contorted in horror. “Infidel warrior! Are you surprised to see me still alive after you murdered my father and left me for dead?”

  Sweat beads broke out across Adam’s face. “Nadia … what are you talking about?”

  “My father and I saved your cursed life after your death chopper crashed. We pulled you from the wreckage and carried you up three flights of stairs to our apartment in order to hide you from the Fedayeen. We risked our lives by helping you … and how did you repay us? By scorching me with a pot of boiling oil before stabbing my father to death, murdering him as he slept … leaving me screaming in agony as you made your escape … the American hero!”

  Adam could hear the cameras click, the lights and flashes blinding his peripheral vision. “Nadia, nothing you just said is true. Why are telling these lies?”

  “We shall see which one of us is lying.” Tearing off her scarf, she exposed the back of her hairless skull and the lump of flesh from a butchered skin graft, the burn scars and welts continuing down her neck and back.

  “Now the world will see who you really are, Captain Adam Shariak. Now the world will know the truth!”

  31

  Subterranean Complex—Midwest USA

  A COOL MOUNTAIN BREEZE rustled the sheer curtains framing the bedroom balcony’s open French doors, the “Nature Alarm Clock” rousing Jessica Marulli from a heavy sleep. She had set the hologram to a “Colorado lake scene,” hoping a change in her routine might curb the recent bout of depression brought on by her extended stay in the infirmary. But even the tapestry of gold splaying over a Rocky Mountain horizon had little effect on her wounded psyche.

  Five days of I.V. drips had left her feeling toxic. Every breath was accompanied by the scent of medication. The veins in her arms were bruised; her tongue tasted of metal. After being discharged, she had promised Lydia that she would exercise in order to burn off the drugs in her system, but having awakened with a dull headache, a workout was the last thing on her agenda.

  What she really wanted to do was finish her job and leave.

  She had arrived more than a month earlier harboring the excitement of a freshman going off to college. While the requisite thirty-six-hour security marathon had tarnished her promotion, she understood the necessity of the interrogation and the five-star accommodations had made up for any bad feelings. But those in charge seemed more interested in testing her loyalty than her actual work. She realized that her personal relationship with Adam and his recent announcements were obviously causing a few members of Council to feel ill at ease, but there were other red flags that were giving her serious doubts about her own career choices.

  At a time when climate change was arguably the most serious challenge facing the planet, why was zero-point-energy still being kept from the masses? Equally disturbing—why were alien reproduction vehicles being used to traffic drugs?

  Forcing herself out of bed, she used the bathroom and then dressed in her lab attire. No longer trusting room service, she searched her refrigerator for something edible but found nothing.

  Locating her hoverboard, she left the apartment, bound for the eatery.

  The thoroughfare was busy with the usual morning traffic as the community of techs, security personnel, laborers, and engineers headed off to work. Watching the scene, Jessica realized that none of the commuters were speaking to one another. Even neighbors emerging from their abodes at the same time rarely exchanged a greeting.

  They’ve established an Orwellian culture of fear …

  Walking out onto the Maglev track, she set down the hoverboard and positioned her feet before giving the power cord a tug. Her pulse quickened as the device rose beneath a cushion of magnetic waves, propelling her forward.

  Jessica remained in the pedestrian lane closest to the center divider, her confidence shot since the last accident. She looked around for Logan LaCombe, but the teen was probably still asleep. She passed his parents’ home without so much as a glance in case the authorities were watching her … which they probably were.

  Hunger pangs sent her drifting into the faster peripheral lanes and she soon found herself approaching the mall.

  Pulling on the power cord, she shut down the device and carried it to the eatery where a breakfast buffet was being served. Her stomach growled as she fixed herself a heaping plate of scrambled eggs, hash browns, and a bagel. Too impatient to wait in line to use the toaster, she poured a coffee and situated herself at the nearest empty table.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  She looked up, momentarily choking on a mouthful of eggs as Chris Mull occupied the chair across from her.

  “Leave or I’ll call security.”

  “I am security … counter-intelligence, to be exact. Every new Cosmic Clearance Council member is on probation until a C.I. officer checks them out.”

  “And did I pass?”

  “If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “Is that what happened to my predecessor?”

  “There’s a reason these facilities were built … a reason for all this security. You and the other eggheads are working with technologies that can alter the path of human evolution. There are two reasons an insider turns traitor—money and morality. We counter the former with an over-generous salary. The latter, unfortunately, can only be resolved one way.”

  “You terminated Dr. Hopper?”

  “With extreme prejudice; as we do with all traitors. Knowing the repercussions of any of these secrets reaching the masses, what would you do, Jessica?”

 
She pushed away her tray of food. “I’m not sure what sickens me more—when you refer to me and my colleagues as ‘eggheads’ or when you call me by my first name. Don’t.”

  He smiled with his mouth, but the eyes were vacant. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

  She waited for him to leave the vicinity before she hurried off for the nearest women’s room. Locating a vacant stall, she barely had time to aim before she lost her breakfast.

  * * *

  It was nearly noon when Jessica exited Elevator-7 onto the third floor. Tea and toast had soothed her upset stomach; a two-hour respite at the apartment settled her nerves.

  She hustled through the anteroom and interior corridor, the air stream blasting her in the face as she headed for the Plexiglas barrier at the end of the wind tunnel and entered the Hive—

  —startled by the level of activity taking place before her.

  The far end of the four-story-high lab had been retracted, revealing the vast space launch complex containing the towering Atlas rockets and their gantries. Moving through the lab was a steady procession of Zeus satellites. Each of the twenty four-ton rectangular devices had been loaded onto anti-gravitic platforms which were floating six feet off the ground in a procession that ended at their assigned Atlas-V rocket—next stop … Earth orbit.