Majestic

by Unknown

  “C’mon, Chad. They’re not going to live forever.”

  “That’s the problem. We just don’t know. Look how healthy they are! The only ones left now are those who weren’t killed in accidents. And, they’re all kind of prominent, so they attract attention. Maybe they became prominent because of the special talents they acquired? I don’t know, but because they’re famous in their communities, anything weird that happens with them will attract attention. We can’t ignore that, and we just don’t know how long they’ll live.”

  The other ten sitting around the boardroom table remained silent as the exchange between Allison and Chad ran its course. They were accustomed to seeing the two of them spar—Chad being the ‘lame duck’ leader, and Allison being the ‘heir apparent.’

  Chad didn’t want to give up the reins, and Allison was reluctant to take them. A bit of a dilemma for each of them. But, succession was mandatory, and they both knew they had no choice in the matter.

  It was indeed just like royal heritage. There were age-old traditions that couldn’t be ignored. Not in England and not in the boardroom of Majestic 12.

  Allison pointed her index finger at Chad. “William Carson better walk out of here under his own steam, or I’ll hold you personally responsible, Chad.”

  Chad Powers glared at her, then flipped open the file in front of him.

  “We have a more serious problem to deal with today. You each have a folder in front of you with a photo and a brief synopsis of the subject matter. Those folders cannot leave the room, by the way, so commit everything to memory.

  “We’ve all been following the preliminary debates and campaigning for the presidential election—which is still over a year away. The man whose face you see in the photo is a familiar one to all of us—indeed to every citizen in America.”

  Phillip Stang, a prominent defense contractor, interrupted. “Why are we discussing him? He’s not a candidate.”

  Chad held up his hand. “Let me continue. You haven’t had a chance to read the synopsis yet, so I’ll give you all an executive summary. As you know, we never get involved in politics unless we have to. And, for good reason, no politicians are ever allowed to sit around this table. Majestic 12 is non-political.

  “However, some disturbing intelligence has come to our attention. This man is close to announcing his candidacy for the presidency. In fact, he’s very close. And, he intends to run as an Independent, even though at one time or another he’s been both a Republican and a Democrat.”

  Allison looked up from the folder and noticed one gentleman, who she despised, squirming nervously in his seat as Chad talked.

  She’d already scanned the contents of the folder—Allison was a speed reader, a talent which none of her colleagues knew she possessed. After what she’d just read, she was feeling a tightening in her stomach, that terrible feeling you get just before having to make a speech.

  The squirming man across the table from her was Charles Farmington, the CEO and major shareholder of one of the nation’s largest energy companies. He was probably the sleaziest businessman she knew, and a well-known drunk.

  And, unbeknownst to almost every citizen of the United States, Charles Farmington was America’s biggest contributor to the slow, but sure, death of the Gulf of Mexico. The BP-owned and operated Deepwater Horizon oil rig explosion grabbed all the headlines back in 2010, resulting in not only the loss of eleven lives, but also the unstoppable leak of 5 million barrels of oil into the precious waters of the Gulf.

  ‘Unstoppable’ because it has never been stopped, to this day, even though the government declared that the crisis had ended six months after the explosion.

  But, fifty other abandoned wells were leaking, too; wells that had never been capped properly by Farmington’s company, Tempest Energy Corp. Some of them had been leaking for two decades, yet BP was blamed for most of the pollution that now existed in the Gulf. The Deepwater Horizon had been a convenient tragedy for Farmington’s company. With his connections in Washington, they were willing to look the other way at his transgressions and agreed that recouping costs from the United Kingdom-based BP was the best solution.

  Allison despised the man, and her imagination began spinning as to why Charles Farmington was squirming in his seat right now. She concentrated on his eyes, and then stuck her two index fingers quickly into her ears. So quickly that no one noticed.

  She only needed a second. A quick pop of her fingers back out again, and that was all that was needed to trigger the unique engine in her brain.

  Suddenly, Charles’s thoughts were in her head and almost immediately she knew why he was so nervous. This power she had only lasted a few seconds at a time, and only worked with one person at a time. But, sometimes a few seconds were all she needed to learn something important—or salaciously gossipy.

  She had channeled Charles’ brain into hers for just an instant.

  It was a power she’d inherited from her dad’s altered DNA. It wasn’t a power her father had ever exhibited, but she was told by him that different aspects of the DNA might be passed along to her that he had never displayed.

  She could thank the HMS Diana for the little gift. Or, rather, thank the strange flying object that had fired that beam at her father and two others on the HMS Diana back in 1956.

  The moment ended and Allison was paying attention once again to what Chad was saying.

  “…and someone in this room has unfortunately passed along information to this man that he intends to use in his campaign. This is an unusual campaign this year, as we’ve all noticed. For the first time in history, we have an up swell of real serious anger amongst the electorate, and certain candidates from both parties are tapping into that anger.

  “They’re challenging the status quo, the corporate donors, threatening to disclose wrongs and untruths. This is happening in both major parties, and the people love it. And, with a couple of the more bellicose ones grabbing all the headlines, the others are frantically trying to catch up—trying to soak up some of those headlines for themselves.

  “Well, this man whose face is in your folder, is planning to blow everything wide open about certain secrets. That will be the platform for grabbing his share of voter attention. And, the public will eat it up.

  “Truths that are sworn to be protected at all costs by the charter of Majestic 12, are going to be splashed all over the mainstream news. He is such a prominent and well-loved figure in the Senate that the major networks will have no choice but to cover his assertions.

  “This is very serious, ladies and gentleman. We have to deal with it as we are obligated to do.”

  Allison’s sad eyes gazed down at the photo in her folder. Senator John Hartford. She’d met him before—he’d stayed in the royal suite at one of her hotels in Honolulu. They’d even had dinner together.

  She knew what he stood for…and what he stood against. For years, she’d watched his performance in the Senate. Always on the right side of the equation, always standing up for principle and opposing every stupid war that America had managed to dupe itself into.

  He’d called for a new investigation into 9/11, had demanded to know why twenty-eight pages had been redacted from the 9/11 Commission Report. Demanded answers on the rumored involvement of Saudi Arabia in the tragedy. He never got anywhere. No one listened to him. Senator Hartford had been a lone voice in a wilderness of liars and cowards.

  Allison always hoped…and prayed…that John Hartford would run for president one day. The country needed someone like him.

  Chad was talking again.

  “The last politician who threatened to expose the secrets protected by Majestic 12 was John Fitzgerald Kennedy. Now, we have another one. Someone who thinks it’s time America knows what it doesn’t know. Now, it’s even more serious than it was back in 1963—because a lot of time has passed and things are a lot more imminent now than they were back then.”

  Allison had heard Charles Farmington’s thoughts. In fact, in her mind she’d
even seen him sitting in a bar with Senator Hartford. She’d heard his mind cursing his own drunken stupidity. Charles had told the senator everything. And, she saw him pass a thick file to him on their way out of the bar. She could only guess what was in that file. And, she couldn’t help herself thinking, “Go, Senator, go.”

  “I’m calling for a show of hands. Senator Hartford has to be neutralized, and it’s our duty to vote on the sanction. As usual, a simple majority is all that’s required, and no explanations are needed if you vote against this action.”

  Allison leaned forward and glared down the table at Chad.

  Allison knew she had to be very careful how she expressed herself right at this moment, because all eyes were on her and she knew she probably stood alone. She also couldn’t completely hide the fire in her eyes—a fire that came easily to her every time she looked into the evil face of Chad Powers.

  “Before we vote, Chad, can we discuss alternatives? Senator Hartford is a reasonable man, and we could take the unusual step of bringing him into our confidence. I’m sure he would appreciate the chaos it would cause if certain information was made public. We can try to convince him—it’s worth a try. He’s one of the country’s best and brightest. Hartford should be president—we’d be better off with him at the helm than any of the other candidates. He’s a good man, they don’t come any better.”

  Chad shook his head. “No, Allison, that’s not up to us. Our mandate is clear and you know that. We are not charged with making judgements like that. Our job is to protect the truth, first and foremost.” He scanned his eyes around the table. “Alright, a show of hands, please?”

  Ten hands flew up, including from the little sleaze, Charles Farmington. Allison kept her hands firmly in her lap. Chad glared at her for a moment, then declared, “It’s affirmative, then. Meeting adjourned.”

  As they all got up to leave, Allison noticed out of the corner of her eye, the crooked finger of Chad Powers gesturing in Charles Farmington’s direction. That gesture meant that Charles had to stay behind for a few minutes for a private chat with the head of Majestic 12.

  Allison knew that, after today, she’d never see Charles Farmington again.

  She’d seen the entire succession plan of all the members. Charles’ successor was his eldest son, Kevin. Allison hadn’t met him yet, but knew that she and the others would get that honor at the next meeting, if history proved to be a predictor.

  She didn’t feel anything at all about the pending demise of Charles Farmington. But, she did feel pangs of anxiety in her gut over Senator John Hartford. The pangs were literally eating out her insides as she rode the elevator up to the main lobby of the Centers for Disease Control.

  As Allison Fisher walked out to the relative calm of her car, she thought back, way back.

  Images in her head of talent lost to her country in the last few years, even the images of those who were lost before she had assumed her seat five years ago.

  All of the members of Majestic 12 knew the history.

  A history of scientists, astronomers, meteorologists, engineers, astrophysicists—all dead before their time.

  And, she thought of that brave President of the United States who had dared to ask what he never should have asked.

  John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

  But, she had the feeling that even if JFK had known what was going to happen to him, he still would have had the courage to ask. He was just that type of man, much like Senator John Hartford. Two peas in a pod. And, soon to be side by side in heaven, looking down, shaking their heads in disgust.

  Chapter 17

  Allison hadn’t been to her parents’ house in several months. Those were visits that were hard to commit to. It was the home she and her brother had grown up in, and it held so many memories for both of them that it seemed almost haunted every time she walked the halls.

  But, she had to make an appearance once in a while just to make sure everything was okay. Her brother couldn’t be bothered, but that was just the way he was. He liked the investment that the house represented for both of them, but didn’t really revel in the sentimentality of it.

  Allison was different. She was very sentimental and, after their parents’ deaths, she’d convinced Robert that they should hang on to the house for a few years. With the housing crash, it had fallen in value from five million to around three, and Allison felt that they should wait until it had regained its value again.

  It was now safe to sell it, for probably around six million, but she was still resisting her brother on putting it up for sale. Neither of them needed the money, so it was kind of a moot point. But, she felt that her brother just wanted it gone, wanted the memory of it erased. For Allison, selling it felt almost like chopping off one of her limbs.

  She guided her Audi down West Fullerton, then headed north on Lakeview Avenue. After a couple of minutes, she turned left onto the familiar street, the setting for most of her tomboy mischief when she was a kid.

  Twenty-eight West St. James Place was one of the more exclusive addresses in Lincoln Park, which was itself one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in all of Chicago. The area was bordered to the west by the Chicago River, and to the east by Lake Michigan. Chockfull of upscale restaurants and coffee shops, art and antique galleries, and even the oldest nightclub in Chicago, called Neo. While Chicago was known worldwide as a cultural center for some of the best jazz and blues music imaginable, Neo featured any kind of music your little heart desired. The famous acts that had hung out there included David Bowie, Iggy Pop, The Clash, and U2.

  Allison had met Bono there one time with her dad—they visited him backstage after an impromptu show he’d put on. While he was nice enough, she was put off by how full of himself he was, and how quickly he launched into bragging about his personal influence on solving the world’s environmental problems. Influence that Allison knew for a fact was exaggerated—Bono was a ‘legend in his own mind.’ He went on ad nauseum about how society was oblivious to how much carbon they were spewing into the atmosphere. Allison was too polite to ask him if the private jet he’d flown over in from London was being powered by apple juice.

  She’d so wished that her dad could have arranged a ‘meet and greet’ with Bowie instead.

  Lincoln Park was mainly a white neighborhood and had more than its share of expensive private schools, which Allison and Robert had attended all the way up until their entrance to university. The education at those schools had been superb, but Allison had wished that the socialization had been better. They’d rubbed shoulders with primarily rich kids, which didn’t exactly give any kid a realistic look at what the real world was like. Being born rich had its drawbacks and, in Allison’s opinion, the wealthy children had a much harder struggle on the social side once they were out in the jungle. That was one of the reasons she’d resisted joining the family’s hotel empire, choosing instead to study physics in university. After graduation, her joining the Jet Propulsion Laboratory had shocked her parents—they thought she was just going through a phase; that she would shed her rebellious energy after college and join the family business. But, Allison had surprised them all and took a relatively low-paying job as an astrophysicist at the JPL and stayed there until the tragic car accident.

  Money had never mattered very much to Allison—being her own person was what was important, which was hard to do in a dominant, rich family. Now, she had more money than she knew what to do with and, ironically, wasn’t half as fulfilled as she’d been when she was making just a tiny fraction at the JPL.

  But, she was running the hotel empire as a family obligation, and serving as a member of Majestic 12 as another obligation. She regretted that her life was now consumed with obligations. She’d never envisioned that it would be that way.

  She turned into the circular drive of the deserted mansion at Twenty-eight West St. James Place, and turned off the powerful engine of her Audi R8.

  Every couple of months or so, Allison came by to pay her respects to the f
amily abode. They had housekeeping and gardening staff there on a regular basis, to make sure the home’s appearance was kept up and that it looked lived in. So, there was no real work for her to do when she visited. She just came to soak up the atmosphere…and to remember.

  There were two other vehicles parked in the driveway. One she recognized as belonging to Mark, the caretaker. He’d been with the family for forty years, and Allison kept him on after her parents died. Mark was like family to her.

  The other vehicle was a van, with the lettering Lincoln Pest Control along the side. She’d seen this van here many times before. Being an old house, they’d had problems with wasp nests in the rafters and mice multiplying behind the walls. She guessed it was one of those two problems once again.

  Allison opened the front door and entered into the massive ‘Tara-style’ foyer, with its mandatory winding staircase. That staircase alone brought back memories—she could still picture her and her brother sliding all the way down and falling onto their asses at the bottom. When there was no one else in the house, she still indulged herself once in a while.

  Mark came out of the study, which was just off a small hallway to the left of the foyer. Behind him came the pest guy, trudging along with his equipment in tow.

  Allison rushed up to Mark and embraced him with a big hug. “So good to see you! How have you been? How’s the family?”

  He smiled warmly at her, probably remembering back to when she was just a little girl. “Hello, dear. Family’s fine—grandchildren total six now and they’re all growing up way too fast. But, more importantly, how are you?”

  “Aw, I’m fine, Mark. Kind of busy lately, but that’s okay. My brother’s still nagging me about selling the house, but I don’t think I’m ready yet. Plus, I’d still like to see your smiling face for a few more years.”

  “That’s sweet of you. But, I understand that you’re going to have to sell it eventually. I’ll settle for a cup of coffee with you once in a while after that happens. I won’t let you forget about me.”