CHAPTER 54
A black SUV with dark-tinted windows slowly pulled up to the kerb then cut its lights and engine. It sat and waited silently across the road from a small office building.
Inside the deserted office building a single floor remained lit although it was well after 11:00pm. Dr. Steven Greer sat at his desk typing an email. His fingers punched the keyboard with the excitement and frenzy of someone with profound news to share. He checked his watch; the late hour added to his eagerness to get his message sent.
He typed his last line, signed off and moved the pointer over the send button on the screen. His finger hovered nervously over the mouse button for a number of heavy heartbeats. Then with a deep breath, he clicked send.
Twenty seconds later Greer was shutting down his laptop. He placed the report given to him by Dr. Charles Reilly in his briefcase and headed for the door.
*
Sitting in the SUV, Alpha watched Greer leave the office, cross the road and get into his car. Greer’s headlights went on; he pulled out into the empty street and drove into the gathering night.
Alpha turned to look at Sabre, seated on the passenger side. Sabre gave him a silent order to move in.
Mr. Sabre watched Alpha exit the vehicle and head toward the office entry. As he strode, he peered down the street after Greer’s tail lights disappearing around a corner.
Alpha’s muscular bulk then blended into the darkness as he crouched down to work the entry’s electronic locking mechanism.
He took a small near-field radio transceiver from his pocket. It cycled through thousands of propriety security door frequencies in seconds. An instant later Alpha was through the door and heading for Greer’s office.
Minutes later Sabre’s attention was drawn by an approaching car. He was surprised to recognize the model was identical to Steven Greer’s. The glare of the headlights, however, made it impossible to see the driver.
He observed silently as the familiar car found a park on the street. Its driver got out carrying a briefcase that closely resembled the case Greer had with him minutes earlier.
Now drawing closer to the office, the driver’s frame, clothing and facial features were similar to that of Greer’s. Sabre’s jaw tightened.
He came back!
*
Greer froze in place after unlocking the door and stepping back into the Disclosure Project’s headquarters. Across the room he spotted a hulking figure dressed in black fatigues hovering over an open laptop in his private office.
The man in black reached for something attached to his belt, then paused, as if he’d had second thoughts. Greer felt an upwelling of dread as the mountainous figure calmly stepped around the desk toward him.
“Can I help you?” Greer’s voice wavered; he felt his palms begin to sweat.
The black figure said nothing but stepped closer. Greer noticed the man was gripping the butt of a holstered side-arm. Although his clothing and tactical vest were black, there were no identifying insignia or military markings to be seen.
Feeling a surge of panic Steven Greer gripped the briefcase tighter. “What do you want?”
The enormous figure’s silence sent an icy chill through Greer’s flesh. He thought of the report in his briefcase from Dr. Charles Reilly and felt his breath grow short. His alarm at the devastating implications now showed on his face.
“Whatever you do to me,” Greer said, hands trembling, “one day YOU will have to answer to a higher power.”
Greer hadn’t realized he had been slowly inching away from the approaching danger until he felt himself back into something solid. He remembered now that he had not shut the door behind him.
Steven Greer wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Turning in terror he spun around to find a second solidly built figure standing directly behind him.
“Who are you?” Greer demanded, looking startled.
Sabre’s voice carried an icy calm. “A higher power.”
Greer stared in horrified silence as Sabre produced a side-arm in a blur of movement. In a freeze frame of disbelief he felt the muzzle being pressed upwards under his chin. With a muffled spit, the top of Steven’s head exploded in a mist of crimson. A fine spray of blood with small gray chunks splattered on the ceiling.
Sabre took hold of the briefcase as Dr. Steven Greer fell. Lifeless, the doctor’s limp body collapsed into an awkward pile.
Sabre stepped over the body toward his detachment commander.
“You made a tactical error, soldier. You do NOT hesitate. I require efficiency, understood?” Sabre’s voice had dropped an octave lower, filling the office with a chilling resolve.
Alpha stiffened. “YES, sir!”
Alpha then followed Sabre to Greer’s desk. Sabre lay the briefcase on the desk; the locks held for 30 seconds before Sabre had picked through the combinations. Inside he found a single document.
As Sabre flicked through the pages, Alpha resumed his probing of the laptop.
“Within the last 10 minutes he sent a document to a group of people. Among the circulation are congress members and UN delegates,” Alpha said with military efficiency.
As Sabre studied the document he was surprised he hadn’t connected the dots sooner. Even so, it was becoming evident that his assignment had just increased in complexity.
“Is the circulated document a metallurgical analysis?” Sabre asked, his tone darkening.
“Affirmative. Something to do with an exotic metal,” Alpha answered. After a series of mouse clicks his eyes shot up. “A sample from an ETV crash site!”
Sabre’s eyes studied the screen for a long moment before retrieving a small USB drive from a concealed pocket and handing it to his second-in-command. Alpha jammed it into the laptop; the screen erupted in a sequence of windows opening as a self-executing program launched from the USB. Rolling data scrolled up the screen before the program displayed the results of its search.
“It would seem that our late friend here took the liberty of tripling our workload.” Sabre studied the screen, unimpressed. “Reilly has been helping him prepare for an unauthorized announcement.”
Listed on the laptop were the personal details of all the contacts that were now in possession of the metallurgical report on the I-beam retrieved from the 1947 extraterrestrial crash site. When Alpha glanced across to lock eyes with his commander he realized the rules had changed.
Sabre left little room for misinterpretation: “Each of these individuals has just become a risk to national security. Get a Sniffer deployed; we are going to pay each one of them a visit.”
*
One hundred and fifty miles away a small matte black quadcopter drone called a Sniffer silently descended from the night sky to hover just above the rooftop of a suburban home. It remotely hacked the firewall of the home’s wi-fi modem, accessing the householder’s private network, making all the connected computers and smart devices susceptible to outside snooping.
The suburban home was the residence of a Member of Congress who was the first contact listed in Dr. Steven Greer’s email list. He was also now in possession of a copy of the metallurgical report on the I-beam retrieved from the 1947 extraterrestrial crash site.
The Congress Member sat in his living room reading the report on his iPad in astonished amazement. As the member was flicking through the details of the analysis, the drone was identifying the iPad on his private home wi-fi network and streaming details of the member’s emails, diary entries and scheduled appointments back to its controller.
*
The controller of the quadcopter drone scanned the telemetry from the Sniffer as it scrolled down his screen at the NSA’s Operations Control under Mr. Sabre’s command. On his screen was a diary entry from the iPad for a private charter flight with all but two of the contacts listed in Greer’s email circulation. The flight was scheduled to leave early the following morning. Its destination was New York City, the city in which the headquarters of the United Nations was located.
> CHAPTER 55
The privately charted Gulfstream sat in its hangar with all its underside compartments open, exposing its internal electronics and mechanical componentry to the small team of maintenance mechanics preparing the aircraft for its morning flight. Each mechanic operated on a different section of the aircraft.
The mechanic working on one of its powerful Rolls Royce engines glanced up to watch a white van emblazoned with the Federal Aviation Administration’s insignia pull into the open hangar. The mechanic jumped to his feet and reached for a dirty rag, wiping the grease from his grimy hands. He walked over to greet the four men now stepping out of the FAA van.
Three of the burly FAA men carried toolboxes. The fourth man had an equally large frame, wore dark glasses, carried a clipboard and appeared to be the man in charge. All were wearing work overalls.
“Good morning!” the man with the sunglasses offered with a salesman’s smile. “Andrew isn’t it?”
The mechanic was caught off guard by the unidentified man in sunglasses knowing his name. “Umm… Yeh.”
Alpha removed his sunglasses. “My name is Robert. We’re from the FAA Aviation Safety branch.”
Handing the mechanic an ID badge Alpha continued with a practiced smile. “We’re carrying out random safety checks as part of a joint program with the Aircraft Mechanics Fraternal Association and the National Transport Safety Board.”
After scrutinizing the ID badge, the mechanic appeared convinced. As a member of the Aircraft Mechanics Fraternal Association the mechanic was aware of random checks being an initiative that the AMFA was pushing.
Alpha studied the mechanic. “We understand this aircraft is scheduled for take-off in less than an hour.”
“That’s right,” the mechanic replied. “We’re just about done here.”
Alpha maintained his polite tone. “Do you mind if we go about our checking while your boys pack up?”
The mechanic returned the smile and shrugged. “Sure.”
As the mechanic’s crew finished off their maintenance routine and pre-flight checks, Alpha’s consignment fanned out around the aircraft, checking various components and valves.
Two of Alpha’s team climbed the access stairs and entered the cockpit. They retrieved a cordless DeWalt impact driver and other equipment required to remove the cockpit dashboard panels from their toolboxes. The panel removed belonged to a battery of warning indicators, in particular the panel housing the Decompression Warning Alarms so Alpha’s men could work at altering its internal electronics.
The aircraft mechanics had now finished their tasks and were packing up their equipment. Alpha focused on the underside of the aircraft, where he held a line of sight to the mechanics. His third man was on top of the aircraft access stairs checking the seals around the external cabin door.
As he felt around the door seals he inconspicuously checked that no-one was looking his way. Most of the mechanics were now packing up on the other side of the aircraft. He waited until the last of the mechanics joined the rest of the maintenance crew then removed a small slender device from his toolbox.
The device was pale blue and the size of a pencil. It housed a small microchip with a tiny digital display attached to one end. He pressed a small button on the circuitry and the microchip blinked to life, showing a series of numbers that had been pre-set to automatically count backward.
The display read:
0:40:00
0:39:59
0:39:58
0:39:57
Alpha’s third soldier slipped the small device inside a fold in the door seal, jamming it between the rubber and the door itself.
The two soldiers carrying out their checks in the cockpit reappeared and approached Alpha to report their work was completed. Alpha’s third soldier did a final check that the device could not be seen before regrouping with Alpha’s team.
With his team’s objective now completed Alpha returned to the head mechanic, again with his salesman’s smile. “Well, Andrew, we’re done here.”
With that he handed the mechanic a piece of paper. “This is a duplicate of our safety report; it’s your record that we’ve been in attendance.”
*
A black limousine traversed the runway tarmac to ferry the honourable Member of Congress and his accompanying group of delegates to the stairs of the chartered Gulfstream. By the time the limo arrived, the aircraft had had its maintenance work signed off and its pilots had almost completed their pre-flight checklist.
The Member of Congress and accompanying delegates promptly boarded the aircraft. Twelve minutes later the chartered aircraft taxied out of the hangar to take off.
*
At cruising altitude the flight crew went about their routine business serving their passengers, who were engaged in discussions about an unexplained metal sample found at an unexplained crash site in the 1940s. The pilots confirmed that the aircraft was at the correct speed and altitude before engaging the autopilot. Once all was settled in the cockpit the stewardess served the pilots their morning coffee. The flight proceeded as normal as it had previously done with the same Member of Congress dozens of times before.
Until the clock countdown on the small hidden device reached 00:00:00.
Twenty minutes into the flight the device jammed in the aircraft door seal silently detonated. Unnoticed by the passengers and flight crew, the micro-explosion was so small its flash was barely visible from inside the plane.
However, the micro-explosion was, by design, just damaging enough to carefully rupture the door seal, allowing air pressure to slowly leak from the breached seal.
Such a seal breach would normally have triggered the Decompression Warning Alarm, causing the emergency overhead oxygen supply to suddenly drop down with face masks. But the Decompression Warning Alarm had been modified and failed to activate.
The delegates’ discussion soon started to slow down as they felt increasingly lethargic. One by one they all eventually fell asleep. In the cockpit the pilots’ eyes also grew heavy; unbeknownst to them the cabin pressure had been gradually dropping. Slowly the co-pilot let go of his coffee as he fell asleep, spilling his cup’s contents over his instrumentation consul.
With the entire passenger complement and crew now unconscious, the Gulfstream continued along its flight path under the guidance of its autopilot.
CHAPTER 56
Two hours had passed since the micro-detonator ruptured the door seal to the chartered Gulfstream when the air traffic controller on duty at John F. Kennedy International Airport identified the approaching aircraft. Following standard procedure, he worked to slot the aircraft into a landing pattern.
He noticed, however, that the aircraft was still at both cruising speed and altitude.
“Flight FQ442, we have you on approach, please adjust your altitude and heading to commence your descent.”
There was no response.
“Flight FQ442, we have you on approach, please adjust your altitude and heading to commence your descent,” the air traffic controller repeated.
Again, no response.
That’s strange, the controller thought.
All other aircraft already in landing patterns had responded to his hails. The controller quickly checked his equipment, but everything was plugged in and appeared to be functioning correctly.
The controller felt his pulse quicken as he tried switching to an emergency frequency. “Flight FQ442, your altitude and heading need to be adjusted to commence your descent, are you receiving me?”
Still no response.
Protocol now dictated the controller’s course of action. He called his supervisor then shuffled the other aircraft already in a holding pattern to allow an uninterrupted corridor for the Gulfstream to safely pass through. That was, of course, assuming that the aircraft would continue to fly along both its current heading and altitude.
The controller jumped out of his chair, dropping his headset as he rushed to the window to look at the unresponsive
plane. He caught a glimpse of it as it sailed straight over the airport. He ran to the opposite window, skidding to a stop to watch the plane gently arc and sail out of sight.
Rushing back to his screens, he checked the plane’s flight statistics. He swallowed hard, a visceral fear gripping his insides as he read its fuel tank status. The ailing jet’s fuel reserves were diminishing to alarming levels.
The controller’s heart pounded as he quickly briefed his supervisor on the grim situation. Under these circumstances protocol dictated that such an incident be immediately reported to the military, which was then to take command of the situation.
Without hesitation the supervisor reached for the emergency phone, pressing the speed dial labeled Otis Air Force Base.
*
Within minutes of receiving the report on the non-responsive civilian aircraft, two F18 Hornet fighter jets were scrambled to intercept. Emerging through light wispy clouds on a backdrop of turquoise blue sky the two Hornets quickly caught up to the unresponsive Gulfstream.
The Hornets dropped into flanking positions either side of the civilian aircraft’s wings.
The flight leader captaining the Hornet on the jet’s left side inspected the windows looking for any signs of damage or clues as to why the aircraft had strayed so far past its destination. But the jet’s fuselage was intact, engines were functioning, and everything seemed to be in order.
“This is flight leader Echo One,” the captain reported back. “We are in position alongside Flight FQ442. The aircraft is intact. Attempting to obtain a visual on the pilots.”
Accelerating slightly, Echo One aligned his fighter with the windows of the Gulfstream’s cockpit. If he could see the pilots for himself he may be able to determine the problem via communicating with hand signals.
But that was not going to be the case. The flight leader took a second to process what he was seeing.
Disclosing the Secret Page 24
