The Reply a5-2

by Robert Doherty

  The Reply

  ( Area 51 - 2 )

  Robert Doherty

  Area 51 was the most secret place in America. But it was only one piece in a puzzle that stretched from Egypt's Pyramids to the mysterious face on Mars…

  Part of a plan begun 5,000 years ago by those who had been here before. And are coming back.

  When scientist Lisa Duncan and Special Forces officer Mike Turcotte uncovered the stunning truth about Area 51-a "training area" on Nellis Air Force Base in Nevada-they opened up a Pandora's box kept hidden from the American public for fifty years.

  What they uncovered explained decades of UFO sightings-and the most baffling mysteries of history from the Great Pyramid to Easter Island.

  But these findings were only the beginning. Now a signal had come in from outer space: our first contact with extraterrestrials. The message said they were coming. It didn't say they had been here before… and left something behind. But what waited deep within the Rift Valley of Ethiopia and inside an ancient Chinese tomb would determine Earth's fate. The dawning of a new age. Or the destruction of us all…

  Robert Doherty is a pseudonym for a bestselling writer of military suspense thrillers. He is also the author of Area 51 and The Rock, and is currently working on a third novel in the Area 51 series, entitled Area 51: The Mission.

  Robert Doherty

  The Reply

  PROLOGUE

  Rapa Nui (Easter Island)

  It felt the power come in like a shot of adrenaline. For the first time in over five thousand years it was able to bring all systems on-line. Immediately it put into effect the last program it had been loaded with in case of full power-up.

  It reached out and linked with sensors pointed outward from the planet. Then it began transmitting, back in the direction it had come from over ten millennia ago, calling out. “Come. Come and get us.”

  And there were other machines out there and they were listening.

  CHAPTER 1

  He watched the seven spacecraft lift out of the top of the palace, the rays of the rising sun absorbed by the black metal of their lean shapes. He looked down, trying to orient his sudden awareness. His hands were gripping the wooden railing of a three-masted ship. All the sails were set but there was little wind. In the belly of the ship he could hear the beat of drums as rowers pulled in unison, straining against long oars.

  He felt out of place, out of himself. The contrast between the seven spacecraft that were now nothing more than rapidly fading dots high above and the technology of the sailing ship only added to the strange feeling.

  The hairs on the back of his neck rose and a shiver ran down his spine. He looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened at what he saw. Even the rowers paused as they saw it. He felt the displacement of the air as the massive mothership passed by overhead. The rowers went back to work, pulling even more furiously on their oars. He watched as the mothership stopped and hovered over the island the ship had left from, blocking out the sun.

  It was all laid out before him in perfect detail. He was amazed how he could see the entire island, yet also focus on individuals who were many miles distant. Concentric rings of land and water surrounded the capital city in the center of the island. Rising up, on the central hill, was the palace where the rulers had governed from. A golden palace, over a mile wide at the base and stretching over three thousand feet into the sky, it was a magnificent spectacle, but one that was all too easily overshadowed by the dark craft that was now centered above it.

  Outside the palace, the streets in the city of the humans were choked with people fleeing toward the sea, to their sailing ships. He could look to the ocean around him and see other sails here and there on the blue water, some already going over the horizon.

  Gazing back at the city, he saw that there were those who had fallen to their knees in the shadow of the ship, heads bowed, hands raised in supplication, praying that new rulers might replace the old. His gaze knew no bounds, going through walls and seeing inside houses, where others huddled in fear, mothers clutching their children close, men holding useless metal swords and spears, knowing that there was nothing they could do against the power from the sky.

  He looked up at the ship. The air crackled. Those others who also dared to look saw a bright golden light race along the black skin of the mothership in long lines from one end to the other. The light pulsed off the ship downward into the palace in a thick beam, a half mile thick.

  He flinched, even though he was many miles away. But nothing happened. Those on their knees prayed harder. Those fleeing ran faster. Every muscle in his body tensed as he waited.

  Again the light pulsed. And again. Ten times the golden light hit the center of the island and passed through.

  He staggered back as the Earth itself exploded. Tens of thousands died in an instant as the core of the island blew upward, the very essence of the planet beneath blasting through. Hot molten magma sprayed miles into the sky, mixed in with rock and dirt and remains of the palace. The scale of the explosion stunned him.

  But it was the people that drew his attention. On the main jetty a mother covered her daughter as the magma came down, searing the skin from their bones in a flash. A warrior turned his shield upward in a futile gesture and disappeared under tons of rock. Docked ships burst into flame, the roofs of outlying buildings collapsed under the impact, crushing those hidden inside.

  The entire island buckled, then imploded inward and downward. The surrounding sea had spasmed from the power of the blast, rushing outward in a massive wave that enveloped those who had not left soon enough. He felt the wave lift his ship up, teetering it precariously, then pass by. He fell against the railing, his knuckles white from clutching the wood.

  Then the sea surged back, racing in where the island had been. Water met magma, and steam roared into the air, but the water won as the island disappeared into the depths. A boiling cauldron of water was all that was left of the mighty kingdom.

  Again, he looked up. The mothership was slowly moving. Toward his location. Golden light began racing along the length of the ship.

  Nabinger staggered back, as if hit in the chest by a powerful blow. He felt hands grab him and prevent him from hitting the rock floor of the cavern. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the images that the guardian had just shown him. He opened his eyes and returned to his time and the place he had fought so hard to find, deep under an extinct volcano on Easter Island.

  The guardian, a golden pyramid twenty feet high, lay before him, the surface rippling with the strange effect he had been under the spell of. Nabinger shook off the helping hands of the scientists and stared at the machine. His mind could still see the faces of the mother and the daughter as they were burned alive on the quay.

  “What happened?” a UN representative asked, but Nabinger ignored them. He stepped forward, hands open, palms forward, and placed them on the skin of the guardian, waiting for the mental contact. Nothing.

  He did it again.

  Nothing.

  After the third attempt he knew that there would be no more contact. Beyond the images of the people who had died, though, another vision was very clear in his mind’s eye: the sails that had been over the horizon; the ones who had escaped.

  * * *

  Mike Turcotte stared out the window of the BOQ room. Through the gates of Fort Meyers he could make out the very top of the Marine Corps Memorial and beyond that the Capitol dome.

  He didn’t turn when there was a knock on the door to his room. “Come in,” he called out.

  The door opened and Lisa Duncan walked in. With a deep sigh she dropped down into one of the hard chairs the military had furnished the room with. Turcotte half turned toward her and smiled. “Long day on the Hill?”<
br />
  Duncan barely topped five feet in height and Turcotte very much doubted her weight made three digits. She had dark hair cut short and a slender face that was now drawn with exhaustion.

  “I hate telling the same story five times,” Duncan said, “and answering stupid questions.”

  “The American public is not happy it was deceived by its own government for decades,” Turcotte said, assuming a southern drawl. “At least that’s what the senator who questioned me this morning said. Add in some kidnappings made to look like abductions, cattle mutilations, disinformation campaigns—”

  “Let’s not forget the crop circles,” Duncan added. “There’s a congressman from Nebraska who is trying to get legislation through to get all those farmers reimbursed for the circles Majestic burned in their field.”

  “Jesus,” Turcotte said. He took off his Class A green uniform jacket and threw it on the bed. He paused by the small brown refrigerator. “Want a beer?”

  “All right.”

  Turcotte grabbed two cans and popped the top on one, handing it to her. “They’ve got the mothership, the bouncer, the guardian on Easter Island. What more do they want?” Duncan took a sip. “A scapegoat.”

  “They’ve got General Gullick dead. They’ve got the surviving members of Majestic being held in the federal pen,” Turcotte said. He opened his can and took a long, deep drag. “The list of charges against those guys is thicker than the phone book.”

  “Yeah, but people can’t believe it didn’t go higher than that.”

  “It did go higher than that,” Turcotte said. “But that was fifty years ago. Seems like there’s more important stuff going on right now.”

  “Speaking of what’s going on,” Duncan said, “I just found out that the guardian’s ceased contact with Nabinger.”

  That was the first interesting thing Turcotte had heard in the past two days, since arriving in Washington from Easter Island. “Any idea why?”

  “Nobody knows.”

  Turcotte rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble there. It felt strange to be in uniform after working classified assignments for so long. His jump boots, spit-shined this morning for his congressional testimony, now wore a layer of dust. His battered green beret was tucked into the back of his belt. He pulled it out and threw it next to his jacket as he sat down across from Duncan, next to the window.

  A cannon barked a sharp report, followed by the faint strains of “Taps” as the post flag was lowered. Turcotte had heard that sound on many different posts around the world during his time in the army, but it never failed to touch him and make him think of comrades lost. Turcotte looked out at the bronze figures representing the Marines who’d raised the flag on Mount Suribachi.

  Duncan shifted her seat slightly and followed his gaze. “Ahh, glory and honor,” she said.

  Turcotte tried to figure out if she was being sarcastic or serious. “They knew what they were doing,” he said.

  “Still looking for the bad guy wearing the black hat?”

  “I don’t feel particularly proud about what I’ve done,” Turcotte said. “We met the enemy and they was us.”

  “Not all of us,” she said.

  Turcotte finished the rest of his beer. “No, not all of us.”

  “And General Gullick and the others were being controlled.”

  “Uh-huh.” He crushed the empty can with one large fist. “I don’t like it here.”

  “That’s good,” Duncan said, “because something else has come up. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Oh?” Turcotte walked over to the bed and threw the can into a small garbage can. He picked up his dress green jacket and held it in his hand as she walked to the other side of the bed.

  “We’ve received some information on a possible Airlia artifact site.” She pulled a sheet of paper out of the small briefcase she’d had with her. “Here’s the data. We’ll be going soon to check it out.”

  “We?”

  “We make a good team,” Duncan said.

  “Uh-huh.” Turcotte took the paper but didn’t look at it.

  “I’ve got to go now,” Duncan said.

  Turcotte held the paper uncertainly.

  “You’re still willing to work on this?” Duncan asked, mistaking his hesitation.

  Turcotte straightened. “Oh, sure.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Duncan said as she opened the door. “Yeah, okay.”

  The door swung shut. Turcotte walked over to where Duncan had sat and picked up her beer can. It was almost full. He carried it to the window. The setting sun reflected against the bronze Marines. He watched Duncan walk down the sidewalk and get into a white sedan. As she drove away, he put the beer to his lips and drained it in one long swallow.

  * * *

  “You’ve finally given me an exclusive, Johnny,” Kelly Reynolds whispered at the casket as she tossed a handful of dirt into the raw hole cut out of the Tennessee countryside. “I wished it had worked out otherwise.”

  Kelly Reynolds looked over the casket at the mass of media being kept at a distance by funeral personnel and local police.

  “Did they get them all?” A woman’s voice behind her caused Kelly to turn around. Johnny Simmons’s mother stood there, a black veil covering her drawn features. Kelly had talked to her briefly at the funeral.

  Kelly knew who she was referring to. “Yes. The ones who worked on Johnny in the lab in Dulce were killed when the Easter Island guardian destroyed it. The other members of Majestic are all being held for trial.”

  Mrs. Simmons was focused on the coffin. “They did things to him, didn’t they? He wouldn’t have killed himself. I knew he wouldn’t have done that.”

  “No, Johnny wouldn’t have killed himself,” Kelly agreed. “They did really bad things to his mind. Johnny loved life too much. They hurt him so much, he couldn’t remember that. He couldn’t think straight.”

  Mrs. Simmons’s gaze went past the coffin. “The news is making him into some kind of hero. They say he was the beginning of what brought what was going on in Area 51 into the open.”

  “He was a hero,” Kelly agreed.

  Mrs. Simmons reached out and her hand clutched Kelly’s shoulder. “Was it worth it?”

  “Yes.” There was no hesitation in Kelly’s voice. “Johnny dedicated his life to finding out the truth, and what he helped uncover is the greatest truth of our time. It was worth it.”

  “But is it a good truth?” Mrs. Simmons asked. “All these alien things they’ve uncovered; that message everyone is talking about — will everything turn out all right?”

  Kelly looked at the casket once more. “Yes.” Then she whispered to herself. “It has to.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Deep Space Communication Center (DSCC) 10 was one of two dozen radio receiving systems placed around the globe by the United States government in conjunction with various research organizations to monitor radio waves coming in to the planet from outside the atmosphere. At DSCC-10 twelve large dishes were spaced evenly across the desert floor, 250 miles northeast of Las Vegas. The setting sun reflected off the metal struts and webs of steel that pointed to the sky, listening with the infinite patience that machines are capable of.

  Cables ran from the base of each dish into the side of a large modern, one-story building. Inside the structure the two humans also had patience, that born of years of listening to the cosmos with no tangible results.

  The recent discoveries on Easter Island and the disclosure of the alien mothership and bouncers secreted away just miles to the north in Area 51 had proven beyond the slightest doubt that there was extraterrestrial life in the universe and that that life had once had a colony on Earth. Humans were not alone, and while most of the planet focused its attention on what had been found, those in places like DSCC-10 were concerned with what was yet to be discovered among the stars.

  The message sent out by the guardian computer had jolted everyone out of their daily humdrum. Now those at DSCC-10, and at other lis
tening posts around the world, watched their computer monitors with mixed hope and fear. Hope that a message would come back in reply and fear about what the message would be and who would be sending it.

  Jean Compton had worked at DSCC-10 for twelve years. Officially, and as far as her partner, James Brillon, knew, she worked for Eastern Arizona State University. In reality she worked for both EASU and the National Security Agency. Her job for the NSA was to have DSCC-10 ready as a backup to the Air Force’s satellite dishes at Nellis Air Force Base. If the tracking station at Nellis went down, Compton was to use DSCC-10 to download classified data from the network of spy satellites that the U.S. had blanketing the planet as they passed overhead. The vast amount of data those satellites accumulated, and their limited storage space, made it imperative that each scheduled download be picked up or valuable intelligence could be lost.

  Compton had yet to have to do that backup job, but she did appreciate the extra paycheck she received each month from the United States government, deposited directly and discreetly into her checking account. She also had a classified Internet address and code that she was supposed to use in case DSCC-10 ever picked up signs of intelligent alien life. All she knew about the organization on the other end was the designation, STAAR, and that the NSA told her to follow any instructions given by it.

  She didn’t know what STAAR stood for, and after receiving the briefing from the STAAR representative at Nellis four years ago, she’d had no desire to know more. The man giving the briefing had sent chills up and down her spine with his emotionless detailing of instructions she was to follow in case they found evidence of extraterrestrial life. He was a tall man, with blond, almost white, hair cut short, his face looking like it was carved out of pale marble. She wondered if the man’s skin ever saw the sun, yet he had worn sunglasses throughout the entire briefing in an empty hangar at Nellis. Armed guards surrounded the hangar, hard-looking men in black jumpsuits. Their presence had further enhanced the significance and power of this mysterious organization.