Chapter 47
At least they had the courtesy of pounding on the front door twice before breaching it with a heavy entry ram. BOOM! The door flew open and six men dressed in black, wearing tactical gear and brandishing automatic assault rifles, stormed through the opening. They yelled for everyone to get down on the floor, hands clasped behind their heads. Brianna Sullivan let out a scream and Larry barked once before scurrying beneath the coffee table.
“Hold on … I’m an FBI agent!” Alison yelled, already feeling strong hands driving her face down hard onto the carpet. She glanced over at Scotty and found him back in his Human form. When the stock of a rifle smashed down on the back of his head without warning, his body slumped forward—he was out cold. Again. Two ops guys each grabbed an arm and roughly pinned his arms behind him.
“Who are you … what is this all about?” Alison asked with as much authority as she could muster, with her head pressed low and her ass up in the air.
“Come on, I’m a local cop here … you have no reason to handcuff me, man,” Officer Platt whined.
Alison watched as the man closest to her—undoubtedly the team leader— withdrew her creds wallet from her inside jacket pocket. Glancing at it, he tossed it onto the floor as though it was just a piece of trash.
“How about telling me, at least, who you’re with—what agency?” she asked, straining hard to look over her shoulder to get some indication from their clothing. The FBI, ATF, US Marshals, and other agencies, were required to have clearly identifiable insignias printed on their jackets. These guys had nothing of the sort. Then the man closest to Alison, the apparent leader of the group, spoke again but in a normal tone, his accent heavy Bostonian. These men were asshole thugs, but at least they were American asshole thugs.
“Do not try to follow us.”
With that, Scotty was lifted off the floor by two of the team. As quickly as they’d arrived, they left, dragging Scotty along in the center of the pack.
“Oh my God … they took him! How could they just take him like that?” Brianna cried out.
* * *
Since it was the weekend and unable to reach him on his cellphone, Alison was forced to call Supervising Agent Donald Price on his home phone number. She had a strong suspicion that he, along with the rest of his family—like just about everyone else in the world at that moment with the events in space taking place—were planted in front of their family room television set. Clearly, he had noticed her Caller ID.
“Agent McGuire … in what universe do you think you have permission to bother me at home on the weekend?”
“You watching the news, sir?”
“Yeah … that’s some crazy shit going down. Not sure how much of it I believe. Hah … aliens?”
“That’s what I’m calling about.”
“You’re calling me about the aliens?”
“Sir, ten minutes ago, the front door into Brianna Sullivan’s apartment was literally ripped off its hinges when a government black ops team stormed in, rousted those of us inside, then left with a now unconscious Scotty Sullivan, his hands handcuffed behind his back. I and a local law officer were within the premises.”
“You’re talking about your case, the one with the missing kid. Um … Scotty Sullivan, who was swept out to sea over a decade-and-a-half ago.”
“That’s the case … but not what happened.”
“All you had to do is close the damn file and be back in the office Monday morning. But what … now you’re now bringing aliens into the mix? Is that what I’m hearing?”
“Sixteen years ago, Scotty Sullivan wasn’t washed out to sea, he was abducted. Abducted by the same aliens that have taken our astronauts. As unbelievable as all that sounds, there’s still more. Scotty Sullivan now has dual sets of DNA. He is both Human and Vallic, that’s what the aliens call themselves. I’ve personally witnessed him transition between both … ah … physiologies.” Alison waited for her supervisor to mutter something glib. As dead air on the line became uncomfortable, she anticipated Price demanding that she first undergo a psych evaluation before returning to work.
“You’ve actually seen this?”
“I have.” Alison let the dead air on the line speak for itself, before adding. “Ops guy in charge spoke with a heavy Boston accent.”
Supervising Agent Price said, “Hang tight. Let me do a little inter-agency checking on this. How is … ” she heard Price flipping through some file pages, “How is Mrs. Sullivan doing with all this? Was she injured in any way?”
“No, sir. But Scotty was hit fairly hard in the head prior to being dragged out of here, and he is still suffering from an earlier concussion. They didn’t need to hit him, he wasn’t resisting.”
“I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something,” Price said, and the line went dead.
Alison took a seat on the couch next to Briana, who was wiping fresh tears off her cheeks. When Larry’s head poked up between them, Alison scratched him behind his ears.
“What are we supposed to do? I can’t just sit here and do nothing while my son is … ”
Alison interrupted her, “I have no intention of doing nothing, Brianna. My supervisor will probably get back to me as soon as he knows something definitive. In the meantime, I think we should contact NASA. Beyond doubt, they’ll be immensely interested in what we have to say. They’ll surely want to know just who it is that’s been visiting here … and that Scotty is actually one of them.”
Brianna gave her a pained expression. Hearing that her son was, at least partially, an alien was difficult for her. “I don’t want you to get in any trouble. I know you need to follow orders. The FBI, I’m sure, has procedures you must follow.”
“More than you can possibly imagine,” Alison replied. “But this is so much bigger than my job. This is the most important thing to happen to … well … to the entire world like never before, right? The world’s populace is clueless about what’s coming … or what’s up there orbiting Earth. But I do know … we do. Right now, I have some calls to make. I just hope the people I talk to will believe what I have to say.”
Brianna offered back a lopsided smile. “You’re going to sound like a lunatic.”
Officer Pratt had remained quiet up to this point. He was rubbing one of his wrists where he’d been roughly manhandled. He then noticed that his gun was missing from its holster at his hip.
“What about you?” Alison asked.
The big man didn’t make eye contact with her, but he did nod his oversized head. “I’m in.”
Chapter 48
Taking a red-eye flight from Washington, DC, the former acting NASA Administrator, Gordon Borkner, hurried across the nearly filled parking lot, heading in the direction of Building 5D at the Johnson Control Center in Houston, Texas to take command in his new position. Taking the long way around was necessary in order to avoid the large contingent of no less than twenty network news media trucks, along with their respective reporters, waiting with microphones in hand.
The morning wind had picked up and Borkner’s loosened necktie flapped and fluttered over his right shoulder, like it was frantically attempting to make an escape behind him. The exertion from the quarter-mile hike had only aggravated his rosacea, and he inwardly cursed his parents for passing the errant gene of this dreadful facial skin condition down to him. For God’s sakes, he was supposed to be on camera sometime later today. Fuck! I’ll look like a goddamn painted harlequin!
Borkner noticed four olive-green US Army armored personnel carrier trucks rumble by on Avenue D, then make a slow turn onto 2nd Street. All five of the US armed services were now on high alert because of his recommendation to the President. Borkner’s presidential appointment couldn’t have come at a more opportune time. One he’d lobbied for—made a compelling case for. A case chock-full of dire predictions if the right man wasn’t selected and put in place immediately. No, Borkner would have been very surprised if he hadn’t gotten the cabinet-level promotion. He watched as
more military trucks turned into the lot. But their assembly was far bigger than mere preparation for utilizing military force. He’d had little time, only mere days, in fact, to quickly rally support from the national heads of multiple government agencies, including Homeland Security and the Justice Department, as well as both the FBI and CIA. Alone, he never could have wielded the kind of clout necessary to make any kind of demand on them. Hell, nearly half of those respective government agency chieftains had never even heard of him and didn’t realize he’d once been the acting NASA administrator. What Borkner did have, with everything now going on in space, was actual decision-making power. Something Borkner had always craved. That and, surprisingly, the President’s full backing.
Around the world, NASA was front and center in the news for the miraculous events currently happening in space. The attention of every worldwide news and media organization was focused now right here. To date, very few details had been released for the public’s general consumption—only that the International Space Station crew had, miraculously, reestablished contact with Mission Control. Yet even that news was insignificant compared to the astounding latest reports that extra-terrestrial beings had indeed arrived in local space via some kind of immense spaceship. The general public, both in America and around the world, was desperate for any new information. Why were they here? What did they want? Was an invasion imminent? Was mankind destined to become some kind of interstellar alien slaves?
All of his earlier agitations concerning the expensive ISS program were now gone. Borkner could not have imagined a better personal scenario—one in which his once-meandering career path would be so exponentially accelerated. He turned sideways, shimming between two parked, side-by-side behemoths — government Yukon vehicles. He purposely avoided glancing at his reflection in the tinted windows. A ten-foot-high, recently erected, chain-link fence surrounded Building 5D in its entirety. His new, repurposed, building. He slightly changed course and headed for the front gate. Two-armed MPs stood at attention as he approached. Borkner, wrangling his tie back into position, did his best to look calm, cool, and collected. As both guards saluted him, he gave them a cursory salute back, inwardly reveling in his own newly found importance.
One of another pair of two nearly identical-looking MP’s opened a glass door at the front of the building and greeted him with, “Good morning, sir.”
Borkner ignored the comment as he strode within the front lobby of the building’s voluminous interior where white marble-clad floors and walls gleamed. No less than forty men and women—some in business-suit attire and others in military uniforms—turned as his loud footfalls resounded off the flooring, making his presence known. They were all awaiting him. Waiting to greet the newly formed agency head. Actually, the new agency moniker wasn’t his idea. It was, in fact, a previous president’s coined term—Space Force. At that time, it was immediately ridiculed. But that was then and this was now. Since Borkner hadn’t technically served in any military branch himself, he had lobbied to make Space Force an agency instead of just another military branch. Of course, it would have the same military effectiveness of the other current branches, but it would also possess equal government standing and influence as, say, Homeland Security, and the FBI. It also allowed Borkner to personally fill a newly formed presidential cabinet position, enlarging the cabinet from fifteen seats to sixteen.
As the murmured conversations within Building 5D’s lobby became muted, Borkner addressed the men and women, his team, who’d formed a semi-circle around him. He scanned their faces and soon found the one person he was looking for. His eyes locked onto Paul Mannford—NASA’s senior flight director. He didn’t especially like the man, but then that held true for most people. But due to Mannford’s ongoing interactions with the ISS crew, as well as with several of the alien visitors themselves, he was the preeminent expert on everything extra- terrestrial.
“So … is he here?” Borkner asked.
“The young man is in custody, sub-level four, sir,” Mannford said. “But I don’t believe we need this tight level of security. He’s a willing, open participant in these proceedings.”
Borkner scoffed, “Who’s been living, supposedly, on an alien world for the past sixteen years. No one knows where his true loyalties lie. No! We’ll maintain the highest-level of security possible until we know more. Understood?”
“Sir … the conference room is ready for you,” a tall, waifish-thin woman, wearing a tight bun atop her head, announced. “This way, sir.”
Borkner feigned annoyance at the interruption. “Fine … lead on, Miss ..”
“Wentworth, sir, Amy Wentworth.”
* * *
Paul Mannford merged with the others, moving into the oversized conference room. A gargantuan-sized coffin-shaped table sat on its centerline. Within several minutes everyone was seated and looking toward the head of the table—toward Borkner, the newly appointed head of Space Force. Mannford fought to keep all signs of incredulity from his expression. He simply could not imagine a more unsuitable candidate to hold this new position. But with the advice and help from others, many in this room right now, perhaps Borkner could rise to the occasion. Maybe he could become the leader necessary to pull off what seemed to be an all but impossible task: One that would save Humanity.
Borkner’s brows furrowed tightly together as he stared at Amy Wentworth, now closing the outer door and leaning against it. “I’m assuming everyone in this room maintains the necessary level of high-security clearance to hear what I have to say?”
Amy nodded. “Of course, sir. It’s your selected team.”
Borkner refocused his attention on the serious faces now situated around the table. “Let me start by saying welcome. Welcome to what we’ve tagged as the Earth-to-Hope Migration Directive. The science behind the aliens’ gamma ray revelations has been verified, unfortunately. In approximately sixteen months, the Solar System will indeed be struck by radiation levels so intense that Earth’s oceans will become instantly heated … will boil and evaporate into the atmosphere. All surface life will be eradicated. It is expected that all planets within our solar system will also lose their structural integrity, becoming little more than spacial dust within a short span of time.”
One of the uniformed men, one with glimmering gold stars upon each shoulder, asked, “So I take it we can immediately get moving on some prescribed courses of action? The steps Commander Landon, as their intermediary, laid out for us?”
“General Cole. Let me first ask you a question. If this were, let’s say, the Russians who’d inadvertently caused our world’s imminent total annihilation, what would you, as the US Army’s highest-ranking officer, be most concerned with? Would you simply take their word that their actions were innocent, unintentional? Or would you first ensure their intentions were indeed what they claimed them to be?”
The general shook his head. “Well … they’re not the Russians. And, if the incoming onslaught has been scientifically verified, that the gamma ray is inbound as described, do we have time to … ”
“This is not a discussion, General. We have been attacked. We are under attack by extra-terrestrials. The Vallic are not our friends, they are our enemy. For those of you within this room, that decision needs to be perfectly understood. But then again, what we voice once outside this room will be a different story. I’ve been told we have little choice but to do as the Vallic have suggested. But that doesn’t mean we won’t maintain our own hidden, albeit clear, agenda. There will be hell to pay for the destruction of our home world. It may take years, decades even … but certain retribution will be ours. We must quickly learn their technology. We must determine their weaknesses and, in time, exploit them.”
Mannford let out a long, frustrated breath. Borkner was so much worse than he’d even thought. “Back to the young man, sir, Mr. Sullivan. He’s the one, apparently, who has the knowledge, the wherewithal, to guide and build the technology infrastructure here on Earth that will enable our mass exo
dus. Shouldn’t we be engaging with him now? Get the proverbial ball rolling, instead of holding him below ground in a prison cell?”
Borkner swung around to face Mannford, his face twisted in a near-rage snarl, “Don’t you dare undermine my authority on this. I will not warn you again. Until the prisoner has been deemed harmless; that he has our best interests at heart, not those of the Vallic, he remains in chains.”
Mannford made a bewildered expression. “How will you do that? How will you ensure he has our best interests at heart?”
Borkner turned his gaze toward a suited gentleman seated at the far end of the table. “For those of you who do not know him, I’d like you all to meet Carl Ransen, the head of the CIA.”
Ransen was a man about sixty. His perfectly groomed dyed wavy hair was a color that matched the mahogany table. His dark eyes, cold and lifeless, had puffy bags beneath them, giving him a tired, hound dog, appearance. In a smoker’s gravelly voice, he said, “At this very moment, several of my associates are speaking with Mr. Sullivan. Most assuredly, it will be an unpleasant experience for him, yet one that must be undertaken to ensure his motivations are in alignment with our own.”
Borkner looked pleased with Ransen’s update. “Excellent.”
“So, are we then to understand that Mr. Sullivan is being tortured? Seriously?” Mannford asked.
Before the new head of Star Force could answer, Amy Wentworth leaned in close. “Sir, the other three are here and have been taken into custody.”
“They are below ground?” he asked.
“Yes, sir … and the dog.”
Boy Gone Page 21
