Two men sat on a park bench somewhat back from the tourists, who were strolling amongst the blossomless cherry trees or leaning against the metal fence. Across the Basin, lending its white reflection to the tranquil waters, was the Jefferson Memorial. An occasional paddleboat rippled through the waters, but since this was a workday, the place did not have the hordes that descended on summer days, weekends, and holidays.
This was the Tidal Basin made famous in the seventies by Republican Wilbur Hays who drove into it in his car, with a flamboyant burlesque stripper from Fourteenth Street.
One of the men was in his sixties, with a mane of white hair and dark black eyebrows. He looked nervous, his eyes darting here and there as though certain that he was being watched. The other was a lithe but solid man, handsome and grey, his hair looking as though he’d just come from an appointment with Vidal Sassoon himself.
Though no one was listening and though they were quite far from the tourists, they conferred in low tones.
“I still don’t understand why you called me here,” said Brian Richards, CIA department head and Editor-in-Chief in charge of Project Black Book.
“You’ve been holding out on me, Richards,” said Colonel Walter Dolan of the United States Air Force. He wore jeans today, and a khaki work shirt, open at the collar to allow tufts of grey chest hair out. To the casual observer, he might seem to be a retired stroller about the Mall and the Museums, and not a Pentagon-based officer of a branch of the United States armed services, a former operative of Project Blue Book—and now a hired connection for the extralegal conglomerate known as the Publishers and Editors.
“Holding out on you?” said Richards. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I got word yesterday. From my own sources. About Julia.”
“Dr. Cunningham?” said Richards, affecting a blank, composed look. “What about Dr. Cunningham?”
“Richards, you know what I’m talking about, damn you!” said Dolan through gritted teeth. “She’s dead! Several of your operatives are dead, including Edward Myers. Scarborough’s escaped somehow and he’s on the loose, with at least two other people.”
“Oh?” said Richards mildly, examining manicured fingernails.
“Yes! You can’t hide this from me! Jake Camden, the reporter you had apprehended. And Lieutenant Marsha Manning of my Air Force. I warned you she was trouble and shouldn’t be allowed back into normal life after she helped get Scarborough out of that Virginia brig. Didn’t I?”
“You make it sound like it was a jail bust. It was all perfectly legal. Even I have my limitations, Dolan.”
“Your operation is crumbling and you’re not admitting that you may have made mistakes?”
“‘Mistake’ is not in my vocabulary. I prefer to think of them as ‘opportunities.’ And I should like to hear from whom you obtained this skewed version of events.”
“Shit, Richards—so you can slap their wrists. More like slit them! Hell no! This is getting out of control!”
“Is it?”
“I’ve told you before, I bought into this in the sixties as a service to my country. Project Blue Book as a shield for real government activities? Seemed reasonable enough. But by the time I realized what was truly going on—I was hip deep. Hell, neck deep. “
“And rich.”
Dolan let out a weary expulsion of breath. “I would never have accepted the money if I knew the price my soul would have to pay. “
“But you did accept. And you’ve prospered. And your family has prospered. Not just from direct funds, but through the connections this has given you and them. The stocks and bonds, the colleges, the interweaving network of wealth and influence in this country, this world.” Richards poked Dolan in the arm. “All these things, essentially just for a few favors now and then.”
“Lying, cheating, involvement in a conspiracy of a nationwide—no, maybe even worldwide, intergalactic—scope. Kidnapping, sexual abuse, assassination…”
“None of which you yourself committed, remember.”
“But I am involved! I am associated!”
“You never had these qualms before, Dolan,” said Richards in a steady, uncharacteristically patient voice.
“Not expressed this way, no. But I think you know I’ve had the qualms. “
“What makes you speak up now?”
“Because it’s falling apart, Richards! If Scarborough can get to the right people, if he can convince them that he’s right, that he’s been framed for those deaths, that there really is a conspiracy on high government levels to conceal the truth, then you’re sunk... I’m sunk... your whole organization is sunk... and maybe even your exclusive and mysterious employers.”
“I see.” Richards bit his lip, looked around. “Colonel Dolan, I am suddenly feeling quite uncomfortable talking of these matters in the open. Why have you called me here?”
“This is one of our prearranged meeting spots.”
“There may be eavesdroppers. Specialized listening equipment!”
“You guys have all that! That’s absurd. This isn’t the spy business! It never was.”
“You never know.”
“Oh, so now you’re getting paranoid. Well, I know we’re in deep trouble when the powerful Brian Richards feels paranoid!” Dolan shook his head sorrowfully. “Like I say, you’re in it deep, fella. “
“Scarborough will be found,” spat Richards. “Scarborough will be eliminated... along with his associates. There’s too much at stake to allow any other alternative. I assure you, it’s under control, Dolan.”
“Not mine. Not anymore.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve had enough.”
“You’re in too deep. You can’t...”
“It’s really out of my hands now, Richards. Fortunately, it’s not really my decision.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sixty-five years old. I’ve been on the edge of retirement for several years.”
“Yes, I know... but you can postpone that... at least until this matter is resolved.”
“Fortunately, it’s more or less out of my hands now. I must have done something good in this life.” Dolan drew out a folded up piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Richards.
“What the hell is this?”
“Report. Official physical. Wanted you to see it, just so you can see I’m not making any of this up.” Dolan tapped his chest. “Ticker problem. Arterial... something. The actual Latin’s in the report. Also the recommendation for my immediate retirement. And I’m going to bow to the wishes of my doctor. Which is convenient, because I want out of this mess. “
Richards read the report. For the first time in memory, Dolan noted that his eyes were registering something less than cool. “I’m sorry about this.” He tapped the paper. “How long have you got?”
“With rest, maybe up to my three-score and ten. Maybe not. I got grandchildren, Richards. I want to enjoy them.”
“Yes. I have children… In the midst of all these earthshaking things... we forget the important things. Children, family... grandchildren…” He folded the paper and handed it back to Dolan. “These are what matter, hmm? Do you think that, at the root of everything, this isn’t what we stand for, Dolan? The Editors… the Publishers. Who do you think actually controls the trends toward family values, hmm?” Richards sighed. “Colonel Dolan... Walter. I suppose I should be absolutely candid with you. Perhaps I’ve been a bit distant on the subject. Yes, things are a bit uncertain. I admit, I underestimated the situation. I thought that Julia had control of the matter.”
“What do you think happened?”
“The bullets that killed those operatives... and Dr. Cunningham? They were from Myers’s gun. Maybe that was the person I underestimated—Edward Myers. His loyalty, I mean. Apparently, he disapproved of our operations.”
“Well, he’s dead now. He won’t be witnessing in the Supreme Court.”
For the first time,
Richards smiled. His eyes gleamed with almost mischievous humor. “Well, that would be no problem. Rather like preaching to the choir, I believe.”
Dolan let that pass. There were more important subjects to address. “Look, I really don’t care. I don’t want to have anything to do with it anymore, and I’ve got an exit here. A legitimate exit.”
“Let me finish, please,” said Richards, suddenly serious again. “Okay, okay. You’re quite right. We’ve got a mess on our hands. I can’t trust the FBI and the police forces that we have on tap to actually kill Scarborough and company when they’re apprehended. Other measures will have to be taken. And I need to call in all my favors, all my powers, to make that happen.” He took a deep breath, exhaled a ragged release. A brace of sparrows flapped past, settled down to peck at the ground near a tree. “I need your help, Walter. Things are a mess. We need you where you are for the time being. It won’t be long, I promise you. How long can they last, on the loose? A month? Two months? Maybe as little as a week.”
Walter Dolan shook his head. “Tell you. Never seen you like this before, Richards. Things must really be out of control.”
“Then you’ll stay on. You’ll help. We need you to coordinate the Air Force efforts…”
“Wait a minute. There’s a little whiff of desperation here... You know, I don’t think it’s the Publishers’ welfare that you’re all that worried about, is it? It’s your ass that’s on the line, isn’t it? Your bosses are pretty damn upset with the way you’ve bungled. And if you don’t fix it up quick, you’re in a big pile. Aren’t you, Richards?”
“My interests are the Publishers’ interests. And vice versa.”
“Yes, but if you stand between the Publishers and their own welfare, the whole vital secrecy of their operations… then you’d go. One way or the other. Am I right?”
Richards said nothing. “How do you know I am not of the Colleagues myself?”
“You’re not from old money, Richards. I’ve gotten enough of a flavor of the Publishers to know how they think. You’re a hustler, and you’re smart… cunning. But you’ve scrabbled your way up to the top from somewhere quite... ordinary. That just won’t do for the Publishers. No, Brain Richards. You’re not really one of them, and you’ll never be.”
“A moot point at the moment. Your cooperation in this matter is needed. You’ll stay on for a while longer? I would say please, but I don’t want you to have that pending heart attack.”
“Nope. That’s my final word on the matter, too. I would stay on, Richards, if I had a choice. But I don’t have a choice. These are firm doctor’s orders. That whole White Book stuff... particularly the manner in which you disposed of the poor Reynolds character—apparently upset my whole system a lot more than I thought it had.”
“I see. And nothing I can say will prevail upon you.”
“Nothing. And you can’t make any threats about my career either. My career is over. And as far as death is concerned... well, that’s going to happen anyway, so go ahead, if you want to.” Dolan steeled himself. “But I swear to God, Richards. I’ve got nothing to lose now myself... and my family... If you so much as look cross-eyed at one of them or I get a whiff of one of your goons sniffin’ around them... I’ll squeal. I’ll squeal loud. And you know as well as I do that I can do you... and your unholy Publishers... a lot more damage than Scarborough ever could.”
Richards said, “What about the Others, Dolan? You’re going to let this world fall into their hands. Don’t you remember what we’ve dedicated ourselves to? This world can’t afford the kind of change that the knowledge of their existence will bring. Their mission is to bring chaos and confusion to our whole way of life. Your grandchildren... and your grandchildren’s grandchildren... For God’s sake, don’t worry about me then, or yourself... worry about them.”
“So you’ve said all these years. So your argument goes, Richards. ‘These creatures are threats! They are our enemies!’ I’m just not so sure anymore!”
“Their operations! You know about their operations, man! They’ve killed people!”
“Oh, and we haven’t?”
“In a just cause. For the greater good.”
“Yeah, right. And how do you know that’s not why they’re doing it?”
“You don’t know what I know.”
“Oh? And what do you know, Richards? That they’re bug-eyed woman-eating monsters from Ganymede! Well, we both know they’re not. We both know that they change everything that the kooks in Hollywood and the sci-fi writers ever thought that creatures from outer space could possibly be... And for all your talk, I bet that you don’t know what they want, either... not really. And I’m not even sure you’re afraid... You’re just using fear. Using it for your own personal and political gain.”
Richards looked away, knotting the fingers of his hands together. “Believe me, Walter. That’s not true. I admit, I can be harsh, cold... maybe even cruel sometimes. But in my position of responsibility to my sacred trust, that’s what I’ve had to be.”
“I understand, Richards.”
“Then you’ll stay on. For just a little while longer.”
Dolan looked over at the man, and suddenly his resolve, the strength of his argument began to crumble.
His old companion, fear, took its place.
These are the Secret Masters you’re bucking here, turkey, the fear whispered deep down in his soul. They’ve tortured people. They’ve killed people and laughed. You’ve got a tiger by the tail and you better not let go.
Not let go. It was crumbling, Dolan could sense that. Richards would not be begging him to stay on if he wasn’t panicking. Maybe it was best to give it a couple more weeks. Just to see how things went.
It might, after all, be best to let go of the tiger’s tail only when its fangs had been removed.
It was Colonel Walter Dolan’s tum to sigh.
“I can’t stay on for long, Richards. I truly can’t. But I’ll give you another month. I’ll do what I can to help you, although at this point I don’t know how much that can be. And I won’t do anything to strain the old ticker. At the very least, I’ve got to take it easy.”
Richards smiled.
The man positively beamed. He took Dolan’s pudgy, liver-spotted hand up in his and squeezed it. “That’s great. That’s just great, Walter. I knew you wouldn’t let me down!”
“The sooner this ends, the better. I’m looking forward to my retirement. I truly am.”
“And you truly shall have a fabulous one.... with maybe an extra bonus in your Christmas stocking.”
“I don’t need money, I don’t want money.”
“You think about what you want, Walter. You’ll probably get it. Thank you.”
“What’s next?”
Richards got up. “I have some important meetings this afternoon and this evening. Come to my office tomorrow and I’ll debrief you on the situation. And you’ll hear what you have to do.”
Dolan nodded. “Okay.”
Richards nodded curtly and strode away toward where he had parked at a meter.
Walter Dolan felt an odd rumble of hunger. His doctor had warned him that his cholesterol was too high; that was part of his problem. But he couldn’t help himself. He was suddenly ravenous.
He went over to the hot dog stand and bought two hot dogs, one with mustard, one with sauerkraut and mustard.
He’d have heartburn for sure.
He just hoped the heart attack would wait until he got at least a couple of years of retirement in, a couple of years with his grandchildren.
He ate the hot dog and then he went to his own car, a Cadillac. He wasn’t going to go into the office at the Pentagon today—he’d just take the rest of the day off.
As Walter Dolan got into his car, a cloud passed over the sun, and a faint chill swept up his spine.
Shivering, he closed his door and turned on soothing music in his plush car.
He hadn’t done the right thing today, he knew.
He
just hoped he could live with the fear.
He knew it was better than living with the terror he’d have knowing that Richards hated him for deserting him.
Colonel Walter Dolan, USAF, turned his ignition on and headed onto the Fourteenth Street bridge toward his East Falls Church home.
Chapter 6
Falls Church is an older area of Northern Virginia, with roots in Colonial times. It was only the expansion of the Washington suburbs—and the turning of Route 50 into a highway as well as the construction of Route 66—that swept the historic little town up into modem ways.
Colonel Walter Dolan lived in a large, ostentatious Colonial on East Tuckahoe and uncomfortably close to an old graveyard.
Although the graveyard was a constant reminder of his mortality, and the events of the day still were a bit unsettling, Walter Dolan nonetheless felt unusually rested and relaxed that May evening.
It must have been the golf, he decided as he settled in his huge over-chair in his large rec room in the built-up basement.
After the meeting with Brian Richards, he’d augmented the hot dogs he’d eaten with a larger lunch at an Italian restaurant called Lo Brutto’s on K Street, reading the Washington Post while lawyers and business suits chowed down on their scallopini and linguini. Eating too much; that was what his doctor had said was one of Dolan’s problems! “It contributes to the heart matter, Walter. You keep eating the kind of food you eat in particular, and you’re just daring those arteries to close up tighter than Alan Greenspan’s sphincter. “
Namely, the rich stuff. The fatty stuff. The junk with lots of saturated who’s-it-what’s-it.
But Dolan liked to eat, dammit.
And more to the point, today anyway, when he got nervous, a little shaky even, he found that cigarettes didn’t work—he’d given them up ten years ago anyway—and booze wasted him; it was heavy food that somehow soothed him, calmed him. Starchy food, drenched with fatty, buttery sauces. Meat. Sweets. These were his own personal Valium.
The UFO Conspiracy Trilogy Page 80
