“I’ll be staying here,” she said. “Good luck.”
The elevator doors closed behind her before Jason could ask any questions. Puzzled, he stared around, looking for someone – anyone. A person was sitting in one armchair in a corner of a medium-sized room, waiting for someone. He stood up, revealing a brown-haired man with a shock of uncontrollable hair. Before Jason could say anything, he tapped his lips and beckoned Jason through a door and into a smaller meeting room. The door hissed closed behind them.
“I’m sorry about the cloak and dagger routine,” the man said. “Please allow me to extend my congratulations on your new role in the Welcome Foundation.”
There was something in his voice Jason didn't like at all. “Thank you, sir,” he said, stiffly. He still hadn't sat down. “Might I ask what this is all about?”
The man leaned forward. “Do you know where you are?”
Jason shook his head. “No sir,” he said, “and I don't know who you are, either.”
“Nor should you,” the man said. He shrugged, expressively. “My name is Sanderson and I have tried hard to stay out of the public eye. I trust I can rely on your discretion?” He inclined one eyebrow at Jason, who nodded shortly. “You may be interested to know that this building is designed to serve as a secure facility for various intelligence services. Among other things, the basement is surrounded by devices intended to ensure that any surveillance devices carried into the building are unable to record or transmit while inside the premises.”
Something clicked in Jason’s mind. “That’s why Daisy took my cell phone,” he said. “You were afraid I was going to record our conversation.”
“Not you,” Sanderson said. He leaned forward, intently. “I’ve been reading your debrief records from your sessions following your meetings with alien representatives. In all of them, you express frustration at their reluctance to share information – even information that has no military value. You’ve even implied that they’re not being completely honest with us. Would you care to comment on that?”
Jason frowned. He’d come utterly unprepared to the meeting, but he’d never said anything that he no longer believed. Besides, it was a chance to express his concerns to someone who clearly possessed some form of political power.
“They seem reluctant to talk about anything,” he said. “Every single person who meets one of the aliens has asked where they come from, which star gave them birth. And they refuse to answer, or they give us a vague answer that could point to any one of a million stars. They won’t tell us about their technology, even the technology they want to introduce into our society. We’re going to have to buy the fusion reactors off them to power our cities unless we figure out how they work. And if there are other races in the Galactic Federation, where are they? We don't know.”
Sanderson frowned. “What do you think about them?” He asked. “You’ve met more aliens than anyone else, I believe. What do you make of them?”
Jason hesitated, struggling to put his thoughts into words. “They look down on us,” he said, finally. “When I talk about SETI to them, they seem to view it as amusing, like a child playing with toys. They think we’re stupid for not advancing into space; they think we’re stupid for fighting wars all the time. And yet...there’s something just a little disturbing about it. I don't think they think very highly of us.”
He shook his head. “But they don’t tell us anything about themselves,” he added. “We don't know how they organise themselves, or how their government works. We don't know if we’re talking to big shots who can organise things to suit themselves or relatively minor officials. We don't know how many of them there are on Earth, or what they’re doing crawling all over our planet. And none of us, not a single one, has been allowed to visit any of their starships. We haven’t even been allowed to ride in their shuttles.”
“I see,” Sanderson said. “Can you keep a secret?”
Jason nodded. “Sure,” he said. “What kind of secret?”
“One that could get you killed,” Sanderson said. His eyes met Jason’s and refused to look away. “Understand this; whatever you decide, if you breathe a word of it to anyone, it could get you killed. It will get you killed. This is not the time to decide that information wants to be free or some other dumb belief like that, kid. This is the real world. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Jason said. He swallowed, hard. “Do you want me to spy on the aliens?”
Sanderson’s eyes met his, again. “Among the other remarkable tricks built into this building,” he said, slowly, “is a security suite that is supposed to allow us to detect alien bugs. They’ve been stinging hundreds of people with tiny bugs, too tiny to see. You may be carrying one now, but if so...it’s not transmitting. They’ve been spying on us before they made First Contact. We don't think they come in peace.
“You may see something that can help us,” he added. “You’re going to be spending more time with the Snakes than almost anyone else in the future. Part of the reason we pulled strings to help you get your position was that you were willing to cooperate with the CIA’s debriefing team. We need you to serve your country by monitoring the Snakes for us.”
Jason stared at him, thinking fast. It seemed impossible to believe, yet...all of the alien words, all of their evasions and their reluctance to discuss anything of a serious nature with humanity’s scientists, pointed to one conclusion. The Snakes didn't come in peace. And that meant that humanity was staring down the barrels of an alien invasion.
“Why me?” He managed, finally. He’d dreamed of being someone important – until his dream had come true. He was the Discoverer; he’d done something that would never be repeated...and if it had been luck, it was his luck. But now the dream was becoming a nightmare and humanity – if it survived – might learn to start cursing his name. “Isn't there anyone else involved?”
“You mean; someone else we can insert into a place in the Welcome Foundation?” Sanderson shook his head, slowly. “I’m afraid not, Jason. Most of SETI’s upper board are people who sincerely believe that the Galactics come in peace. They don’t feel any urge to cooperate with our debriefing teams - and if we asked if they could keep an eye on the Snakes for us, they’d probably go confess all to the Snakes at the earliest opportunity.”
“Or make it worse,” Jason said, thinking of Professor Cavendish. He’d been talking about the utopia that would blossom on Earth once nuclear weapons had been dismantled and the military-industrial complex had been swept into the wastebasket of history. How long would it be before it occurred to him to start claiming that the military was hiding nukes somewhere in the United States? Coming to think of it, it was quite possible that Russia, or China, or Pakistan was considering cheating and trying to stash some nukes away somewhere safe. “What do you want me to do when I find something interesting?”
Sanderson reached inside his suit and produced a single business card. It read T SAMSON, INTERNATIONAL IMPORT/EXPORT and gave a Washington telephone number and email address. Below it, there was a neat line of text promising to deliver anywhere, anytime, and a sly note that the company was pleased to observe discretion in all of its business dealings.
“The company in question isn't important,” Sanderson said. “When you look at the numbers, switch each number with the number required to take it up to ten – and then dial that number and leave a time and place within the next two days where and when you can be contacted. If urgent, say so, but don’t say anything else. The chances are good that the Snakes are monitoring our communications. If anyone sees the card...”
“...Say that it’s one of the cards lobbyists are always giving me,” Jason guessed. “And what if I need to talk to you immediately?”
“Say so on the voicemail,” Sanderson said. “And don’t even think about saying something – anything – that might attract attention. We cannot afford to make even one mistake.”
Jason swallowed, again. “I understand, sir,” he said. “I won’
t let you down.”
***
Toby watched expressionlessly as Jason Lucas – a thoroughly decent young man completely out of his depth – was escorted out of the building and back to the Welcome Foundation. The schedule had called for more tours of the building, where the Foundation would attempt to impress both the media and the Galactics with their plans for the future. Some of the plans were even quite impressive. Toby might have been tempted to believe them if he hadn't known that the aliens were watching the human race, covertly monitoring the human compliance with their demands.
The thought made him curse under his breath. If the aliens were monitoring the human race closely, it might be impossible to stash more weapons – nukes in particular – somewhere where they could be used if necessary. The aliens seemed to be utterly paranoid about nukes, to the point where they insisted on counting every nuke in the arsenal and marking them off one by one. They seemed much less concerned about biological weapons, yet that made a certain kind of sense. It was highly unlikely that any virus known to humanity would be able to infect a Snake. So much for The War of the Worlds.
And there were other reports from Africa...
He scowled as he stood up. The human race hadn't been able – or, rather, willing – to do anything about the genocides in Central Africa. It hadn't been long before the Snakes became involved, running a refugee camp and actually providing some security for the thousands of displaced refugees. Hell, they’d won hundreds of admirers for actually helping people who needed help. And maybe they even deserved it.
Toby shook his head as he headed out the door. Gillian was waiting for him in another secure compound, only halfway across Washington. And then he had to meet with the President, and then exchange notes with the British and French representatives...his life was always busy. And interesting...
And if Jason Lucas was placed at risk, it was a risk Toby was willing to take. Before it was all over, God alone knew how many people would die.
Chapter Twenty
Washington DC
USA, Day 35
“He just isn't himself anymore.”
Callie Buckley was the type of woman Jayne tended to dislike. She was overweight, with an attitude that suggested that she didn’t believe that she was overweight and that anyone who dared point out the elephant in the room would earn an enemy for life instantly. Her hair was dyed and she wore clothes that tended to disguise her figure. All in all, Jayne was privately surprised that the marriage had lasted, but it was clear that she loved her husband and he loved her in turn.
“I see,” Jayne said. She’d been careful to visit when Joe Buckley was at the Welcome Foundation, just to ensure that she didn’t run into him. A certain kind of woman resented the presence of another woman when with her husband and she had a feeling that Callie would not have been amused if she had visited Buckley. “How is he not himself any longer?”
Callie gathered herself, visibly. “The Joe I married was a tough son of a bitch,” she said. “He was strong, determined and loved the Navy. There were times when I thought he loved the Navy more than he loved me. And when he left and started writing those books, he was still madly in love with the Navy, despite all its warts. I loved having him back, even if there were times when I felt as if he was still courting the Navy – his other woman.”
She laughed, nervously. “He wasn’t one of those hippie freaks who think that the Snakes are going to bring peace, prosperity and unlimited food and drink for people who have never worked a day in their lives,” she added. “He was certain that the aliens had their own reasons for visiting Earth and that we might not like them when we discovered what they were. And then he was invited to the alien base. I don’t even know why he went; he told me that he expected to be flattered, but not to be told anything useful.”
Jayne frowned, thoughtfully. “Do you know why he was selected?”
“The letter he received from SETI said it was because he was a famous writer,” Callie said. “He was always getting invitations to conventions and suchlike – he once told me that if he took up every speaking engagement he’d never have time to write. And I think a lot of his fans probably suggested him to someone. They used to write him such flattering letters, even the ex-military people. Joe kept each and every one of them.”
She shook her head. “So he went,” she said, “and now he’s not the same man anymore. They did something to him on that base, something that turned him into their dupe. He’s always telling people how much one can trust the Galactic Federation, how they have Earth’s best interests in mind and how we will benefit from their presence. And he won’t talk about what happened at the base. It’s like watching one of the brats from the Demon Headmaster! You ask him a question and he’ll rattle out a rote response…it’s like someone hypnotised him or something.”
“I see,” Jayne said. “Are you sure he didn’t just have a conversion when he saw what they could do?”
“I’m sure,” Callie said. “The old Joe loved food, drink, sex and – sometimes – fighting and it was my job to provide all four of them. Now he’s barely into any of them; he nibbles his food, avoids alcohol and seems uninterested in sex. And when I pry, as I do sometimes, he doesn’t even rise to the bait. He’s a fucking pod person!”
“They did something to him,” Jayne said. It made a certain kind of sense. Joe Buckley was one of the people who shaped public opinion. If the aliens could convert someone into a loyal follower – and the CIA had carried out all kinds of experiments into brainwashing – why wouldn’t they take advantage of the opportunity? Except…if Joe Buckley was no longer the man he’d been, the process obviously wasn't perfect. It might actually explain why the aliens hadn’t simply converted everyone who’d visited one of their bases; besides, there were plenty of people who took the aliens at their word without needing to be brainwashed. “Does he have nightmares?”
The look Callie gave her – a look of absolute terror – convinced her that she was right. “He does,” she confirmed. “You don’t understand; even when we were fighting, I felt safe with my Joe. And now he’s quiet, gets into bed without a bit of slap and tickle, and has terrible nightmares when he’s asleep. I watch him tossing and turning, but when he awakens he doesn’t remember anything – anything at all! He doesn’t even have the energy to argue with me over his dreams. I don’t feel safe with him any longer.”
Jayne reached into her pocket and produced one of her business cards. “If you have any problems, call me at once,” she said, firmly. “I think…”
“I already have a problem, you stupid bitch,” Callie snapped. She sounded as if she were on the verge of a breakdown. “I want my husband back!”
She stood up and stalked around the room. “God knows, I’d almost be happier if he was hitting me rather than being a…fucking pod person,” she said. Tears were streaking down her face. “He’s not human anymore! It’s like he’s joined one of those crazy cults and become one of their loyal followers and isn’t allowed to share anything with non-believers…”
“It’s going to be all right,” Jayne said, standing up and giving the older woman a hug. “Take my card; if you don’t feel safe any longer, perhaps you should leave and stay with a friend…”
“But Joe won’t care,” Callie protested. “The new Joe wouldn’t care if I stayed or left!”
Jayne asked several more questions, but Callie was too upset to answer properly. All she could do was offer Jayne a folder containing Joe Buckley’s correspondence for the last few months and a file of extracts from various novels. Most of them referred to a character called Joe Buckley meeting a horrific death at the hands of various enemy forces, including one where he was killed making love to his superior in a tank. Jayne put those aside and started to read through the letters. The letter from SETI was bland and largely uninformative. Joe Buckley had been invited to join one of the groups visiting an alien base; would he be interested. There was nothing else, apart from a pile of unopened letters. The date on
the envelopes suggested that they’d been posted after Buckley returned from the alien base.
Shaking her head, Jayne bade Callie farewell. In some ways, Callie was alarmingly like some of the abused wives she’d met while looking for human interest stories. She was being tormented by her husband, but she couldn’t leave him – except Joe Buckley seemed to be showing no interest in her at all. Whatever the aliens had done to him had permanently damaged his mind in some respects, yet in others he could almost function normally.
The Trojan Horse Page 19
