He left, closing the door behind him. “Sergeant, this will not be easy,” the CIA Director said. “The Brigadier was not kidding when he said that you and your team would be on their own – and expendable, if you get caught. If you want to back out…”
“No, sir,” Albert said, firmly.
“Very well,” the CIA Director said. “It has been announced that Iran will receive a visit from one of the Snakes, someone who will negotiate with Iran for the introduction of Galactic technology into their society. The Iranians have been pushing for this visit for some time and the Snakes have finally decided to grant it. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to assassinate one of the Snakes.”
Albert stared at him. “Sir?”
“You heard me,” the CIA Director said. “You have to get into Iran, assassinate the Snake and then get out again, all without being detected.”
The thought was exciting – and terrifying. Albert had scant respect for Iran’s security forces – they’d tangled with them before, on missions that were officially denied – but the Snakes might have all kinds of technology protecting their scaly behinds. He would have to travel into Iran on his own, sneaking through the desert and into Tehran, before finding a place to strike at the Snake. It would be the thrill of a lifetime, if he pulled it off. Failure would mean certain death.
“Sir,” he said, “with all due respect, what has been done to determine how the Snakes will react to the death of one of their people?”
“Nothing,” the CIA Director admitted. “We need data, Sergeant, and we need to get it in such a manner as to ensure that someone else gets the blame…”
Albert saw it all, neatly. Iran had been one of the countries threatening bloody retribution for losing its oil revenues. If he carried out the assassination, the Iranians would get the blame and the brunt of any alien retaliation. And it might distract the terrorists from going after American targets.
“I understand, sir,” he said. “I won’t let the country down.”
“I know you won’t,” the CIA Director said. “Under the circumstances, as your CO said, you have complete freedom to plan the operation as you see fit. Good luck.”
Albert was already considering it. It would be fairly easy to link up with smugglers and head east to Tehran. The Gulf was lousy with smugglers, despite the presence of the American Navy and – for that matter – Iran’s naval patrols. Iran’s forces were generally bought off with large bribes, a constant problem in the Middle East, allowing smugglers to ship contraband all over the region. The Teams had used it before to slip in and out of Iran.
“I’ll need one other person,” he said. “Sergeant Bainbridge. We both speak fluent Arabic and Farsi; we can pass for Arabs or Iranians if necessary.”
“You have complete freedom to decide how to carry out the mission,” the CIA Director reported. “Just remember, if everything goes south…”
“We’re rogues,” Albert agreed. “And you will never have seen us in your life.”
***
“They confirmed McGreevy as Vice President,” Toby said, grimly.
His father looked up from where he was poking the fire. Gillian sat at one end of the sofa, watching his antics with apparent amusement. Toby had only been able to slip out of Washington at very short notice and they hadn’t really had time to chat. His father had been eager to talk about his other plans, but Toby had refused to listen. The less he knew the better. With an apparent security breach opening up the path to taking down Air Force One, the FBI was gearing up to run checks on everyone who’d already been cleared. It might uncover the resistance’s growing network of cells.
“The bitch,” his father said. “The President should have appointed someone harmless, not someone who…”
He shook his head in disgust. “You want to bet that she planned the VP’s assassination herself?”
“No,” Toby said. The President didn’t understand his former Secretary of State, not really. He knew that McGreevy was ambitious – it was why he’d tried to co-opt her into his administration in the first place – but he’d underestimated just how far she was prepared to go to gain power. Now she had become Vice President, she was only one step away from the Presidency. The Secret Service had quietly strengthened the ring of steel around the President, but Toby wasn't sanguine about the risks. God alone knew what the aliens could do to assassinate the President. “I think we have to count her as an outright collaborator.”
“So we deal with her,” his father said. “Can’t you get a kill-team somewhere near her?”
“I doubt it,” Toby said. The Secret Service would be hardly likely to accept him vouching for anyone, particularly a group of old soldiers carrying weapons. “I think we have to assume the worst.”
He stared down at the fire. “The DHS is already in her pocket,” he said. “I think the Director is one of her people, which gives her a great deal of authority; more, I think, than the President recognises. They’re already gearing up for dealing with mass civil unrest – after the riots in Washington, they have ample justification to prepare for further trouble. I think the next step will be to clamp down on our freedoms down here.”
“Not until they’ve finished disbanding the army,” his father said. The Colonel spat into the fire, causing it to splutter back at the watching humans. “I cannot believe that so many military men so tamely complied with the government’s orders.”
“They swore to uphold the civilian government,” Toby pointed out. “Do you think they should turn their guns on Congress just because they find their orders unpalatable?”
The Colonel snorted, but said nothing else. “Besides,” Toby added, “there is a disquieting set of developments in military matters. A number of army officers attended a seminar on one of the alien bases. Apparently, it was to discuss the Galactic Federation’s military role…”
“And I thought they were pacifists,” the Colonel said. “Now they admit to having a military…”
“And they have since been confirmed as officers who will be retained by our much-reduced military,” Toby continued, ignoring his father’s interruption with the ease of long practice. “All of them have been willing to talk endlessly about how wonderful the Federation is and how we should be grateful for the chance to grow into a mature race – under the benevolent protection of the Snakes, of course.”
He waited to see if his father would draw the correct conclusion. “They’re being brainwashed,” the Colonel snarled. “God damn it – doesn’t anyone even realise that they’re being turned into alien serfs?”
Toby shook his head. “That’s not the only thing they have in common,” he added. “They’re almost all unmarried, which suggests that there won’t be anyone close enough to them to notice any alarming difference. In fact, most of them have few friends or allies…”
“But they can still give orders and be obeyed,” the Colonel said. “Unless they give an illegal order, who is going to question them?”
“The noose is tightening,” Toby agreed. “I’ve started something that might give the aliens a shock, but I think we need to work faster when it comes to collecting and storing war material. Now we can ensure that General Thomas isn’t being watched by the aliens, we can start using him to contact a number of officers. If we’re careful, we might be able to start stockpiling war material without the aliens catching on.”
The Colonel looked up at him. “And if one of those officers has been brainwashed?”
“We’re dead,” Toby said, simply. The whole issue was turning into a frightening nightmare, one without a parallel in human history. Anyone could be brainwashed into supporting the aliens, turning men and women with unimpeachable records into traitors who would betray their country – and escape suspicion until they carried out their work. The security vetting system had been badly broken in the past, but this was much worse. Who could they trust?
The aliens could watch anywhere, listen in to all communications…the slightest mistake mi
ght betray the resistance to their enemies. And then the cells would be wiped out, one by one. And then…perhaps the aliens would reveal their true nature? And perhaps then it would be too late.
“They’re not all-powerful,” Gillian said, sharply. “They can do things we can’t, sure. They have a more advanced technological base than ours. But we’re not as far behind them as we thought. Their bugs aren’t too different from those on the drawing board, their transmitters are not too far ahead of our own microburst transmitters…they’re not gods.”
“They don’t need to be gods,” Toby said, sourly. “They have seventeen starships hanging over our heads. Why are they fucking around with us when they could just bombard us into submission and take the surrender of whoever is left when the rubble stops falling?”
“Maybe they can’t,” the Colonel said. “Or maybe they’re so advanced that they regard us with almost-total contempt. They may not consider us capable of matching them, or of seeing through their deceptions. I’ve seen that sort of arrogance before; the people who have it think that no one is as smart as them, or that anything they do is automatically smarter than anything anyone else can do. I wonder if they expect us to be able to understand their toys, or if they’re giving us tech confident that we lack the knowledge to understand it, let alone improve on the design.”
“Maybe,” Toby said. He thought, briefly, of all the gifts the Galactic Federation had given humanity. A food producer was helping to feed the homeless in Manhattan. A water purifier was helping to produce water in Africa. And fusion power was starting to allow fission plants to be shut down, at least until they could decide what to do with them. And if the aliens had come in peace, how much could the human race have learned from them? “I hope you’re right.”
“So do I, boy,” the Colonel said. “So do I.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Washington DC
USA, Day 45
Jayne looked down at the notepad with an expression of irritation. She had never fully appreciated how the legendary reporters of yesteryear had coped without word processors, laptop computers and even palmtop personal assistants. They’d had to scribble out their stories in shorthand and score out any errors, rather than simply pressing the delete key and retyping the section. Her hand was aching after writing out four versions of her story, each one of which hadn’t been good enough for the internet. But at least no one could hack into a sheet of paper.
She looked down at the paper and scowled to herself. It wouldn't be easy to read, but it should be difficult – in theory – for the aliens to even realise it was there, let alone read it unless someone pointed it out to them. The text would be scanned into a computer and then uploaded as a JPG image, stored on a hundred different file servers. It was a fairly simple trick often used to outsmart child protection software on the internet and, she hoped, it would serve her purposes as well. Scowling, she started one final read through of the paper. As long as it was legible, she’d accept the flames she was likely to get if anyone found out she’d written the article.
It has been a truly remarkable week. The human race has started its advance towards joining the Galactic Federation and reaching the stars. All over the world, small amounts of alien technology – with more promised soon – are already improving the lives of hundreds of thousands of humans. We have been promised far more benefits to come, from access to the boundless resources of space to a clean and safe environment for our children. And we have responded. In every city, the Witnesses flock to show our gratitude to the Galactics and the Welcome Foundation is opening buildings that will allow us to feast our eyes on the glory of alien technology. It is a bright new day.
The question we should ask ourselves is simple. Why are the Galactics really here?
Others online have questioned their reasons for visiting Earth. Many of those posters are now dead. It seems that our vaunted law enforcement departments have more important things to do than putting together what – I believe – is a murder case against the Galactics. Consider this; nineteen people who spoke out against the aliens are dead. There appears to be nothing linking the nineteen together – and certainly more than nineteen people have been murdered in the same time period – except one thing. They all spoke out against the aliens. And if we didn't see this before the attack on General Thomas, who resigned his commission rather than accept the effective dismantling of much of our country’s military, we should certainly see it now. The attack on General Thomas was a blatant slap in the face for those of us who have eyes to see. Who benefits from the deaths? The Galactics.
Ah, you might say; it is nothing more than a coincidence. To which I would reply; pull the other one, it’s got bells on. If nineteen people are dead, all of whom had one trait in common, is it not logical to suggest that that single trait was why they were targeted? I believe that if ten young African-American girls were to be targeted, the police and FBI would deduce that the killer’s primary targets are young black women, instead of saying that the deaths had nothing in common. So why the fear to draw the line between the deaths? I ask you; who does it benefit?
But if that is too much for you to stomach, consider this. A number of people who harboured – and expressed – anti-alien views have changed their minds in the last few weeks. Some of them have been convinced by the wonders the aliens have shown us, or have discovered that they can profit from the alien presence. I would not say that no one is allowed to change their minds; indeed, most of the bitterest arguments I have seen could have been resolved, if one side or the other was allowed to change their positions. Others, however, have changed their minds – and have been unable to articulate why they have changed their minds. Am I the only one who sees something vaguely sinister in this development?
I would refer you to the case of Joe Buckley, a well-known writer of military science-fiction. His works have been great successes over the past few years, with sales high enough to warrant a mention in the New York Review of Books. And Joe Buckley didn't trust the aliens. His posts, which I will have to quote from memory as they have somehow disappeared from the internet, asked why humanity should give up control to the Galactic Federation. Even if we concede that humanity has made mistakes – and we have, let us not be deceived into believing otherwise – why do we assume that the Galactics mean us no harm? Or, for that matter, why the Galactics can be trusted? We were not – and have not – been allowed to visit their ships. We still have no idea how many of them there are – and what we know, really know, about the Galactic Federation is insufficient. These, dear readers, were the questions that Joe Buckley asked.
Except he isn't asking them anymore. Does that seem odd to you? It may even seem sinister when you consider what happened just before he changed his mind – or had it changed for him. He visited one of the alien bases as part of a sanitized tour – and I can tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that the tour was definitely sanitized. We learned nothing of importance, but whatever Joe Buckley saw was enough to convince him to become an alien supporter, almost a Witness. He has joined a group he treated as objects of scorn, young men and women who chose to believe in glittering lights and insubstantial promises. His attitude changed completely.
But why? What happened at the alien base?
Some of the people who have joined the Witnesses have good reasons for supporting the aliens. Michaela Duval knew that her nine-year-old child would never walk again after she was badly injured in a road-rage accident. The Galactics cured her; a young girl can walk again. Can anyone blame Mrs Duval for practically worshipping the Galactics? And then there was Tommy Sinclair, who was certain to die of cancer within the next two weeks; the Galactics cured him. And now he is one of their most effective advocates, testifying to their prowess in a manner that would do an evangelist preacher proud.
And yet we have no comparable reason for Joe Buckley. Indeed, he is unable to articulate why he changed his mind. What was it? It may not surprise my more intelligent readers to discover that Joe B
uckley was not the only one to change his mind. A number of others have recently been toeing the alien line, including several military officers, senior policemen and government officials. And – guess what? They all went to an alien base. Joe Buckley’s wife, who has fled her husband in fear for her life, called him a pod person. What are the aliens doing to them to turn them into converts to their cause? I do not know...
There are, however, some alarming possibilities. We have long known that it is possible to brainwash someone into something they would not normally do. The process – for humans, at least – is chancy. The never-to-be-sufficiently-damned hijackers of 9/11 were pushed into a belief that they had the right to launch a terrorist strike that claimed thousands of innocent lives. And they did that despite not being paragons of Islamic behaviour. The CIA is supposed to have perfected techniques for creating spies from enemy personnel. Is it too great a leap to suppose that the aliens might have developed a more advanced way to alter a person’s mind?
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