by T. D. Kohler
Raising his hand, St. Clair stops her from rambling. “Was partnered. Nika is dead.” Everyone watches Selenia’s expression drop.
“You weren’t told?” St. Clair notes the shocked look on both of the new agents. “Yeah, that’s a game changer.”
James Monroe Building,
Richmond, VA
July 21, 0948 hours
Inside her office, Director Carol leans back in her chair with a remote in hand staring at the television. On the monitor is a paused image of Agent Abergathy as she is removing the camera from the police car. The director sets the remote down, and her assistant walks in the room.
“Ma’am, I have a message from Director Harris.” She hands her the note then attempts to quickly leave.
With a rare, soft tone, the director never takes her eyes off of the television and says, “Sheryl, you don’t have any kids, do you?”
Turning back, bewildered, she says, “No, ma’am, we are trying though.”
“You should, they will bring you the most joy you will ever experience.” Looking down at the remote, she absently slides it around. “You should have at least two.”
“Ma’am, if I may ask. How many children do you have?”
Straightening up, Director Carol looks at the young assistant then back at the screen. “Just the one.” Standing, she gives the remote one last nudge then gives her assistant a warm smile. Taking the note, she gives it a quick read.
clear your calendar
just landing
will be there at 11
“I tell you what, Sheryl,” she says without looking up and then checks the back of the note, “go home, take the rest of the day off and go have children.”
Turning a few shades of red, the assistant stammers, “Th-thank, thank you, ma’am,” and quickly steps out of the office.
Watching the door close, Director Carol smiles then looks back down at the note.
What you are up to, Sydney? Shifting her attention to the monitor, she walks over the paused screenshot. She touches the monitor, tracing the blood on Abergathy’s shoulder and cheek.
Director Carol snaps her hand away as if it was burned. She steps back holding up the note from Director Harris and glances back to the screen. “What are you coming here to tell me? And whose blood is that?”
As she drifts in thought, the phone rings. Realizing she had sent Sheryl home for the day, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
Picking up the receiver, she barks, “Director Carol.”
“Ummm, ahhh, ummm”
The director recognizes the voice. “Agent Selenia, I‘ve never known you for a loss of words.”
“Ma’am, I was just caught off guard. I was not expecting you to answer the phone. Is Sheryl sick?”
“Are you calling me with an update?”
“Yes, Director, we have landed and met with St. Clair and Nomi. We are about to head out to location now. St. Clair is tracking Nika’s phone. We will be on location in couple of hours and . . .”
“Call me as soon as you locate my daughter,” Director Carol orders.
“Yes, ma’am. Oh, and umm, ma’am, there is something you should know . . .”
Hanging up the phone, the director walks back over to the screen with the remote and begins studying the recording again. Just as she is getting into the recording there is a slight knock at her door and Director Harris timidly peeks in.
The older man puts on a charming smile. “Is the coast clear?”
Shaking her head, she walks over to a small refrigerator and takes out two waters. “Get in here, Sydney. Water?”
He reaches out for a water. “So why are you here?” Director Carol asks abruptly. “And why have you diverted your agents to meet up with mine?”
Taking in a deep breath, Director Harris walks over to the window overlooking Interstate 95.
“You are stalling,” she says.
Raising his hands and resting them on the back of his neck, he glimpses over to the monitor. “Vicki, Have a seat.”
Anger setting in, Director Carol’s posture stiffens up. “What happened?”
“We are not sure as of yet, which is why I diverted the team that you and Charlie sent me to meet with your team.”
Trying to contain her emotions, she wrings her hands together, taking a deep breath. “When?”
“Well they were to meet up this morning.”
Director Carol grabs the red stapler on her desk and throws it at the television monitor. The crash sends Director Harris folding his arms and shielding his head.
“I asked when. When and now who found her! I warned you against putting agents with operatives!” She tears well up as she weakens in her knees, and she starts to sway. Director Harris makes a quick move to catch her. She throws her fists in his direction.
“This is your fault! I warned you, Sydney. My mother would have never teamed up agents with operatives!”
Deflecting the fists from making full contact, but still allowing the anger to let out, Director Harris notices through the frosted glass walls that people are stopping and then scurrying off.
“We’re going to find out what happened, I promise.”
The strength is almost completely gone from her legs, and she uses him for support. Director Carol’s voice softens. “I knew it! I knew something was wrong. I should have never agreed. My mother would never have allowed this. I have to tell my mother!”
“Victoria, nobody could have foreseen this happening, not even the formidable Director Watkins. It was an atmospheric anomaly that we had localized.” Noticing that she has started to zone him out and has turned her stare to her broken monitor, he slowly backs her up to lean on her desk. As soon as she is steadied on the desk he backs away to look out the window.
“Vicki . . .”
“Leave.”
“Vicki . . .”
“Get out! The others will be notified of this.”
“Vicki, you know this could not have been foreseen.”
“Just leave, please, just leave.” Without saying another word, she watches Director Harris come to an understanding and leaves the offices. Just as the door closes a sense of determination washes over her, “My mother would have foreseen.”
1989
Base,
Outside Groom Dry Lake, Nevada
March 20, 1435 hours
A seasoned man with thinning hair is sitting at his desk looking over some preparation files when a tentative knocking.
“Gerald, I am old, so I wish you would knock with a purpose!”
Opening a door marked Caretaker, is a short, husky man with youth on his side. “Sir, I apologize, however, well to make this brief, you see, well, we were auditing records, and we found a, or rather in this case, did not find—”
“Can you please get to the point? I am not getting any younger.”
Gerald straightens himself and confidently sticks his chin out. “Yes, sir. There are files missing on Project Galileo and other projects.”
“For forty years we have managed to prevent this from happening, and we have kept a lid on everything we’ve accomplished.” The Caretaker begins to rub both temples. “Do we know who is responsible and what he or she has?”
Gerald looks down at the clipboard he is holding close to his chest. “It appears to be Robert Lazar. At least he has been unaccounted for today.”
The Caretaker quickly raises his head to watch the man with the news. “How do I know that name . . . New guy from Los Alamos, what does he have?”
Flipping through his clipboard, Gerald thumbs the papers, as if he is still looking for the information that was missing. Walking around the small room, he bumps into a chair, nearly knocking it over. He stops to see the Caretaker patiently waiting. “I apologize, sir.”
The Caretaker barely looks up, looking at his associate expectantly.
“Well that is where it gets interesting. The files on the autopsies, photos, and the filming were in the files that cannot be located,�
�� Gerald reluctantly confesses.
The Caretaker stands up too quickly and his head gets dizzy, He quickly places his hands on the desk for support to regain focus. After a few seconds, and with a cool strength in his voice, he says, “How did he get that away from the facility?”
Folding his clipboard back to his chest, Gerald takes a step back. “We don’t. We are unsure.”
“Thank you for the information. I will see how we can recover from this.” The Caretaker mumbles to himself, “Colonel Corso would be pissed if he knew about this.”
“Sir, it’s been over twenty years since he was here. I doubt he would give this news a second thought.”
“If this gets out, everyone will give it a second thought.”
Noting the finality of his tone, the younger man exits the room. After the employee leaves and closes the door, the Caretaker sits back in his chair and stares at the phone. After a few more moments of reflections he reaches out to the phone and dials.
A few rings into the call, the Caretaker is just about to hang up when a familiar voice picks up on the other end.
“What can I do for you today?”
“You have always gotten straight to the point, haven’t you, Ms. Watkins?”
El Cortez Hotel and Casino,
Las Vegas, NV
March 25, 2049 hours
A man wearing a trench coat is holding a newspaper to block the rain. He is thumbing through the directory attached to the pay phone booth. Fumbling around with the pen in his hand he manages to put the quarters in the slot and dial a number. A no-nonsense voice cuts through the chill of the rain.
“KLAS, how may I direct you?”
“Ummm, yeah, I would like to talk to George Knapp?”
“What is this regarding?”
Trying to keep dry, he looks around, watching headlights drive by. “An investigation, please.”
“Can you be more specific?”
Leaning into the phone, and in a firm, stage whisper, he says, “No! I can’t right now! After a moment of silence, he hears the phone ringing again. A friendlier voice brings his attention back from looking around.
“KLAS, George Knapp, how can I be of help?”
Stomping his feet to remove some of the wetness from his jacket, he says, “Did you get the files?”
“Who am I speaking to? Are you in danger?”
Looking around to see if there is anyone hanging around he says, “This is Dennis, and I can’t talk now, but I have some more information that you need to get out and let the public know.”
“Dennis, I’ve examined the files you sent, and as much as I am enjoying these phone calls, we need to meet. Is there a place or a number I can reach you?”
After a period of silence, Dennis takes a deep breath. “Okay, but I need to set something up . . .”
An exasperated voice interrupts him, “Can you give me something? I need some information on you before I can meet with you. You and I know Dennis is not your real name, and it has been working for now. But for a face-to-face interview I need to know who you are. Name, background, something.”
“My name is Robert Lazar. I am a physicist and a researcher for a testing facility out of Groom Lake. I graduated from MIT and California Institute of Technology. I worked at Los Alamos National Laboratories. That should help you verify who I am. I will contact you tomorrow so we can meet.” After another moment’s pause, he says, “Mr. Knapp, we are not alone in this universe. We are not even alone on this planet.” With that he hangs up.
The rain has lightened up, and he scans the area again. He goes to put the pen in his jacket and misses the pocket and it drops to the sidewalk. Bending down to try and catch it he stumbles forward and lands in a puddle. Something catches his eye. Another vehicle takes a turn too fast, loses traction, and slams into a parked car. Feeling his nerves completely on edge, he looks around one more time then gets into his car and drives off.
Los Alamos National Laboratory,
Los Alamos, NM
March 26, 0826 hours
In the parking lot of the facility, Director Siegfried Hecker gets out of his BMW. Walking over to the hood of his car, he lays his briefcase down and opens it. As he is inventorying the contents, an imposing woman with strong features walks up to him while holding out a badge.
“Director Hecker, Director Siegfried Hecker? May I have a moment with you? This is regarding a former employee of yours.”
Hesitant, he slides his back against the car, closing his briefcase. Stopping, he watches the woman walking towards him when out of the corner of his eye he notices two gentlemen in suits standing not too far from her. Checking his watch, he looks around only to find nobody else in the area and then looks back at his watch.
“How can I help you?”
Lightening her posture and tone the woman stops just before his car, she says, “This is regarding Robert Lazar . . .,” and pauses to look around as a car pulls into the parking lot. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and smiles. “Can we walk and talk?”
Gaining confidence, he takes a step, and then pauses as a thought occurs to him, I believe she is allowing me this confidence. Shaking it off, he looks at the well-groomed, well-dressed woman and smiles. “Absolutely, it is a beautiful morning.”
On that note they begin to walk through the parking lot. The other two gentlemen remain behind for a moment then walk towards a black Ford Bronco.
“I apologize, who did you say you were with?”
“Let’s not make this about me, this is about Mr. Lazar. He has gotten involved in something, and as a result, he has lost all clearance and himself has become a national security threat.”
The director turns pale. “Not again. This can’t be happening again. We cannot afford another incident relating to national security leaks.” He throws his hands up in the air out of frustration.
The woman takes a step back as if she is taken off guard. “Sir, you need to relax and pay attention. I am not aware about any other concerns.”
He stops and studies her strong features. “In 1945 Klaus Fuchs betrayed this company and the country by giving the Russians detailed information of our nuclear program and schematics on the very bombs we ultimately used on Japan.” He rubs his hands alongside of his slacks as if he was wiping his hands of the incident. “But I do not see Bob doing anything inappropriate like what you are saying. He was one of my most trusted employees. I can’t see him doing anything to ruin all he has accomplished.”
Straightening her suit jacket, the woman begins to walk back to the Bronco. “I am afraid so. I am only showing you this courtesy in telling you this, in case he returns here for further employment.”
“This is unbelievable, what has he done?” The director takes a couple steps to catch up.
“I assure you that this is true, however, I cannot mention the things he has done due to national security concerns. You understand.”
Looking down, defeated, he rubs his chin. “Uh, yes, yes I do.”
“You need to protect the work and all you have accomplished here. I would suggest you erase all records of him in order to maintain the integrity of any project he was working on during his tenure here.”
Lifting his head, Director Hecker looks around the parking lot, then back at the woman. “That is a drastic measure.”
“It is a strong recommendation, for your protection.”
Director Hecker sticks out his chest. “That is an excellent idea. I will work on that first thing today. I have so much to do.” Shaking his head, he says, “We cannot afford this again.”
The black SUV pulls up behind them, and before she opens up the door she turns to him and says, “Director, the United States government appreciates your help, and I appreciate your help, thank you.”
Without waiting for a response, she gets in the car. Standing there he watches it drive away, noting the government license plate. Nodding his head, he adjusts his tie and then turns with renewed purpose as he heads into the build
ing.
Super 8,
Las Vegas, NV
March 30, 2140 hours
Sitting in a dark room, Bob Lazar checks his watch then peers back out the window. After a few minutes of watching cars drive by, he stands and begins to pace as he gets lost in thought. There is a knock at the door, causing him to jump and make a quick dash to look out the window.
Outside, a gentleman is wearing an off-color blazer and is carrying a backpack, as well as a tote behind him. The man glancing between what appears to be a photograph and the door.
Releasing the curtains, Bob gets up and tentatively walks to the door. A knock is heard again as he opens it.
The gentleman looks at the photograph then at Bob. “You must be Robert Lazar.” Smiling, he offers out his hand.
Shaking his hand, Bob says, “And you, finally, are George Knapp. Please come in. We should not be talking with the door open.”
With his bags in tow, Knapp walks into the dark room while folding up the photo. “I’m not sure we should do this interview in the dark either.”
“No, you’re right.” Turning on the lights, he gestures towards a small table near the window. “If you don’t mind, can I ask you what that photo was a picture of?”
Unlatching his tote, Knapp takes out a collapsible tripod. Standing up, he turns and faces Mr. Lazar. Taking the photo from his jacket he hands it to him.
“That is a photo of you at a company picnic in Los Alamos. I talked to one of your co-workers, and he gave me this.”
“You went to Los Alamos?”
Knapp raises a hand motioning for him to wait. “Before we go any further, do have a driver’s license and can I see it?”
Taking out his wallet, Lazar shows the reporter his license. “If you already have a verified photo of what I look like, then why did you want to see this?”
After finishing attaching a video recorder to the tripod, Knapp motions to a chair. “Well you may want to sit down for this.” Watching Lazar take a seat with his back to the window, he grabs the other chair and sits next to the recorder. “It would appear that you no longer exist. Meaning there are no records of you graduating from either California Tech or MIT. No records of you working at Los Alamos National Laboratories, despite an employee that remembers you. And to top it off, there is no record of your birth.”
