by Bob Mayer
“I thought you had no control over Surveyor.”
“We’re working the problem,” Kincaid said. “As you know, we’ve been using the IMS as backup to Viking.”
“How long until Surveyor achieves stable orbit?”
“It will take us a few days,” Kincaid answered. He glanced to his right, feeling the intense pressure of the white-haired man’s gaze burning into him. The man turned and walked out of the room as abruptly as he had come in.
“That is all, gentlemen.”
As the other administrative and bureaucratic members of JPL’s hierarchy walked out of the room, Kincaid remained seated. He had a feeling the white-haired man might be waiting in the hallway, and Kincaid had no desire to get any closer to the man. Plus he didn’t want to run into any of the press, some of whom he passingly knew, who were also waiting outside, and be forced to lie to them.
So instead, he simply sat there and thought, and the more he thought the unhappier he became.
The going was very slow, but Che Lu couldn’t blame Ki for taking his time. The image of Taizho being cut in half was ingrained on everyone’s mind. They had turned left at the four-way intersection. They could have just as easily turned right, but Che Lu had acted on instinct and also the fact that right went deeper into the mountain. If she was hunting for the emperor and empress’s tombs, she would have gone that way, but the priority now was to get to daylight.
The tunnel had gone level for almost a quarter mile, as near as she could tell, then it had begun going up and very slowly turning to the right. Che Lu had a feeling they were following the outer contour of the mountain tomb, but at least they were going up. They had encountered no beam like the one that had killed Taizho, nor any holographic alien images.
Ki suddenly stopped, drawing Che Lu out of her thoughts. “What is wrong?” she asked.
“I must rest for a little bit,” he said. The stress of being point man in the dark tunnel was getting to him. Che Lu looked over the other students, then took the bamboo pole from Ki’s hands. “We will rest,” she said. “Then I will lead.”
“The word ‘arctic’ comes from arktos, which is the Greek word for ‘bear,’ referring to the northern constellation Ursus Major, the great bear, more commonly known as the Big Dipper.” The old man paused, regaining his breath with the aid of an oxygen mask his withered hand pressed down over his face.
Major Quinn kept his face passive, not allowing his feelings about Werner von Seeckt to surface. Quinn knew all about the German from the classified files in the Cube and from working with him ever since Quinn had been assigned to MJ-12.
Von Seeckt had been born in southwest Germany in 1918. He’d grown up in the turbulent years after the First World War. Von Seeckt had been studying physics in a university in Munich when the Second World War started, and he’d been recruited by the SS to be part of an elite scientific cadre, studying better and more efficient ways to make war and kill people.
Von Seeckt had been working at the rocket base in Peenemünde when he’d been recruited to go on a special mission to Egypt, the mission that had uncovered the Airlia atomic weapon under the Great Pyramid. Unfortunately for von Seeckt, but fortunately for the Allies, von Seeckt and the bomb had been captured by a British patrol. The scientist and his strange box had made their way to America and fallen under the jurisdiction of a classified program called Operation Paperclip.
Quinn also knew much about Paperclip; it was a program set up by the US government to bring what were considered valuable Axis scientists to the United States to “give” their expertise to America. The program was illegal, but that didn’t bother those who implemented it. In this manner rocket scientists from the Third Reich and chemical and biological experts, including some of the men who invented the gases used in the concentration camps, were given safe passage to the United States and spent the rest of their years working for that government.
Von Seeckt had been one of the very first brought in under Paperclip, captured while the war was still going strong. When the casing surrounding the atomic weapon had finally been breached, von Seeckt had been assigned to work with the Manhattan Project, which was given a large boost by being able to examine the Airlia bomb. He was then assigned to the newly formed Majestic-12 and had been with it ever since.
Von Seeckt should be in Washington with the other surviving members of MJ-12, standing trial, but in the last few weeks von Seeckt’s physical condition had weakened to the point where his permanent residence was the intensive care ward at Nellis Air Force Base. On the old man’s side there was also the fact that von Seeckt had aided Lisa Duncan and those with her in thwarting General Gullick.
The reason Quinn was here was because he knew that some of the bouncers had been found in the fifties in Antarctica and he also knew that von Seeckt had actually been there for the recovery. When Quinn had asked the scientist about Antarctica, the old man had launched into his etymological explanation of how the continent got its name. Quinn patiently waited, letting von Seeckt work his way into useful information.
Von Seeckt pushed aside the oxygen mask. “On Earth, the region surrounding the north pole is called the arctic region on all maps. When the prefix ant-, meaning ‘opposite’ or ‘balance,’ is added to arctic, the word becomes Antarctica, which means ‘opposite the arctic,’ or literally ‘opposite the bear.’”
Von Seeckt closed his eyes in thought. “I have studied this subject at great length. After all, I traveled there in the search for the bouncers. Even more than the wilds of the Nevada desert and the remoteness of Easter Island, Antarctica is isolated from the visitations of humans. No one goes there unless they have a specific purpose, and survival is difficult.
“Based on Airlia information we found in the mothership cavern during World War II, Majestic was the instigating force behind Operation High Jump, which ran from 1946 through 1947, looking for the Airlia artifacts we knew were hidden in Antarctica. We managed to locate the site but it took over eight years, until 1955, before an expedition could be mounted to try and recover the cache.
“That was when we had Operation Deep Freeze mounted. It was led by explorer Admiral Byrd. While the press release touted the eight bases built and the explorations made on the icy continent, a ninth, secret base, code-named Scorpion Base, was established over the site of the Airlia cache.
“In 1956, after four months of drilling, the men at Scorpion were able to reach the cache buried under a mile and a half of ice. They found a chamber hollowed out of the ice and seven bouncers inside.”
Von Seeckt’s body twitched under the white sheets. “With the bouncers recovered, Majestic ordered the closure of Scorpion Base and the entire operation was classified at the highest levels. I have heard no more of any operations in Antarctica.”
Quinn shook his head. “Someone’s down there now. The only clue I have is the word STAAR, with two As.”
Von Seeckt’s head twitched on the pillow. “STAAR?” He muttered something in German.
“What was that?” Quinn asked.
“I have heard rumors in the many years I was with Majestic,” von Seeckt said. “Rumors of another organization. I have heard it called STAAR.”
“What is it?” Quinn asked.
“I don’t know. We knew at Majestic that someone was monitoring us. We also were under strict guidelines not to interfere. It was part of our founding charter.”
Quinn frowned. “Then why didn’t this STAAR step in when General Gullick was taken over by the rebel computer?”
“I can’t answer that,” von Seeckt said, “because I don’t know if STAAR really exists.”
Quinn backtracked. “But they could be using Scorpion Station, couldn’t they?”
“Perhaps,” von Seeckt acknowledged. “It would be a good place to put an organization you wanted no one to find. Certainly much better than we did at Area 51.”
“Who would know about STAAR?” Quinn asked.
Von Seeckt’s frail shoulders moved in a
shrug. “I don’t know. Majestic was hooked into all the intelligence agencies and none of them had any hard data on it. Just rumors and bits and pieces.”
Von Seeckt coughed and took another drag of oxygen. “The interesting thing is,” he continued, “that this STAAR, if it does exist, must not have been doing much, since it’s never come into conflict with Majestic, the CIA, or any of the other various government agencies that are constantly bickering with each other.”
“Then what is its purpose?” Quinn wondered out loud.
“Maybe it is just to wait and watch,” von Seeckt said.
“For what?”
Von Seeckt lifted his hand at the TV mounted on a wall bracket in his room. It was turned to CNN, the sound muted. The screen showed a picture of Mars. “Maybe for that. You say STAAR is taking action now?”
“STAAR’s got someone in Area 51 in charge of one of the bouncers,” Quinn told him.
“So STAAR is coming awake,” von Seeckt said.
“But who could they be?” Quinn asked. “A branch of the CIA? NSA?”
“Why do you think they are American?” von Seeckt asked.
“Because Scorpion was built by Majestic and Majestic was American.”
Von Seeckt cackled a laugh. “Ahh, let me back up, young man. What makes you think they, whoever they are in Scorpion Base, are human?”
Kelly Reynolds felt a bead of sweat work its way down her back. She was standing on the hot tarmac of the Nellis Air Force Base runway arguing with a young lieutenant who did not want to let her board a helicopter that the display board in operations had indicated was flying to Area 51. She’d flown here on a departing military hop as soon as the 707 with the others had taken off. She knew the only way to stop them was to uncover more information, and the best place to do that was here, where Majestic had operated for half a century.
They both turned as a car pulled up and a blue-suited figure emerged with gold oak leaves on his shoulders.
“Major Quinn,” Kelly Reynolds said by way of greeting. She still distrusted the Air Force, despite the openness of the last two weeks. Her early experience with an Air Force UFO disinformation campaign, when her budding career in film documentaries had been destroyed in the process, had left her wary of men in blue uniforms.
“Miss Reynolds,” Quinn replied.
“Is that your helicopter?” Reynolds asked.
“Yes.”
“Can I get a ride?” The lieutenant started to say something, but his mouth snapped shut as Quinn waved for her to accompany him to the craft. Reynolds knew Quinn was doing everything he could to stay on the good side of the media. All the other members of Majestic were dead, having killed themselves like Gullick, or were being held in prison. Quinn was riding a thin line, and she also knew from Lisa Duncan that he had been ordered by the president to cooperate fully with the press.
“I just left Professor von Seeckt,” Quinn said as they entered the side door and buckled in.
“How is he?” Von Seeckt was another person Reynolds felt little affinity for. The former Nazi had worked at Peenemünde and despite his claims of ignorance, Reynolds knew he had to have known about the Dora concentration camp, where slave labor for the missile facility had been housed. Reynolds’s father had been one of the first who entered the camp and experienced the death and misery firsthand.
He’d told his daughter about it, and the desire to never again let such atrocities go unnoticed or unpunished had been the driving force in Kelly’s path into a career in the media.
“Not well,” Quinn said. “The doctors give him less than a week.”
Kelly snorted. “They gave him that last week.”
“He’s a tough old bastard.”
She glanced over as the chopper lifted. “Why’d you see him?”
Quinn met her eyes. “There’s something weird going on.” He related the story of the strange person, Oleisa, showing up and commandeering a bouncer, and the messages being sent to Antarctica. He left off von Seeckt’s last disturbing question, even though it had been the only thought rattling about his brain since leaving the old man.
“You really think Scorpion Base is being used by this STAAR?” Kelly asked.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Could it really be kept secret?”
Quinn nodded. “Yes. There’s no set satellite coverage of the land down there, and since the base was under the snowcap anyway, it wouldn’t be hard at all to keep it hidden. Also, remember that international treaty bars any weapons from being deployed on the continent, so it’s the least militarized place on the planet.
“Overflights are also virtually unknown because Scorpion Base is totally off any flight route to any of the other international bases. The vicious weather that’s common most of the time down there also discourages visitors.”
“I’ve never heard of a government agency that was able to keep a total veil of secrecy around itself,” Kelly said, realizing the contradiction built into her words as soon as she said them. “I want to know more about this.”
The helicopter was landing now, just outside the main hangar at Area 51.
“I’ll show you everything I’ve managed to uncover,” Quinn said as they disembarked.
As they rode the elevator down to the Cube, Kelly reflected on the fact that just a few weeks ago Johnny Simmons had been captured trying to gain access to the very facility she was now being escorted into. If there was another secret government agency still at work, she promised herself that she would uncover it no matter what the cost.
The doors to the Cube slid open and Quinn led her to the raised desk at the back of the room. There was a subdued hum of activity from the rest of the room.
“I’ve had all our intelligence data links cued to pick up anything relating to STAAR,” Quinn said as he sat down. “I’ve also done an exhaustive search of the classified archives. There’s not much.”
“What do you have?” Kelly asked, the reporter part of her intrigued.
Quinn looked at his computer. “After the bouncers were removed, Scorpion Base remained empty for several years. Then in 1959, unknown even to Majestic at the time, someone moved in, taking over the deep chamber. I’ve got a report here from an engineering unit that put prefab structures deep under the ice, using the wide tunnel they’d dug to bring up the bouncers. I’ve checked and there’s no sign of the base on the surface. Aircraft going there are guided by a transmitter on a constantly changing frequency.”
“Who set it up?” Kelly asked.
“Scorpion was reestablished in 1959 by President Eisenhower. I’ve found a copy of the order and it’s very unusual. The presidential directive authorizing the base also stipulates that none of his successors were to be briefed on the existence of the station or the organization that ran it, known only by the acronym STAAR.”
“Damn,” Kelly exclaimed. “How could they keep this secret all these years?”
“The appropriation for STAAR is hidden inside the $67 billion a year black budget,” Quinn explained. This was an area he was very familiar with from his work with Majestic. “By the same presidential directive that established it, STAAR took a specified percentage every year, no questions asked, and wired to a Swiss bank account. I bet you there’s a good chance no one in present-day Washington knows that STAAR exists.”
“Can that be?” Kelly wanted to know.
Quinn nodded. “As far as I can tell, STAAR appears to do nothing, which means it doesn’t attract any attention. The operating budget is hidden inside the highly classified budget of the National Reconnaissance Organization.”
He tapped his computer screen. “Actually, the most interesting thing about STAAR that I could find isn’t the budget but something that’s missing: there’s no personnel records for the people who make up STAAR.” He leaned back in his seat. “As far as the personnel paperwork trail that any organization affiliated with the US government has to have, no matter how secret, STAAR is an organization with
no people. Hell, even the CIA has some paperwork on assassins it hires.”
Kelly stared at him. “What...” she began, but paused as Quinn suddenly leaned forward and began rapidly typing into his keyboard.
“Well, this is interesting. There’s a live link being picked up by the NSA involving STAAR,” he said.
“From where?” Kelly asked.
He pointed up at the screen at the front of the room. “From Aurora.” An electronic map of China appeared. A small flashing light on the wall screen sped across the overlay of the western edge of China, heading toward the safety of the ocean with surprising speed.
Kelly knew that Aurora was the top-of-the-line spy plane that the Air Force had, the successor to the SR-71.
“Data is being downlinked from Aurora to Scorpion Station,” Quinn added. “I’m intercepting a copy. Maybe we’ll learn something.”
Inside the STAAR command center deep under the ice, the woman who had run the organization for the past twenty-two years sat in a deep leather chair, looking at the various display screens that ran across the length of the front of the center. When she had to make contact with those in Washington or elsewhere, she had the ST-8 clearance that could get her whatever she wanted, no questions asked, and she was known only by her code name: Lexina.
She’d been picked by her predecessor for her intelligence, her loyalty, and above all her willingness to exile herself to Scorpion Station and never leave. She considered herself a soldier. A soldier who, like all soldiers, wished always for peace in her time but constantly prepared for the alternative and was willing to give her all if that alternative did occur.
“What is the status of Dr. Duncan?” Lexina asked.
“Airborne,” Elek, her chief of staff, answered. In STAAR the code name was the only way one identified one’s self or addressed another. “Should be landing in Korea in less than an hour.”
“Who is on the ground waiting for them?” she asked. STAAR kept an active network of only twenty agents around the world. Add in the five members who ran Scorpion Base and they were an extremely small organization, which further added to their ability to maintain a veil of secrecy.
