DRAWBACKS: As with Sorensen’s Enhancement, Meyer’s clothing and carried items do not become immaterial with her--with one exception. Small items that she can clasp in her hand--items that can be completely surrounded by her corporeal form--will phase with her and become effectively immaterial. This facilitated much of her criminal activity. Otherwise, when she becomes immaterial, her clothing sloughs off her completely and, again, she remains visible to observers.
TRAINING: Having just joined the MAJESTIC-12 program, Meyer is still being assessed. However, her recent activities have given her practical insights into aspects of spycraft and security. She is of average fitness and intelligence.
EVALUATION: Meyer’s ability has already proven useful in infiltration, as well as exfiltration of small, easily palmed objects, and she has shown creativity in her recent activities. She also possesses above-average social skills, along with fluency in German, Russian, and English. However, as an Austrian national, her loyalty remains in question; she remains with MAJESTIC-12 under threat of arrest in Austria, though she appears to have warmed to her trainers during her short time in training. Regardless, evaluators recommend careful supervision in any field activities, and field supervisors should have the necessary equipment on hand to neutralize her in case of unauthorized conduct.
February 9, 1949
Danny watched as Julia walked through the Marine Corps obstacle course without breaking stride—or without climbing or crawling, or without getting muddy, or without even cowering under the gunfire overhead from the handful of MAJIK-cleared trainers on either side of the usually treacherous gauntlet.
She just walked, completely naked under the high desert sun at Area 51, oblivious to it all and looking slightly bored with the exercise. Through the barbed wire, through the climbing walls, through the ropes and mud and dummy landmines.
Danny sighed. She wasn’t supposed to use her Enhancement. The others on her team certainly weren’t, even though their specific skills wouldn’t be much help to them in this instance. Tim Sorensen, an electrician from St. Paul, had a natural camouflage in his skin so that he could fade into any background; Christina Vanoverbeke, a one-time cabaret singer in New York who could defy gravity with massive leaps and—potentially—even flight, though she hadn’t gotten to that point yet; and Rick Yamato, a Japanese teenager who had spent three years in the internment camp at Tule Lake, California, during the war and developed the ability to generate and channel electrical impulses. Zipporah Silverman—Zippy—had been the fourth member of this particular team until the death of Ellis Longstreet in the woods outside Prague last year, when she was transferred to the First Team.
Danny closed his eyes a moment. He’d spent the war as an intelligence analyst. He’d never lost a man under his command until Ellis. The team had been trying to transport a defecting intelligence officer from Prague to Munich when they were set upon by a squad of Soviet Variants—the defector turned out to have been a double agent, and the Soviets had also been receiving intel from a man on the inside at Area 51—a Marine officer and a friend of Danny’s from the war.
Danny had executed the traitor in Berlin later that year, and left his body for the Reds to find. It was a harsh thing to do, and Danny wished he’d felt more guilty about it, but he really didn’t. The traitor—Danny couldn’t bring himself to call him by name anymore—wasn’t a Variant. He’d been scared of Variants and their potential to change the world.
But Ellis wasn’t just a man under Danny’s command—they were both Variants. Out of every million people, maybe only one or two would end up with Enhancements, affected somehow by the pulses created by the two white vortexes they knew of in existence: one Danny had found at Hiroshima and transported to Nevada, and the second Frank had seen in Berlin right after the war. So, Danny knew personally just how special Variants were. He wanted to protect them and help them—and the best way, it seemed, to keep the government from deciding they were dangerous and needed to be hunted down was to join their side. That, more than anything else, was Danny’s goal for MAJESTIC-12. Yes, he’d taken an oath to serve his country, and so he would. But if he ever had to choose between his country and Variants, well … he was happy he’d found a way to avoid that choice. Hopefully for a good long time.
“Meyer, come here!”
The shout came from Maj. John Hamilton, a Marine officer who had served with the O.S.S., the office that had become the CIA. Hamilton was nearly six and a half feet tall, with blond hair and good looks that made him seem like some kind of Viking god. He’d been a commercial sailor prior to the war, with several round-the-world trips under his belt, before hunkering down with Communist insurgents in Yugoslavia to fight the Nazis.
He was a fine replacement for Danny’s former-friend-turned-traitor, so long as Danny approved him wandering off base for a few weeks at a time. While he was known on base as John Hamilton, the rest of the world knew him as Sterling Hayden, a rising star in Hollywood. Danny—with Director Hillenkoetter’s bemused approval—allowed Hamilton his acting career, so long as he kept it to only one or two films a year. It was a good trade-off: with his military and O.S.S. training, along with his years as a guerilla fighter and his acting ability, Hamilton was just about perfect for the job of getting Variants up to speed.
Plus, Danny liked having him around. He walked over to where Hamilton was giving Julia a good old-fashioned chewing-out as only a Marine could.
“When I goddamn tell you to run the course, you goddamn fucking run the course like God intended—with a rifle in your hand, in the mud like the rest of them!” Hamilton yelled as he bent down slightly to get in the young woman’s face. “You don’t go prancing off naked as a jaybird and walking through the goddamn walls!”
Julia looked scared—Hamilton could be pretty intense—but did her best to look cool. “But if I don’t need to worry about walls, why should I?”
Danny smiled. This was a recurring theme with Julia, who had obviously gotten used to getting whatever she wanted by simply taking it and walking away through the nearest wall. He reached into his pocket for another of the null-zone generators—a bit of technology stolen from the Russians, and one of the only high points of the botched Prague mission. “Because when I turn this on,” Danny said, holding the boxy device in his hand and flipping the switch, “you can’t walk through anything anymore. We have these. The Russians have these. So, what happens when you can’t use your Enhancement? That’s why we’re training you.”
Julia frowned. “I see.”
“Get your goddamn clothes on and do it again,” Hamilton growled. “And if you don’t beat everyone else’s time, you’ll do it again just to be sure. Move it.”
With an outsized sigh, Julia turned and sauntered back to the start of the course, where her uniform and boots remained on the ground in the spot where she’d sloughed through them.
“She’s a fine-looking woman, I’ll say that,” Hamilton said with a smile, his tough-guy act gone in an instant.
“I suppose she is,” Danny said, a bit indifferently. “Remember the rules, Hollywood. Save it for when you’re on leave for the next film.”
Hamilton smiled. “It’ll be a Western. El Paso. I get to be the bad guy this time. We start shooting in a few months. Meantime, will you get that girl some clothes that’ll stick to her?”
Danny laughed. “I have Mrs. Stevens working on it. You know how she is, though. Million little projects going on all at once. Tough to get her to focus.”
“She’s a housewife, Danny. Why’s a housewife working here? Hell, she asked for my autograph last week!”
The two began walking back toward the course, where Hamilton prepared to spray fire over Julia’s head as she did the course again—properly this time. “Mrs. Stevens is a certified genius, John. Her IQ tests were off the charts, and she seems to gain a few points each time we test her, even with all new questions. She’ll soon be smarter than Einstein.”
Hamilton laughed and shook his head as he prepar
ed his rifle. “How the hell do you even command someone like that? Doesn’t she question everything?”
“Not yet,” Danny said. “Certainly keeps me on my toes, though.”
“Yeah, well, these folks ever decide they’ve had enough of this—you know, as a group? Gonna be hard to keep ’em in check.” Hamilton then looked over at Julia, who was just now lacing up her boots. “Get a move on, Meyer! I ain’t got all fucking day!”
Danny gave the tall Marine a slap on the back. “I trust you got a handle on them, John. I’m going to be off on assignment with First Team in a couple weeks. Shouldn’t be away for more than a month. Montague will be spending more time here, but I’m leaning on you to keep things going.”
Julia began crawling through the mud under strings of barbed wire, her dummy rifle in hand and a heavy pack on her back. Hamilton squeezed off a few rounds over her head that made her flinch. “Roger that, Commander. Where you going?”
“Can’t say, other than I’ll have a great tan when I get back. Thanks, John.”
Danny headed back toward his jeep and driver, leaving Hamilton to fantasize about sand, palm trees, beaches, and girls in swimsuits. At least he had the sand part right.
The young Air Force private drove Danny past the small mini-camp that housed the Second Team of four Variants. There were three such camps around Groom Lake, a dried lakebed in the Nevada mountains. Each camp had individual quarters for the Variants, a mess hall that also served as classroom and gymnasium—and a guard installation to support at least twenty MPs. Each was surrounded by a one-mile perimeter of barbed wire, and there was a guard tower in the middle with excellent sightlines. There were at least two miles of desert between each of the camps and the main Area 51 base, where scientific research around the vortex continued.
That was also where most of the paperwork surrounding MAJESTIC-12 got done. Secret projects, Danny found, required a lot of pencil-pushing. Requisitions had to be made through at least a few dozen different channels in time-consuming, roundabout ways. Personnel had to be screened and assigned to areas according to their clearances—Danny, Hamilton, Mrs. Stevens, and Schreiber were the only ones fully aware of everything that went on at Area 51. The people studying the Variants had no clue about the vortex, and vice versa. And the MPs knew well enough to keep their noses out of everything that didn’t have to do with perimeter security and guarding the “trainees.”
As Danny’s jeep pulled up to the main base at Area 51, which was dominated by a huge hangar housing the vortex and other scientific gear, he wondered just how long something this big could remain this secret. They had layered several different stories under different classifications for MAJESTIC-12—one of the false cover stories even had to do with a recovered “alien flying saucer,” which had been Danny’s idea. But still, there were over 150 people at Area 51 now, and some of them would surely say something at some point. There was a naked woman walking through walls in broad daylight, for crying out loud.
The jeep pulled up to the administrative building, and Danny hopped out and headed inside. He and the MAJESTIC-12 sponsors had done everything possible to secure both the Variants and their secrets. It would have to do; he had more pressing matters to worry about, especially since he was heading to Damascus in a couple weeks.
But it turned out that when Danny got to his office, there was one more matter of concern waiting for him.
“General Montague, sir!” Danny said, quickly coming to attention and snapping off a salute. “Didn’t expect you here, sir.”
Montague returned the salute and extended his hand. “Heard you were heading out of town, figured we should powwow before you do.”
Danny shook the general’s hand and took a seat behind his desk. Montague was cleared for MAJESTIC-12, of course, given that he had nominal command of Area 51; Danny was technically Montague’s deputy but had independent operational command of the Variant assets as well. It was a messy situation, and it wasn’t always clear just how much Montague knew. But Danny was damn sure Montague wasn’t copied in on his Damascus orders.
Secret government conspiracies were a pain in the ass in more ways than one.
“Of course, General. Major Hamilton will have operational command of the Variants, answerable to myself and DCI Hillenkoetter while I’m gone. He’ll continue to have responsibility for Area 51 security as well, answerable to you, of course,” Danny said evenly.
“And the scientific inquiries?” Montague asked.
“Variant training and assessment will still go through Detlev Bronk, while any work on the vortex will continue to be conducted by Dr. Schreiber. Both of them remain under my command, and I report directly to DCI Hillenkoetter on these matters,” Danny replied. To an outsider, the MAJESTIC-12 organizational chart would look perfectly Byzantine, but Danny knew quite well whom to report to on what. Very little of it involved directly reporting to Montague, though the Navy man was sure the Air Force general would like that changed.
“And while you’re away, Commander?”
Danny frowned slightly at this. “That has yet to be determined, General. It’s one of the queries I have out to Director Hillenkoetter right now, in fact.”
Montague nodded and sat back in his chair. “Since I’m responsible for this base, I obviously know about the Russian you have here. POSEIDON is his code name, yes?”
POSEIDON was a Russian MGB agent—a Variant, in fact—captured by MAJESTIC-12 Variants in Istanbul the previous year. POSEIDON had the ability to “pull” objects toward him at high speeds, a kind of psychokinetic Enhancement. He couldn’t push them away, oddly, but that didn’t matter when fully grown men could be yanked through the air with a single thought.
Until the null-zone generators were captured from the Russians and refined, POSEIDON had been kept in a special underground cell the size of several football fields, and almost constantly drugged to the point where he couldn’t use his Enhancement. Now, however, they simply kept a null-zone generator just outside his cell at all times, rendering him powerless but also giving him a small semblance of his life back.
“Yes. What about him, sir?” Danny asked, his brow furrowed.
“How has your interrogation and study of him been going?”
Danny paused but recognized that Montague had the clearance to hear the details; he just didn’t need to readily provide them. “We’ve been able to establish a baseline on his Enhancement in terms of range and impact, and we’ve regularly sat down for conversations. We haven’t gotten very far, of course. He’s not in the mood to cooperate much, given that we kept him drugged up for the better part of four months.”
“And how is that study and interrogation going to continue while you’re gone, Commander?” Montague asked, a little too pointedly for Danny’s taste.
“Dr. Bronk will take the lead on both counts, sir.”
Montague seemed to think about this for a moment, then smiled. “All right, Commander. I expect a full report on all activities here before you go, including who’s responsible for what during your absence.” The general rose, and Danny quickly followed suit. “I’ll have a look around before I go. Anything else you wish to report?”
Danny thought a moment. “Looks like Second Team may be cleared for operations in a few weeks, sir. We may need some more air assets on standby if we have two full teams going.”
Montague nodded. “Noted. Thank you, Commander.”
Danny saluted, and Montague gave a half-wave in return on his way out, leaving the young Navy man to sit back down at his desk, worried. Montague occasionally asked about individual Variants, but more out of curiosity than anything else. The only real reason the two-star was involved in MAJESTIC-12 at all was because he had nominal command over the old Indian Springs Army Air Force Station that ultimately became Area 51. It was his Air Force personnel who kept the place secure, kept the scientists and Variants fed, and provided all the infrastructure needed to keep the place going.
But Danny also knew quite well t
hat Montague was Jim Forrestal’s eyes and ears at Area 51, and that Forrestal and Danny’s boss, Director Hillenkoetter, had little respect for each other.
Danny got up and headed out of his office to go see his clerk, who immediately snapped to attention. “You know where Dr. Bronk is, Airman?” Danny asked.
“Labs, I think, sir. Said he was going to talk to Mrs. Stevens.”
Danny nodded and returned the man’s salute before walking off once more, this time out of the administrative building and into the main labs, passing through two sets of ID checks and a pat-down before he was allowed to walk freely inside the massive hangar-sized building. Danny was perhaps the most widely recognized person at Area 51, but even still, they took security seriously.
He paused to look in on the main lab, where the anomaly was housed. It remained utterly inscrutable—a six-foot-by-six-foot swirl of white light in the middle of the room that, surprisingly, gave off little actual light. A series of magnetic containment generators, little two-by-two boxes hooked up to the electrical plant, sat on the floor, surrounding it. For whatever reason, the vortex always remained 37.473 inches above the ground, hovering, no matter how or when they moved it. Even when moved to other buildings or even ships, it stayed exactly that high above the decking.
It was a calamity of physics. Even Albert Einstein, consulted discreetly the previous year, said it had no business existing. And yet there it was.
A handful of techs sat at consoles, monitoring radio and radiation emissions. The techs looked bored; the vortex would randomly erupt in a burst of invisible emissions and swirl a bit more from time to time, but there was no discernible schedule to it. And so they waited. Meanwhile, Schreiber and his team likely were elsewhere in the building, concocting new experiments they hoped would finally get this impossible phenomenon to spill its secrets.
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