MJ-12

by Michael J. Martinez

  ACCORDING TO COPELAND, THERE IS SOME NATURAL POLITICAL ALIGNMENT BETWEEN ZA’IM AND SAADEH--A GREATER SYRIA, FOR EXAMPLE, THAT RELIES LESS ON RELIGION AND MORE ON A SHARED SOCIAL CONTRACT. IT IS COPELAND’S OPINION THAT ZA’IM SEEKS TO “HEDGE HIS BETS” IN LEBANON, HOPING TO PROTECT AND ENCOURAGE A LIKE-MINDED POLITICIAN WITHOUT AGGRAVATING THE CURRENT GOVERNMENT, UNTIL SUCH TIME AS ZA’IM IS SECURE ENOUGH IN HIS POSITION TO EFFECT A UNION WITH LEBANON.

  AS A GESTURE OF GOODWILL IN THIS, ZA’IM HAS GIVEN THE NECESSARY APPROVALS TO BEGIN CONSTRUCTION OF THE TRANS-ARABIAN PIPELINE (TAPLINE) IN SYRIAN TERRITORY. HE HAS ALSO OFFERED HIS VERBAL COMMITMENT TO RESETTLING UP TO 250,000 PALESTINIAN REFUGEES FROM THEIR FORMER TERRITORIES IN THE STATE OF ISRAEL.

  RECOMMENDATIONS

  WE BELIEVE ZA’IM WISHES TO CONSOLIDATE POWER IN SYRIA QUICKLY, AND MAY WISH TO PURSUE A “GREATER SYRIA” POLICY. UNIFICATION WITH LEBANON MAY BE A FIRST STEP, AND THIS MAY BE FOLLOWED BY EFFORTS TO ABSORB TRANSJORDAN, IRAQ, AND ISRAEL. GIVEN ZA’IM’S ALLIANCE WITH THE UNITED STATES, BROKERED BY COPELAND, THIS WOULD POSITION A PRO-WESTERN GOVERNMENT AS THE PREEMINENT POWER IN THE REGION, BUT MAY ALSO THREATEN ISRAEL.

  MISS SILVERMAN, IN SHAKING HANDS WITH ZA’IM AT THE END OF OUR MOST RECENT ENCOUNTER, HAS DETECTED WHAT SHE DESCRIBED AS A GREAT DEAL OF PACING AND NERVOUS ENERGY ON HIS PART, FOLLOWED BY PERIODS OF LETHARGY AND INERTIA. SHE REMARKED AS THOUGH SHE WAS SHAKING HANDS WITH TWO DIFFERENT PEOPLE. THIS MAY IMPLY A MANIC-DEPRESSIVE STATE THAT BEARS CLOSE WATCHING.

  WE RECOMMEND THAT MYSELF AND MR HOOKS ACCOMPANY MR MEADE TO BEIRUT AS PART OF THE RECONAISSANCE ON SAADEH. THE THREE OF US WOULD BE WELL POSITIONED TO PROTECT SAADEH IF ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY, BUT WE WOULD ONLY USE FORCE AS A LAST RESORT. THIS WOULD ALSO GIVE US THE OPPORTUNITY TO BETTER UNDERSTAND THE LEBANESE GOVERNMENT AND THE GREATER SYRIA NATION, AND TO GET A DIFFERENT VIEW OF ZA’IM AS WELL.

  WE FURTHER RECOMMEND MISS SILVERMAN REMAIN IN DAMASCUS UNDER HER CURRENT COVER, WITH COPELAND AS HER LIAISON. COPELAND HAS BEEN INSTRUCTED IN OUR CURRENT CONTACT TECHNIQUES, AND HAS BEEN TOLD NOT TO BREAK FROM THEM UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE. MISS SILVERMAN WILL CONTINUE TO INVESTIGATE ZA’IM’S CURRENT MENTAL STATE THROUGH HER COVERAGE OF THE SYRIAN GOVERNMENT ON BEHALF OF THE JERUSALEM POST AND AP.

  IF MISS DUBINKSY CAN BE SPARED, WE WOULD REQUEST SHE RETURN TO DAMASCUS UNDER PREVIOUS COVER TO GAIN FURTHER INFORMATION ON THE CURRENT SYRIAN GOVERNMENT AND ITS POWER STRUCTURE, ALONGSIDE MISS SILVERMAN.

  FINALLY, WE REQUEST CMDR WALLACE VISIT BEIRUT IN THE NEAR FUTURE TO ASSIST IN THE SEARCH FOR ANY VARIANTS IN THE CITY.

  (SIGNED) LT FRANK LODGE USA

  April 27, 1949

  Danny smiled as he read over Frank’s dispatch along with Hillenkoetter’s much more recent response. All MAJESTIC-12 activities were now going through National Command Authority—the President—so Truman himself had to sign off on Frank’s plan. To Danny’s surprise, Frank got most of what he wanted. He and Cal would go to Beirut to check out Saadeh and see what Za’im saw in the guy, while Zippy would stay behind and keep an eye on things in Damascus.

  Truman still had Maggie and Mrs. Stevens investigating the MAJESTIC-12 leaks, but he seemed to be pleased with their progress and was keeping them on the case. Before going to visit with Forrestal himself at Bethesda, though, they needed to follow through on their work to determine the identity of “Joe on Capitol Hill”; Truman remained concerned enough about his former Defense Secretary to spare him interrogation until absolutely necessary.

  Checking for possible Variants in Beirut was tempting—especially with the odd shadow-play lingering in his mind after the quick visit to Damascus—but Danny knew he had far too much to do at Area 51.

  He slid the dispatches into his secure garbage can—a lidded metal container with a lock and a slot. They’d get burned later. He then turned back to the massive stack of papers and notebooks on his desk, which he’d been going through assiduously for weeks now.

  They were Kurt Schreiber’s notes. All of them. Going back more than two years.

  Danny had never liked the idea of having a former Nazi at Area 51, despite his research into enhanced humans and the success he’d had with the Berlin vortex—in fact, it remained an open question as to whether Schreiber had actually helped usher the vortex into existence or just happened to be at the right place at the right time.

  The notebooks were voluminous; Schreiber was a true scientist in that he recorded every single observation about everything. Every experiment on the vortex, every conversation with his fellow scientists, detailed notes on every meeting with the brass. Much of this was in German, which Danny had studied during the war as part of his assignment to Naval Intelligence, but even with that background, a well-thumbed German-English paperback dictionary had come in handy often.

  He was amused that Schreiber seemed to refer to Danny as Welpe in his notes—“puppy.” More troubling was the term he used for Variants: neue Gotter, or “new gods.” And POSEIDON was noted as Gottgriff or “God’s grasp.” Yet there wasn’t much in the way of worship in Schreiber’s journals. Rather, it seemed like he believed that the “gods” he talked of were something attainable, perhaps something to aspire to, and that finding a way to understand—or even trigger—the vortex was the key to that ascension.

  The MAJESTIC-12 science team had already established a sound theory of causality between the vortex’s irregular emissions and the emergence of Variants in the general populace. At seemingly random intervals—usually anywhere between three weeks and four months—the vortex would erupt in a series of broad-spectrum, non-ionized radiation emissions, and once the direction was tracked down, a new Variant would eventually be found. There were some emissions that didn’t have a Variant attached yet; the working assumption was that the abilities bestowed were so minor or so unobtrusive that the MAJESTIC-12 program might never locate them. But there was also the pesky question marks around the Variants being discovered who didn’t correlate to any known emission, which meant that they were either Enhanced prior to the vortex’s arrival at Area 51 from Hiroshima, or were somehow empowered by the Berlin vortex, now in the hands of the Soviets in Leningrad.

  But Schreiber was pursuing something very distinct—the triggering of the vortex. He’d gotten close when they dropped a test nuke on that poor sap the past winter; the readings he’d recorded were very close to those just prior to an emission, even though an emission had never come.

  Schreiber had theories on that, Danny saw as he carefully made his way through the notebooks. He felt that the death toll wasn’t high enough. He wanted to place the vortex in the middle of a nuclear test with a larger number of human subjects—to basically see just how many people had to die to purposefully trigger the vortex.

  Danny was aghast at this at first, especially once he realized one night, staring up at his ceiling, that if Schreiber had come up with such a theory—the hypothesis that enough deaths would result in triggering the vortex, and thus Enhancement—then the Russians might have also stumbled across something similar.

  Schreiber also suspected that Variants could be the key to triggering the vortex, whether it was their presence or even, more permanently, their deaths. If Variants somehow carried the energies of the vortex within them—a theory far from proven, given that no Variant studied showed any kind of non-ionized radiation signature—then those energies could very well trigger a response.

  Ultimately, no matter how it happened, Schreiber’s clear plan was to turn the vortex into a Variant factory, triggering energy emissions and targeting them into individuals willing to be Empowered. He wanted to create super-soldiers with strange paranormal abilities, a veritable army of them.

  There was no record of any conversation about this with Forrestal, which didn’t surprise Danny too much; even Schreiber would’ve known not to leave a paper trail behind for something like that. But Danny also didn’t find it hard to imagine that Forrestal would’ve been hugely intrigued—and massively appalled as well. Danny didn’t know the man well; from
their infrequent interactions, he had a hunch Forrestal truly feared Variants, but also that he would’ve ultimately chosen the super-army over discretion, if only because he knew the Russians would do the same thing.

  Capturing Schreiber in the act had likely saved a lot of lives, and Bronk believed his notes would give the research team new avenues to explore. Danny was 100 percent certain that Bronk was no Schreiber, and that was all Danny could ask for right now.

  But there was one part of Schreiber’s notes that Danny couldn’t quite decipher, a series of discussions with someone called “Vanda,” who Danny couldn’t for the life of him identify. He’d managed to connect all the rest of the names and cute little nicknames to actual people at Area 51 and elsewhere, but “Vanda” remained unaccounted for.

  The nature of the discussions was pretty esoteric. Apparently, Schreiber and Vanda had discussed, in great detail, some of Schreiber’s theories about death and the vortex, which Vanda apparently confirmed and, in a few cases, expanded upon. Vanda had even suggested that the vortex wasn’t just an unknown phenomenon of physics but also some sort of gateway.

  To what, neither Vanda nor Schreiber knew. There was speculation about another layer of reality, and a passage that Danny roughly translated as “shadows dwelling behind the curtain of our perceptions.”

  Shadows.

  Ever since Damascus, Danny had had shadows on the brain. What he’d seen in Syria had triggered his Enhancement in a very unusual, erratic way. There hadn’t been Variants there—he was certain of that—but when he searched, he could practically feel something skittering away at the edges of his perception. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

  Two days earlier, he’d gone to visit Schreiber in his quarters, where he was being held under house arrest ever since Danny had returned from Damascus. It wasn’t their first visit, and Schreiber had previously acted amused by Danny’s line of questions, even sarcastically pretending to play host, offering Danny tea while German classical music played on his phonograph. This time, though, had been different.

  “Who is Vanda?” Danny had asked without ceremony.

  This caught Schreiber off guard, and he held a cup and saucer in front of him for several long seconds before putting it down on the table. “Commander, do you really think I’m going to help you?” he’d asked.

  Danny had shrugged. “You know as well as I do that we have the means to get pretty much any information out of you that we want, Doctor.”

  “Yes, you do, but you haven’t the will to use it,” Schreiber had retorted. “The Nazis would’ve gotten it out of me weeks ago and I would already be dead. The Soviets, the same. But you? You are soft and it is because of that I feel quite comfortable here, thank you.

  “And besides,” he’d added. “The two most effective Variants you have for this sort of thing are not here, are they? If your precious Maggie were around, she might be able to get me to talk, though I think she would underestimate me, yes? And of course, Frank Lodge could manage, but I wonder if I might yet find a way to keep things from him in death. I would certainly try, anyway, knowing what was coming.”

  Danny had paused, running through the roster of Variants in his mind, finding Schreiber’s conclusions inescapably correct. “Well, then, Doctor,” he’d said, standing. “I suppose we’ll have to get one of them back and find out. Maggie first, of course. And then if that doesn’t work, I’ll personally kill you so Frank can get to work.”

  Schreiber had just smiled his spooky Cheshire Cat smile. “Until then, Commander.”

  After that, Danny had reported the conversation and his suspicions to Hillenkoetter, who reported back that Danny was to sit on every bit of it—Schreiber’s research, his theories about death and triggering the vortex, “Vanda,” all of it—until it could be sorted out. If Schreiber was in touch with Montague and Forrestal, then it was possible that other members of MAJESTIC-12 had collaborated with Schreiber, and that meant the number of trustworthy folks was narrowing considerably.

  So, Danny sat on it, for the most part. Bronk was helping with the translation and interpretation of Schreiber’s notes, but Danny kept the “Vanda” entries to himself. And Hamilton was told only to keep Schreiber under lock and key—and far away from where POSEIDON was being held.

  A knock on his office door brought Danny back to the here and now. “Come.”

  Bronk entered, holding a small box and a couple of notebooks. His thin face was alight with excitement. “Think you need to see this, Dan.”

  Bronk set the box down on the desk—Danny could feel cold radiating from the little cardboard box, something that looked like it held sugar or flour or something. It looked like it had been in the refrigerator for some reason.

  “What’s this?” Danny asked.

  Bronk opened it, and Danny saw a couple of glass vials inside with dark crimson fluid in them. Blood. “Found this in the infirmary, in the back of the refrigerator there, away from other samples. It was taped down. Looked like it was there a while. I think it’s POSEIDON’s blood.”

  Danny’s eyes went wide. “How can you tell?”

  “These notebooks,” Bronk said, holding up one of the composition books. “Came across a passage here in a note from late February. I think Schreiber got POSEIDON to donate some blood to the cause.”

  “For what?”

  “I think he wanted to toss it in the vortex,” Bronk said, flipping through the notebook to another passage. “If his theory is correct—that there’s an intrinsic relationship between the vortex and the Variants, and that Variants can somehow possess aspects of the vortex’s energy—then it stands that the blood might hold traces of that energy and that Variant blood might trigger something in the vortex.”

  Danny leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers and thinking. “OK. I want that blood secured until we test it. We’ll need to get another sample from POSEIDON to compare. I’ll have you do that.”

  “And then what?”

  “Don’t know,” Danny admitted. “I admit, I’m tempted to see if Schreiber is right. But I’d need more data before I bring that to the folks in Washington.”

  Bronk nodded. “All right. What about—”

  The scientist was interrupted by Danny’s Air Force clerk barging into the office. “Commander! We got a situation down at training area two! Major Hamilton is asking you get over there ASAP.”

  Frowning, Danny bolted up and grabbed his jacket—a linen suitcoat mostly to keep the sun off his arms—and headed out. “Secure those samples, Det,” he called out behind him. “Lock it down tight!”

  Ten minutes later, Danny was at the gate of TA2, having driven at top speed across the Groom Lake salt flats. Before he even got out of the jeep, he could see the four Variants there—Sorensen, Vanoverbeke, Yamato, and Julia Meyer—sitting on the ground in the middle of the exercise area. They were in training fatigues, soiled and sweaty, each of them looked grimly determined as they stared at their hands or the sand on the ground. Six armed guards surrounded them in a wide circle, while Major Hamilton was yelling at them in his best Marine voice.

  Danny got out of the jeep and jogged over. “Major! A word, please.”

  Hamilton turned his back on the group and walked over, red-faced and furious. “Commander, we got a problem with these yahoos.”

  “Easy, Hollywood,” Danny said with a smile, looking up at the taller man. “What’s going on?”

  “Mutiny,” Hamilton spat. “Just decided about a half-hour ago that they weren’t gonna play ball anymore. Dropped to the turf and just sat there. I yelled at them, stripped their privileges, promised holy hell and a dark hole for each of ’em. Nothing. Just sitting there.”

  Danny nodded. They’d been training Variants at Area 51 for over a year now, and he’d honestly been surprised there hadn’t been anything like this before. “They use their abilities at all?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. I had a couple of the guys bring null-units over anyway to be sure.”

  “
Smart,” Danny allowed. “The other sites?”

  “TA One and Three both secure; trainees there still at it. No unusual activity.”

  “All right. Get the MPs out of here and take the null-units with them. I’m gonna go have a chat with ’em. Keep eyes on us from the tower, but get everyone else out of sight.”

  Hamilton nodded and gave a shout for the guards, who sullenly stood down and retreated into other areas of the training area. Danny knew well that the guards would have eyes and weapons trained on the group regardless, and that a working null-unit could be tossed among them pretty quickly.

  Danny walked over to the four Variants and took a seat on the ground on front of them, crossing his legs Indian-style and giving them a little smile. “All right, you guys. You got something on your minds. I’m listening.”

  Unsurprisingly, Julia was the first to speak. “We don’t want to be here anymore.”

  Danny nodded. “Care to elaborate on that?”

  Yamato spoke up. “I spent the war in internment, Commander. Now it’s over, four years gone, and I’m still in internment. Just for a different reason. Meanwhile, California’s going gangbusters, lots of jobs, lots of ways to make a good living. I want to go back to that.”

  “How you going to do that, Rick?” Danny asked.

  Yamato nodded over at Sorenson. “Tim’s been giving me some tips on being an electrician. He was thinking about heading west before you found him. So, maybe he and I head down to San Diego, set up shop. I got some natural talent there, you know.” Smiling, Yamato opened his hand and produced a little arc of white lightning that danced between his fingers.

  “That you do,” Danny said, still smiling and trying to keep things light. “How are you feeling, Christina?”

  Vanoverbeke, a small, slight blonde woman, just shook her head. “I’m not getting any younger, Commander Wallace. So what if I can jump a country mile? Ain’t gonna help me get a gig singing. These are my prime years here. That window to Broadway isn’t gonna stay open forever.”