MJ-12

by Michael J. Martinez

  “They’ve chosen to be lapdogs, just like you,” Julia replied. “What happened to your hand?”

  Interesting. “Little accident, that’s all,” Danny said, brushing if off. “Now, I got several Variants out in the world doing great things. I want to be able to trust you and the others to do that, too. Have you ever stopped to think about what you’d be doing if we hadn’t picked you up?”

  Julia actually laughed at this. “I’d be sunning myself on the Riviera in front of my very own mansion.”

  “That’s quite a way to spin being on the run from the authorities.”

  “At least it would be my choice.”

  Danny regarded her hard for a long moment. “I’ve been clear with you from the very beginning: either you play ball with us and get to live your life as you see fit with a few important but reasonable limits, or you don’t and you’re stuck here. Probably for good. And that’s not just you. That goes for the others, too. You know damn well they have families. I for one would like them to be able to see them again, wouldn’t you?”

  Julia stared daggers at Danny but said nothing.

  “I’m going to take a leap of faith with you, Julia. I’m shutting down the null-fields for a while. You and your team will be able to use your Enhancements again as you wish, though always within the rules Dr. Bronk set up for you. I’m giving you this as a gesture of goodwill,” he lied. “Don’t make me regret it.”

  Danny stood up and left the meeting room without waiting for a response. He figured the others on Julia’s team could be easily contained even without the null-fields on, but Julia … she could conceivably take off at any time. He’d have to figure out a way to get some kind of null-field going at a moment’s notice. Maybe … He pulled a little notebook from his jacket and made a quick scribble. He’d ask Mrs. Stevens about it later—whenever Hillenkoetter deigned to give her back.

  On his way back to his office, Danny stopped by the small, secure closet where the telex from Washington was kept, and saw that the little red message light above the door was on. It took a key and two combination locks for him to open it—only three people at Area 51 even had keys. Once inside, he pulled the paper off the printer, scanned it quickly … and smiled.

  Danny took it slow, pouring himself a cup of lukewarm coffee and sitting down in his office to read the orders carefully. After about fifteen minutes, he got up and sauntered to the door, orders in hand, and made his way out of the administration building. For once, the sun felt good on his face as he walked over to the security outpost, where two MPs saluted smartly as he entered.

  The desk sergeant inside looked up and grunted. “Commander, you mind telling me what the hell is going on?”

  “Where are they?” Danny asked.

  “Back in the cell where we keep the drunk and disorderlies,” the sergeant said. “They told me working this post would be crazy.”

  “They weren’t lying,” Danny said as he walked through the office door and into the holding area.

  Major General Montague and Defense Secretary Johnson were locked inside the cell. Montague bolted to his feet, his face red with fury. “Wallace, you got five seconds to unlock this cell before I have you shot for treason!” Montague shouted.

  Danny saluted smartly but didn’t bother waiting for a response. “Secretary Johnson, General Montague. I apologize for the inconvenience, but your detention is in line with standing security orders given by National Command Authority.”

  Johnson also stood and looked at Wallace with a politician’s smile. “How is it exactly, Commander, that detaining the Secretary of Defense is in line with orders here?”

  I’m glad you asked, Louie. “All unauthorized personnel attempting to access the main research hangar at Area 51 are to be immediately detained and held until such time as their clearance can be verified. And that’s what happened here.”

  “I’m cleared for MAJESTIC-12!” Montague roared.

  “Yes, sir, you are, but Secretary Johnson is not. And by attempting to allow him access, you violated orders, orders which can only be overturned by National Command Authority. Also, pursuant to those orders, I contacted National Command Authority to determine the security clearance of Secretary Johnson with regard to the project—the name of which, I should add, I can neither confirm nor deny as being the one the General just mentioned.”

  “You’re enjoying this, you little shit!” Montague snarled.

  “Fulfilling my duty is its own reward, sir,” Danny replied, straight-faced. “In contacting National Command Authority, I received a secure wire with new orders. They are as follows.” He then read directly off the fax.

  1) SECDEF JOHNSON IS NOT CLEARED FOR ACCESS TO ANY PROJECTS UNDERWAY AT AREA 51. HIS PRESENCE AND ACCESS IS LIMITED ONLY TO NON-PROJECT AREAS UNTIL SUCH TIME AS HE DEPARTS THE FACILITY.

  2) SECDEF JOHNSON IS ORDERED TO RETURN TO WASHINGTON IMMEDIATELY. ONCE ARRIVED, HE IS TO REPORT DIRECTLY TO THE PRESIDENT.

  3) MJG MONTAGUE IS RELIEVED OF DUTY AS COMMANDER, AREA 51. LTG VANDENBERG IS APPOINTED ACTING COMMANDER, AREA 51, UNTIL PERMANENT APPOINTMENT IS MADE.

  4) MJG MONTAGUE IS NO LONGER CLEARED FOR ACCESS TO ANY PROJECTS UNDERWAY AT AREA 51. HIS PRESENCE AND ACCESS IS LIMITED ONLY TO NON-PROJECT AREAS UNTIL SUCH TIME AS HE DEPARTS THE FACILITY.

  5) MJG MONTAGUE IS TO RETURN IMMEDIATELY TO ALBUQUERQUE AFB, WHERE HE WILL AWAIT FURTHER ORDERS FROM LTG VANDENBERG.

  6) CMDR WALLACE IS REINSTATED AS EXECUTIVE OFFICER, AREA 51, AND IS TASKED WITH ASSISTING IN THE FULFILLMENT OF THESE ORDERS.

  (SIGNED) TRUMAN

  Danny finished reading and handed off the paper through the bars; Montague, now looking ashen, snatched it from his hand and huddled with Johnson to read it. Meanwhile, Danny poked his head through the door and addressed the desk sergeant. “Let’s get these gentlemen out of here, Sergeant, and have them escorted back to their aircraft. Note in the log that General Montague is no longer cleared for any project matters on base.”

  When he turned back, he saw both men looking angry—and maybe a little scared.

  “Son, if you had simply talked to us about this,” Johnson said, “we might have avoided all this nonsense.”

  “I tried, Mr. Secretary,” Danny said. “Nobody listened. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure the paperwork on all this is gonna be a bitch.”

  Danny saluted once more, turned, and walked off, relishing at least one decent-sized victory.

  July 26, 1949

  Maggie waited outside President Truman’s office, Mrs. Stevens fidgeting nervously next to her on the well-appointed couch. Both wore their Sunday best, and both were armed to the teeth with briefcases full of transcripts and reel-to-reel tapes. Neither of them wanted to be there—but they both knew their futures teetered in the balance.

  “It’s not fair,” Maggie muttered.

  “What’s not fair, sweetie?” Mrs. Stevens said in her best maternal voice.

  Maggie cast a quick look over at the President’s secretary, who was busy typing away, and at the Secret Service man at the door. “This whole investigation—it wasn’t just about patching a leak. It was about testing us. Clearing our names. All of us. Making sure we’re trustworthy.”

  “And we are! I think we’ve done that,” Mrs. Stevens said. “You should be proud of what we’ve done, not just for us but for everyone else, too.”

  “Yeah, but we’ll have to do it again. And again. It won’t stop,” Maggie said. “Every single time something goes wrong with a Variant, we’ll be under the gun until we prove we’re in the right. No benefit of the doubt, no innocent before proven guilty. None of that stuff. We’re guilty until we can prove otherwise. And God forbid if one of us actually fucks up.”

  “Language!” Mrs. Stevens whispered quickly. “We’re in the White House!”

  Maggie rolled her eyes hard. “Five bucks says the President’s said worse.”

  “Well, sure, but he’s a man. And he’s in a stressful job. Even the best of us can slip up from time to t
ime,” she replied.

  “Point is, even if we’re cleared now, I think it’s only a matter of time …”

  “Until?”

  Maggie didn’t get a chance to answer; the door to the Oval Office opened and Hillenkoetter appeared. “Ladies, let’s go.”

  The two got up, smoothed their skirts, and picked up their briefcases before entering Truman’s office. Inside, Truman and General Vandenberg were sharing a laugh about something. Two Secret Service agents were posted off to one side, fully alert. That was new—usually Truman didn’t have them around during meetings. They typically peered through a little keyhole from another room instead.

  “Don’t mind the agents, Miss Dubinsky,” Truman said as he came around his desk to shake their hands. “You never know how these things will go sometimes.”

  Maggie smirked a bit. “That’d be interesting.”

  “Yes, it would. Though I imagine you’d have a handle on it before they could draw,” the President said.

  “Maybe. How fast are they?”

  “Let’s hope we don’t find out. How are you, Mrs. Stevens? That portable recorder of yours is impressive, to say the least.”

  “Oh! Well, thank you, Mr. President! You know, I think with the right application of solid-state technology, we might get a lot of our electronics smaller. And I’ve been tinkering with some ideas on batteries that could—”

  “Yes, yes, that sounds swell, Mrs. Stevens,” Truman said quickly. “Why don’t you and Miss Dubinsky have a seat here? I believe everyone else is cooling their heels in other parts of the building. Hilly, let’s get ’em all in here.”

  Maggie watched with bemusement as, one by one, the targets of their investigation came marching through the door of the Oval Office. Louis Johnson was first, Frank Wisner right behind him. Both men were greeted brusquely by the President; no handshakes were offered. Next came Senator McCarthy, who at least received a handshake from Truman and a comfortable armchair. J. Edgar Hoover was the last to enter, all swagger and business, walking right up to Truman with his hand extended; the two shook, and the FBI Director took the chair right next to Truman’s desk—where Hillenkoetter had been sitting just a moment before.

  Maggie reached out with her mind to take the President’s temperature, so to speak. He was angry and a little nervous, and he had an undeniably deep-seated hatred of Hoover. Maggie decided then and there that if Truman ran for a second full term in ’52, he’d have her vote. She’d even wear a button.

  “All right, gentlemen, let’s get to it,” Truman said, sitting down behind his desk. “You know how I keep saying, ‘The buck stops here,’ right? Well, it applies to everybody in this room right now. If I hear any excuses or alibis or passing the buck, I’ll have your resignations on your way out the door. And yes, Senator, that goes for you, too. Don’t think I can’t do it.”

  McCarthy looked surprise. “Now, Harry, what’s going on? I—”

  Truman sat bolt upright. “Senator, I am the President of the United States, and you will address me as such, you hear me? This isn’t the Senate floor, and this certainly isn’t the Capital Grille, where I know you’ve been spending some time with these gentlemen here.”

  Hoover’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. President, have you placed us under surveillance?”

  Truman actually smiled at Hoover, and Maggie got the sense he was enjoying this a bit. “For the government to conduct surveillance over citizens within the United States, there would need to be an appropriate warrant, and the surveillance conducted by a proper law enforcement agency.

  “So, to answer your question, yes,” Truman added, taking out a thin blue paper from a folder on his desk. “This is the warrant from D.C. Circuit Court. And these two ladies are with the Secret Service. Maybe you recognize them?”

  All four men gave Maggie and Mrs. Stevens a good hard look. Only McCarthy had a spark of recognition that Maggie could sense, but he kept his mouth shut.

  Truman continued. “Each of you has been recorded discussing something that you’ve been calling MAJESTIC-12, and doing so in some detail. This meeting is not for me to confirm or deny the existence of this project or its nature but is instead to determine whether I order the Secret Service to arrest anybody for mishandling classified information and, quite possibly, treason. Now, let’s start with Mr. Wisner here. Where did you first hear about this alleged project?”

  Wisner was sitting stiffly, a bit of sweat at his brow that had little to do with the summer heat outside. “I first heard about the operation from Senator McCarthy in private right after a Foreign Relations Committee briefing, Mr. President.”

  Truman turned to McCarthy. “Same question, Senator.”

  Shifting in his chair, McCarthy seemed to ponder his words before speaking. “While I hate to speak ill of the dead, Mr. President, I have to say, it was Jim Forrestal who first told me about it.”

  “I see. Director Hoover?”

  Frowning as he fidgeted with a pen, Hoover simply said, “Forrestal.”

  “And Secretary Johnson, who told you about this project before you stormed off to the desert this past weekend on a fool’s errand?”

  By this point, Johnson was hunched forward in his seat, looking down at his shoes; Maggie could sense the genuine panic in the man’s chest and wondered if he was going to have a heart attack on the spot. “I was invited to a meeting a few weeks ago with these three gentlemen. They wanted to brief me on the project.”

  Truman walked forward toward Johnson. “A project you’re not cleared for. A project none of you are cleared for.”

  Johnson finally looked up. “Sir, with all due respect, you appointed me Secretary of Defense. The Senate confirmed it. Why would you keep something like this from me? After all we’ve been through together.”

  Truman actually put a hand on Johnson’s shoulder. “Louis, you did a lot to help me over the years, especially with the election. And I’m grateful for that. But you and I both know you’re a politician, first and foremost. I appointed you to cut budgets and battle Congress, not fight wars or oversee classified projects. And both of us know you got a big mouth.”

  Truman turned to the others in the room. “I’m going to ask you, each of you, one more question, and by God, you’d better tell the truth. Did any of you have anything to do with the death of Jim Forrestal? If you don’t fess up now and we find out later, I’ll make sure you get the chair.”

  Each of the men in the room registered shock at this, and Maggie probed their emotions carefully as they spoke. All denied their involvement, and while Maggie wasn’t exactly a lie detector, she didn’t sense anything off about their reactions. Maggie glanced over at Mrs. Stevens, who’d made a quick study of body language and reactions over the past few weeks. Mrs. Stevens shook her head. They didn’t do it.

  Truman looked over at Maggie, who simply nodded.

  “All right,” the President said. “I believe you. Now, you likely heard a lot of nonsense about little green men or superheroes or whatever nonsense Jim Forrestal told you. Jim was my friend and a courageous, loyal American. But the job took a toll on him, and I’m willing to bet he told you a couple of humdingers about this MAJESTIC-12 thing.”

  “Mr. President—” Hoover began, but Truman cut him off with a hand.

  “In the interest of national security and the public trust, I know each of you will refrain from discussing any of this nonsense moving forward. If you do—and don’t think we won’t find out about it—we have ample evidence already to ensure you’ll each do jail time for violating national security. Do I make myself clear?”

  All four men nodded; none of them had words at this point.

  “Mr. Wisner, I’ve decided the Office of Policy Coordination within the State Department will be folded into the Central Intelligence Agency. As of this moment, I’m placing you under the direct command of Director Hillenkoetter here. I’ll let Dean Acheson know myself. It’ll be up to Hilly here to figure out what you’ll do after your office is merged. That’
ll be all, thank you.”

  Wisner nodded nervously and stood; Hillenkoetter walked over to the door and let him out, closing it behind him.

  “Senator,” Truman said, turning to McCarthy. “I suggest that you focus your attentions on Capitol Hill elsewhere. Otherwise, you might find yourself facing very well-funded opponents when you’re up for reelection. Primary and general.”

  McCarthy stood. “Mr. President, these people … Our country is in danger.”

  “Yes, it is, Senator. Which is why we have talented people to help us defend it. Now, again, not a word of this to anyone, or so help me, I’ll make your life hell. I won’t enjoy doing it, but don’t think for a minute that will stop me. Thanks for coming by.”

  Mouth agape, McCarthy paused for a long, confused moment before finally storming toward the door. Hillenkoetter closed it behind him with a smirk.

  “Louis, if I ever catch you sticking your nose into something you’re not cleared for again, I’ll fire you on the spot. As it stands, General Vandenberg here tells me there’s been some irregularities regarding acquisitions for the Air Force under your watch. Something about a company you’re tied up with?”

  “Now, Harry—”

  Truman stood right up to Johnson, looking up at the man with controlled anger on his face. “If you don’t fix it, Louis, I’ll be asking you to resign soon enough. You have one more chance. Otherwise, you’ll be done here and done with politics. Understood?”

  Johnson’s face visibly sagged. “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “Thank you, Louis. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a word with Director Hoover here.”

  Johnson trudged out of the office. Hoover was simply sitting and watching, his bulldog face alert but yielding nothing. Inside, Maggie could sense he was nervous, though not as much as the others. She figured J. Edgar was probably a fine poker player.

  That reminds me, I need to get to Vegas, she thought idly. Meanwhile, Truman went back to his desk and sat. “So, Director, what are we going to do about this?”

  Hoover gave a slight smile. “Mr. President, the FBI has a mission to investigate federal crimes in the United States. That won’t change.”