‘Feeling okay?’ she asked him.
‘Sure.’
‘When are we going to New York to see your kids? I sure like those visits.’
Bradley shrugged, then winced. Even shrugging could hurt like hell. ‘Christmas,’ he said, remembering the submarine in the harbour of Kiel, the icily sardonic SS captain, the fuse spluttering toward the truck piled with corpses, then the stupendous explosion... ‘We’ll go see them at Christmas. They’re looking forward to seeing you again. We’ll have a real family holiday.’ He’d awakened hours later, pulled back to life by pain, and found himself half buried under rubble with a lot of bones broken. He’d been rescued, of course – the Allies and Soviets had met in Kiel – but he’d spent the next six months in a US Army hospital in Frankfurt, then been shipped home, to New York, for a long and painful convalescence.
All that, and he still hadn’t seen Wilson, didn’t know what he looked like. It was hard to take.
‘What are all those notes?’ Gladys asked him, indicating the pile of papers on his desk.
Bradley had a sip of whiskey. ‘I’m just finishing off my research on the members of Projekt Saucer... on what happened to them.’
‘Anything interesting?’
‘So so. It’s known that Rudolph Schriever and his team were trying to construct a flying saucer in the BMW plant near Prague, were hoping to test it in 1945, but had to destroy it in the face of the Soviet advance. When the Soviets took Prague, the saucer team all went their separate ways. As far as I can gather, Habermohl was captured and has disappeared into the Soviet Union; Miethe surrendered to the Allies and now works for the A. V. Roe Aeronautical Company in Malton, Ontario; and Schriever managed to make his way back home and has recently, from the safety of his home at Hokerstrasse 28 in Bremerhaven-Lehe, been telling the press that the flying saucers now being seen all over the place are based on his original Projekt Saucer designs.’
‘Schriever doesn’t mention Wilson?’
‘Nope. Not a word.’
‘And the others have vanished from the face of the earth?’
‘More or less,’ Bradley said. ‘My only clue is that damned German submarine, U-977, which docked at Mar Del Plata, Argentina, on August 17, 1945. According to its commander, Captain Heinz Schaeffer, it had put out from Kiel harbour in late April 1945 and arrived in Argentina after an epic voyage of nearly four months. According to the Argentine authorities, their inspection of the submarine had revealed nothing unusual. However, given Peron’s fondness for Nazis, we have to treat what they say with some scepticism. Captain Schaeffer was later handed over to an AngloAmerican commission for intensive interrogations, during which he was asked if anyone of, quote, political importance, unquote, had been aboard his submarine during its final voyage. Naturally he denied all knowledge of everything.’
‘But you have your doubts.’
‘Well, we certainly know that an awful lot of fanatical Nazis have been given sanctuary in Argentina and Paraguay. So if Wilson was on that submarine – which he certainly was, if it was the same submarine that I saw leaving Kiel harbor – it’s possible that he disembarked at Mar Del Plata and went on to his final destination, wherever that might be, under the protective cloak of the Argentine government. And certainly there are rumours that a former Nazi named Ernst Stoll is currently living in seclusion in Paraguay.’
He glanced out the window again, at that flat, dark desert stretched out under a starlit sky, and thought of Goddard’s first rocket tests all those years ago, not too far from there. He shook his head, mystified by his own questions, then drank some more bourbon.
‘You know,’ he said, ‘it sometimes really scares me. In April 1945 Wilson disappears with his designs for a highly advanced saucershaped aircraft; then, on June 24 this year, a part-time pilot, Kenneth Arnold, reports seeing nine saucer-shaped objects flying over Mount Rainier in Washington State. Since then, similar UFOs have been observed all over the place, but mostly over New Mexico, right here where we live. Why?’
Gladys gave that familiar, laconic grin. ‘One theory is that they’re of Soviet origin,’ she said.
‘Well, the Soviets did capture the Peenemünde facility and a lot of its documentation and products – and they did ship more than six thousand German technical specialists of all kinds to various research centres throughout the Soviet Union – so we certainly know that they’re working with the V-2 rockets and other advanced German secret projects.’
‘So the theory,’ Gladys continued, ‘is that the flying saucers originate in the USSR and have been sent here to spy on our top-secret installations.’
‘Which theoretically explains the preponderance of UFO sightings in New Mexico.’
‘Exactly,’ Gladys said. ‘Right now New Mexico contains more of our postwar defence installations than any other part of the United States, including atomic research, aircraft, missile and rocket development, and a lot of highly advanced radar-electronics and stratospheric flight experimentation. The top-secret Manhattan atom bomb project is in Los Alamos. The White Sands Missile Range and Proving Range at Alamogordo is the most important of its kind in the United States. And we even have the only combat-trained atom bomb group in the world at this time: the 509th Bomb Group of the US Army Air Force Base, right here in Roswell, where Goddard flew his first real rockets. So, yes, if those flying saucers are spying on us, they’d certainly want to come here.’
‘The Soviets or Wilson’s group,’ Bradley said dreamily. ‘It sure as hell makes you think...’
He was just about to have another sip of his whiskey when the telephone rang. He picked it up and gave his name.
‘Bradley,’ a familiar voice said tersely, ‘you’d better get your ass over here.’
Bradley immediately recognized the voice as that of First Lieutenant William B. Harris, Flight Intelligence Officer of the Roswell Army Air Base.
‘What's up?’ he asked, glancing automatically at Gladys.
‘We’ve just been informed that a saucer-shaped aircraft crashed on the plains of San Augustin, between Magdalena and Socorro, New Mexico, about forty minutes ago.’
Bradley glanced at his wristwatch. It was just going on 10.30 p.m.
‘It’s probably just a Rawin weather balloon.’
‘No,’ Harris said firmly. ‘There are none up tonight. Besides, we tracked this thing on radar until it went down – and it was certainly no weather balloon. Also, the flight controller at the private airfield at Carrizozo, about thirty-five miles southwest of the crash site, called a few minutes before the crash to inform us that a saucer-shaped aircraft had flown over at an altitude of approximately four to six thousand feet, at a speed of about four hundred miles per hour. Some goddamned farmer’s already been out there and called from his home to say that what crashed is some sort of metallic, saucer-shaped object about twenty-five or thirty feet in diameter. He also said that there are dead bodies in the wreckage.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ Bradley whispered.
‘And right now,’ Harris continued, ‘at the insistence of General Hoyt Vandenburg, deputy chief of the air force, an intelligence team from the 509th Bomb Group of the Eighth Air Force is on its way to the crash site to pick up the pieces. Once they get it, you can rest assured that it’ll be flown out to either Carswell AFB, Forth Worth, or Wright-Paterson AFB in Dayton. So if we want to see what the hell it was, we better get out there fast.’
‘Where will I meet you?’
‘Right outside the main gate.’
‘I’m on my way,’ Bradley said. Excited, he put the phone down and stood up, saying to Gladys, ‘It’s too good to be true. Something saucershaped has crashed near Socorro. I’m meeting Bill Harris at the main gate of Roswell Army Air Base, then we’re going to drive the hell out there, so don’t wait up, honey.’
‘But I can’t sleep without your battered bones beside me.’
Bradley grinned. ‘Glad to hear it.’ He bent over and kissed her full on the lips, then straightened up a
nd looked down at her. ‘I owe that son of a bitch Wilson one thing,’ he said. ‘I found you when I was trying to find him. That’s a pretty good trade-off, right?’
‘I’m glad you think so,’ she said.
He grinned and waved his hand, then left the living room, grabbed his coat, and hurried out to his car and drove into the night.
The land was flat and featureless, windblown, with the dust swirling eerily, but the sky above it held an enormous moon and a spectacular display of stars. There were very few clouds, just some candy floss, here and there, but enough to cast shifting shadows on the desert floor.
Bradley drove fast, too excited to be careful, and enjoyed the feeling of power, of magical omnipotence, that came with being isolated from the world and moving through it at great speed. He loved the desert at night, its stark, lunar beauty; loved the play of shadow and light on its barren floor, which made it seem like a living thing.
So, he was enjoying the drive and feeling excited... Then he began to feel odd, no longer alone... aware of some unseen presence. ‘What the hell...?’
He spoke aloud to break the silence, or the silence contained within the beating wind, and automatically glanced at his rear-view mirror.
He saw only a cloud of billowing dust churned up by his wheels.
Nothing else... just the darkness... the stars seeming to move away... the sky unfolding radiantly in his wake as the car barrelled forward. Nothing else in the mirror.
Yet his heart started racing.
He glanced left and right, convinced that something was out there. He saw nothing and glanced up, where there was nothing unusual, and so concentrated on the road straight ahead, aware that he was sweating.
‘Dammit, Bradley,’ he said. ‘Imagination…That’s a dangerous thing.’
Talking to himself... talking aloud to calm his nerves.
There was nothing out there but moonlit darkness, starlit sky, shifting shadows...
No, something was out there… What was that? Something moving. A flashing light. Growing bigger. Approaching... Yes, dammit, approaching!
He saw the light, then it was gone, though it hadn’t flashed on and off. It had flown from east to west at tremendous speed, then maybe shot upward – so fast it just disappeared.
Where was it now?
Bradley felt his skin crawling. His fear was an embarrassment. He was aware of something out there, couldn’t see it, but could feel it, and his hands became slippery on the steering wheel when his heart raced in panic.
He tried to convince himself that he was imagining it... but then, as his helpless fear deepened, something flashed in his eyes.
He almost swerved off the road, but blinked and straightened out. He squinted into the darkness, trying to see between the headlights. A pool of light brightened on the road beside the car, keeping abreast of it, speeding along and growing brighter and wider until it covered the whole road.
Bradley glanced up and was blinded by dazzling light.
Then he lost control.
‘Shit!’ he exclaimed, his voice reverberating in his head as he fought with the steering wheel. The car swerved off the road, out of the light, then back onto the road and into the light again. ‘Jesus Christ! What the…?’
The light disappeared abruptly. The car barrelled into the darkness. Its headlights had gone out and Bradley frantically worked the switch. Then a bass humming sound, an infrasound, almost physical, filled the car and tightened around his head as the engine cut out.
Bradley slammed on the brakes, went into a skid, straightened out, and was slowing down when something passed above, shot into the darkness ahead, then became an enormous, burning globe that froze right in front of him.
The car came to a halt. It just rolled to a stop. Bradley sat there, hardly believing what he was seeing, but too stunned to move.
He was looking at an enormous, glowing, saucer-shaped object that was hovering in midair along the road, almost as wide as the road. It had a silvery, metallic appearance, showed no surface protuberances, and seemed to possess a perfectly seamless surface beneath that eerie green glowing.
Bradley sat in the car, too stunned to move, mesmerized by that thing out there. Then that thing, the flying saucer, sank lower and settled on the ground. It didn’t appear to have any legs – it just settled down on its base – then the bass humming sound increased, tightening around Bradley’s head, and he saw a panel opening up in the base of the saucer.
First one, then two, then three black-clad figures dropped down and spread out across the road and walked steadily toward him.
Bradley was terrified.
He didn't know why: they were just people, after all. As they advanced deliberately upon him, he saw only that they were dressed completely in black, looked otherwise human, but were possessed of a frightening, calm intensity that seemed terribly unreal.
He wanted to get out of the car and flee, but he felt paralysed.
Then the infrasound faded away and the tightness left his head. He immediately reached for the ignition key and turned it, but heard only a dead click. He withdrew his fingers as if he’d been scorched. His heart was still racing dangerously. He licked sweat from his upper lip and shifted his gaze, taking in the three men.
One stopped right in front of the car, the other went to the far side, and the third walked around to stop by Bradley’s door.
When he bent down to look through the window, Bradley wanted to scream.
‘Roll the window down, Mr Bradley.’
The man’s voice was very soft. It was also oddly flat. It was the voice of a man with few feelings and a lot of authority. Bradley did as he was told. He didn’t seem to have a choice. That voice, though quiet and unemotional, would brook no disobedience. Bradley rolled the window down, his hand shaking, then stared at the man.
He had silver-gray hair, unnaturally smooth white skin, coldly handsome features, and hypnotic blue eyes.
‘You’re Mike Bradley,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ Bradley replied.
‘You were with the OSS during the war.’
‘That’s right,’ Bradley said.
The man smiled without warmth. ‘I believe you wanted to see me, Bradley. I’m told that your need to see me was an obsession that would not let you rest. Why was that?’
Bradley felt calmer now. Not too good, but in control. He felt paralysed, but the fear was less intense and allowed him to think.
‘You’re Wilson?’
The man smiled again, this time as if amused. ‘Why did you go to such lengths to find me? What did you hope to find?’
‘An answer,’ Bradley said.
‘An answer to what?’
‘I had to know if such a genius could be human or was some kind of mutant.’
‘Observe – I am human.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re not like us. You exist on some plane beyond humanity, where feelings don’t count.’
‘Feelings aren’t important. They belong back in the caves. Where we’re going – where the human race must go – only logic prevails. Science, Mr Bradley, not emotion, is what will lead us to glory.’
‘You’re evil.’
‘No, I’m not. To be evil, one must have feelings. Extreme feelings, I grant you, but feelings nevertheless, and since my mind has taken me beyond those, I cannot be evil. I am what I am, that I will be. I am nature’s child also.’
‘Nature can be brutal.’
‘Nature is. There’s no good or bad in it.’
Bradley studied Wilson’s face. He wanted to find the evil in it. He saw nothing but blue eyes that were brilliant with intelligence; handsome, unrevealing features; skin too smooth to be natural.
Otherwise, there was nothing.
‘Your world is dying, Mr Bradley. The world of pointless emotions. The new world, my world, is approaching and can’t be held back. It’s a world of pitiless logic, of truth, and that’s the way we must go. Science will take us there.’
He reac
hed into the car and pressed his fingers to Bradley’s forehead. ‘Stop pursuing me,’ he said. ‘It will do you no good. You will only be treated as a crank and have a very unfortunate life. Think of your wife, Bradley. I know her, I believe. Consider your married children and don’t make them endure your humiliation, since you can’t stop me anyway. My flying saucers won’t be hidden. They’ll fly the world with impunity. Those who report seeing them will be ridiculed and, where necessary, silenced. Retire, Bradley. Think of your children. Enjoy your retirement. Now relax... Auf Wiedersehen.’
Bradley felt that he was dreaming. In his dream the fear returned. He kept thinking of his children, of that warning, and he knew he would stop here.
He would not go to Socorro. He would burn all his research. He knew, even as Wilson departed, that his search had come to an end. He would retire to guarantee his family’s safety and let others do what they would.
Wilson walked from the car, between the other two men in black, and disappeared back into his flying saucer while Bradley just sat there. The hatch in the base moved up again, became part of the seamless body, then Bradley heard the bass humming sound, almost
felt it, and as his head started tightening and his skin became numb, the flying saucer started glowing, its silvery body brightening magically, then became encased in a cocoon of pulsating white light and rose off the ground.
Bradley heard the noise, felt it, was surrounded by it and became part of it, as the saucer ascended slowly, gracefully, even majestically, then suddenly shot upward, but stopped again, as if by magic, to hover above him.
The infrasound cut out abruptly, allowing Bradley to move, and he clambered out and stood beside his car and looked directly above him. The saucer was high up, about the size of a dime, and it seemed to be spinning on its vertical axis and filling the sky with light. Then it shot up even higher, shrinking rapidly, but still shining, until eventually it merged with the stars and suddenly blinked out.
Bradley saw the moon and stars, the vast web of the cosmos, and he thought of Gladys and his children and grandchildren, feeling fear for their future. Determined to protect them, he returned to his car, turned it around, and headed back in the direction he had come from, through the dark, windblown desert.
INCEPTION (Projekt Saucer, Book 1) Page 48
