Independence Day: Silent Zone

by Stephen Molstad

  A voice asked, “Mr. Okun?”

  Brackish deftly flipped himself onto his side und cocked his leg back, ready to mule-kick his attacker, when he noticed he was in a hospital. The doctor at his bedside, who had almost taken a face full of foot, was a young man with a goatee, a buzz cut, and a very intense look on his face. He hadn’t flinched.

  “Feeling better this morning?”

  “Dude, I was just about to kick your teeth out. You’re supposed to get out of the way when that happens.”

  “Much better than yesterday, I see.”

  Okun looked him over. “What do you mean? How long have I been here? Where am I? What’s wrong with me?”

  The man arched an eyebrow. “Much much better.” He introduced himself as Dr. Issacs and explained they were at Fort Irwin, California. Okun had been there for a week, and although there was nothing physically wrong with him, he was suffering from an extremely unusual form of memory loss. Although Okun could remember everything that had gone on in Mexico, he could recall none of his stay in the hospital. Each morning for the past week, he had woken up anxious to tell about the alien ship he’d found. Although he was only half conscious, he managed to relate the story accurately and in some detail. When Issacs and the other doctors explained to him that he’d already told them about the trip south of the border, he became quarrelsome, refusing to believe them. Each morning he asked if the ship had been recovered, if Lenel was dead, and whether his ankh necklace had been found. He remembered the answers he received until he slept again—whereupon he forgot everything. Even when he drifted off for a ten-minute nap, he woke up surprised not to find himself in the desert. Dizzy and confused, he began asking the doctors where he was, how long he’d been there, whether the ship had been recovered, and if Lenel was still alive. Issacs, who was not a psychiatrist, said it was a case of amnesia unlike any he could find described in the medical literature and had no idea of how to go about treating the condition. Gazing steadily, almost menacingly, down at his patient, he expressed a guarded optimism. “You’ve seemed groggy all week, but today you appear to be quite alert. I take it as a good sign.”

  Okun looked confused and opened his mouth to speak.

  “Before it occurs to you to ask,” Issacs cut him off, “let me assure you that Dr. Lenel is alive and well. He broke two ribs and fractured some bones in his left hip, but his doctors expect him to recover nicely. Your story matches his in every detail up to the point where he fell down the hill, and we have no reason to suspect your account of the facts after that point.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is”—Okun wanted to get this straight—“I keep not remembering yesterday.”

  “Precisely. Or you might say you keep on unremembering it in your sleep, and I don’t mind telling you that the whole thing has begun to get on my nerves. We’ve had the same conversation every day this week.” He explained that the two of them had spent hour after hour arguing because Okun refused to believe Issacs when he said Okun had told him the same exact story the previous day. “Frankly,” the stolid young doctor said, “it’s become incredibly tedious.”

  Okun was beginning to wish he’d kicked this guy when he had the chance. He tried to remember yesterday. The last thing he could recall was finding the spot between the boulders and listening to the plane’s engine. He started to ask Issacs something, but the doctor held up his hands.

  “Before you begin asking your usual questions”—he rolled his eyes wearily—“perhaps you’d allow me to answer them for you. First: the search planes located the cave shortly after dawn on Monday morning. The exterior wall had been destroyed, very possibly broken from the inside out, but there was no other evidence of the ship you and Dr. Lenel have described. Second: no, your necklace was not in the cave. Third: no, the other ankh was not in the cave either. Fourth: yes, the recovery team headed by Mr. Jenkins searched in the loose earth where you had been digging. Fifth: you were found by two members of the search party, a pair of agents from the CIA’s Domestic Collections Division. Am I going too fast for you?”

  “No one even saw the ship leaving the cave?”

  “Radar abnormalities were observed in the region, but no definitive sighting was made.”

  “So, basically, we came away empty-handed?”

  “Yes, it seems so.”

  Okun buried his face under his pillow and briefly considered smothering himself. Issacs, who briefly considered helping him, went on. “I’m very encouraged by the fact that you appear to believe what I’m telling you this morning. It may mean you’re cured. Today is different for another reason as well. Colonel Spelman is visiting from Washington and is waiting to see you. I’ll show him in.”

  A groan came through the pillow when Okun heard he would have to face Spelman. He was positive he was about to be bawled out by an irate soldier for all the rules he’d broken and all the damage he’d caused. But when the barrel-chested officer came into the room, he was all handshakes and smiles. He didn’t seem angry at all.

  “Nonsense,” Spelman said, when Okun began apologizing for the way he’d chased after the second ship. “You did your best. If we had trusted you a little more, and sent you down there with some military backup, we would have captured the thing and maybe even taken some prisoners. But we were a little nervous after your visit with Dr. Wells. You couldn’t have played it any better than you did.”

  “I need to get back there, Colonel. I need to search the cave for something. See, I had this necklace with a little piece from the ship shaped like an ankh—that’s the ancient Egyptian symbol for life. Anyhow, I—”

  Spelman turned away, and said, “Dr. Issacs, would you mind stepping outside for a moment and keeping the hallway clear. Mr. Okun and I have some issues to discuss.” When the doctor had gone, the colonel reached into his breast pocket and pulled out Okun’s leather necklace with the ankh still attached. “When the DCD found you sleeping between those rocks, this was lying at your feet. They brought it directly to me.”

  “Impossible!” Okun gasped. “I left the necklace inside the cave. I’m positive about that.”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “Then how did they find it next to me?”

  “I was going to ask you the same question.”

  Okun shuddered at the idea of the Tall One stealing up and examining him while he slept. Was that all he had done? The two men talked for a long time before agreeing the facts seemed to indicate that the Tall One had wanted Okun to have the ankhlike instrument. Why he would want this was another question altogether. Spelman had a theory about it. He began by asking if Okun was familiar with the Bridget Jones incident. Okun said he was. “Then you know these creatures possess implant devices our technology is unable to detect. As soon as you were brought here, we ran a number of X-rays and other tests, and while we were unable to find anything unusual, we can’t rule out the possibility that you’ve been tagged somehow.”

  “Come again?”

  “When the Jones girl found the object, she described a depression in the grass shaped like a man. I’ve always felt the eebies must have been on the verge of implanting the BB-sized device into the police officer when they were interrupted, probably by the girl’s arrival on the scene. We have every reason to believe your encounter with these creatures was more than one of physical proximity. Ask yourself why you were still asleep so late in the afternoon when they found you? Where did this strange thing about forgetting the previous day come from? And I don’t need to tell you how often abductees tell us about experiencing false memories or how they lost track of themselves for a day. Maybe your encounter was more involved that you can recall.”

  Okun considered this possibility. “Have I developed any strange powers like she did?”

  Spelman shook his head. “Except for being groggy and argumentative all week, Issacs tells me you’re normal. Keep in mind this implanted device business is only a theory, a worst-case scenario. But it’s at least possible they gave you back the neck
lace hoping you d carry it to another one of their ships. If they’ve marked you in some way that allows them to track your whereabouts, you could lead them to Area 51. It might all be a ruse to hunt down their missing ship.”

  “I see. So I’m probably banished for life from going back there.”

  “Actually”—Spelman smiled—“that’s another thing I wanted to talk with you about. We are prepared to offer you the position of Director of Research at the facility. It would always be a risk moving you in and out. But if we took certain precautions, we feel confident you and the ship would be safe.”

  “What kind of precautions?”

  “You told Dr. Issacs the downed vehicle was emitting a beacon signal.”

  “Right. The image of the Y. You already know about that, too?”

  “Yes, you told us on Tuesday. You said the electromagnetic field generated by the power poles must have created a roof which prevented the space-based aliens from receiving the distress signal.”

  “So you’re saying we could rig up some mobile unit to generate EMF waves, and I’d travel to the labs under it? Trés cool. But wouldn’t it just be easier to hire somebody else?”

  The two men looked at one another for a long beat. “At this point,” the colonel said, “we don’t feel anyone could replace you. You know so much. It would take many months, perhaps years, for someone to learn what you already know.”

  Okun heard Dworkin’s voice ringing in his ears, The more you know, the deeper youre buried.

  Spelman stood up, preparing to leave. “You’re the only one we’re considering at the moment. It’s the job we had in mind for you when you were recruited. Take some time to think it over. We know from Agent Radecker there are many changes you’d like to make at the labs. As Director of Research, you would have the power to make them. But once you’re in the door, you’ll have to stay down there. You won’t be able to sit outside and do your watercolor painting anymore, and there won’t be any weekend trips to Las Vegas.” Before he turned to go, he added, “As much as I’d like to see you accept this assignment, I have to admit I don’t know how I’d choose. Here, hold on to this while you make up your mind.” He handed over the ankh and leather necklace.

  Before Spelman was quite out the door, Okun asked one last question. “I take it Radecker’s no longer the director. He’s not here at the hospital, is he?” Okun didn’t need any more grief this morning.

  Spelman suppressed a smile. “Agent Radecker has been promoted. He’s now the Chief of Intelligence at the CIA office in Barrow, Alaska. Just above the Arctic Circle.”

  *

  The next day, Okun remembered yesterday.

  Soon afterward, he was discharged from the hospital. But not before he’d developed a grudging admiration and bickering friendship with the multi-talented Dr. Issacs. No older than Okun, he was a pathology intern at Bethesda Naval Hospital in DC. He held a B.S. from Cornell in astrophysics and claimed to be an expert in ancient mythology. Since his first days at Area 51, Okun had seen the need for medical expertise in the labs. Further autopsies needed to be performed on the recovered aliens, tissue samples needed to be analyzed, and the ship itself was largely composed of living tissue. If he accepted the position and became director, Issacs was exactly the sort of man he’d seek to hire.

  When he was discharged from the hospital, Okun went home to see his mother. He arrived unannounced early one morning and walked into the house. He found Saylene reading the paper and sipping coffee. She jumped into his arms, and while they were hugging, a man walked out of the bedroom to see what was going on. His name was Peter, and he seemed to have spent the night. Okun looked at his mom and knew by her expression that things had changed around the house. She called in sick and they went out for an all-day lunch. She told him everything that had happened while he was away, how much she liked his haircut, and all about her relationship with her new man. She knew enough not to ask what he’d been up to during the same time, but it was uncomfortable how lopsided the conversation became. It didn’t help that Brackish was distracted. He glanced around the restaurant every few minutes like he was expecting someone. The two of them made a plan that Saylene would take a few days off at the end of the month and they’d take a trip together—just the two of them. But it was a journey they would never take.

  Every day that Okun was home, he was sure they would be watching him. He developed a habit of glancing over his shoulders when he walked down a street. When he borrowed the car, he spent more time watching the rearview mirror than the road. He was positive the phone was tapped and the house was bugged. He walked around the neighborhood looking for a van with tinted windows and extra radio antennas. But search as he might, he could find no shred of evidence he was under surveillance.

  One day he received a piece of mail. Inside there was a note: “Thought you’d find this amusing. Hope all is well. Spelman.” Enclosed was a newspaper article from an El Paso newspaper with a headline that read:

  Mythical Monsters of Mexico, number of chupacabra sightings rise after youth tells story.

  There was a photograph of Pedro standing in front of the cliffs where they’d discovered the hidden ship. Okun got a kick out of the article, but didn’t believe the implication of Spelman’s note. Hope all is well. As if he doesn’t know exactly how I’m spending every minute.

  The attempts he made to reenter his old life proved futile. He called friends and visited a few of his old professors at Caltech, but their conversations were strained. He found himself growing more adept at steering the conversation away from himself, but as he listened to these people talk about their lives and concerns, something kept him from nodding. For some reason, he couldn’t enjoy normal people as he once had. He told himself his distraction was due to being followed around all day. So he devised a plan to flush the spies around him out of their hiding places.

  One afternoon he phoned a television station and asked to speak with a reporter. He said he had a major news story concerning extraterrestrial visitors. Of course, the journalist didn’t believe him, so he told her enough to show her he was serious. And enough to make whoever was listening in on the conversation very nervous. They made an appointment for the next morning. Okun hung up the phone and waited on the front porch for the unmarked sedans to start arriving. But no one came. The next morning, he dressed in a suit and drove to the station. When he came through the front doors, there were no federal agents waiting there to arrest him. I guess they’re not watching. He sat down in the lobby and considered what to do next.

  Although he had not gone to the station intending to talk with anyone, he considered going ahead and breaking the story. He could imagine Wells’s reaction if he saw the announcement on television. He’d immediately demand that the nurse release him so he could assume the role of Earthly Dictator. He was crazy, but he had a point: didn’t the people of earth deserve to know about the visitors? Wasn’t it somehow the birthright of every human to know the truth? That’s what he’d always been taught. He, Brackish Okun, could end a quarter-century-old conspiracy simply by keeping the appointment he’d made. He could give them names, technical sketches, report numbers, and he could explain the significance of the trinket he was wearing around his neck. The government’s public relations teams and CIA disinformation specialists would have a hard time discrediting his story.

  But now that it was in his power to do this, he wasn’t sure it was the wisest path. Dworkin hadn’t thought so. He remembered quite clearly Sam’s warning about society disintegrating under the strains of uncertainty and fear. He’d felt the effects himself, having trouble sleeping at night wondering if he really had been marked by the Tall One. Breaking the story would certainly cause a panic, and there was no guarantee it would produce any benefits. Politically, it would play right into the hands of those ugly, fascist men who wanted to turn America and the world into an armed camp.

  In the end, the question of whether to tell what he knew came down to a decision between two very dif
ferent approaches to the world. In Okun’s mind, it became a choice between Dworkin and Wells.

  He stood up, walked out of the lobby, and climbed back into his car. Out of habit, he found himself glancing too often into the mirror. Every time he did this it reminded him that he was free. No one was looking over his shoulder anymore. He was surprised when this didn’t make him feel any more at ease than he had since he’d returned home. It just made him feel disconnected. He realized why he had been so distracted, so unable to nod, when he was with his old friends. It wasn’t lurking spies. It was that their hopes and dreams and daily problems, everything that was important to them, seemed trivial compared to the task of learning about the alien visitors. The whole time his mother had been describing how she met her boyfriend, Brackish’s mind was 185 miles from earth, contemplating the next period of increased radioactivity of the inner Van Allen belt. As he drove home, he told himself, I know too much to lead a normal life, and realized how true Dworkin’s words about knowing too much had been. He didn’t need any CIA spooks to bury him; the knowledge he was carrying around in his head did that on its own. By the time he pulled into the driveway, he’d decided he was going back. He would have gone back even if they weren’t offering to make him director. Like his older colleagues, he felt the work in the labs was more important than his personal destiny.

  He called Spelman, and said, “I’m ready to come back, but I have a couple of conditions.”

  “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

  *

  He spent a month at Edwards Air Force Base working with NASA engineers on the vehicle that would carry him back to the facility beneath Groom Lake. The result was a heavily modified VW van completely covered with a gray material derived from Teflon. A portable power station in the rear cargo area generated a force field of electromagnetic energy strong enough to disrupt the radio reception of the cars he passed on the drive out to the desert. The engineers who helped him build it nicknamed the vehicle the StealthWagon and thought the military might be able to apply the radar-deflecting material they’d designed to the construction of new aircraft.