by William Lee
Mike nodded his head in agreement.
This is how they keep the public from knowing of our existence. A mixture of lies, half-truths, and threats. I should do something about that one day.
The airmen started placing the electrochromic tiles on the huge cargo plane. Each tile was one-foot square, and the plane was 174 feet long and had a 170-foot wing span. The Air Force’s second largest conventional cargo plane weighed in at 282,400 pounds. Once all the squares were placed on this plane, an electric charge would run through the tiles, connecting them all. Each tile had an embedded microprocessor that allowed it to work with all the other tiles, forming a super computer on the new skin of the plane. Each tile was only a few centimeters thick and attached to the plane with a super adhesive. Once attached to the plane, the tile was not going to come off.
The electrochromic tiles, working together as one Exoskin, would project a three-dimensional image around the craft. The image could be of anything, another plane, the moon, a UFO, a cloud or simply blue sky. Either way, the observer sees what the Exoskin is displaying, not the plane itself. In the past, while invading foreign territory, pilots had displayed the image of an enemy fighter. A TR3B may appear to be a MiG-31 while flying over Russia.
Still, it was a huge job; fifty percent of each tile had to be touching the other adjacent tiles for it to receive the charge and connect to the network. If even half of a tile’s edges did not touch other tiles, then the device would not activate, and there would be a hole in the invisibility cloak. A few holes, did not matter due to the altitudes and speeds at which a plane travels. But when it landed, a few holes could be all that is needed for the enemy to spot the plane. The airmen worked tirelessly to attach each square tile to the plane in such a manner that all the squares would connect to the other tiles.
As the airmen were getting close to finishing their part of the job, Mike knew his role was about to begin. Mike was part of the team that set up the pilot’s controls to operate the Exoskin and to make sure all the tiles had come online and were functioning properly. If he did his job right, the plane would disappear right before the eyes of all those on the tarmac.
“Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom,” Mike said to the officers and scientists standing around watching.
“No problem, Mike.”
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Mike said as he started to walk toward one of the hangers.
Mike had walked about 50 yards when he looked around to make sure no one was near him. “Calidus Delusor, are you there?”
“Calidus Delusor?” Mike put his finger to his ear as if Calidus’ response would be audible. Of course, the response, if any, would not be heard through Mike’s ear. Mike waited a few seconds for a reply.
“Calidus Delusor, can you hear me?” Mike said again, as he hurried to the bathroom in the hangar.
No response.
What should I do? Should I sabotage the mission? Make it so the Globe masters will become visible over Russia?
Mike pushed open the door to the grimy old restroom. The small bathroom had tiny square blue tiles on the walls and a dim, flickering fluorescent light. The restroom was empty; he was alone. Mike knew it could be hours before Calidus responded. He did not have hours; he only had minutes.
Whatever they are doing, I will be out of the loop as soon as those planes take off. For me to remain useful in this situation, I must be on that plane.
Mike formulated his plan and hurried back to the worksite. Mike sprinted up the rear ramp of the C-17, and into the cargo hold area, which was large enough to carry an M-1 Abrams tank or a Chinook helicopter. The floor of the massive cargo hold, capable of carrying 169,000 pounds of military might, could be converted from a smooth surface to a roller system for loading boxes or palettes.
In the cockpit, there were four chairs for pilots and crew; three were occupied by technicians, men and Vitahicians he knew well.
“Hey, where are we at on the project?” Mike asked.
“Five of the planes have all the tiles on them; the other two do not. This is the first plane we have been able to start working on, as far as bringing the tiles online. We have 30 minutes to finish the job, if we are going to stay on schedule.”
“Not good. Once this puppy is in the air, with a cruising speed of 515 miles per hour, it will take nearly 9 hours for the C-17s to reach their destination. That’s not even accounting for the fact that they will have to refuel midway across the Pacific,” Mike said, as he plopped down into the co-pilot’s seat and linked his laptop to the C-17’s flight controls.
After a few minutes, Bill Wall, the technician sitting in the pilot’s seat said, “I think we have it done.”
“Good. I’ll radio the General and let him know we are ready to activate Houdini,” Mike said, as he raised the hand-held walkie-talkie.
“General, this is Mike Evans onboard the first C-17. We are ready to activate Houdini.”
“Roger that, Mike. Whenever you are ready.”
“Go for it, Bill,” Mike said. Bill flipped the newly wired accessory switch on the flight controls.
“Houdini activated,” Mike announced on the radio.
“Good job guys, the plane just disappeared. Right here on the tarmac.”
“Any holes in the Exoskin?” Mike asked from inside the plane.
“A few small ones on the wings. No big deal. Let’s move on to the next plane. We are way behind schedule.”
“Roger that,” Mike said as he stood from the co-pilot’s seat.
A few minutes later, Mike stood with the General, as his team hurried to the next plane.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” the General said rhetorically. “Two Hundred and eighty-two thousand pounds of plane can just disappear.”
“Technically, Sir, it did not disappear. It is still there; you just can’t see it.”
“I’m aware of how the technology works, Mike. Can we get the job done on the other six?”
“No way can we finish six in twenty minutes, Sir. But I have a suggestion. My team and I can travel with the planes and finish the programming mid-flight.”
“Can that be done?”
“Of course. The tiles will have to be placed on the outside fuselage before takeoff, but the internal setup can be completed in flight. May I ask the nature of the mission and why it so imperative that we leave in, what, eighteen minutes?” Mike asked while looking at his watch.
“Strictly speaking, this is above your clearance, but given the circumstances, I will let you in on the plan. We have already deployed our only NATT, the Flying City. If Flying City is successful, then there will be no need for the C-17s. However, if the Flying City fails, then the C-17s must be in the region for backup. To be an effective back up, they need to be on their way now.”
“Will they be escorted?”
“They will be flying into enemy territory as it is. We have a Pacific carrier group moving into position now. They will offer limited support, but their main defense is the Houdini. If they are detected over Russian air space, no number of escorts will be able to save them.”
“Let me go with them. If they get into a jam, my scientific expertise could be the difference between mission success or failure.”
The General stood on the airport apron, his breath visible in the air, contemplating the proposal. “You are too valuable to lose, Mike.”
This is my one shot at getting on that plane. This is the mission; this is my opportunity to give something of value to Calidus Delusor. This is my ticket out of here, freedom, and another chance with Nikita.
“Am I more valuable than the cargo you are attempting to acquire in Russia?”
The General pondered that for a moment. “At the risk of sounding unkind, I would have to say no. The cargo to be recovered in Russia is more valuable than any man on the planet, probably more valuable than any 10,000 men.”
What could possibly be that valuable?
“Then, there’s your answer. You need my team on the plan
es, not only to keep the mission on schedule, but in case something goes wrong.” Mike pulled the hood of his large coat over his head to shield him from the wind.
The General nodded his head. “How many men on your team?”
“Fifteen, Sir.”
“You can take three. The rest stay here.”
Great. I’m on the plane going to an unknown Russian location, to pick up an unknown cargo. I have no idea how I’m to take possession of the cargo, or how I am going to deliver it to Calidus. If I am caught, I will be executed, and Calidus is not answering his little hairy bug phone. How could anything go wrong?
“How are we going to get the cargo on to the C-17 once in Russia? I’m pretty sure the Russians are not going to let us use one of their airports?”
“No. That’s the beautiful part. If plan A does not work, plan B is to fill the shuttle crafts with cargo and fly it up to the C-17s. We are going to load the C-17s mid-flight,” the General explained, and then hurried off.
Shuttle craft? What shuttle craft?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Richmond, VA
Governor Robert Fisher was standing in his plush office, staring down at the head of a 22-year-old would-be intern as it bobbed back and forth. Her hair was bleach blonde, but not in a slutty way; she had it pulled back in a bun. He grabbed and twisted the hair on the back of her head and pulled her in even closer. He could hear her choking a little, but not too much. Her horn-rimmed glasses smashed up against her face, and he erupted down her throat. Reflexively, she pulled back; he released his grip on the back of her head. She coughed a little and wiped off her mouth, as she awkwardly stood to her feet.
“Nice, Jessica, very nice,” the Governor said, as he drew in a deep breath.
“My name is Cathy,” she protested, as she straightened the stylish glasses on her nose.
“Sure, it is honey.” The Governor pulled up his zipper.
“You’re an asshole. Did I get the job?” she asked as she tucked in her blouse.
“Yeah, yeah. You got the internship. Next time, no teeth.”
He stared at her firm ass as she hurried out of his office. His cell phone rang. Not many people had his personal cell phone, and they knew not to call unless it was important. The list of people that have his number is short: his wife, kids, chief-of-staff, his poker buddies, a few select Senators, and the President.
“Hello?” Fisher said into his smart phone, as he gazed into the ornate mirror hanging on the wall to straighten his $225.00 solid red power tie.
“This is General Stone Byrd, Space Command. We have a problem. A big problem.”
“What is it?” Governor Fisher asked. He had forgotten about MJ-1 of Majestic Twelve. Of course, he had the private number. It had been a long time since MJ-1 had called him. After all, the Governor was MJ-12, the lowest ranking member of the elite group.
“I need you to gather the entire Majestic-12 group in DC within the hour. I will address everyone at once,” General Byrd said.
“May I ask the nature of the problem?” Fisher asked.
“Let’s just say it’s of the apocalyptic variety.”
“Shit. I will be right on it. Does the President know? He knows a little, but not everything. I wanted to bring it to the full Majestic Twelve before I read him in,” Byrd said.
“Okay, I’m on it.”
“Say, you sounded a little out of breath when I called,” Byrd asked with a chuckle. “So, you’re interviewing interns?”
“How did you know?”
“I will call back in one hour. Have everyone there.” The phone went dead.
Robert Fisher was serving the first year of his term as Virginia’s Governor. He knew that there were six other MJ-12 members in the Washington, DC area. Four others were spread around the country, and General Byrd was on the Moon Base. He could not have his secretary make the phone calls; he had to call them himself. He knew they would all attend the meeting, regardless of what they were doing.
Robert Fisher stepped out into the hallway, where is secretary gave him a knowing look. “What can I do for you, Governor?”
“I need you to get the helicopter ready. I need to be in DC ASAP. Also, call Congressman Charles Foster and have him arrange for a secure conference room.”
“Yes Sir. I’m right on it.”
“Oh, and then take the rest of the day off,” Fisher said.
“Sir, you have a little something on your pants.” She pointed to her inside thigh, glanced down at his leg, and smiled.
“Thank you, Jessica; you’re a life saver,” he said as he wiped his pleated pants with a monogrammed handkerchief given to him by his wife.
Jessica moved in close to the Governor and whispered in his ear, “I don’t make messes like that.” She then hurried off to arrange for the helicopter.
It was a quick helicopter ride from Richmond to the Russel Senate Building in Washington, DC. Charles Foster, a congressman from South Carolina, was waiting in the designated conference room.
“Good afternoon, Congressman. Glad you could make it on such short notice,” Fisher said, as he entered the room. Charles Foster, Chairman of the powerful Ways and Means Committee, held the rank of MJ-10, and thus was the Governor’s superior.
“I didn’t think I had a choice. What is going on? We have never been ordered to a meeting on an hour’s notice. Normally our meetings are set months in advance,” Charles complained as he took off his dark blue suit jacket. Charles slung the jacket over the back of the leather conference room chair and plopped down.
“I don’t know exactly what this is about. MJ-1 said it was apocalyptic.”
“That sounds ominous,” Congressman Foster replied.
General Donald Barnes entered the room. “What in the Sam hell is this about? I got a war over in Afghanistan to fight; I don’t have time to be pussyfooting around with you space cadets.” Barnes was wearing the standard Army Combat Uniform with the digital camo pattern.
“Stone Byrd said it was apocalyptic, Sir,” Governor Fisher replied. Donald Barnes, a four-star general, was MJ-3, which meant he was senior to both the Governor and Representative.
The next to walk through the door was Fleet Admiral Kevin Butler. The five-star Admiral had the designation MJ-2, the second highest ranking member of Majestic Twelve, second only to General Stone Byrd, who was currently on the Moon Base.
“Gentlemen, to what do I owe the dubious honor of this meeting?” Admiral Butler said as he took a seat next to the boisterous General Barnes.
“General Byrd called us here so that he could break some important news to us at the same time. He will be calling on an encrypted line shortly,” Governor Fisher said.
Nolan Sanders, Inspector General for the Department of Treasury walked in next. Sanders was a slight man with wavy salt-and-pepper hair. He had the mannerisms of a bookish accountant, but the temperament of a rattle snake. Sanders was MJ-11, the second lowest ranking member of the Majestic Twelve. He did not say a word, just looked around the room, and took a seat.
Anthony Diaz and Byron Long walked in together. Diaz was the Assistant Deputy Director of Intelligence for the National Security Council. Byron Long was the Deputy Director of the Central Intelligence Agency.
“Gentlemen.” Byron sat in the seat closest to the door.
“Afternoon.” Diaz sat in the seat next to Byron and crossed his arms.
A few minutes later, the six large video monitors flickered to life. The four other MJ-12 members were displayed on the screens, all four sitting behind their desks.
“Good afternoon, glad to have you with us,” Fisher said from the middle of the table, because the General had taken his seat as some sort of power play, or just to be an asshole.
Lisa Russell, an Astronomer at the National Advanced Optics Astronomy Observatories at Kitt Peak said, “Good afternoon. Sorry I could not be there in person.”
Brent Ross, Quantum Physicist at the Jefferson National Accelerator Facility in Newport News, Virgi
nia, said, “Hello everyone. This is really short notice; anyone have any idea what this is about?”
They all shook their heads and replied in the negative. The fifth screen came to life, and General Stone Byrd appeared before the group, everyone stared at the monitor.
“Can everyone hear me?” Byrd asked.
“Yes Sir,” Governor Fisher said. The scientists on the other monitors all replied in the affirmative.
“I’m sorry about the short notice, but I have grave news to report. Less than two hours ago, the Impegi crashed into a remote region of Far East Russia, near the Arctic Circle. As you know, the Impegi was the ship bringing us over 100,000 pounds of Element 115. This shipment was of incredible value, not only because Element 115 is so difficult for us to create here on Earth, but because we were going to use it to greatly increase our 7th generation antigravity, stealth fighter fleet.” Byrd took a moment to drink from a bottle of water.
“Why is it so important that we build more 7th generation fighters?” Lisa Russell asked quietly. Lisa, thirty-five years old, was the newest member of Majestic Twelve. Even though she was the youngest, her scientific background afforded her a higher MJ ranking than some of the older members.
Byrd responded, “For Ms. Russell’s benefit, since she is the newest member, we will briefly, discuss the underlying problem. Ten years ago, intelligence reports seemed to indicate that an advanced race was planning a full-scale invasion of Earth. Our information, though not independently confirmed, suggests that the invading force will consist of around 300 mother ships, each capable of transporting 400 fighter craft. We estimate, that based on their technology, they will have a thirty-to-one kill ratio, against our conventional fifth generation fighters. Our anti-gravity fighters will fare better, but will be wiped out in the face of overwhelming numbers. We need to build 100,000 7th generation fighters, or AG Fighters, to even be competitive.”
“How many do we have now?” Lisa asked.
