The airfield was heavily guarded. The plane’s engine was already running. The truck pulled up at the hold of the plane and the crate was unloaded. General Kammler climbed in first. I let Nebe go ahead of me. I glanced briefly around the airfield, at the troopers and barbed wire fences, at the flat plains that stretched out to the sky, and then I boarded the plane. The doors of the hold were closed. The steel locks made a clanging sound. I sat down beside Kammler and Nebe and stared up at my large crate. Then the plane roared and shook. It taxied slowly along the runway. Then it roared even louder, raced along the runway, jolted, leapt off the tarmac, and climbed into the sky.
Perhaps I slept then. I do not remember the flight. I remember Nebe’s dark, depthless eyes and the plane’s constant rumblings. It did not take very long. My spinning thoughts destroyed time. Kammler smiled when the wheels touched down again and the crate bounced a little. I reached out and steadied it. The plane shuddered and stopped. The doors opened and a bright light rushed in and brought with it the shocking cold.
All white. Everything. The frozen wilderness stretched out before us. I stepped down and my boots sank into snow and I breathed the pure, icy air. We were on a modest airstrip. Our own plane was waiting for us. We transferred the crate to this plane and then clambered in after it. The doors closed behind us. The plane’s skis chopped through the ice. We took off and flew above the white wilderness and headed inland. All white. Everything. The plains and mountains were as one. My impatience was a hand upon my heart, my exultation was boundless. Then at last we dropped lower. I saw the enormous, encircling plateaux. We flew down below the mountains, below the glittering ice peaks, and then the great caves opened out to embrace us and carry us home.
Here we are and here we stay. The ice glitters in the sun. History changes and the world surrenders to us. We are here. We exist.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Stanford arrived early, deliberately so. Slowing down at the crossroads, just before the proposed meeting place, he turned off the road and drove between the trees, comforted by the darkness and moonlight, feeling safer that way. He stopped the car, turned the lights out, killed the engine, took a deep breath, then looked out at the darkness, glancing up at the sky, half expecting, as he always did these days, to see glowing lights merging. When had Epstein disappeared? November 1977. Since then, a whole year had passed and a new year was dawning. Stanford shivered at the thought of it. He didn’t think he would survive it. Reaching into the glove compartment, he pulled out a pistol, checked it, then got out of the car and closed the door, taking great care to be quiet about it.
The sky over Virginia was starry. There was no wind at all. Stanford could smell the wet grass and felt the chill in the air, marvelling at how soothing it was after the furnace of Paraguay. He checked the pistol again, checked the time, shivered briefly, then he walked back through the trees to the road, his eyes scanning from left to right.
The road was still deserted. Stanford studied the sky again. He grinned automatically, more self-mocking than amused, thinking of himself as a fugitive and wondering how it had come to this. The road remained deserted. Stanford checked his wristwatch. Satisfied, he went down on one knee on the grass behind a thatch of densely tangled brambles. The surrounding hills were covered with trees. He remembered Epstein in Mount Rainier. His lips tightened as he stared along the road and heard a sound in the distance.
Fuller was on time. He had always been reliable. Stanford got up off his knee, but stayed low as he cocked the pistol, seeing the lights of Fuller’s car emerging from the darkness. The road was flat and straight. The car approached the crossroads. Stanford held his breath as the car slowed down and then stopped, its engine still ticking over. Fuller flashed his headlights twice. Stanford let his breath out, then looked along the road, past Fuller’s parked car. He saw nothing else coming. Fuller flashed his lights again. He was expecting a response. Turning away, Stanford loped back through the trees, cutting around in a circle. He emerged behind Fuller’s car and checked that there was no one else in it. There wasn’t. That relieved him somewhat. He stepped out from the trees, the pistol heavy in his hand. Walking up to the car, he bent down and hammered lightly on Fuller’s window with his knuckles. Fuller rolled the window down and looked up and saw the barrel of the gun in his face.
‘Stanford?’
‘That’s me.’
‘What the fuck are you doing? You asked me to meet you and I’m
here. What’s the fucking gun for?’
‘Are you alone?’ Stanford asked.
‘What the hell do you think? Take a good look. You’ve got eyes in
your head. I’m all alone, for chrissake!’
‘Get out of the car,’ Stanford said.
‘I don’t believe this,’ Fuller said. ‘I came here because you asked
me – and now you’re sticking a gun in my face. Have you gone fucking crazy?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Stanford said.
‘We’re old buddies, for chrissake!’
‘I’m sorry. I’m a little bit nervous. Now get out of the car.’
Fuller sighed and rolled his eyes, killed the engine and headlights, clambered out and raised his hands in the air as if begging for mercy.
‘You must have lost your fucking marbles,’ he said. ‘Who the hell do you think you are? Elliot Ness? Get it out of my face.’
‘This way,’ Stanford said.
‘It’s a joke,’ Fuller said. ‘He drags me out of my bed to stick me up. An old buddy from way back.’
Stanford waved the pistol gently. ‘I’m not joking,’ he said. ‘If I have to use this pistol, I’ll use it. Over there. Through the trees.’
Fuller sighed and shook his head, not believe what was happening, forced a grin and then sauntered across the road to the trees, Stanford’s pistol prodding him on when he appeared to hesitate.
‘In here?’ Fuller asked.
‘That’s right,’ Stanford said.
‘It’s a picnic,’ Fuller said. ‘A midnight treat. I can’t fucking wait.’
Stanford kept the gun on him, still liking him, not trusting him, not capable of trusting anyone anymore, not even his oldest friends.
‘Can I stop now?’ Fuller asked.
‘Yes, you can stop now.’
‘I take it that’s your car,’ Fuller said.
‘That’s right. Get inside.’
Fuller sighed again, ran his fingers through his gray hair, opened the door and lowered himself onto the front passenger seat, his broad body looking cramped in that small space. Stanford went around the front, keeping his pistol aimed at the windscreen. He opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat, the pistol still aimed at Fuller.
‘Where are we going?’ Fuller asked.
‘Nowhere,’ Stanford said. ‘We’ll just sit there and have our little talk and then I’ll let you go home.’
‘You’re real generous,’ Fuller said.
‘I’m sorry,’ Stanford said.
‘My old buddy’s sorry,’ Fuller said. ‘I feel better already.’ He was a big man, all muscle, his face as rough as they come, and he ran his fingers through his hair again, his grey gaze focused straight ahead. ’Okay, I’m impressed,’ he said. ‘We’re sitting here in the middle of nowhere and you’re pointing a gun at me. What the fuck’s going on?’
‘It’s the UFOs,’ Stanford said. ‘I want to talk about the UFOs.’
‘I figured that,’ Fuller said. ‘You always do. Only the pistol is new to me.’
‘I’ve had a bad year,’ Stanford said. ‘I have the impression I’m being followed. My apartment’s been turned over twice, my phone’s been cut off, and a hit-and-run driver smashed my car… I just don’t feel too safe.’
‘This is a pretty dangerous country,’ Fuller said. ‘I thought you understood that.’ He glanced down at the pistol, shook his head in mock despair and grinned laconically. ‘I’m putting my hand in my pocket,’ he said. ‘It’s not for my own weapon, belie
ve me. I just need some chewing gum.’
Stanford nodded his permission. Fuller pulled out some gum. He unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth and proceeded to chew.
‘So,’ he said, ‘you’re nervous. You’re being harassed. And you think we’re the bogeymen.’
‘That’s right,’ Stanford said. ‘Those are CIA trademarks. You bastards have been following us since we went to the Caribbean, since we told you about Gerhardt’s abduction. You accused us of lying.’
‘Us?’
‘Me and Epstein.’
‘Epstein’s gone.’
‘Correct. Epstein’s gone. And you haven’t done a damned thing about it.’
Fuller talked while chewing on his gum. ‘What the hell could we do? You say your friend’s been abducted by a UFO and expect us to wear it. It was too much to ask.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t talk shit,’ Fuller said. ‘You come up with a story like that and you can’t expect much.’
‘You believed me,’ Stanford said.
‘That’s crap,’ Fuller said.
‘You’ve known me too long not to believe me… You know I don’t invent things.’
‘Your story was ridiculous.’
‘Then where’s Epstein gone? He’s been missing for over a year and you guys haven’t asked a single question.’
‘It’s a police case, Stanford.
‘Police case, my ass. I told the cops and they laughed me out of the station and forgot the whole thing.’
‘What the hell did you expect? You said a UFO abducted your friend. You came on like a crank in a gaberdine, so of course the cops giggled.’
‘Fine,’ Stanford said. ‘But Professor Epstein’s still missing. He’s a pretty important name and now he’s gone and no one seems to be bothered. I think that’s pretty strange. I mean, it doesn’t make sense. A well known scientist disappears for a year and you guys don’t bat an eyelid. That strikes me as strange.’
‘So, he’s missing,’ Fuller said. ‘A lot of people go missing. He was an old man, he was on his last legs, and now he’s probably dead somewhere.’
‘I was there,’ Stanford said.
‘Yeah, I know. You saw a UFO take him.’
‘You believe me,’ Stanford said. ‘I know that much. That’s why you’re not looking for him.’
Fuller stopped chewing his gum, stared at Stanford not grinning, then he started chewing the gum again, his jaws working methodically.
‘So,’ he said, ‘we’re at an impasse. What the hell are we talking for?’
Stanford watched Fuller carefully. His old friend was like a stranger. The pistol was steady in Stanford’s hands and he was ready to use it.
‘You believe me,’ Stanford said. ‘You believed me then and you believe me now. You’ve been tailing me and you know what I found out and it’s making you nervous.’
‘Oh?’ Fuller said. ‘And what was that? Just what did you find out?’
Stanford felt hot. He wanted to roll the window down. He was frightened to roll the window down because of who might be out there. His eyes flicked left and right. Realising what he was doing, he felt foolish. Licking his dry lips, he put the pistol in his left hand, wiped his sweaty right hand on his trousers, then transferred the pistol again, all the time keeping it pointed at Fuller. His former friend, his old CIA pal, could no longer be trusted.
‘The saucers exist,’ he said. ‘You’ve known about them for years. You have your own, but you’re keeping them quiet for political reasons. There are other saucers as well. They’re extraordinarily far advanced. They represent a threat to this country and so you’re running a race with them. You’re frightened of those saucers. You’re frightened of public opinion. You don’t want word about them to leak out and lead to mass hysteria. Those saucers are very powerful. The people who made them are very powerful. They have weapons we can scarcely imagine and they’re willing to use them.’
Fuller raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t believe this,’ he said. ‘I think maybe I’m not hearing too good. My old buddy’s gone crazy.’
‘You have your own,’ Stanford said. ‘There’s no point in denying it. The original prototypes came from Germany, you’ve been building your own for years, the work was carried out in White Sands and the wilds of Canada, but now the folk who built the original saucers are displaying anxiety.’
‘I don’t believe this,’ Fuller repeated.
‘You believe it,’ Stanford said. ‘You just want to keep it quiet. You killed off Project Blue Book, you harassed all our best researchers, and you’ve deliberately spread confusion through rumor for the past thirty years. You knew you couldn’t keep it secret – you could just confuse the issues – so when anything leaked out you just twisted it and wrapped it in myths. Take Cannon AFB. Take Deerwood Nike Base. Take Holloman and Blain Air Force bases and then tell me they’re rumors. They weren’t rumors, Fuller. The saucers seen there were your own. People talked and you let the talk lead to tales of extraterrestrials. But the ETs don’t exist. Something far worse exists. It’s a bunch of wizards down in the Antarctic, and you know all about them.’
‘The Antarctic?’ Fuller said.
‘You’re not so innocent,’ Stanford said. ‘There’s a bunch of brains in the Antarctic, they created the original saucers, and now they’re so advanced you can’t touch them and the government’s shit-scared.’
‘This is crazy,’ Fuller said.
‘No, it’s not,’ Stanford said. ‘The Antarctic’s a very big place and those people are hidden there.’
‘Where?’ Fuller asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Stanford said.
‘No,’ Fuller said, ‘you don’t know. You’re just spouting hot air.’ He shook his head from side to side, chewed his gum, looking disgusted, then stared sympathetically at Stanford and shook his head again, wearily. ‘What horseshit,’ he said. ‘I mean, I thought you had more sense. That’s one of the oldest stories in UFO mythology – and one of the worst.’
‘What story?’
‘Fucking holes in the Poles. UFO bases in Antarctica. Underground cities beneath the ice… Atlantis. Lemuria.’
‘I’ve heard the stories,’ Stanford said. ‘I never believed them for a second… But then I never believed in the saucers either. It turns out I was wrong.’
‘So they come from the Antarctic?’
‘So you admit that they exist?’
‘We don’t have flying saucers,’ Fuller said. ‘And neither does anyone else.’ He tried to grin at Stanford. It was not a successful grin. ‘Let’s assume they’re in the Antarctic,’ he said. ‘At least I might be able to correct you that way.’
‘They’re in the Antarctic,’ Stanford said. ‘They’re in underground plants. They’re the same as the hidden factories of Nazi Germany, and they’re under the ice.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Fuller said. ‘You can’t get beneath that ice. Don’t give me that Hollow Earth garbage. That’s a theory for idiots.’
‘Is it?’
‘You know damned well it is. There aren’t any holes at the Poles. Don’t talk like a crackpot.’
‘I don’t know,’ Stanford said. ‘What about the ESSA 7 satellites? The photos taken by those satellites caused a sensation.’
‘It’s beneath discussion,’ Fuller said.
‘Tell me anyway,’ Stanford said.
‘You’re a scientist. You know the facts well. I don’t have to tell you.’
‘Tell me anyway,’ Stanford repeated.
Fuller shook his head wearily. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You want to play games, we’ll play games. I’ll tell you about the photos that conned all the fucking UFO freaks.’ He took out some more gum, unwrapped it, studied it, then popped it into his mouth and started chewing, looking disgusted. ‘Those famous NASA photos were released to scientific journals, most of whom could have been expected to understand them. Unfortunately, and as usual, the ESSA 7 satellite photos found their way into the hands of certain co
mmercial writers. The enormous holes in the Poles, so clearly shown on the photos, were described, through what can only be termed ignorance, as being just what they looked like: goddamned holes in the Poles.’ Fuller shook his head sadly, chewed his gum, glanced around him, saw nothing but the darkness beneath the trees, so turned back to Stanford. ‘Of course they weren’t holes,’ he said. ‘You know that as well as I do. Those photos were obtained by onboard Vidicon camera systems, and as such were not normal pictures. They were, in fact, photomosaics. They were reproduced from the processing of the signals from a lot of television camera frames obtained over a twenty-four hour period. Those signals were processed in a computer and transformed into a polar stereographic map projection with latitude, longitude and the outlines of land areas superimposed electronically. The areas in which camera frames were missing – due to the fact that the pictures were taken during the dark polar winter and the ESSA 7 camera systems lacked infrared facilities – were shown in solid black or white, which accounts for the famous “black holes”. However, current polar-orbiting satellites use a two-channel radiometer instead of the Vidicon camera system, and this radiometer is sensitive to energy in both the visible and infrared spectrums. If you, being the ignorant scientist you’re so obviously pretending to be, care to return to my office I’ll show you the same polar stereographic satellite images from the NOAA 5 satellite in which the visible channel data over the Poles during the polar winter shows holes at the Poles – whereas the infrared channel data for the same period shows the land as it actually exists. There are no holes in the Poles and you know it, so let’s fucking drop it.’
Stanford knew he was right. He just wanted him to talk. He wanted to loosen Fuller’s tongue before he pulled his ears off.
GENESIS (Projekt Saucer) Page 56
