The Zeta Grey War: New Recruits

by D F Capps

  “And everything else. There are no secrets, not anymore.”

  Sean breathed out heavily. “Swell. Where am I supposed to go?”

  Charlie opened the hotel room door. “Datil, New Mexico.”

  Sean’s skepticism was rising. “To see?”

  “Most of it’s in the files.” Charlie walked out toward the car. “For the rest, you’ll know it when you see it. In case you get stopped, it’s safer if you don’t have all of the details until you actually get there.” Charlie carried the box of files into the hotel room, set it and the keys to the rental car on the table. He took a plastic ID card on a lanyard out of his pocket and handed it to Sean. “Don’t use this until you have to.”

  “What’s Ceti Research?” Sean asked, reading the card.

  The image of a tall, thin, man jumped into Sean’s mind along with his name, position, and background.

  “Oh, wow,” Sean said.

  “That should get you through.” Charlie walked out of the room, got into his car and drove off.

  Sean dug into the code-named operation files as soon as the door closed. At two in the morning he had to force himself to get some sleep. He had no idea about what had actually been happening. Now, he wished he didn’t know anything at all.

  * * *

  Conrad Kaplan walked out of the trees at twilight and headed south into Friday Harbor. He bought a cheap phone and made a single call.

  “Get the crew together, we’re leaving tonight.”

  There was a short pause. “How long?” the man asked.

  Kaplan glanced around. “A week, maybe more.”

  He hung up, found a restaurant for dinner, and reconsidered his plans as he ate.

  I’ll need to give Harper a chance to settle in as president and Mohr time to perfect the interceptor missile, he thought. Once that’s done and the ridiculous warrant for my arrest is set aside, I can return in time to see Russia incinerated by nuclear tipped cruise missiles. What a sight that’s going to be!

  At eight that evening he strolled down to the marina and boarded Dominator II, his escape yacht. He had been careful to register the eighty-four-foot yacht under a series of shell corporations spanning six countries and three continents. He pulled the burner phone from his pocket and dropped it into the sea. He had this plan in place for the last four years in case he had to disappear for a while, and now certainly seemed to be the right time.

  “Supplies are loaded,” Captain Walters said. “Where do you want to go?”

  “Hawaii.”

  Walters nodded and turned to his crew as Kaplan headed down the steps to his state room. It would take several hours to get through the Strait of Juan de Fuca and out into international waters. He was still deeply chilled from his time in the forest. Maybe a glass of Bourbon would help. Maybe two or three glasses would be better.

  Chapter 52

  Senator Whitcolm called the Senate Armed Services Committee together early in the morning. The closed-door session took place in a medium-sized, maple-paneled chamber away from the main hall. The meeting began before the regular crowd of legislators arrived. The senator stood before the twenty-six members looking as grim and serious as he could manage.

  “I have just received some very disturbing news. According to the limited statements I have available from my sources inside the military, President Andrews has delivered some highly advanced military hardware to Russia. I don’t have exact details on the hardware, but I have been assured that the nature of the equipment will profoundly alter the military balance of power in the world toward Russia, and ultimately, against the United States.”

  Shocked murmurs raced through the committee.

  “Do you have documentary evidence to support the statements?” Senator Stevens asked.

  Whitcolm carefully choreographed his response.

  “No. Andrews has been very careful not to leave a document trail. But I do have the sworn testimony of an Air Force officer who witnessed the transfer. This is giving direct aid and support to the enemy. The president has committed treason and must be held accountable before any more damage is done.”

  There was visible skepticism from members of the president’s party. One of them asked, “Has there been any response from the president?”

  Whitcolm stepped forward cautiously.

  “My chief of staff has just returned from the White House. Not only has Andrews refused to comment, he has barricaded himself in the underground bunker and is refusing to see anyone personally. All we got was a twenty-second video conference. That was it.”

  He watched the indignation ripple through the committee.

  “I can understand his being concerned after the shoot down of Marine One, but this seems excessive to me,” Senator Stevens said.

  “It is,” Whitcolm affirmed. He looked at the floor for a moment, then at the members of the committee. “I now have very serious doubts about Andrews’s sanity. Given the shake-up in the military he has created—arresting and firing our country’s heroes, questioning the loyalty of our defense contractors, and now his bunker mentality—I believe Andrews is no longer fit to be our commander in chief.”

  Serious concern was building in the committee, just as he planned.

  “You think the president is mentally ill?” another senator asked.

  Whitcolm shook his head. “Worse. I believe the president has had a psychotic break. We cannot leave him in control of this nation’s nuclear capability, let alone our country’s entire military force. Andrews has come unhinged. We have to remove him from office today.”

  Senator Stevens shook his head. “That’s not going to happen without concurring medical opinions and supporting documentation.”

  Whitcolm held his hands out in front of him, palms up.

  “That’s why I propose an emergency joint meeting of the House and Senate where we demand that Andrews publically appear before us and answer our questions. I believe what he has to say will remove all doubt regarding his sanity.”

  * * *

  Sean Wells checked the rental car agreement in the glove compartment, just in case he got pulled over. It was registered in the name of his undercover identity. The strange kid certainly knew what he was doing.

  Slowly, Sean was connecting the dots. The information in the code word files was difficult to believe, but it certainly explained some of the mysterious things that had been going on. The disturbing photos and reports of bloodless animal mutilations swirled in his mind as he drove through Memphis and across the Mississippi River into Arkansas. No known medical procedure could result in the type of organ removal these revealed. The majority of mutilations involved mostly large farm animals, and had not been performed where the remains were found. The carcasses had been dropped from a height of twenty-to-thirty feet, based on the indentations in the ground. Some had been found impaled on tree branches or hung up in electrical lines.

  Speculation was rampant and varied, running the gamut from secret military operations and sacrificial cults to UFOs and blood-thirsty aliens. The two consistent factors were the lack of any blood or bleeding of the tissue, and the ground impressions. The high-level military investigation and analysis uncovered almost identical reports going back into the early 1800s, precluding man-made flying vehicles as the means of dropping the carcasses. Even older reports, going back centuries, had been referenced with the caveat that the sources were either unknown, or of questionable heritage. Sean had read enough scientific papers to know that “unknown sources” and “questionable heritage” meant the information was considered valid, but nobody wanted to stake his reputation on it.

  One of the other files, under the code word M-12, not only connected the mutilations to specific types of UFOs, but to a particular alien species of small Greys. The indication was that these creatures had been visiting our planet for several thousand years. Records provided by Charlie included photos of dead alien bodies, as well as live ones in captivity. The analysis of the advanced technology used by the
Greys was both tedious and intriguing in its detail. According to the stamps and markings on the reports, the subject of alien life and UFO technology had been afforded a classification all its own, well above top secret, by the Eisenhower administration. Apparently, most of the more recent Presidents had been deliberately kept out of the loop.

  Sean considered pushing on to his destination in New Mexico, but he was inexorably drawn back to the code word files. His desire to know the truth forced him to stop and spend the night just east of Oklahoma City.

  * * *

  “Sir, you need to respond to this right away,” Franks said. He handed the single sheet of paper to Andrews.

  “Whitcolm,” Andrews said. “It figures.” He read the statement carefully.

  “He’s accusing you of high treason and of being mentally unfit for office. He claims that you have become delusional. This is a Joint Resolution of Congress, demanding that you appear today in open session and answer the charges against you. This is a political trap, sir.”

  Andrews sighed. “Of course it is. I would expect nothing less from Whitcolm.”

  Franks’s agitated state was intensifying. “If you don’t appear by noon today, they will vote to impeach and remove you from office. You have to do something.”

  Andrews balled up the notice and threw it in the waste basket. “Here’s what I want you to do first.”

  * * *

  Whitcolm read the president’s answer to the Joint Resolution of Congress and smiled.

  As I expected, he thought. Andrews is using National Security to exclude the public from the hearings. A closed hearing isn’t going to change the outcome, though. We can still hold the impeachment vote in public.

  At ten o’clock in the morning, Whitcolm sat in the Judiciary Committee room of the House of Representatives, where the committee met in closed session, Congressman Russell, from the State of Washington, presiding. Whitcolm watched as Air Force Major Steven Cline was sworn in.

  “Major Cline,” Congressman Russell began, “according to your sworn statement, you flew a C-130 cargo plane into Russia and delivered classified technology to the Russian military by direct order of President Andrews. Is that correct?”

  Major Cline was in full dress uniform and appeared calm. “Yes. We landed at the Bada Air Force Base near the Yablondovoi Mountains in southwestern Russia.”

  Congressman Russell turned to face the Judiciary Committee. “You said ‘we’?”

  He watched the faces of the committee members as Cline answered.

  “Yes. There were two C-130 transports involved. Ours carried six large crates, as did the other plane.”

  Congressman Russell turned quickly toward Cline. “And inside these crates?”

  Cline shrugged. “I don’t really know, sir. The crates were accompanied by armed people dressed in civilian attire. We were informed that the crates themselves were classified top secret. We were not allowed anywhere near the crates.”

  Russell nodded slowly and paced to the other side of where Major Cline sat. “And the armed civilians, did they return with you or did they go with the crates?”

  Cline shook his head. “They went with the crates, sir.”

  Russell paced back in front of Cline again.

  “And you are certain the crates were classified top secret?”

  Russell turned quickly to face Cline.

  “Yes, sir. Absolutely certain.”

  He stepped closer to Cline. “You are also certain the orders came directly from President Andrews?”

  Cline nodded. “Yes, sir. Directly from the president.”

  Russell turned to face attorney Sylvester Burton. “Mr. Burton, you represent the president. Do you have any questions for this witness?”

  Burton didn’t bother to stand. “No questions.”

  Whitcolm smiled. Everything was going according to plan.

  “What evidence do you have in defense of the president?” Russell asked.

  Again, Burton didn’t stand. “I have been informed by President Andrews that he has no statement to make at this time, Congressman.”

  Whitcolm’s grin widened. It was obvious Andrews had nothing with which he could defend himself.

  “This is the appointed time for us to hear any and all evidence, counselor,” Russell said emphatically. “There is no later.”

  Burton calmly replied, “The president is not making a statement at this time.”

  Whitcolm stood and headed for the door as Russell made his final statement.

  “Then we vote based on the evidence before us. Pursuant to Article Two, Section Four of the United States Constitution, President Andrews stands accused of treason, an impeachable offense. All in favor of approving the Articles of Impeachment raise your hands.”

  Whitcolm turned as he reached the door. All but one member of the Judicial Committee raised his hand.

  “The Articles of Impeachment are approved and forwarded to the full House for a hearing and a vote.”

  * * *

  “There isn’t enough time.” Andrews paced around the residential section of the bunker under the White House. “Whitcolm is pushing the impeachment process as fast as he can. He knows physical evidence is extremely hard to get due to the secret nature of UFOs and alien technology. I can’t go in there empty-handed. He plans on humiliating me in front of Congress and the public. I need more time.”

  “Then take more,” Martha said. Her anger at him still showed, but it seemed to be fading. “You’re the president. You don’t serve at the pleasure of Congress. Can’t you just appeal whatever they decide to the Supreme Court? That should give you all the time you need.”

  Andrews shook his head. “I can’t. There’s no precedent. In fact, the Supreme Court has specifically stayed out of any impeachment proceeding. If the House votes for impeachment and the Senate convicts me, it’s over. I have no recourse.”

  Andrews nervously rubbed his hands together.

  “So what evidence can you put together in your defense?” Martha asked.

  He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “On such short notice, I don’t know.”

  Martha stared at him. “You could call that cute Navy lieutenant commander who flew the fighter craft the night you were attacked. I’m sure she’d be happy to corroborate your side of things.”

  Andrews turned and looked at her, surprised at her comment. She was still angry, but she had a very good suggestion. “The night of the attack. You may be on to something . . .”

  Chapter 53

  Senator Whitcolm spent the rest of the hour talking to members of the Senate while Congressman Russell passed out copies of Major Clines’s sworn testimony to other House members. At eleven o’clock the full House of Representatives met with the Senate also in attendance.

  “Due to the immediate nature of the charge of treason against President Andrews and the national security implications involved,” Speaker of the House Metzner began, “we are meeting as a joint session, in order not to delay the impeachment and removal process. Serious concerns have been voiced regarding President Andrews’s state of mind and his ability to continue serving as commander in chief. If the House votes to impeach, the Senate will then commence the trial of President Andrews. If Andrews is convicted of treason, or if he is found to be incapable of continuing as president, he will be arrested and Vice President Harper will be sworn in as president.

  “You have in your hands the sworn testimony of Air Force Major Cline. Transfer of top secret information or technology in any form to an enemy is, by definition, treason. Russia is a confirmed enemy of the United States. President Andrews has until noon to defend himself against this charge. Is counsel for the president present?”

  Attorney Sylvester Burton stood. “I am. President Andrews has assured me he will appear and address all of your questions.”

  People milled around as the hands of the clock slowly crept by. Thirty minutes passed, then forty-five. Twelve noon arrived without any sign of Andrews.
>
  “The time for President Andrews to appear and testify has passed,” Speaker Metzner said. “Impeachment is a public proceeding. Open the doors and let the public in.”

  Reporters and other interested people rushed into the room and balcony, shuffling and pushing for a place as history was about to be made. After ten minutes, Speaker Metzner called for order.

  “Because of the serious nature of this proceeding, the vote will be taken by roll call. Congressman Smithers of Alabama, how do you vote?”

  Congressman Smithers stood. “Yes for impeachment.”

  The roll call vote continued with about ninety percent of the members voting for impeachment. Whitcolm paced in nervous anticipation as the votes for impeachment accumulated. Two hundred and sixty-eight votes would be needed to impeach. As the votes in favor climbed over two hundred and forty, President Andrews and his entourage entered the room, unannounced.

  “Mr. Speaker, may I have the floor?” Andrews called out.

  Speaker Metzner appeared thoroughly annoyed. “The time to present your case has passed, Mr. President. We are voting now.”

  Andrews smiled. “Has the time passed for the truth?”

  Metzner glanced around without saying a word.

  “What I have to say concerns national security. Have the public removed from the room.”

  Speaker Metzner reluctantly nodded to the sergeant-at-arms, who started clearing the room of the public. Shouts and howls came from some of the people as they slowly left. Once peace and quiet was restored, Andrews stepped to the podium at the center of the room.

  * * *

  “What I am about to reveal to you is classified top secret,” Andrews said. “All leaks and violations of security will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”

  Senator Whitcolm smiled and stepped forward. “Mr. President, do you deny that classified technology was delivered to Russia?”