by Peter Idone
“What about Roswell?”
“What about Roswell? The subject has been covered ad nauseam, as has the Philadelphia Experiment, the Montauk Project, and all the weird shit that was supposed to take place at Dulce Base in New Mexico. That’s just to name a few. Glass expects clear-minded scientific method and analysis used in the study of UFOs and government secret projects, not these flights of fancy. If you read some of the stuff these people believe, it is very disturbing. A lot of minds in this field are seriously troubled.”
“There’s just so little written about or by him. Nothing shows up. I find it a little strange. I thought he was more famous.”
“I never said he was. He likes to keep a very low profile. Besides, he’s known in the field. That’s what’s important.”
They had arrived at the art-deco bunker. Natalie turned into the driveway and parked close to the front entrance. She had him wait in the car while she announced herself at the monitoring installation. “It’s only me,” he could hear her say. She then slipped a card in the security lock, and the heavy door hummed open. She waved Logan in. “I’m going to prepare the way, so wait here,” she whispered. “There could be a psychotronic reaction. The idea of having a stranger in the house might send him over the edge.” Natalie then bounded lightly up a curving staircase to the upper floor.
Logan wasn’t sure if she was having him on about Glass’s reaction to his presence. He waited in the foyer, listening. A collection of brown leaves littered the black-and-white checkered linoleum floor. A wide arched opening to the right stepped down into a gallery or living room space. Furniture was sparse, as was the décor. Several pieces of cold painted statuary stood on end tables at either side of a vanilla modular sofa, and another on a coffee table. Nothing was on the walls other than a flat-screen monitor, framed in an ornate, faux gesso, gold-leaf picture frame, which emitted static. A bookcase was stocked with bound volumes and several framed photographs of Natalie and, he presumed, Glass, posing as a couple.
He heard voices in increasing decibels. “I thought I told you never to bring home any strays,” a man’s voice bellowed. The rest of the exchange sounded heated if indistinct. There was a loud thud, as if something had fallen or was thrown. . The atmosphere seemed to tingle with the potential of domestic violence. He was ready to run up the stairs when Natalie appeared and, in a voice tinged with strain, invited him up.
At the top of the stairs, Natalie led him down the hall to a spacious but gloomy study. It was dark, with heavy, eggplant-colored shades covering the windows. The man he assumed was Glass was seated behind a fortress-sized desk, three computer monitors providing the only illumination and casting an iridescent glow on the pallid complexion of the man seated behind them. Glass looked soft, a trifle overweight, and ungroomed. Lank brown hair fell greasily over a pronounced brow. He was in his mid-forties and had a cornered look about him. His eyes reflected the light from the computer screens lifelessly, like buttons sewn on the face of a stuffed toy. A large leather-bound volume, a dictionary or encyclopedia, lay open at the base of the far wall, its pages turned inward and mangled. Probably this is what had caused the noise, a book thrown in anger. The room had a sour, lived-in smell of flatulence and soiled clothes. Glass was wrapped in a dark paisley robe. From an outstretched leg, Logan could see that he wore black, ankle-length socks and his flesh was the color of a turnip.
Glass looked at Logan and said, “First it was Batman who came to rescue me. Then double-O-seven tried to kidnap me. Now you. Are you here to kill me?”
Logan was astounded. “Kill you? What are you talking about? I just came to ask—” But he was interrupted.
“You have the look of an assassin. Don’t you think, Natalie? No, of course you don’t. Apparently my protégé places a trust in you which I find unreservedly misdirected.”
“If I’m going to kill anything, it’s going to be that creature that tore apart my dog. Natalie has spoken to you about it, hasn’t she?”
Glass nodded. “I’ve been briefed. There has been another incident today.”
“My neighborhood is crawling with Tacticals. I talked to the guy who had seen the same thing and called the cops.”
“What do you want from me, exactly?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps you can provide some kind of insight as to what I saw. What is that creature, that dog-man, and why, after my dog was killed, were elaborate measures taken to steal the body?”
“Carcass you mean. It was, after all, an animal.”
“All right, a carcass, but it was still my dog. Sort of part of the family, don’t you think?”
“No I don’t. I haven’t much use for pets or children. They’re messy.”
Without being asked, Logan pulled up a plush office chair and sat down. Natalie hovered by the doorway, remaining quiet and still. Glass closed down whatever programs he was running on the computers and switched on a small lamp attached to a movable arm mounted on the desk. The tiny bulb and an assortment of LEDs on the electronic equipment was all that illuminated the room.
“Do you know what a chimera is, Mr. Logan?”
“Yes, but in what context specifically?”
“There has always been an interest in the use of animals for combat operations by the military. The research goes back to the last century, during the early sixties, perhaps even earlier. There are dogs, of course, having been used in warfare throughout history, and the records are quite full of examples. During the Vietnam era, there were porpoises being trained as sappers to blow up ships and even pigs packed with explosives to detonate remotely either some installation or individual. There have been rumors of an R and D weapons-research project called Cerberus contracted by the Army to create an ultra intelligent animal for combat ground reconnaissance, infiltration, counter sniper control, and the like. In coordination with one of the big genetic technology firms, an animal was being developed using both feline and canine species with upwards of fifty percent human genetic material. Even more. In what combination and which parts were manifested have never been made clear. The main goal was a highly evolved intelligence, information retention, an ability to understand the nuance of language, if not possessing the mechanics for speech. Cognition. Think of the special senses a dog has: sense of smell, finely tuned hearing, an ability to see in the dark, night vision, and a basic predatory nature, combined with an expansive ability for cognition. A story circulated during the first Afghan War back in oh-two by the Reuters newswire and was picked up by the major newspapers. Pashtun tribesmen were complaining about these large cats with strange collars killing alleged terrorists and livestock. The locals saw these creatures, a little smaller than a cougar, dropped from hovering helicopters and even in the company of Special Forces teams. The cats’ prey was a little too indiscriminate. Local tribes people, even children, were mauled, some even killed. And now we are hearing reports of sightings of this large, dog-like creature with a humanoid-like face, sporting a collar or harness with blinking lights or LEDs. There is an occupying force in the area, a police/military unit on permanent assignment, conducting operations and maneuvers at all times at Pine Haven and beyond. One could infer that this is some kind of tool or weapon belonging to the Tacticals. Perhaps it’s an early prototype not thoroughly vetted. Maybe its mental aspect is unstable. It has gone rogue, and its handlers can’t rein it in because it has gone to ground. A confused animal nature has taken over, and it only comes out at night to slaughter. Today domesticated pets, and quite possibly tomorrow some unsuspecting citizen will fall victim.”
“Is what you’re saying a strong possibility or a scenario?”
“Who the fuck knows? I don’t know. But consider this, maybe this animal, this creature is not a product of genetic engineering. Maybe it’s something else.”
“What do you mean, something else?”
“A threshold creature. An incarnation of some entity that crossed over into our world and can’t get back to its own. Or it can travel back and forth at w
ill. A real, true chimera straight out of mythology. One of several phenomena born out of the aborted Pine Haven experiments.”
“Then you subscribe to the notion the Air Force was building an inter-dimensional portal?”
“Am I? Is that what you think? I haven’t said that and I have no proof and I’m not about to commit to any theory or jump to wild conclusions before the facts are in. Not like my detractors are so willing to do.”
“But it’s safe to assume that whether the dog is a—what did you call it?—a threshold animal, it is somehow linked to Pine Haven.”
“It is a possibility, but once again there are no facts.”
“Natalie explained that Tara, my dog, was taken later that night.”
“She reiterated everything as you said, verbatim I’m sure. Natalie is a very smart girl.”
“I have questions about that. Why was she taken in the first place? And the vehicle that was parked in the driveway was lit up like a spaceship. Why all the theatrics with men in strange suits jumping in and out of the hatches and doors on the van? It was almost like a circus act.”
“I’m sure it was made to look that way.”
“If those guys were techs and in some way associated with the Response Team, why would they want the remains?”
“Let’s say it was the Response Team, for the sake of argument, and personally I believe it was. They would want to perform a forensic examination on your dead dog. If this creature is Tactical and had gone rogue, or an anomaly, some cryptozoological creature, in either case, they will want to study the manner in which it has killed. It might give them insight as to why your dog, specifically, was killed. The Tacticals have a problem and they’re not going to ask permission from you or me to solve it.”
“All right that does make sense, but that still doesn’t explain the kind of vehicle they used or the lights and the way it moved. I think I told Natalie it didn’t have wheels.”
“You did. I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Logan. You woke up after having experienced some terrible events. You just got laid off from your job, apparently you have financial problems, no family remaining, at least not here in Essex, and the closest thing to you, the one creature on this earth that provides you with comfort and an object of unconditional love has been hideously destroyed. You’re in shock. You drink, pass out from emotional and physical exhaustion, and you are awakened. The shock has yet to subside completely, I think. I do not doubt what you saw, but under such circumstances, the manner in which the brain processes visual information under that kind of distress should be taken into account.”
“Those guys looked like a bunch of squirrels scampering in and out of that van.”
“I can only suggest you go to a counselor or hypnotherapist to relive the situation and maybe come to some conclusion.”
“I haven’t the money to spend on psychotherapy right now.”
“It was only a suggestion. I feel the thing you can do right now is keep a very low profile. Stay under the radar, so to speak.”
“I didn’t know I was on the radar.”
“You’re wrong, Mr. Logan. You most certainly left a signature.”
“With whom? The Tacticals?”
“You have contacted the police about the incident with your dog. You’ve been to police headquarters. Tactical plainclothes or auxiliaries showed up at your house that very night, and let’s assume the strange van and the men in coveralls and facemasks were Response Team, so yes, I do think you have made an impression. The Essex police pass on information to the Tacticals, their income is supplemented by the same firm. The Town of Essex hasn’t the funds available to pay for a fully staffed police department. Who do you think pays them? Your name and address is on a list somewhere, all known information about you has been documented and filed. It has probably crossed the desk of ‘der uber’ policeman, Colonel Turner. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, I’ve heard the name.”
“Turner knows everything. Beware of him. Be careful that he doesn’t take an interest in you.”
“Why should he? I haven’t done anything.”
“It’s what you might do that that will spark his interest. If he’s studied your file, everything that has occurred involving you, and plugs in his formula as to how you will react, he will then take action. He knows just about everything that’s going on in Essex. Who has left town, who remains, who is trying to sell out, and who is determined to stay against all odds and no matter the cost. Remember the hostile sentiments toward the radioactive waste burial and the protests that began?”
“The Essex Anti-Nuclear Defense Association.”
“How lofty. Didn’t last long, did it? Leadership compromised in one form or another, homegrown antiterror laws invoked. The opposition was over before it had begun. Turner and his intelligence unit were already in town preparing the site before work over at Pine Haven had even started. Before the rest of the Tacticals were even here. More importantly, he knows about us, me and Natalie. Turner knows we’re trying to uncover as much information about Pine Haven as we can. He knows about the people we have interviewed and who have dropped by the house. Natalie may not have done you as great a favor as you think by bringing you here.”
“What do you think happened at Pine Haven, the cause of the accident?”
“That is an entirely different topic. You didn’t come here to ask me about that. Besides, Pine Haven is a classified subject.”
“Henry Bock recommended that I talk to you. He said you knew everything.”
“I can’t vouch for Henry. He’s old and should retire. The man is in no shape to be working, let alone acting as a field agent for a government bureau. Now, Mr. Logan, I’m going to ask you to leave. I have nothing more to say to you on this or any other subject.”
Logan hesitated. He had more questions, details he needed clarified. He wanted to know about the burning cattle at Lennox Farm and if the bizarre creature embedded in the cysts Henry spoke of was the reason why. Was there a relationship between these cysts and the Pine Haven accident? Was there some unknown toxicity released that caused mutations, and was the dog-man a mutation? Was it even possible?
Natalie stepped over and tapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Joe, you won’t get any more out of him. I’ll give you a lift home.”
Logan pushed himself out of the embrace of the lush office chair. “Thanks for your time Mr….Glass. Good luck with your research.”
Glass didn’t respond. The computer monitors ignited once again, and he hunkered down behind the desk like an infantryman under withering fire. When they had gotten into the Land Rover, Logan said to Natalie, “He’s quite the windbag, isn’t he?”
“I won’t make excuses for Glass. Most of the time, for as long as I’ve known him, Glass has his finger on the pulse of what’s really going on.”
“He’s developing into something of a paranoid intellect, shutting himself in like he does. At least he knows I don’t mean him any harm. What was that shit about me being an assassin?”
“That outburst was more for my benefit than yours.”
Logan could see that Natalie was distressed. Her jaw quivered. She slowed the car and pulled over onto the wide shoulder. There were no streetlamps, just the black meadows and leafless tree limbs of the Hills. “Glass isn’t researching or writing a book or articles about Pine Haven or any other arcane topic. He hasn’t left the house in weeks. He looks at pornography. That constitutes all of his time, all day and well into the night. It’s rather brutal stuff. Porn has more the look of a horror genre rather than anything remotely erotic or even sexual. Less bedroom antics and more crime scene. He doesn’t even try to hide it from me.”
“And you’re disgusted with him.”
“No, not that,” she said and thought for a moment. “I’m terribly disappointed in him. Maybe some of the things circulating about Glass are true. Maybe he has drawn a paycheck from the authorities to do nothing at one time or has spread some disinform
ation in certain circles. But I won’t believe for a second that he’s running an operation for Turner and the Response Team. Deep down I know he wants to uncover the truth about Pine Haven. He’s troubled…I’ll do it for him, do whatever is necessary and turn over my findings.”
“Obviously he’s got a serious problem if he looks at that stuff all day. It’s going to warp his perception of relationships between men and women.”
“How terribly astute of you, Logan.”
Logan couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or sincere. He gathered that talking to him about this subject was difficult, and she needed to trust someone. He would be only too happy to provide whatever comfort he could. Natalie looked into her rearview mirror, saw that there was no traffic, and pulled back onto the road. After a minute she said, “I’m not only a research assistant. Glass depends on me. I’ve become an extension of his, a probe. He may be going through a tough time right now, and I’m not going to let him down.”
“It hurts more because you’re far more than just a research assistant or probe, aren’t you?”
“I beg your pardon?” Suddenly, Natalie’s tone became icy.
“While I was waiting for you, I saw some photographs in the living room. You looked like a couple. You both seemed…very happy.”
