The Stranded Ones

by Jay B. Gaskill

  Dressed in a simple gray jumpsuit, Wu took a seat and slouched at the end of the small conference table, while Jay Robertson sat to the side, dressed in crisp tan slacks and a pressed tan shirt, his bearing ever erect and military. The words “Robertson, Security Division” and the GFE logo were embossed on his collar. There was a pot of coffee, three cups and a heap of breakfast rolls. Robertson was not smiling.

  “Sorry to interrupt your morning, Donald.”

  “I was coming to talk to you anyway. The data pack recovered by McCahan and Springer is dynamite. The bosses are setting up a clandestine rendezvous at Finnegan’s secret lodge in Canada, ASAP.

  “Toad Hall? Am I invited?”

  “You and I are needed here. Finnegan and Jack are both on their way to Toad Hall right now. I think that Finnegan’s wife, Ruth is already there.”

  “What was in the data pack, anyway?”

  “Jay, are you ready? We have an ET problem.” When Jay did not flinch, Wu continued. “Lew Springer retrieved the data from a black government warehouse in New Jersey. The recovered data ties ETs to the Antarctic incident years ago. This is going to a very big deal, I’m sure. There are alien pictures, apparently. Two land locations are mentioned. A specialist named Dr. Delaney has agreed to help us with the date. Both McCahan and Springer are to come to Toad Hall as ‘security consultants’. And the bosses have arranged for the transportation of the former Australian Prime Minister, Elizabeth Hoopes. We need to make sure ‘mother Liz’ gets in and out safely. ”

  “That’s a lot to assimilate, Donald. When you’re done, I have some news as well. I need to be briefed about the recovered data pack before we go further with any plans.”

  “Dr. Delaney is working on the details. I can summarize what we now know, in a nutshell… Wu paused. “This is a bit awkward for me, Jay. Some of this, Mr. Falstaff and I have known all along. As you know, Mr. Falstaff and I go back before Finnegan Gael came into the picture. And Jack hasn’t always been as forthcoming with Finnegan as he could have been. And now everything is coming out. The Antarctic incident was an alien crash for sure. That much, the bosses have always speculated. To be fair, it seems that Jack and the Australian PM, ‘Mother Liz’, have known about the ET crash for years. Jack has recently confided to Mr. Gael that he had access to some alien technology a few years back. Jack also confided to Mr. Gael that he believes that one of our enemies has benefited from the same source.”

  “Enemy? Who?”

  “Commissioner Marius Torque. Frankly, Jack has been holding back details from Finnegan all along, and he swore me to secrecy. The connection between Commissioner Torque and certain aliens has to run deep into the government because the contents of Warehouse 25 were sealed by the Commission itself.”

  “What does ‘Mother Liz’ have for us?”

  “Some of the recovered data was encrypted and it seems that Liz Hoopes has an encryption key.”

  “Okay, what am I expected to do first?

  “This is happening too fast for my taste, Jay. Both of the bosses are en route right now. Elizabeth Hoopes left Australia on her own as soon as Jack called her. In fact she is due to change planes in Vancouver within a few hours. But we will need to arrange for a secure escort to and from Toad Hall for her. As you know, its location is a closely held secret. ”

  “Then I will have my personal pilot, Joe Dixon, meet her in Toronto.” Jay leaned forward. “Donald, I have news. We need to compare notes right now. I’ve just taken an encrypted call from a highly credible source in Argentinean Patagonia.”

  “Patagonia?”

  “That’s why I called you just now. There is an Argentinean priest, Ramón Carrera, a man I knew quite well when he was chaplain for their special forces. Ramón called me out of the blue from an encrypted Sat Phone.”

  “And?”

  “And he wants GFE to do a rescue of some very important intelligence assets hiding out in Patagonia. Time is of the essence. Donald, these assets are friendly ETs. I swear to God if anyone but Ramón had sourced this…”

  “Who can you send?”

  “That’s just it. There is a huge trust issue here. The contact there is a family friend of Ramón named Carlos. It’s somebody who worked for a drug dealer there and is now on the run. The whole transaction is delicate. Ramón knows and trusts me. Carlos does not. Nobody else can handle this.”

  “Jay, as important as this is, we need you available to until the Toad Hall meeting takes place.”

  “Understood. I’m not going anywhere until we develop an overall plan. But I’m sure that these Argentinean ETs will have something to do with the meeting, Donald. Prepare to be amazed.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT - THE COMMISSIONER’S PLOT

  Denver

  Marius Torque was a powerful bureaucrat with an obscure title, head of the enforcement arm of an agency whose very title was designed to deflect attention. The office building at the edge of Denver had been selected for its banal architecture…anonymity through mediocrity. But Commissioner Marius Torque didn’t care a whit for the trappings of power. It was the real thing that mattered to him. And today his patience was in remission, a fact he had been striving to conceal from his subordinates for hours. Torque was frustrated because he was not getting enough information. A mirror on the opposite wall reflected the dimly lit face of a fragile but handsome man in his early thirties. Flashing lights from an advertising display on a nearby building projected the outline of the office’s single window against the wall near the mirror, the plain gray surface lit alternately in green and orange. Torque had been working alone since noon, and for the last two hours had carried on in a darkened office, a small lamp spilling a pool of yellow light across his desk.

  Finally, good news.

  Torque was a self-important manipulator in an obscure international agency that had acquired immense power when the “intellectual property revolution” shook up the world years earlier. He preferred to operate under the local radar. Most neighbors thought he worked for one of these “do gooder” NGOs. Torque pressed a button. “Are they really all dead?” Marius Torque held the title of Commissioner for Biotechnology Patent Review, a power node within the labyrinthine Regional Authority bureaucracy. Though he lacked fame, Marius Torque knew that he was a Very Powerful Player. It was the pleasure in the exercise of that power more than anything else that had let him cultivate the appearance of patience. Torque was a very dangerous man. “Come in and tell me about it in person.”

  The office lights automatically brightened as an older man who had just reported the “successful operation,” entered the room. He was the classic brow-beaten subordinate for whom late middle age was a welcome relief from the responsibility of leadership. “You confirm that Diablo and his pet Little Ones are dead then?” Torque repeated.

  “I didn’t say that exactly, sir.”

  “Just what did you say then?”

  “Diablo’s compound was completely destroyed. As Mr. Keen described it, they had the element of surprise. There is an actual crater in the ground. There were traces of three bodies, all burned to ash, beyond any ready identification except by DNA analysis - which our agents were unable to perform on the scene. But we did collect an intact human toe inside a charred boot. Analysis has confirmed that without a doubt it belonged to Diablo.”

  “Well you are entitled to presume success, then.”

  “Thank you…All this is subject to further inquiry, of course.”

  “Which you are diligently making?”

  “Yes. Of course, the locals are more or less cooperating.”

  “More or less? You will fix that ‘less’ part.” Torque had snarled, feeling the anger and impatience rising in him. Powerlessness always made him furious.

  “Should I report to the Advisor now?”

  “You? No. That is my department, as you well know, Jeff.” Torque’s tone had smoothly segued from controlled anger to unctuous patronization.

  “You may go now.”

  “Sir.�
��

  Alone, Marius Torque stood and stretched before attending to the local “Advisor” in the back room. This creature was an alien wonder, the existence of which, and of its many concealed colleagues, was a deep secret. The species was sometimes referred to as the “Others”. They, like the hated Little Ones, apparently arrived at the same time.

  This would be a quick consultation, “through the glass” as it were. The alliance between Marius Torque, a faceless bureaucrat, and the creature he called the Advisor, was for him a felicitous meeting of the minds, an unexpected inter-species concord. The several-year relationship between alien creature and obsequious human had been a gift. For Torque it meant remarkable technological and logistical support and, even more importantly, it was the validation of his worldview. Torque felt proprietary about his special relationship, forbidding the overambitious assistant of his, Thorander Keen, any unsupervised access to “the Senior Advisor”.

  Think of it! These remarkable creatures also value what I do! It was a concordance based on a common desire for control and repression, but without a shared vision. The Advisor’s vision, which was not shared, might have shaken even Torque to the core. Torque was comforted by his illusions.

  He found the creature awake and alert in its special environment on the other side of a thick transparent barrier. “Congratulations. I count the operation a partial success,” the creature said. Its voice was manufactured by a signal processor at the base of its spine, a part of its anatomy otherwise unidentifiable. When outside, it glistened and moved in a glass hemisphere attached to the Exotic Life-Support Unit (ELSU) a self-powered incubator that had been adapted for its current occupant’s purposes. The ELSU was parked in a corner of the Advisor’s living quarters.

  On the other side of the glass, the creature looked like nothing other than a four meter length of black and red intestine, supporting a central bulb that housed the brain case. “Only four of the enemy still survive,” it said. Torque understood the reference to be to the spiny, crustacean like Little Ones whose pictures had been secured in warehouse 24 all these years.

  “I am gratified to have been of any assistance…”

  “I tire now.”

  Apparently there was going to be nothing further from the alien. After a respectful delay, Torque, glowing with self-importance, turned to leave the viewing area. How few humans indeed are privileged to treat with these magnificent creatures who could travel between the stars and who had taught humanity – or at least me – so much. How arrogant we were then, he thought, before Contact, before the secret Agreement, how properly humble now.

  Torque suppressed a wave of dejection that nagged somewhere at the edge of consciousness. But, once again, his powers of self-deception and denial had deleted any traces of source of the feeling. Its cause would not be explored.

  Then, just as Torque reached the door: “Why is the former Australian Prime Minister traveling to Quebec?” Torque stopped and turned to face his master.

  How did you know that? Did Keen tell you? Torque suppressed his questions. “We’re working on that,” he said. He hoped that his devious subordinate, Thorander Keen, hadn’t also disclosed the theft of the data pack from Warehouse 25. That was obviously a connected event, one his assistant was supposed to be looking into at the very moment.

  “You will keep me informed?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  Torque’s next meeting with Thorander Keen was to be early the next morning, moments after his arrival from Patagonia. They would talk about the “Prime Minister Hoopes problem,” and the results of Keen’s investigation. As always, Torque would have to watch his ambitious assistant’s moves every step of the way.

  Over Argentina

  That same night, Thorander Keen sat in a compact private cabin in an executive jet. It was crossing the Andes at an altitude of 75,000 feet, returning to the US. Thorander removed his earphones and leaned back. There had been no recording made of his conversation with the informant he had recruited inside Finnegan Gael’s inner circle, a disgruntled employee. He weighed the advantages of telling Torque about this conversation in today’s meeting, against the disadvantage of Torque inferring what had previously been withheld from him. In this ploy, Keen knew he was acting as Marius Torque would have acted in his place.

  But Keen was no fool. He knew that Torque valued skill at deception only in himself. Keen also knew that Torque’s skill at deception extended even to the fine art of self-deception. For Torque, self-deception was an aid to the appearance of honesty.

  Of course, Marius Torque would be the last to acknowledge the nature of his own character. Torque preferred to think in terms like “realism,” and “necessity,” and “exigency,” as the occasions when the “dirty business” of pushing other people around forced themselves upon him. Keen prided himself on having no such illusions about his own character. And Keen could see no clear advantage in telling Marius of this particular contact. He would wait, for now.

  Denver

  Keen arrived promptly at 6:00 AM in the Commissioner’s conference room. The two men were alone.

  “So,” High Commissioner Torque began. “Thank you for the work in Argentina. Two new questions have arisen in your absence. What is Finnegan Gael doing constructing in a secret facility in Quebec? And why is Prime Minister Hoopes meeting him there? I would appreciate your thoughts.”

  Thorander Keen was a hawk faced man with dark piercing eyes and pale, almost transparent skin. His voice was dry and measured. “I’ve just been briefed by our Canadian agents. Just my opinion?”

  “By all means.”

  “We already knew that the scale and cost of the Gael/Falstaff construction projects in Quebec exceeded the needs for any normal residence or compound, no matter how sophisticated the security, no matter how lavish the accommodations. We now know the code name for part of this is ‘Toad Hall’. So we assumed they must have included a secure residence near the main installation, probably a lodge of some kind. We now have confirmed the construction of a short, high speed railway into the base of a mountain.”

  “Where? What is going on there?”

  “There are several plausible locations. They are still looking into that. So far, much of the information is based on orders and deliveries in Quebec. From the pattern we suspect that GFE is constructing a northern base for one or more of their shuttles.”

  “I knew of only three privately owned shuttles, all belonging to Gael/Falstaff Australia.”

  “Well they apparently want to extend their landing rights. Anyway, that is the current theory.”

  “Exactly where are these facilities?” Keen’s expression was suddenly guarded. He knows, Torque thought.

  “We’re working on that,” Keen said.

  “And why is the former Australian Prime Minister involved?”

  “Gael and Falstaff have a long-standing business relationship with a firm of industrial spies, McCahan and Springer.”

  “I know their work,” Torque said. “It will be a wonderful day when we can shut them down.”

  “The break-in at Warehouse 25 had their signature - undoubtedly their fieldwork. We must assume the worst.”

  “WHAT? You mean that Gael knows about the Advisors?”

  “And the Little Ones, their ancient enemies? If not yet, he will soon enough. The really sensitive parts of the stolen data pack were well encrypted. But we think Ms. Hoopes was given an encryption key shortly after she retired as the Australian PM. A military attaché loyal to her was known to have had access to a copy. That makes her connection with Gael and Falstaff all the more threatening.”

  “So there will soon be a meeting in Quebec.” Torque was thinking out loud. Keen nodded. “Springer, McCahan, Gael, Falstaff, and Hoopes will attend.” Keen nodded again. “Do you have a specific location?”

  Keen hesitated. His source was a valuable trump card. “We suspect Gael’s lodge is somewhere in north central Quebec. Springer, the industrial spy that we suspect in the bur
glary, was probably heading there, but we lost him. With careful satellite recon we should be able to narrow the search to two or three suspect locations.”

  “You need to get another assault team ready.”

  “Yes. We’re moving assets into Quebec. The same that were used in Patagonia.”

  “You have to be much more discreet because the local government there is much less…understanding.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I am curious, Keen. Why isn’t this group just meeting in Australia? GFE’s facilities are very well defended there.”

  “Unclear. Perhaps this was due to Hoopes’ schedule. She was to travel through Vancouver. As of this moment, we don’t know where she is. I really don’t know why and where the GFE principals choose to do what they do. I know that McCahan and Springer operate out of Chicago. Fortunately for us, Gael seems to feels secure wherever he is, even complacent.”

  “Can we move quickly enough to catch them all in one place?”

  “Marius, as soon as we pinpoint the meeting’s location in Quebec, our team will leave another large crater within 24 hours of the ‘Go’ order.”

  “Good.”

  After Torque dismissed his ambitious assistant, he stood and turned to face his window; he stared out without really seeing. The jagged black outlines of the Rocky Mountain range that formed one side of the Denver basin were faintly lined against a dark purple sky. In the morning, the snow-capped peaks would be stark and clear in the distance.

  Torque rarely noticed the view from his window, and was indifferent to the beauty in any case. Torque was filled with an aesthetic pleasure of another kind entirely. In a few moments he would again see the Senior Advisor.