by Jeff Sutton
To the contrary, the latter had been impregnated more firmly than ever in the new George Maxwell's mind.
Sent to Mexico, in time he had been spirited across the border to San Diego with instructions to get a job as near the waterfront as possible. His records were impeccable; his birth certificate and other vital documents were those of another George Maxwell who had died unmourned many years earlier in an out-of-the-way place.
While at work, Maxwell watched the ships enter and leave the bay by way of the narrow channel that connected it with the ocean. He often wandered the waterfront and, at night, frequented bars to strike up conversations with sailors. He was particularly interested in the arrivals and departures of the huge aircraft carriers and in the occasional submarines that slumbered in the bay. He jotted numerous notes in a small pad that he always kept with him.
Once a week, in the secrecy of his room, he reduced the information to an orderly listing which he put in a small magnetic container. Later, when certain he was unobserved, he would walk under the ramp of the San Diego-Coronado bridge and attach the container to a certain steel girder, then explore the dark recess with his fingers to determine if another container with new instructions had been left for him.
Occasionally one was, but Maxwell never saw the man who left it there or who picked up the container which he himself had deposited.
George Maxwell didn't know David Harper, which was an alias for another member of the apparat.
Dispatched to the United States by way of Canada to report activities at the naval shipyard at Groton, Connecticut, Harper later had been transferred to Los Angeles. His new beat concerned the huge aircraft plants in the vicinity.
Like George Maxwell, Harper was an innocuous- appearing man, the kind you would scarcely notice in an elevator. Once a week he passed his information to another GRU agent by way of a dead drop located, ironically, in a graveyard. He did not know the name Page 42
of the man who received the information, or who occasionally left him instructions through the same drop.
There was one major respect in which David Harper differed from George Maxwell. Several years earlier, while still at Groton, the FBI had tapped into his path and had converted him into a double agent. It had been either that or...It had been the "or" that had made him decide to cooperate. When he had been ordered to the Los Angeles area, he had gone with the FBI's knowledge.
There the FBI had ordered him to carry out his duties as ordered by his superior. Since the information he placed in the dead drop wasn't monitored, Harper knew that the FBI had another tap still higher up the line.
Consequently, he lived in a state of fear. Should the GRU discover that he was a double agent, he was as good as dead. And if he fled, the FBI would make certain that the GRU did know.
That left him, in fact, a prisoner in the land of the free.
The small apparat of which Harper was a member was headed by Igor Kuznetsov, alias William Clayton, who was the man who picked up George Maxwell's magnetic containers and Harper's information from the dead drop in the graveyard.
He also gathered data supplied by two men named Conrad and Easterbrook, the remaining members of the apparat.
As chief of the apparat, William Clayton was the only one in the group who knew the names of the other four members and where they might be reached on short notice. Of those above him he knew no one save a Mr. Luce, who had been no more than a voice which occasionally contacted him by telephone. He did suspect, though, that Luce was the man who gathered the information which he in turn deposited in still another dead drop.
William Clayton's dream was that he would climb the ladder in his own particular profession --
that one day he would be returned to Moscow to serve in the GRU headquarters. Because any recognition that he might receive would be through Luce, he awaited the latter's rare calls impatiently.
Then one night Luce did call. To Clayton's amazement he was instructed to go immediately to a certain place in a certain park; he would recognize
Luce by the straw hat with the green band and the Herald-Examiner carried in the left hand.
Later, walking with Luce through the park, William Clayton learned of the dire emergency that had drawn Luce from hiding and which within a few hours was to send Clayton and the other four members of his apparat on their most ticklish mission yet. Their destination was a small valley in the hills east of San Diego. William Clayton was jubilant.
The road to Moscow had finally opened.
SEVEN
San Diego Union
San Diego, California, July 19, 1974
MYSTERY EXPLOSION ROCKS S.D. AS VALLEY SPACECRAFT "FOUND"
THE ALLEGED SIGHTING last night of a grounded spacecraft near Eklund Valley, nine miles east of El Cajon, was followed shortly by a tremendous explosion that rocked large parts of the county. Scattered damage was reported.
Valley residents described the explosion, which occurred at the site where the reported sighting was made, as of "nuclear proportions."
Earlier a man who identified himself as Johan Ketterman, an aeronautical engineer who resides in the city, reported spotting the strange vehicle in a gully while conducting a search of the area in a private aircraft.
"I could look right down, see it clearly," Ketterman told reporters. He described the vehicle as
"oval- shaped at each end and about 20 feet long." He placed its location a few miles from the Page 43
area where a flying saucer had been reported two days earlier.
Following the explosion Ketterman led a search party to the gully where the sighting had been made. Numerous twisted parts of a metallic structure were found. Ketterman described them as
"undoubtedly parts of the spacecraft."
A squad of sheriff's deputies hurriedly sealed off the area to preserve any clues which might...
En route to the White House General Cranford Brenner, Army Chief of Staff, felt distinctly uneasy. His instructions from Dale Wharton, Secretary of Defense, had been to report to the Cabinet Room immediately. Nothing more.
But following flurries of rumors throughout the Pentagon, the late-evening call held definite overtones of emergency. He held scant doubt that it related to the mysterious space vehicle reportedly destroyed in the hills east of San
Diego the previous night -- the object of the wild rumors that had been assailing him all day.
The ride gave him a few moments in which to think. Early editions shouted that the strange spacecraft apparently had been destroyed by its crew
-- "to mask its secrets," according to several reports. The lurid nonsense poured out by radio and television had been even more appalling. Some described the vehicle as "definitely Russian,"
others as a "flying saucer";
both versions were documented by dozens of eyewitness reports. Giant gorillas, ray guns, and Russian spies had been thrown in to give color. And, oh yes, the description of the vehicle as an orbital bomb carrier.
If there were a spacecraft, he reflected. That was a hard fact to swallow. Somehow, ever since the first reports, he'd had the feeling that the whole thing was an elaborate hoax, perhaps perpetrated to herald the advent of a new book or film or commercial product. Except for the radar trackings. That was the single hard fact visible. And the evidence of the explosion.
He was met by a waiting assistant who led him directly to the Cabinet Room. The President sat with nine or ten men at a long table. The littered ash trays and scribbled scratch pads were ample evidence that the conference had been going on a long time.
Balding, with horn-rimmed glasses that he invariably removed before being photographed, the President appeared far older than his years. And tired. His bony face held the ash-gray mask of fatigue.
"Good evening, Cranford," he greeted the general informally. "I felt we should have you with us for this round."
"Thank you, Mr. President." A quick glance around told Brenner that this was a meeting of ExComm, the Executive Commit
tee of the National Security Council; almost all the right men were there. He was, in fact, the only outsider. Intuitively he knew that whatever the reason for the occasion, the
Army would be involved to the hilt. He drew some satisfaction from that. He nodded to Defense Secretary Dale Wharton and sat across from Air Force General LeRoy Kalmer, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Kalmer inclined his head in acknowledgment.
"I'll fill you in," the President said briefly. "The strange space vehicle destroyed in San Diego County left a nuclear footprint; the first fragments of metal that were retrieved were heavily radiated. Also" -- he hunched forward in his chair and lowered his voice -- "the vessel appears to have come from beyond the solar system."
Brenner felt a slight shock that he attempted to subdue. He wanted to ask a score of questions but waited. The President continued, "Apparently the crew, some at least, escaped into the surrounding countryside. That leaves us with many problems." A stir ran around the table.
"Yes, sir, it does," Brenner concurred. His first shock past, he could appreciate the dilemma Page 44
posed by the President's words. He said tentatively, "According to the news reports, the ship was approximately twenty feet long."
The President nodded. "Scarcely sounds like a starship, does it? It could, of course, be a lander from a mother ship, except that we're positive no such ship is in Earth orbit. Dale" -- he inclined his head toward the
Defense Secretary -- "has suggested that the mother ship might have landed on the back side of the moon."
"Possibly," Brenner murmured. Oblivious of the others, he kept his eyes on the President.
"What leads us to believe it had a crew? Couldn't it have been unmanned, a programmed probe of some sort?"
"We've considered that. Eldon?" The President glanced at Dr. Riordan, his science adviser.
Riordan lifted his pale, hollow-cheeked face and looked at Brenner. "The area burned by the fire allegedly started by one of the, ah, crewmen of the space vehicle was slightly radioactive."
"What does that indicate?" asked Brenner bluntly. "The fire must have been started by some radioactive means," explained Riordan.
"An atomic ray, is that what you mean?"
"Something of that nature, yes. Aside from that, if we assume the vehicle to be interstellar in origin, which appears extremely plausible, I can scarcely imagine it to have been unmanned."
"Why not?"
"I can't envision guidance and controls of such accuracy as to pinpoint a single planet across interstellar space, let alone effect the return of that information," Riordan said flatly.
"We've allocated money toward that same end," the President's security aide observed.
"For research," returned Riordan.
"Doesn't research imply the possibility of success?"
"Not always." Riordan flushed. "But invariably it pays for itself in spin-offs."
"We're safer to assume a manned vehicle," interrupted the President.
"There have been numerous eyewitness reports to support the probability that the crew, or part of it, is still in the area."
"I've heard the news reports," admitted Brenner. Personally, he couldn't see how a fourteen-foot-tall, apelike creature could fit into a twenty-foot spaceship, but he didn't say so.
The President must have discerned his doubts, for he said, "We can appreciate your skepticism, and we also realize that the large majority of reports are either false or greatly exaggerated, but we still have to cope with the evidence we do have. The radar trackings, the explosion, radioactive ash, metal fragments that are not of Earth -- all that is evidence we can't disregard."
"Mr. President?" Carl Barrett, the CIA director, spoke sharply from the far end of the table. The President glanced inquiringly at him. Barrett hunched forward and said, "We have to assume that it was a starship and that some of its crew, at least, are at large in the surrounding hills. Whoever or whatever they are, we have to locate them as quickly as possible. A starship means a star drive, and if the secret gets out, the entire world will want it.
We can't risk that."
Star drive! For the second time in the few moments he'd been present General Brenner felt a distinct sense of shock. Even the hint of such a thing would bring every nation scrambling into the act. My God, the H-bomb was puny in comparison.
He jerked back his attention as Barrett continued, "We have to assume that this is a purposeful alien contact. It could be either peaceful or otherwise. Who knows their intent? If such a drive exists, we have to get it and get it first. We might need such a defense very badly."
"We've discussed all that, Carl," the President reproved.
"We have to seal off that entire area before it's too late."
"Granting the existence of aliens, how can we be certain they're still in the area?" demanded the Page 45
Treasury Secretary. "We might be sealing off a vacuum."
"Quite unlikely," observed Riordan. "Their physical appearance, whatever it is, would make them too highly visible to move around. If they're there, they're hiding -- probably trying to figure how they ever got into the mess. I
agree that the area should be sealed off immediately."
Nelson Chadwick III, Secretary of State, gestured in protest. Brenner shifted his gaze to the aging Secretary's pink face. Chadwick said, "Such a move would alarm the nation. It also would indicate the extent of the stakes, or the possible extent, if I might put it that way." He was clearly dubious about the whole matter. So were several others.
"We've agreed to pass it off as a war game," Barrett shot back.
"The majority has, yes." Chadwick hesitated. "I'm also concerned about the press reaction."
"What do you believe might happen if the press caught on to what the stakes really are?"
demanded Barrett. "We're already letting too much time pass. Don't you agree, Dale?" He looked at the Defense Secretary.
"Absolutely," Wharton acknowledged.
"Mr. President?" Attorney General Robert Whitefield broke his silence.
When the President looked his way, he continued, "While we have no definite proof that such visitors exist, we have to assume that they do. And we have to assume the responsibility of action. We should seal the area off immediately."
The President gazed reflectively at the ceiling. Brenner felt a tightening of his scalp as the full impact of the possibilities struck home.
Such a ship would imply a vastly superior civilization, at least in a technical sense. What weapons might such a civilization have developed? Who was to say that this landing was by chance or that the intent was peaceful?
The destruction of their ship, perhaps to conceal its weaponry as well as its propulsion system, indicated a need for secrecy that didn't quite jibe with the purpose of a peaceful contact. Barrett and Wharton were right; they had to get on with the job. He became aware that the President was watching him and switched back his attention.
"How soon could such war games be launched?" asked the President.
"Immediately." Brenner looked at the chairman of the Joint Chiefs. "With an Air Force assist."
General Kalmer said, "The Air Force is ready."
"We'd better prepare a press release," someone murmured.
"It is a war game." The President's tired gaze traveled slowly around the table. "In the deepest sense, that is true. Perhaps they will be the most significant exercises ever held; only history will tell. As you know, I've always leveled with the press. Now it appears that we must be somewhat less than forthright, at least for the time being."
In the silence that followed, Brenner sensed the reluctance that had underlain the President's words. And he understood. The President had always called his shots clearly and honestly; now it hurt to have to deviate from that policy. Yet he had no choice.
"Mr. President?" Dr. Riordan's cultivated voice broke the stillness.
"Go ahead, Eldon."
"Suppose that such beings exist and we do manage to, ah, loc
ate them? We haven't discussed that."
"No, we haven't." The President smiled faintly. "What do you have in mind?"
"It would be necessary to hold them absolutely incommunicado."
"That would be an unfriendly act," protested the Secretary of State.
"But necessary," CIA director Barrett interposed.
"I was thinking in terms of possible alien diseases, things like that,"
explained Riordan. "Look how we isolate our own astronauts, and there we're just dealing with Page 46
the moon."
"The word 'incommunicado' didn't imply that intent," the Secretary of State remarked.
Riordan flushed. "An unfortunate choice," he admitted. "I should have said 'isolation.'"
"Aside from that, you couldn't keep such information from the troops for a minute. It would spread like wildfire," asserted Chadwick. "The entire world would know the truth within hours, then where would our credibility be? I
shudder to think of the diplomatic repercussions that would follow."
"The world is full of risks," snapped Barrett.
"Unfortunately."
"Could we even establish communication with such creatures, assuming they exist?" asked the Treasury Secretary. He directed the question to the
President's science adviser.
"In time, certainly." Riordan's smile held poignancy. "Any technical difficulties undoubtedly would be ours, not theirs."
"Explain that, please."
"An interstellar civilization?" Riordan gestured helplessly. "Who would be the savages?"
"I don't regard us in that light," the Treasury Secretary retorted stiffly.
"We can't afford a one-way mirror," murmured Secretary Chadwick.
"Gentlemen!" The President rapped the table lightly. When the silence returned, he continued,
"It's time to put our decisions into action."
The big choppers came in the night.
Toby awoke to the deep whooshing sound they sent reverberating throughout the valley and surrounding hills. He sat up in bed listening. Why were they coming at night? The question filled him with chill apprehension.
