Sedona Conspiracy. James C. Glass
Читать онлайн книгу.
are good enough, we don’t need another one, and I didn’t ask for new personnel. Impressive file, Mister Price, or should I call you doctor? Physics, computer science, all the right prep, and a long record as an analyst, if it’s real. I’ve got twenty-four years in the military, and a lot of it in covert ops. I know a field spook when I see one, and until I’m told why you’re really here you’ll be working on that file in town.”
Give it up for now. “Okay, I’ll file my report, and the pentagon will decide what happens to both our careers. I’ll work through the file tonight, but that’s as far as I go until this situation is resolved. I can’t develop any procedural plans without the access I want.”
Davis smiled slightly. “Probably true, if you’re what I think you are, so we’re both taking a chance here. Nothing personal, Price.”
Eric gave him the dark, predatory look of a young, hungry boxer. The look would have made a normal man shudder, but Colonel Davis didn’t even flinch.
“If it turns out you’re hiding something you shouldn’t be hiding, Colonel, then it will be worse than personal, and it’ll be a matter of national security.”
Davis leaned over his desk and glared back at him. “And if you knew the situations I’ve been dealing with, you’d know why I’m not even afraid of that. File your report, Mister Price, and let’s see what happens. For now, you’ll report back to me four days from now about the contents of that file, Four days, at oh-five-hundred. Be ready.”
Davis sat up straight. “Sergeant, Mister Price is ready to leave.”
The door opened, and an MP stood there. “This way, sir,” he said sharply.
Eric nodded, stood, and followed the guard out the door without looking back, and another guard closed the door behind him.
They marched him straight to the elevator without a word, ascended with him to tunnel level, and the black SUV was waiting with the same driver who’d picked him up earlier. Half an hour later he was ascending again to the garage and the water tower and the high, chain link fence, then racing back to his house on red dirt and pavement, the driver totally silent and Eric making no effort at conversation. He was already writing his report in his mind, and had no time to waste in absorbing the file in his possession.
Eric went into his house and sniffed the air. Slips of paper he’d put near the base of front and back doors were undisturbed, and there were no unusual odors. He sat right down at the computer and wrote a terse report to Gil about the suspicious way he’d been received by Colonel Davis. The man was either uncertain or insecure about his position, or he was trying to hide something. Eric would have total access to the base, or request reassignment. The entire report, single spaced, was less than a page long, and Eric sent it on its way with a keystroke.
The telephone rang. Eric picked it up on the second ring.
“Oh, you’re back already,” said Leon.
“Surprised? You didn’t tell me Colonel Davis is a complete asshole.”
“Let’s talk. Your place. I’ll let myself in from the tunnel, so don’t shoot me.”
The phone went dead.
So, he can get in here from the basement. Yes, we need to talk.
Leon must have run the entire way, in minutes the tunnel door opened as Eric watched from the top of the stairs. Leon locked the door behind him. “I don’t see a gun, so I guess I’m welcome.”
“I don’t have a gun,” said Eric.
“That’s right, Analysts have no use for them. So, what happened with you and Davis?”
Eric went down the stairs. He and Leon stood by the furnace in orange light to talk. Eric told him what had happened, in detail. Leon shook his head.
“He’s never acted like that with me. We’ve even had some drinks together. You must have said something to spook him.”
“I know I did. I want total access to the base, and he doesn’t want me there.”
“Do you need that for tech evaluation?”
“I have to see and handle the hardware, Leon. You sound like Davis.”
“Didn’t he brief you on ‘Shooting Star’?”
“I have the file here.”
“So study it. Maybe everything you need is in there. Slow down a bit; you just got here.”
“Fine, but I can’t speed up progress on the project if I can’t get what I need. I have to see the aircraft, get my hands on the metal, and Davis knows it. What’s he so suspicious about?”
“I don’t know,” said Leon.
“I just sent in my initial report, and it’s not complimentary to Davis. Either I get what I want, or I’m out of here.”
“I wish you’d talked to me first.”
“I don’t report to you, Leon. Christ, first Davis, now you. Everyone wants to be a boss. Well at least I have the file. Now why don’t you get out of here so I can read it.”
“Okay, but you don’t have to play prima-donnas with me. Read the file. Maybe it’ll show you how important this project really is. We can talk in the morning. I’ll be in the office by ten.”
“Goodbye,” said Eric. He thought about stomping a foot for emphasis, but decided that would be pushing things too far.
Leon turned away, opened the door to the tunnel and closed it loudly behind him. Eric immediately locked it, making a show of temper. He went up the stairs, taking deep breaths, letting them out slowly.
Well, I think I’ve stirred up things enough for one day.
He made coffee in the kitchen, made a ham and cheese sandwich and took it all to his desk, where the file awaited him. For the rest of the morning, all afternoon and early that evening he read it, studied it, making notes, talking to himself on paper with each discovery he made.
It was not just an aircraft, but also something more. It was delta-shaped, flat like a lifting body and huge, with extreme dimensions of a seven-twenty-seven. A crew of five in a spacious controls area at the sharp nose of a smooth fuselage not designed for stealth. No missile pods to be seen, nor was there a bomb bay, yet the overall shape of the craft suggested military. The drawings showed four jet engines, but no specs or manufacturer were given. Could be a lifting body for something smaller, he thought, then, no, the aft cross-section is much too thick, the taper forward too extreme for a lifting body. The whole thing looks aerodynamically unstable, must be fly-by-wire.
There was nothing in the file to tell him where the thing had come from: no markings, no manuals in a foreign language, no history about how it had been obtained. There was not even a photograph of the aircraft, only drawings. One detail drawing showed a strange, internally cantilevered section to the rear of the craft that, when lowered, made it look even more unstable, and there was nothing to show what was in that section or what purpose it served.
The great bulk of the file was table after table of test data, all taken in a laboratory setting: wind tunnel data to Mach one, vibration and stress tables on wings and fuselage, thermal and electrical conductivity data over selected sections of the aircraft. There were no records of any performance testing, not even a record of a flight.
What am I supposed to do? Come up with a plan to put all this crap together so it says something? Why would anybody want to sabotage such a messed up project?
Eric closed the file in disgust, and took himself to town for dinner at The Planet. He had a Saturn burger with fries, and someone who had been at Nataly’s party tried to interest him in buying a timeshare. When Eric politely declined, the man told him about a program at the Creative Life Center just outside of town. Some expert on UFOs was speaking there. It would be an opportunity to meet some of the new age crowd, many of whom were devoted patrons of the arts. Perhaps Eric