Area 51_The Mission Read online

  AREA 51

  THE MISSION

  Robert Doherty

  v1.0 (2011.06)

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  PROLOGUE

  A golden tendril was stretched out from the guardian computer under the surface of Mars and wrapped around the head of the Airlia who had awakened the first echelon and sent them off in their talon ships toward Earth.

  The guardian informed her of the destruction of the fleet and the death of her comrades. The pupils in her red eyes narrowed as she processed this information.

  She twitched as the guardian picked up a small anomaly near Mars. She had the surface sensors focus on it. Something was coming toward her location, less than thirty seconds out. There was no electromagnetic reading and she almost ignored it, but she paused. She was the only one left awake. She could afford to take no chances. She mentally gave the commands.

  In the center of the solar field array a bolt of pure energy shot upward. It hit the incoming Surveyor probe dead-on.

  The Airlia saw the nuclear explosion take place three miles above her location. It had been close but not close enough.

  The Airlia began giving commands. She would wake the others. Then there was much to do.

  The first battle had been lost, but the war was far from over.

  CHAPTER 1

  Lisa Duncan adjusted the focus on the telescope. “There’s the mothership. You can see it against the moon as it goes by.”

  Duncan was short, barely over five feet, and slender. Her dark hair was cut short, framing a thin face, etched with worry lines and stress. She had a glass of white wine in her hand, and gestured toward the scope, inviting the other person on the deck to take a look.

  She wore khaki pants and shirt under a brown leather flight jacket that was worn and faded. The jacket was necessary, as a cool breeze was blowing down from the Rocky Mountains and the telescope was on a deck that wrapped around her house, precariously perched on the side of a steep mountain. The faint strains of jazz floated out of the open door onto the deck. A fire blazed in the large stone fireplace inside, the smoke curling out of the chimney above their heads.

  The house, 7,000 feet up, overlooked the Great Plains to the east. The lights of the city of Boulder twinkled 2,000 feet below. The glow from Denver was farther away and to the right. The nearest neighbor was over two miles away up the packed dirt road that was the only way to get to the house.

  The Rockies stretched north and south, the continental divide to the west. It had taken them over two hours to drive the rental car from Denver International to here, the last forty minutes from Boulder on a precarious narrow road that had degraded from paved to gravel to dirt the closer they got to the house.

  Mike Turcotte put his chilled mug full of beer on the railing and took Duncan’s place at the scope. He bent over, placing his eye on the rubber eyepiece. He was a solidly built man, of average height, about five-ten, with broad shoulders. His skin was dark, a legacy of his half-Canuck, half-Indian background. His black hair was peppered with gray and cut tight against his skull. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt with a gold Special Forces crest emblazoned on the left chest. He didn’t seem to notice the cool breeze.

  “That thing survived a nuclear blast,” he marveled, seeing the mile-long alien ship through the scope as a sliver of black against the bright full moon.

  “It was designed to cross interstellar distances using a drive system we don’t have a clue about,” Duncan said. “Remember, Majestic-12 couldn’t cut through that skin for over fifty years when they had it at Area 51.”

  Turcotte straightened. “Is it in a stable orbit?”

  Duncan laughed. “Worried it’ll land on your head?”

  “On somebody’s head.”

  “It won’t be coming down anytime soon. Larry Kincaid from the Jet Propulsion Lab says it’s in a high orbit that doesn’t seem to be decaying. The ship is tumbling very slowly. There is the gash the explosion put in the side, but considering the power that was expended, it’s not much damage. Close-ups reveal the ship’s skin is torn, but the framework seems intact. One of the talons is nearby, also tumbling.”

  He remembered that sixth alien spaceship chasing him, firing, just before the nukes went off. It had survived the blast intact, but the ship had gone dead—just in time before it blew his bouncer out of the sky.

  “What about the other five talons?” Turcotte asked.

  “No sign. Kincaid says they were probably caught inside the cargo hold in the explosion.” Duncan leaned against the railing. “UNAOC wants to check it all out.”

  “Check it all out?” Turcotte repeated.

  “Send astronauts up on shuttles and rendezvous with both the mothership and talon.”

  “Take Area 51 into space, in other words,” Turcotte said.

  Duncan frowned. “That’s an odd way of putting it. This is the United Nations Alien Oversight Committee we’re talking about, not Majestic-12.”

  Turcotte considered her in the dark. “Do you trust UNAOC?”

  For a while the only sound was the wind through the pine trees on the hillside. Finally Duncan answered. “No, I don’t. There’s another problem.” “Problem?”

  “With UNAOC,” Duncan said. “The dig into the wreckage of Majestic’s biolab at Dulce, New Mexico—to find what was on the lowest level and to try to find the guardian computer that was there—has been stopped.”

  Turcotte wasn’t overly surprised at that piece of information. “Why?”

  “I didn’t get a reason, because I wasn’t officially notified. I only found out through a source of mine in Washington. I would assume that the U.S. is pressuring UNAOC to stop. The disclosures at Area 51 were bad enough. I think whatever was going on in Dulce would be worse.”

  “From what I saw when I broke in there,” Turcotte said, “they were doing illegal biological testing.” “They took the Nazi scientists who worked the death camps and put them in Dulce and gave them the green light to continue their work. I’m not sure I want to know exactly what they were doing there.” He shrugged. “Let’s hope U.S. pressure is the reason.”

  Duncan pulled up the collar on her leather jacket. “What do you mean?”

  “Dulce—and Area 51—were under the control of Majestic-12. Majestic—at the end—was under the control of the guardian computer from Temiltepec that was working for the Airlia group under Aspasia’s control. If you follow the trail, maybe there’s still that same faction that doesn’t want what was being done in Dulce to be discovered.”

  “Majestic was broken up and the Temiltepec guardian buried when Dulce was destroyed,” Duncan said. “Aspasia was destroyed by you.”

  “Majestic was only the American group that was under control of the guardian,” Turcotte said. “I’ll bet you my next paycheck there are other groups in other countries under the mind control of a guardian. Temiltepec wasn’t the only guardian left behind by the aliens. We did find one in China, don’t forget.”

  “Long buried,” Duncan said. “And that one was Artad’s guardian, not Aspasia’s.”

  “True. But it wo
uld also be naive to assume there aren’t more guardians out there we don’t know about. Don’t forget, the Easter Island one is still active. It would also be foolish to think that by stopping Aspasia’s fleet we totally defeated the Airlia.

  “And remember, it was a foo fighter that took out Dulce, which makes me think someone was trying to cover something up. And maybe whatever was supposed to be covered up is still going on somewhere else.”

  “You think the biotesting at Dulce was moved?”

  “Either moved or being done elsewhere. It would make sense to have redundant facilities. The same is true with the guardians under Aspasia’s control.” “Wheels within wheels,” Duncan said.

  “Hard to know what to believe and who to trust,” Turcotte said.

  “I trust you.”

  Turcotte rubbed the stubble of beard on his chin. Duncan came up next to him, standing close by his side. He regarded her for a moment, taking in her dark eyes. “Where’s your son?” He felt bad for not having asked before, but it had been one heck of a trip just getting some time off and coming here. He’d noticed the picture of Lisa and her son on the mantelpiece inside.

  “He’s been staying with his father since school started. I knew this assignment was going to consume all my time, and it wouldn’t have been fair to leave him here.”

  “It would be kind of lonely,” Turcotte noted.

  “It is, but we enjoy it when we’re here together,” Duncan said. “When I taught at the University we would drive to town together.”

  “You miss him.” Turcotte said it as fact, not a question.

  Duncan nodded. “They’re away now on a camping trip. I’d hoped to be able to see him, but…” Her voice trailed off.

  “I’m sorry,” Turcotte said.

  “Next time in town,” Duncan promised, “I’ll introduce the two of you. You’ll like Jim.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  “He got his license last year,” Duncan said. “I was so scared, letting him drive these roads. I almost sold the house and moved into town. But then the presidential appointment came and, well, I didn’t have time and Jim likes it here. He likes the quiet. I like it too.

  “When we’re done with all of this”—she pointed at the sky, and Turcotte knew she meant the mothership—“I want to come back here.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t move,” Turcotte said. “It’s beautiful.”

  Duncan was the President’s science adviser and primary point of contact for everything to do with the Airlia. This was the first chance the two of them had had in weeks to simply stop and be still for a little while. Turcotte knew it was a temporary respite, but one both of them terribly needed.

  They lapsed into silence for a few moments, taking in the spectacular view. The moon was shining down on them. To the west it reflected off the white-covered peaks.

  “There’s Longs Peak.” Duncan pointed to their left. “A fourteener,” she added, referring to one of the many peaks in Colorado over 14,000 feet.

  Turcotte nodded. “I climbed it when I was in Tenth Special Forces.”

  Duncan laughed. “I should have known.” She gestured toward the south. “On a clear day you can see the top of Pikes Peak, over a hundred miles away.”

  “I always wanted to retire out here. I don’t think you can beat the mountains,” Turcotte said.

  That brought another long silence. Turcotte looked up once more at the sky. Finally he spoke. “Anything from Kelly?”

  Duncan sighed, realizing the real world was never far away. “Nothing. The only change has been that the shield surrounding Easter Island is now opaque. Overflights, satellite imagery, thermal, infrared, radio waves—nothing can get through. There’s just a big black half-circle sitting on the ocean now. We don’t have a clue what’s going on inside of the shield.”

  “And Mars? The Airlia base?” Turcotte asked.

  “Nothing. We hope the Surveyor nuke took out the guardian there.”

  Turcotte shook his head. “You’ve looked at the imagery from Hubble and the other data like I did. The bomb went off a couple of miles up. There’s no surface damage.”

  “I was trying to be optimistic. Mars is a long way off.” Duncan tried to put more confidence in her voice than she felt. The talon fleet had powered up after being left in storage for more than five thousand years and crossed that distance in less than two days.

  They were lost in their own thoughts until Duncan broke the silence. “Some people think we did the wrong thing.”

  Turcotte laughed. “That’s understating it a bit. I have had a moment or two to watch the news.”

  “All right,” Duncan said, “a lot of people think we did the wrong thing.” “We had to act,” Turcotte said. “There wasn’t time to sit around and have a debate.”

  “I’m not saying I agree with those people,” Duncan said. “I think we did the right thing. What I’m concerned about is what happens next.”

  Turcotte took a sip of beer, then put his mug down. “Hell, Lisa, I’m not exactly sure what happened, never mind what is going to happen.” He closed his eyes in thought. “First, we had the Easter Island guardian computer tell Nabinger what a great guy this alien Aspasia was. How he saved mankind from some other terrible alien force the Airlia were at war with by keeping the rebels among his own people from engaging the interstellar engine of the mothership and bringing those aliens here. So we stopped Majestic from flying the mothership. Then we get inside Qian-Ling and that guardian computer says no, Aspasia was the bad guy and this Artad fellow and his police, the Kortad, were the good guys. But that there was indeed an interstellar war between the Airlia and some other alien race and the mothership’s interstellar engine shouldn’t be engaged anyway. So at least both agreed on that, and stopping Majestic and keeping the mothership’s interstellar drive off was a good thing.

  “So then we get Aspasia coming in from Mars—where he’d been snoozing for a hell of a long time—with what looks like a fleet of warships ready to finish what he started ten thousand years ago. And his foo fighters destroy a navy sub and look none too friendly. So we stopped him.”

  “And the foo fighters,” Duncan added.

  “And the foo fighters,” Turcotte acknowledged. “We stopped Aspasia based on what Nabinger told us and the actions of the foo fighters.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what the truth is, and I’m not sure Nabinger did either.”

  “He was trying to tell me something important when he got killed,” Duncan said.

  Turcotte nodded. “I think he figured out what was in the lower level of QianLing we couldn’t get into. Peter was a brave man.”

  “Quite a few brave people have died in this conflict,” Duncan said.

  “That’s the nature of war,” Turcotte said. It was a subject he was very familiar with, having been in the military ever since graduating from the University of Maine. He’d served in the elite of the U.S. Army, from infantry to Special Forces, to a counterterrorist unit in Germany until the assignment that had brought the two of them together when he’d been picked to join the top-secret security force guarding Area 51.

  Now he was assigned to Lisa Duncan, to help her deal with the results of opening up Area 51 and the shocking fact that aliens—the Airlia—had arrived on Earth over ten thousand years ago and established an outpost. And that the Airlia had never left. They had had a civil war, during which the island humans knew in legend as Atlantis had been destroyed. It appeared now, at least from the evidence they had gathered so far, that an uneasy truce had existed between the two Airlia factions for millennia, maintained by computers—called guardians by the humans who found them.

  Duncan interrupted his thoughts. “Did you know that ten percent of Americans don’t believe we ever got to the moon? They think the whole Apollo program was done in a hangar out in the desert.”

  Turcotte raised an eyebrow.

  Duncan continued. “CNN just did a survey and they found that over forty percent of Americans don’t believe the Ai
rlia are real. They think the whole thing was staged. That there was no fleet. No aliens. No base on Mars. None of it.”

  “How do they explain the bouncers secreted at Area 51? And the mothership hidden there?”

  “Some say none of them exist. You have to remember that only a very small percentage of the population has actually seen a bouncer in person, even with the publicity tours we sent some on. With the special effects Hollywood can churn out now, many people think it’s all fake. Or they think the bouncers are military prototypes and the government is trying to scam the public. That this whole alien thing is a ploy to misdirect attention.”

  Turcotte shook his head. “That helps explain some of the reaction, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “This won’t make you feel much better either,” Duncan said. “The CIA has picked up quite a bit of Chinese Army activity in the Qian-Ling region. It’s likely they might try to blast their way into the tomb.”

  “They won’t have to blast,” Turcotte noted. “The hole we got out of is still open.”

  “From the imagery it doesn’t appear they’ve gone in yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”

  “Once they go in they’ll have contact with the Qian-Ling guardian,” Turcotte said.

  “The guardian might not communicate with them,” Duncan said. The strange gold pyramids found at several Airlia sites were, as far as they could define it in human terms, computers. But the alien computers could do so much more—including directly interfacing with the minds of those who touched its surface—that no one was quite sure what they were. The alien computer uncovered under a dig at Temiltepec in South America had taken over the minds of several members of the covert Majestic-12 group—the event that had begun Turcotte’s and Duncan’s involvement in this.

  “Even if they can’t make contact with the guardian,” Duncan continued, “they might be able to get access to the lower level and uncover whatever is down that central corridor.”

  “Nabinger knew what was down there,” Turcotte said.

  “There’s no way we can get back into China to find out. God knows what will happen with the Chinese. They might simply blow the place up, as the Chinese government has more than enough to deal with right now with their own people rebelling.”