PROLOGUE
April
16, 1986 – Somewhere in South America
They slipped from beneath the water. Looking black and menacing like some otherworldly
beings they climbed a ladder to the top. Each moved with fluid precision and took assigned positions. No sounds, absolute
quiet, eyes searching, senses razor sharp, flesh tingling.
It was all wrong, this wasn’t the right place; he knew it the instant he reached
the top. From the beginning team leader Ted Carter had a bad feeling about this mission and now his senses were screaming
to get out. His Navy SEAL fire team had made an underwater insertion to a dock used by suspected terrorists, now Ted had his
eight-man team on the top side. It was too big. This
dock was for oceangoing freighters. It was covered with steel shipping containers that looked like
big rig trailer bodies. Intelligence said they would come in at a small dock about thirty feet long. He felt a cold shiver
run through his body. They were in the wrong place; he needed to get his boats back.
Ted grabbed the arm of his radioman.
He was too late—lights—like the sun. Then automatic weapons fire from all directions. In his mind he was screaming to get down goddamnit get down. Take cover, oh God they were being slaughtered. He saw his men falling; he had to take
out the lights—now. Stepping into the open from behind a shipping container he took out one light as a round went through
the sleeve of his jacket, missing flesh. Grenades were going
off. A man screamed—one of his men got a bad guy, SEAL’s don’t scream.
A rocket hit one of the containers and blew it apart, covering
the dock in steel shrapnel. The automatic weapons fire was incessant and as the smoke from the rocket cleared he saw four
of his men down. Maybe he was the only one left alive. Now rage took over. He rolled from behind the
container and took out the second light, putting everything in the dark again. OK, you bastards, now the playing field just
got a little more level. He heard more grenades landing all around him, and then going off, and the fragments hitting the
empty containers sounding like thousands of horribly out of tune bells. Then quiet, no more grenades, no more automatic weapons
fire. You sons of bitches, you think you got me. Wrong, you’re going to die; every fucking one of you is going to die.
He had night vision goggles
and he eased down the backside of the container, saw nothing and moved to the next, where the ladder was located, then down
the ladder and into the water. He saw them now, five of them, and he could see his men scattered and lying on the dock. He
eased back up the ladder, staying behind the containers, and watched as the five started checking each of the men. The second
man they checked was alive, one of the five grabbed his head and another started to cut his throat. Ted’s rage was boiling.
Fuck this, you son of a bitch. He stepped into the open and put a single round through the head of
the man with the knife. His suppressed weapon just made a clicking sound from the action of the bolt and it took several seconds
for the other four to realize what was happening. Their thought process took too long and was too late, as Ted squeezed off
four more rounds into the respective heads of each man.
Going to each of his men, he found three injured but alive. There
was an outboard runabout at the end of the dock and he quickly pulled it to the ladder. Through a superhuman effort he was
able to get all three into the boat, then he saw a light come on in a structure about one hundred yards from the dock. Coming
from the structure were four more men with automatic weapons heading toward the dock. He motioned for his men to be quiet
and then eased back up the ladder. He was in a state of calm. SEAL
training was guiding his every move. It could have been one hundred men and he would have been
the same. Come on, you bastards, just a few more feet. It sounded like the click-click of a child’s cricket toy, four
times in rapid succession and the heads of the four men exploded.
Now he was acting
on pure instinct without thought, just pure flowing mechanical action. He picked up another weapon and headed to the two-story
frame building. Looking through the window he saw that three men had another team leader, Buck Meadows, tied to a chair and
were taking turns smashing him in the face. His face was a bloody mess; then one of the men pulled out a knife and cut off
Buck’s right ear and waved it in his face. Click-click, click-click, click-click, three more heads exploded in a mass
of blood, gray matter and bone that covered Buck.
Crashing through a door Ted picked up the knife and cut Buck free. Although bleeding profusely from the cut-off ear
and cuts on his face, Buck was otherwise OK and Ted found a cloth for him to hold against his wounds. Spotting an assembled
RPG-18 next to the front door, Ted picked it up as they left the house. Hurrying back to the dock, Ted directed Buck to the
others waiting in the boat. He was proficient with the RPG and he now stopped, turned, put the weapon to his shoulder and
fired at the structure. The rocket struck between the first and second floor, exploding, taking out a section of wall and
setting the building on fire.
Buck had the outboard running. Jumping in, Ted jammed the throttle forward and the twenty-foot runabout shot away from
the dock. Ted still had the night vision goggles and he could follow the turns in the river as they headed back to the sea
and their team. Then it happened, the explosion from the burning house. He had never experienced anything like it in all of his training. The flash was blinding, like ten suns,
brilliant and white. He knew that a shock wave had to be coming. No explosion could that big without a massive shock wave. He turned and looked behind and saw it coming. The wall
of superheated air looked like something out of a science fiction movie. On the high banks on either side of the river trees were snapping off from the force. Then he felt it,
the searing heat and the force of the wind as the boat slewed sideways and almost heeled over. Please God, don’t let us die now, not now, not after what we have been through. Ted was
sobbing as he fought the wheel of the small boat. The adrenalin rush that had sustained him was gone. He was fighting for
survival against something over which he had no power.
The horror of what he had just been through was flashing through his mind. He didn’t want to die.
*
* *
* *
* *
September 2007 – US Army Dugway Proving Ground, Utah
It had been five days since Billy Smart or Mike Dunn
had seen the light of day, but that was about to quickly
change. Starting their fifth
and final day of what was called MJ-12 indoctrination, it was discovered that the two men, two out of a class of sixteen,
were there in error and were now being hustled away from this very secret MJ-12 facility. Both men had felt strangely out
of place from the beginning but being totally loyal to and trusting in their employer, they had kept their mouths shut while
learning the awesome secrets of the black government operation known as the MJ-12 Group.
Five days prior they had been met
at the Salt Lake City International Airport by two Army MPs and driven seventy-five miles southwest to the Army’s massive
800,000 acre Dugway Proving Ground facility. Entering the base, the unmarked Suburban traveled to a remote location and entered
a hangar facility next to a runway that seemed to
stretch to infinity. Inside the facility the vehicle proceeded to a circular ramp that descended several levels below grade
and terminated in a garage where the driver stopped and killed the engine. A massive steel door closed behind the Suburban
as one in front opened, revealing a large and brightly lit service area containing several dozen civilian and military vehicles.
The floor on which the Suburban rested started to move and carried the vehicle and its occupants to a parking slot at the
back of the service area and in front of a glass partition.
Both Smart and Dunn were traveling on top secret orders
from their primary employer for whom they worked undercover, while taking vacation leave from the employer they used as a
front for their activities. The men had only been told to take one week’s vacation leave on a certain date, given round-trip
first-class airfare to Salt Lake City, told they would be picked up at the airport, and that this was all to be handled as
a top secret operation, something they were well accustomed to doing. On the ride from the airport to Dugway both men had
tried to question the two MPs but their questions were all answered with “Sorry, no comment, sir.”
Now
the MPs gathered the two men’s luggage and escorted them through a doorway in the glass wall to a waiting tram. They
were greeted by a smiling large man in khakis with no insignia, black boots, and a huge shaved head that glistened in the
overhead lights.
“Mr. Smart
and Mr. Dunn, welcome to Dugway Proving Ground, or Dugway underground as we like to call it. I’m Robert Ziegler,
please call me Bob and yes I’m with the agency” which was a lie.
“It’s a pleasure, Bob,” said Smart. “Now we’ve got about…oh let’s
see…three thousand questions for you.”
“I’m sure you do, and all in good time, but first let’s
get you both settled into your accommodations for the week, then you’ll start to get some answers. Please jump on the
tram and we’ll go to the dorm area.”
The two MPs had placed the men’s luggage on the tram and they now popped the three men a quick salute and
returned to the service area. The tram was like many airport trams, only this one had nicely upholstered leather seats and
was extremely quiet as it flashed along at a speed that Smart estimated to be in excess of 60 mph.
Ziegler sat on a seat facing the
two men, “Gentlemen, first the bad news. The indoctrination session you have been brought out here to attend
covers the most highly classified matter in the country, in the history of mankind for that matter. Because of this you will
be escorted everywhere you go and you will be housed in locked quarters.”
“I don’t like the sound
of that one bit, Bob. We’re big boys and we play by the rules,” said Dunn.
Ziegler ignored him. “You
will stay in this facility for the five days. You are here until you return to Virginia at the end of the session. On the
plus side, the accommodations and the food are excellent and we have superior exercise facilities. Also, I believe you will
find the subject covered in these sessions to be fascinating and beyond anything you can imagine.”
The tram slowed to a stop, where two more MPs waited on the platform to
snatch the men’s luggage as soon as the tram door opened. Ziegler then escorted the men through another glass partition
into a reception area highlighted by marble and walnut. A smiling young lady at the reception desk handed each man an envelope
with his name and room assignment on the front.
“Gentlemen, this is Ms. Stevens. She or one of her associates
will be on hand twenty-four hours a day to assist you with your lodging or dining needs. You only need to pick up the blue
phone in your suite to reach them with your requests and you will find their response to be prompt and friendly. Now, let’s
move on to your accommodations.”
Ziegler motioned to a pair of doors across the room that
opened into a wide and elegant hall that reminded the two men of the suite corridors in the five-star Great River Resort where
they worked undercover. Reaching the assigned suites, Ziegler stopped as the MPs opened the entrances and placed the men’s
luggage in their respective suites.
“Gentlemen, I’ll take my leave now as I’m sure
you both would like to rest and order dinner. The envelopes you have contain instructions on our set-up here and how we accommodate
your various needs. The first session is in the morning at 8:00 AM and the MPs will be at your door at a quarter to eight
to take you both to the opening session, and that will also apply to all subsequent sessions. As I said, Ms. Stevens can handle
any request and if you find it necessary to discuss something with me she can also arrange that. Once you have settled in,
please turn on your TV to channel 3 to view a fifteen-minute briefing on the meeting and the facility, which should answer
most of your questions. You also have HBO on channel 4, Fox News on channel 5, CNN on channel 6, and the Weather Channel on
7. Enjoy your stay.”
With that said, Ziegler turned and quickly walked away. Each MP
stood by the open door and motioned Smart and Dunn into their respective suites. The men entered and as the MPs closed the
doors behind them they heard a faint electronic click that told them that they were now prisoners. Prisoners in a suite as
fine as any five-star property anywhere in the world.
Smart pulled out a pack of Merit’s and the cheap butane lighter
he had bought at the Richmond International Airport before leaving. He smoked a lot, chain smoked in fact, and he had been
trying to quit but with little success. The wheel on the cheap lighter hurt his finger as he lit the smoke and he cursed the
fact that he had misplaced his prized gold Dunhill lighter. It was a gift from the boys at the agency facility called The Farm near Williamsburg. A number of hours had passed since he had had a smoke and the first
drag caused his head to swim. Then it caught his eye, the
window wall across the room. It looked out over the desert, but how? They were several stories below grade, he knew they were,
but yet—the windows didn’t open, of course, but the sun was in the right place. How the hell?. It was an
image, fake, but the best he had ever seen. It was perfect and the same in the bedroom, what a place, what a suite. He glanced
at the desk and saw a breakfast and dinner menu. The
menu looked superb, and twenty-four hour room service. Unbelievable, he thought. Well, time for a shower and fresh clothes,
then watch the briefing before ordering dinner.
He saw that the bath was large and marble as was the glass-enclosed shower. Soft towels hung on a heated towel rack
along with a terry robe, even a damned bidet, for Christ sake. He thought about the lobster tail and filet as the hot water
from five showerheads soothed his body. Hell, he could take being locked in here for a week, no big deal. Still, he was not
totally relaxed. There was tension in the unknown. “The most highly classified matter in the history of mankind.”
What the hell was Ziegler talking about, what was he about to learn?
Smart dried off and slipped into the terry robe. There was a nice bottle of merlot on the wet bar. He opened it,
poured a glass and started to cut on the TV, but something was strange. He walked to the fake window and it hit him. He couldn’t
believe it, the sun was going down, the goddamned sun was going down and the moon was starting to rise.
