Groom Lake (8 page)

To fully understand the government’s darkest secrets, Operation Patriot needed unadulterated reports about the happenings at Area 51. But spying on the Central Intelligence Agency and Air Force at their most guarded facility proved challenging, and Special Agent Grason Kendricks devoted six months to researching, following leads and considering various contingencies before developing a game plan: sneak a man in through their back door.

Grason needed a field operative in exceptional physical condition who could withstand harrowing walkabout journeys across the desert. The candidate also needed to be self-sufficient—a survivalist—capable of spending weeks on his own, outdoors, with minimal amounts of food, water and shelter. And most importantly, Grason needed someone he could trust, a loyal confidant from within the FBI. From inception, Grason had a particular agent in mind. Val Vaden was a third-generation agent whose father worked on cases with Grason in years past, and Grason had known Val since he was as a boy.

In addition to the personal connection, Val’s age—twenty-seven—meant he didn’t have the rigid mindset of a veteran agent. Grason viewed the vigor of youth as an asset when investigating the gray area of legal interpretation with which Operation Patriot dealt. Val would have fewer biases than a veteran, and a strong desire to prove his commitment to the FBI’s motto: Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity.

Due to the advanced security protecting Area 51, Grason knew Val could not simply sneak onto the base. A tout ensemble of high-tech surveillance, counter-surveillance and life support equipment called the Bio Suit allowed Val to sneak through Grason’s idea of a
back door
.

Like many technological advances in recent decades, the Bio Suit originated in the space program, replicating principles of the Extravehicular Mobility Unit worn by astronauts on space walks. The military began developing land-based units after the Gulf War to reduce challenges soldiers faced while fighting in the heat.

Properly using the Bio Suit and living for days at a time in the remote desert required training. Grason had selected a practice site where they could test Val’s equipment and develop effective methods for his mission.

Two hours east of Los Angeles, and thirty minutes outside Palm Springs, on an expansive elevated plateau, was a region known as the
high desert
. Prevalent across the plateau was the Joshua Tree, a cactus species that thrived in the higher desert elevations, often growing upwards of ten feet. In some areas, the succulents dotted the reddish brown sand in a motionless landscape, like skinny leafless trees in a windless forest. A forty square-mile region of the high desert was named Joshua Tree National Park. This remote camping area typified the altitude and terrain of Area 51. Grason and Val spent weeks testing the Bio Suit in the southeast section of the park, which was accessed via a four-wheel-drive trail. It was here they traveled again, this time with a more thorough understanding of the surveillance equipment in use around Papoose Dry Lake because Val had seen it during his first excursion.

Through a contact at the Pentagon, the congressman had arranged for the Drug Enforcement Agency to field test two suits in San Diego County’s remote border regions. One suit found its way to the DEA office in San Diego. But the second went to Grason, at which point he had some modifications made. Currently, the various components of the second Bio Suit were stowed in the back of a truck Val was driving. After this latest bout of testing, Val would again put the Bio Suit to use in Southern Nevada, investigating the establishment that had created it.

Faith in America’s two-party political system had faded from the congressman’s mind long before he bought his way into the Republican Party. He felt that somewhere between republican and democratic ideology existed the American people, and their true needs suffered while politicians bickered over party lines. And the bickering served as a distraction, keeping the politicians and mainstream America from giving necessary attention to other facets of the government.

The congressman knew the federal government held too many secrets. A subculture existed—a subculture of control and power, hidden behind classified designations. He didn’t aim to destroy or expose every classified program, only observe them. Make the leaders accountable for their actions. The same way his constituents were accountable for their taxes. Taxes that paid for the classified programs.

While working in naval intelligence, the congressman realized the murky depths that the vast sea of classified information reached. Who controlled it was another story. Officials compartmentalized information. He rarely knew the bearing his work had on anything, why he was doing it or who called the shots. The anonymous individuals in charge were labeled by some as
The Secret Government
because of their ability to operate outside the normal parameters set by the federal government’s system of checks and balances.

Over the years the congressman tried paying close attention to these elusive forces, spending many nights studying the laws and various presidential orders passed to govern the intelligence community. He discovered how this unique polity was assigned new tasks and given greater responsibilities out-of-view from the public eye.

Illuminati. The Bilderbergers. Secret Government. MJ-12. The congressman stumbled across a variety of names and speculative scenarios used to describe the secrecy pipeline, but labels were not a concern. He wanted to unlock the doors closed by these omnipotent individuals and assure his constituents, and himself, the government’s secrets were being kept with the best interests of the people in mind.

Joining the House Oversight Committee—a group of nine congressional representatives—was the congressman’s first step in implementing his agenda. It was through this committee he transformed Operation Patriot from an idea to a congressionally sanctioned cloak-and-dagger task force. Rather than attempting to join the prestigious House Select Committee on Intelligence or the Appropriations Committee—both known for their black budget involvement and typically reserved for those with tenure—he wanted to investigate these committees, their actions and the money they approved.

The congressman formed what he called “an elite group of patriots,” whose priority was to ensure the power and security of the United States remained in the hands of the people as the Constitution guaranteed. He cast doubt over the National Security Council and other oversight committees, and showed how Operation Patriot would take the watchdog process a step further by conducting undercover operations. Only then could the congressman be satisfied that the label TOP SECRET FOR REASONS OF NATIONAL SECURITY was not being misused.

Operation Patriot also had a secondary objective—an objective too outlandish to be approved by politicians whose opinions on the subject were manipulated by Air Force press releases and chuckling news anchors. The congressman and Grason Kendricks selectively spoke about the secondary objective: uncover current intelligence opinion on extraterrestrial life, and determine if there was any truth behind stories the government possessed information proving the existence of an alien race. They used knowledge from their experiences in Naval Intelligence and Project Blue Book to theorize the investigation did not lack merit …

Tilting back in his executive chair, the congressman stared out a window at the Coronado Bay Bridge that served as a picturesque portal between the vast Pacific Ocean and the refuge of San Diego’s calming harbor. At its highest point the arching sky-blue bridge offered clearance for the Navy’s largest battleships. A variety of sails decorated the inviting water under and around the bridge, adding beauty and serenity that contrasted with the stark impression of international dominance left by gray Navy ships and submarines docked in the harbor.

“What’s the latest?” the congressman asked, picking up the phone after his secretary told him Grason Kendricks was on the line.

“I finalized our deal with the professor. His assistant checked out. But more importantly, I can get those overhead images we discussed.”

The congressman didn’t anticipate the gravity anomaly images being available so fast, but figured Grason had dropped the FBI’s name to push the process along. “How much?”

“More than I can pull from the budget. I know you said you’d cover the difference, but it’s steep.”

“Do it!” the congressman said without hesitation. His decisions on matters like this were determined long before the operation started. He subscribed to the theory that he couldn’t take his millions with him, so he might as well maximize the benefits of his money. Then he asked, “Did you test the Bio Suit over the weekend?”

“We played hide and seek in the desert. I never found him.”

“So he’ll feel more comfortable this time out?”

“He’s ready.”

“Let’s hope he has better luck this trip,” the congressman said, bidding his old friend goodbye.

Although Damien Owens granted Kayla full clearance as an Aquarius agent, they were still a government body, and certain bureaucratic procedures had to be completed before it was official. As such, he insisted on tying a blindfold over Kayla’s eyes so she couldn’t see where he was taking her. This was her first trip to the subterranean base at Groom Lake, or Dreamland as he commonly referred to it.

The blindfold felt tight around Kayla’s face and prevented her eyelids from opening. With a gentle touch, Owens led her by the wrist. She wondered who might be watching, what they thought, and if seeing a person blindfolded was common.

They boarded an elevator that seemed to descend.
We’re traveling deep, very deep, below ground
, she thought. Kayla knew the extraterrestrial myths about the base and visions of gray aliens with oblong black eyes and their exotic spaceships harassed her thoughts.

When they began walking again, she concentrated on identifying noises. The most prevalent sound was a deep hum, like the motors to heavy machinery, maybe turbine power generators, or A/C units. Another backdrop noise sounded like a faint, but constant, howl—airshaft currents she deducted. The loudest sound was the clamor from their shoes clapping against a smooth concrete floor.

Next Owens helped her into a transport of sorts, no doors. By a gentle hum from the engine, she knew it was electric. She felt him sitting next to her, so someone else drove. Although it could have been on a track and automated the way they gently bumped side to side like on a train.

“Not many people are privileged enough to go where you’re going,” Owens told her. “Fewer go home remembering this ride.”

She thought of Ben Skyles and the equipment Owens had connected to him, and the way his personality changed under the equipment’s influence.

The ride seemed never-ending. So long that she again questioned being below ground.

When they stopped, Owens took her by the wrist once more. For the first time she heard the shuffling of feet besides their own, but no voices. Doors seemed to be opening and closing as well, automatically.

Eventually they reached their destination. “I want you to sit,” Owens said. With both hands on her upper arms he guided her into a soft desk chair. “Now, let’s get this blindfold off you.”

Kayla’s eyes didn’t struggle readjusting to the light because the confining space she was in rendered a surreal dimness, illuminated by a halogen desk lamp and glows from medical equipment monitors and a video screen.

“You remember our friend, Ben Skyles,” Owens said, pointing to the video monitor where Skyles could be seen strapped to a hospital bed.

Kayla had not seen Skyles since they took him from his house. Acting as chauffeur, she had driven them in the Suburban to Nellis Air Force Base, the main entrance at the north end of Las Vegas. At that point, Owens and Skyles boarded a helicopter, leaving her in Vegas, baffled by the bizarre equipment that manipulated Skyles’ mind. Owens claimed the experience was a big step forward for her, but he did very little to explain the situation. Instead he teased her with bits and pieces of information—clues to
the gamut
as he called it.

“What’ll happen to him?” she asked of Skyles.

“I’m not sure. Experts are working with him.”

“So he has to stay strapped to that bed until you find out?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“No. I’m just trying to understand the situation.”

“So are we.” Owens could see the pity on her face as she focused on the monitor, focused on Skyles, quarantined in a bed not much larger than his body. “I’m quite fond of Ben Skyles,” he admitted. “But I can’t let my compassion for his situation obscure my perception of the big picture. Once you understand the full gamut of this operation, you’ll appreciate my methods, and my reasons for bringing you along gradually.”

Owens studied her response and sensed a bit of impatience with the unresolved answer. “Let me put it another way: human nature dictates that we need closure on issues—answers. But that shouldn’t be the case, and it leads to dogma. People will accept a ludicrous answer over no answer because it puts their simple minds to rest. I’ll introduce you to situations, and give you explanations, but the explanations lead to greater questions, puzzles that will boggle your mind, and in our lifetime we may never know the answers. It requires a unique mindset to operate under those parameters. I have to be positive that you have such a mindset.”

“What if I don’t? What if tomorrow you show me something and I don’t like it, or can’t handle it?”

“Then I let you walk. And my worries about you leaking information would be minimal. As for Skyles-” His portable phone interrupted, which wasn’t uncommon.

Kayla could only hear his end of the conversation, and tried following along: “Good. I assume you acted like a gentleman with the Chinese woman?” Kayla knew the captured spy was being transferred, and the call must have been to confirm the completion. “What about Wyatt? Anything yet? … I want a full report when I’m in LA.” She also knew someone was investigating Desmond Wyatt, the man who supposedly helped the spies sneak onto the base.

Owens noticed how intently Kayla was paying attention to the conversation. He understood her eagerness to understand, and felt he could trust her with anything at this point, but needed to follow procedures—time-tested procedures he trusted more than anything, or anyone. After hanging up he said, “I know this isn’t easy, but it’s necessary. Don’t search for answers. Your guessing will complicate matters. Just accept the facts as I present them. Don’t ask questions, and don’t make assumptions. Simply observe, and know that everything I do, every situation I put you through, has a purpose.”

“Actually, I was just wondering how your phone gets a signal down here? Or is it technology that is addressed in a later lesson plan?”

“To answer your first question, signal relays and amplifiers—military quality.” Owens then offered a rare chuckle, and said, “As far as future lesson plans, we’ll eventually address the origins of semiconductor technology.”