Sedona Conspiracy Read online

  “This kind of thing keeps coming up because people have brought technology over to us without the necessary documentation. Who the hell has been handling the transfer?”

  “Ask Davis,” said Neal in a near whisper. He glanced outside to where Alan was waiting. “Sit here, and I’ll show you the controls we understand so far,” said loudly.

  Eric sat down, Neal beside him. Neal took a card out of his pocket, wrote something on it, and said, “Heads up display plugs in here, and seems pretty standard. Nothing-new there. The panel indicators are fuel and power, time of flight, landing gear status, hydraulic integrity.”

  He passed the card carefully to Eric, and went on talking. Eric pocketed the card without looking at it.

  “These switches were a mystery at first. Five commands in the right sequence activate ten nozzles under the forward edges of the wings. VTO only, and fly-by-wire. Handles beautifully, up to Mach 1, and then it just sits there, with no indication of any problem or command request. Not even a blinking light.”

  “How many times has it flown?”

  “Four. Last time out a VTO nozzle got plugged and we had to set it down fast, so that’s three tests with some success.”

  “I’d call it no success at all, Neal. My briefing said this project has been going on for two years.”

  “I know. We’ve been flying blind the whole time, trying to reinvent this thing. We’ve had no supporting information. Guys like you have come here before. They went away, and nothing happened.” As he said this, Neal reached over and tapped the card in Eric’s pocket, raised an eyebrow at him. “I guess they thought we could do it all by ourselves.”

  There was a clank behind them. Eric turned; saw Alan peering in at them.

  “You finished in here yet?”

  “I’ve seen enough here. Now show me where the fat part of the fuselage joins with the rest of this thing.”

  They followed Alan down the steps from the wing. A seam was visible just aft of the trailing edge of the wings, and around the bottom half of the fuselage circumference. Each end of the seam ended at what looked like the end of a large cylinder the size of a fist. “Looks like a hinge,” said Eric.

  “We think the entire tail section swings up, the engines with it. The rest of the section is empty space. Fuel tanks are where the wings join the fuselage, long, flat things. Small. The range with JP-4 below Mach 1 is only around a thousand miles, but we’re being told the range is beyond measurement, and the speed is something we’ve only been able to imagine. We’re either being lied to, or we just don’t know what we’re doing.”

  Frustration was obvious in Neal’s voice. Eric ran his hand over the fuselage again, and said, “You’ve seen the wind tunnel data, and so have I. Pregnant Sparrow is a good name for this thing. Even fly-by-wire it won’t survive Mach 2. I don’t think it’s an airplane at all. I think it’s designed to fly in space.”

  Neal grunted. “First thing we thought of. Those engines won’t even get it to a hundred thousand feet.”

  “Then it has to have another power source.”

  “It doesn’t. We’ve been over every inch of it.

  “Not the fat section.” Eric rubbed his hand on the fuselage, paused, and rubbed again.

  “I told you, it’s empty. The engines are yoked together, and there’s no other structure between them. We’ve used soft and hard X-rays. There’s nothing there.”

  “The surface temperature is different on the two sides of the seam here. It’s hotter aft.”

  “You can feel that with your fingertips? I’m impressed. The difference is only a couple of degrees ambient. We’ve measured it. There’s a T max a yard from your hand, and then it falls off. We think it’s residual heat in the engines; this thing flew a couple of weeks ago. The temperature difference was thirty degrees then. It’s some kind of capacitance effect.”

  “Maybe, but this section has to be opened up.”

  “Tell that to Davis. I’m ready to cut it open if I have to, but the Colonel won’t let us try that until we get the documentation we’ve been promised for over a year. You getting this all down, Sergeant?”

  Alan just grinned, and scribbled furiously.

  “I’ll tell him what I think,” said Eric.

  “That’s what we all try to do, and sometimes he even listens. Are you sticking around, or are you just here to give an opinion?”

  “I’ve been assigned here indefinitely, but I live in town.”

  “I won’t ask why,” said Neal. “I’ve seen your resume, and I can use you here twenty-four-seven. All they give me are military techs, and I need scientists.”

  “I’ll do what I can. How much do I get to see today?”

  “Everything,” said Neal, “including the little niche we’ve made for you in a red-rock wall. I thought you’d like to see the plane first.”

  “You were right on that,” said Eric.

  They spent the rest of the day touring the complex of offices, laboratories and shops stretching a hundred yards in three directions from the hangers. There were a few civilians, but mostly uniformed military. An Omega 3000 housed in a lead-shielded room woven with copper cable to shield against EMP was the brain of both analytical and machining facilities. The materials testing laboratory in particular was state-of-the-art. Eric’s office was literally a hole in the wall, a niche in red-rock with desk and computer terminal, and a soft green light for ambience. A central cafeteria was housed in a cavern chiseled out of solid rock, and the usual grated floor. People complained that red dust kept getting in their food, and everyone went around sniffling and snorting from breathing the stuff. “Apparently our management hasn’t heard of a thing called silicosis,” said Neal.

  They ate lunch in the cafeteria anyway, Eric choosing a wrapped, cold sandwich and a can of pop. People stared at the new guy on the block. Neal laughed and said scuttlebutt was already circulating about Eric being a special agent for the CIA.

  Neal didn’t know how close that was to the truth.

  When lunch was over, they toured the library, mostly a nicely assembled computer-based journal collection on everything from materials to mathematics, and an excellent collection of science and engineering abstracts.

  The living quarters for military personal were deplorable: bunks stacked like cordwood in two, long rooms, and a common bathroom with showers for everyone. Neal tried to make Eric feel guilty about living in town, and failed.

  When the tour was over, Alan had filled most of the tablet on his clipboard. Neal said his goodbyes, then, “You get back here quick. I like your questions, and I think you’ll make a difference here.” As he said it he tapped Eric on the chest, aiming a finger so that it struck the card in Eric’s pocket. Eric nodded.

  Yes, message received. I’ll read the card.

  “See you Monday,” said Neal, and left them.

  Alan took him back to the van. Davis was in a meeting, couldn’t see him, but said he’d call. Alan said he’d try to answer any questions, but Eric had none for him. They’d meet again at oh-six-hundred Monday, and Alan would again be his constant companion. The van took Eric back to his home the usual way. Before he’d reached ground level he’d taken the card Neal had slipped him out of his pocket and read it.

  Corruption and espionage. People being murdered here. Call me at (212) 293-6752 twenty-four-hundred. Danger for both of us.

  Oh, that’s just swell, thought Eric. He memorized the number, then tore the card to pieces and later flushed them down the toilet at his house.

  That night, exactly at midnight, he used his cell phone and dialed the number Neal had given him. He let the phone ring twenty-four times.

  Nobody answered.

  CHAPTER TEN

  WARNINGS

  “We’re honored to have a special guest today,” said Chairman Brown. “He arrived early this morning, and will join us in a moment.”

  “This was not on the agenda,” said Mister Smith, his faceless figure cloaked in a brown robe on the televisi
on monitor. “We were going to discuss the manual for the Americans.”

  “We are going to discuss it. Our guest requested time to explain certain changes he insists we make in the document.”

  “Insists? If we have no autonomy here, and the Green Party is truly in charge of everything, then I fail to see why the rest of us are even involved with the project unless it’s only for information purposes.”

  The translator failed to pick up the hard edge in Smith’s voice, but all could sense it in the original speech coming from the monitor.

  “The technology is ours to share as we see fit, Mister Smith, but we’re aware of the political impact of giving it all at once to the Americans. The advice of our friends and neighbors is desired by us, and considered necessary. That’s why you’re here.”

  “Acceptable, if true,” said Smith, but then all heads of the men at the table turned when there was a soft knock, twice, on the door.

  “Ah, he’s here,” said Chairman Brown. He arose, went to the door and opened it. The man standing there had to duck his head slightly when he came through the doorway. He was dressed in sports coat, slacks and turtleneck, all in black, and followed Brown back to the table, sitting down at his right hand.

  “Good evening, gentlemen. Good to see you all together again,” he said, and smiled unpleasantly with thin lips in a long, bony face.

  “Our pleasure, Minister Watt,” said Mister Smith. “We have missed your presence at our meetings. Your new duties have kept you far too busy, it seems.”

  “There are times when I yearn to be an ambassador again,” said Dario Watt. It was the name they always called him, and although they knew his true name they respected his desire for a small disguise.

  “The manual has been prepared, and will be delivered to the Americans in the morning. There are certain omissions in it, and I wanted to personally explain my logic in making those omissions.”

  There were gasps around the table. “Please do,” said Chairman Brown. “I thought we were ready to move ahead with full disclosure. Has something new happened to discourage our trust?”

  Watt steepled long fingers in front of his face and looked directly at the television monitor, the cloaked and hooded figures there now silent. “It’s not so much a lack of trust as it is a new reason for caution. A new player has arrived on the scene; his agenda is undetermined, as is his agency. We already have corruption among the agencies involved, and now sabotage. Until these problems are resolved, there will be no full disclosure. This does not come from me, gentlemen. It comes from my president.”

  “Excuse me, Minister Watt,” said Mister White, “but our president signed off on this project before it began. The continuing delays in full disclosure have slowed progress to a crawl, and eroded our credibility with the Americans. Does he know this?”

  “I send him regular reports,” said Watt.

  “I think it’s appropriate that we receive copies of those reports.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I think he means that as field members of this project we should have direct input to the reporting process,” said Chairman Brown.

  “That, and to check the validity of the reports our president is seeing. This is a government-sanctioned technology transfer intended to establish good relations with a world power, and I do not believe our head of state would do anything to disrupt it. I suggest we file our own report as quickly as possible.”

  Watt’s eyes narrowed. He leaned over the table, and hissed, “You’ve just suggested the right hand of our president is a liar, Mister White. I fear you’ve been away from home too long. You’ve also forgotten your station in this project. I am minister; you are not.”

  There was a sudden screech from the translator box, and then the metallic voice saying, “You can intimidate your own people, Minister Watt, but not us. We share the concerns of Mister White. There have been too many delays, and for no valid reason. That and recent events involving sabotage have encouraged suspicions among all of us in the Blue party. If we decide to withdraw from this project, our reasons will be made known to your president without going through you.”

  Mister Jones broke in instantly. “This is all so unfair. We all understood the Greens were in charge; it is, after all, their technology. The Reds and Blues are here only for consultation. We advise. We do not interfere, or make threats in order to get our opinions accepted. I do hear dissention among the Greens, however. Minister Watt must deal with that as befits his office. I personally support the logic of a cautious approach. It was not our intent to put this technology into commercial hands. We already have two players involved in such connections, and possibly a third. Until we get rid of them, we should proceed with caution. I speak for the Red Party when I say I support the views of Minister Watt.”

  “A voice of sanity. Thank you, Mister Jones,” said Watt.

  “You can have my resignation if you wish,” said White. “I will not participate any further in this sham, and the president will be told my reasons.”

  For a moment there was a terrible silence in the room, then, “I think that would be most unfortunate,” said Watt. “What would it take to keep you with us, and satisfied?”

  “Full disclosure,” said White. “At least enough material so that significant progress can be made, and rapidly.”

  Another pause, Minister Watt stroking his long chin with one hand while he thought. “Very well, I will tell you the omissions I wish to make, and why, and then we will hear your opinions.”

  Watt outlined the omissions he intended to make, and there were immediate objections from his Green colleagues and the Blues, Mister Jones remaining silent and looking uncomfortable.

  “The Americans must be able to activate the field generator and obtain a minimum of vacuum state energy to achieve escape velocity. For now it’s not necessary they understand the energy source. but know how to use it at low levels. Anything less is not acceptable to me,” said Mister White.

  “We concur,” said the machine voice of the translator.

  “Respectfully, sir, I also agree with that,” said Chairman Brown. “All the delays have put us in a critical position. It’s a poor way to gain political allies; surely you can see that. President Troik has argued the case for this project before the Peoples’ Congress. Failure would be a great embarrassment to him, and we all have some knowledge of what the possible consequences could be.”

  “That is not our concern,” said Mister Smith of The Blues. “But it’s not our habit to support activities doomed to failure because of poor judgments.”

  “The danger is real for all of us,” said White. “Our governments have made agreements on this. Our failure will be theirs, and I’d rather not spend the rest of my life hiding from them in some desert.”

  There was a long silence. Internally, Minister Watt seethed with violent plans for these men who dared to oppose his judgment, but he could not risk a direct report by them to his superior, not at this time. Step back, then, and wait for an opportunity for more direct action.

  “Very well, ten percent power as a maximum for now. This will give them planetary capability, but not extra-solar, enough to occupy them for decades.”

  “Well,” said Mister White, amazed.

  “Excellent,” said a relieved Chairman Brown.

  “Your choice,” said Mister Smith. “We only advise in these matters, and I must compliment your wisdom, Minister Watt.”

  “Thank you,” said Watt, “but I ask that you respect my position in communicating with our president. Our positions must appear to be unified at all times.”

  “Of course,” said Chairman Brown, and heads nodded in apparent agreement.

  “It’s settled, then. The manual, minus the section on tensor stress modulation, will be delivered in the morning, with copies for all of you. I think we’re finished here, and I thank you for hearing me out.” Watt smiled, his murderous hostility now totally masked. At a great distance, not even The Blues could sense it.


  “You honor us with your presence, Minister. Please convey our respects to President Troik for us, and do come again at your pleasure.”

  “That is a promise. Perhaps next time we can share some of the local culture together. Until then, gentlemen.” Watt stood up, made a nodding bow, and left them. He closed the door behind him, and walked quickly to the van waiting to take him to port. And in his head he made plans, dark plans for all of those who had just confronted him.

  Back in the room Watt had just left, there was a long silence before Mister White said, “Will he do it?”

  “Yes,” said Chairman Brown. “He cannot risk a complaint to the president. But I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he’s behind the sabotage we’ve been experiencing.”

  “That is a serious implication for a man who has always given full support to the project,” complained Jones.

  Brown glared at him. “Your support of our Minister has been noted, Mister Jones. Might we regard the Reds as his ally, or is it just you?”

  “I represent my state, sir, not Minister Watt, and I resent the inference.”

  “Then allow me to share a confidence with you. It’s important enough that betrayal will mean death to the betrayer. This meeting today was, in fact, called specifically for a deliberate confrontation with our State Minister.

  “Mister White and I have suspected for sometime that Watt represents certain members of congress who share his initial opposition to relations with the Americans. In his heart he’s a conservative; it’s recorded in his entire political career. Suddenly he shares the views of a liberal president, and it has taken him to the foot of the highest seat of power. We have been warned by congressional staff about views he has voiced in private to his fellow conservatives. He seeks the powers of the presidency, and failure of this project could be a big step in that direction. Despite what he said today, we will be sending a report directly to the president, and informing him of our difficulties. Mister White is writing it.”

  “This is outrageous,” said Jones. “I will not take part in this.” He stood up, and moved to leave.