Groom Lake (7 page)

“How’s he doing?” Owens asked.

She started to cry. “He’s not making any sense.” Her swollen eyes suggested it wasn’t the first time that evening she gave into her frustration.

Owens placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You did the right thing by calling the hotline. We’re going to take care of your husband. Is anyone else in the house?”

“No,” she wept.

“I can’t have you around while we talk to your husband. Why don’t you go to the country club and relax with a glass of wine?”

Her house was the one place Linda didn’t feel the shadow of Big Brother, and now they were kicking her out. “Are you sure having a drink is not against your stupid rules?” she blurted out through tears and a runny nose.

“You won’t be breaking any rules, but if you were, I think I could make an exception under the circumstances.”

Linda looked disgusted. She led them through the front door and retrieved her purse from a nearby table. “You’d better make him better,” she ordered. “Or I’ll go public. I’ll show what the government has done to my husband.”

“Linnn-da,” Owens replied in a condescending tone while narrowing his penetrating eyes. “Don’t make idle threats. I came here as a friend. You don’t want to know me any other way.”

“Lock up when you leave, asshole,” were her parting words.

Kayla stayed a step behind Owens as they eased through a southwestern interior accented with knick-knacks from mail order catalog binges. Kayla thought the decor clashed with the Mediterranean exterior, but chalked it up to
nouveau riche
naiveté.

They stopped outside double doors leading to the master bedroom. Not a peep came from the other side. The silence blanketed the situation with an eeriness that made Kayla question what she was doing there. Three years ago she practiced law, then she handled legal documents for the CIA, and now she was tiptoeing through a house with an agent the likes of which she thought only existed in the movies. His words in the car gave her the impression that she barely understood what this job entailed. Thinking about what was through the bedroom doors made her dizzy with trepidation.

“You look a little scared,” Owens whispered before placing his hand on a brass doorknob. “Don’t be afraid of anything you see. It’s not supernatural; I can explain it later.” He twisted the knob and gave the door a push.

Skyles glanced up from the edge of a king size bed where he had been sitting for two hours staring at the floor. He looked confused, lost. Perspiration around his armpits and chest had darkened his light blue shirt.

“Hello, Ben.”

Skyles stared back, a blank stare, catatonic.

“Do you remember me, Ben?”

“Not at the moment,” he mumbled.

“What’s that mean, Ben? Not at the moment?”

“It means what it means.” His speech was clear, but slow. “Sometimes I know things. Lots of things. Other times, I don’t know crap. Right now, for instance … I don’t know nothing.” Skyles dropped his head to a slumped position, his body physically and emotionally drained.

“That’s why we’re here. We’re going to help you.”

Skyles writhed his head back in a painful contortion. Dropping his mouth he bellowed a stifled, “Ahhhhh-”

“Get the silver attaché from the back of the Suburban,” Owens instructed Kayla. Pulling a bench over from a makeup table, he sat facing Skyles. “Relax, Ben. I’m here to help.”

Moments later, Kayla returned with the attaché. Owens retrieved a Dixie cup from the bathroom, then opened the case. Its bottom half housed an instrument panel with buttons, knobs and digital displays. From a compartment in the upper half, he pulled a vial of liquid and poured the contents into the cup. “Drink this,” he said.

In the forties, the military and CIA began conducting mind control experiments that studied and tested every facet of the brain. For thirty years the CIA oversaw MKULTRA, a classified study that experimented with psychotropic drugs (mental stimulants). Other experiments tested hypnosis, sleep states, the subconscious mind, and psychic or remote viewing. By the late eighties, an effective procedure had been developed that allowed control of information within one’s mind. Certain information could be segmented from the normal memory, much like computer files could be saved to a floppy disk instead of the hard disk. The technology allowed for an unprecedented level of control over individuals, information and programs.

Skyles worked in an advanced hypnotic state that made him oblivious to the information he handled when he was away from work. Several factors combined to make the process work, including large gamma wave transceivers that emitted intense 425-megahertz radio signals throughout the underground compound below Papoose Valley, where Skyles typically worked, and enhanced subconscious waves in his brain. Portable transceivers allowed the process to be enacted in remote locations.

Owens turned on a small transceiver housed in the attaché. The 425-megahertz signal combined with the drugs to push Skyles into a limbo state between his conscious and subconscious. A state with no memory.

Next, Owens strapped a band around Skyles’ head and pasted electrodes to his scalp. A cord ran from the band to the case and allowed the equipment to send extreme low frequency (ELFs) signals to his brain. The ELFs mimicked the low frequencies found in brainwaves, causing them to be mistaken as the brain’s own signals in a process Owens knew to be called bioelectric entrainment. The ELFs served as instructions that guided Skyles to a controlled subconscious state.

Kayla was no longer afraid of what might happen to her in this house, but she was afraid of what was happening in the house.
Is this mind control?
she wondered.
There’s no way I took a job controlling people’s minds—I’ll end up in jail
.

Owens sat on the makeup bench and slipped the small gray rock from his pocket. His thumb was lightly callused from rubbing it regularly, a meditative habit he started several years ago after the rock was given to him. His actions during the process with Skyles were so routine—including rubbing the rock while he waited the ten minutes it took for him to absorb and respond the ELFs—that he almost forgot Kayla was in the room. Owens turned to see a bewildered look on her face as she stood near the wall, staring at Skyles and the attaché.

“Quite a profound situation we’re dealing with,” Owens said softly. He tried to offer Kayla a reassuring smile. “I was a little overwhelmed when I first learned about the technology and plans to use it. What’s really gut churning are the secrets we protect with this technology. That’s why I’ve eased you into this operation.”

Owens returned his focus to Skyles. Kayla would have to wait. He had hoped that time at home would reveal the source of Skyles’ problems, but now there was no choice but to bring him in for treatment. To do that, Owens had to stabilize Skyles’ mental state.

Each subject in the mind control program had a unique hypnotic suggestion, or password, that served as the final security measure before reaching the controlled state. The hypnotic suggestion had no effect in a conscious state, but when combined with the other elements, it acted like a deadbolt on the door to their operational state. “Listen to me, Ben,” Owens said, “Sidereus Nuncius.”

Slowly, Skyles opened his eyes and straightened his posture. He seemed dazed momentarily, then snapped to life in a new and happier state of consciousness. “Copernicus,” he said to Owens, as if addressing a buddy by a codename.

Skyles panned his head around the room, becoming cognizant of his surroundings. “Are we at my house?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Who’s the lady?”

“My new partner.” Owens never took his eyes off Skyles, studying his every move and reaction. “What worries you about being at home?”

“Does she have a name?”

“Not a real one.”

For a few seconds, Skyles tried to avoid Owens’ stare, knowing his problems were no longer a secret. “Well, if you’re here, I guess you know.”

“Know what?”

“That your little mind control machine has some glitches.”

“You’re aware of the problems?”

“Damn right I’m aware. It’s my noggin you’re messing with.”

“You should’ve come to me. Do you realize the jeopardy you put the program in?”

“I’m not stupid. And I’m also not your guinea pig. You assured me this psychological equipment worked. ‘Fully operational,’” he added trying to mimic Owens’ raspy voice. “But it’s not. And rather than become a lab rat at spook central, I wanted to try and fix it myself. So I risked my clearances. If my mind is tossed, you’d pull them anyway.”

Owens focused hard into Skyles’ eyes.

“I get the willies when you look at me that way,” Skyles said.

“I doubt the problem is with the equipment,” Owens informed him. “You’re the only one having adverse reactions.”

“I’m the only one you know of.” Skyles tried pleading his innocence. “About a month back, memory flashes started popping up in my dreams. Then the middle of the day. A few weeks ago I started blacking out.”

Owens continued to listen and observe without saying much.

“Two nights ago I woke up at three thirty in the morning … ass naked on the tenth green at the country club,” Skyles continued. “My biggest worry at the time was my wife’s reaction to having our membership revoked. That’s messed up.”

Owens theorized that something, or someone, outside the operation had interfered with Skyles’ mind. “Do you know a man by the name of Desmond Wyatt?”

“No. Should I?”

“He lives in Los Angeles, but is a frequent visitor to the outskirts of our base.”

“Why would I know a kook like him?”

“He has an extensive knowledge about the facility. In fact, he gave someone hiking directions into Papoose Valley, including inside information about the perimeter security technology.”

Throwing his hands in the air, Skyles distanced himself from Owens’ words. “Hey, I don’t have that kind of info.”

“I know you don’t. But you’re connected to him. The woman you were with at the bar, she’s Chinese Intelligence. And she is the one we caught in Papoose, following Desmond’s directions. It could just be a coincidence that she knew both of you; she was making a lot of contacts. My concern is that whoever leaked the security info to Desmond Wyatt might have something to do with your mental condition.”

“Hey, I apologize for not coming forward when I knew there was a problem. I know I violated procedure, but I can’t afford my life outside the program.”

“You need to trust me,” Owens said.

“I’ll try, but you’ll put the program first.”

“It’s costly and time consuming to replace you. We’re going to take you someplace safe until we’ve worked the kinks out of your mind.”

“Can I say goodbye to my wife?”

“Not in this state. I’ll check in on her later and make sure she’s doing okay,” Owens reassured. He closed the attaché, but left the equipment on and the wires connected as they proceeded outside to the Suburban.

Two minutes after they left the bedroom, a voice-activated FM transmitter, hidden in an electrical outlet, shut itself off. Eight such devices were hidden throughout the house. Cheap mail order listening devices that anyone could purchase and install with a screwdriver. The results, however, were effective and transmitted every word spoken in the house to a recorder hidden outside.

Professor Eldred had two grown kids and five grandchildren. His offspring were ideal kids: intelligent, sensible, hardworking, successful. All the qualities that made parents proud, and it was thanks, in part, to their upbringing. Yet the professor had learned late in life that the time he devoted to his children when they were kids was an investment; as adults, the time his son and daughter obligated to their father was commensurate to how they were raised.

Professor Eldred was a kind father, but he never devoted quality time to his children. A few hours a week would have made the difference between the strong family he had and the close family he didn’t. The professor had never questioned his child-rearing techniques until his wife passed and he realized that his kids were now strangers he saw at holidays. He knew less about his son than he did his star pupil, Blake Hunter. He would have liked for his kids to share his interests, but his passion for engineering had been stolen by the government before his children were born. His children learned his dedicated study and work habits, but developed tastes and careers in other areas. By the time the professor met Blake, his kids had already graduated college and were working in business and law. With them out of the house, he began to take a keener interest in his students, and developed a close bond with Blake through guidance in and out of the classroom.

Blake’s words were succinct when he first visited Professor Eldred’s office: “I came to school with the intentions of becoming a doctor, a choice I now realize was motivated by income potential and not personal tastes. I’ve considered business, but can’t muster any passion for the lifestyle. What I really want to do, the one thing that has intrigued me since childhood, is become an astronaut … and I thought you could probably help.”

The professor was never one to hide his passion for space. He always wondered
what could have been
. As he and Blake became acquainted, his wife often joked that her husband was more excited about Blake’s dream of becoming an astronaut than Blake himself. Together, the professor and Blake solidified Blake’s educational career to pursue an undergraduate degree in engineering, tailoring his studies to emphasize aeronautics and space travel. Traditionally, astronauts evolved from military backgrounds, but the expanding duties of mission and payload specialists on shuttle flights broadened the field of prospective recruits, and encouraged Blake’s dreams.

Even after the professor retired from teaching, he continued to advise and assist Blake, helping him earn a privileged chancellor’s scholarship to pay for his Master’s degree in System Control. However, after his wife died, the professor rejected the love offered him by friends and family, shunning Blake from his life as he did everyone else, seemingly resigned to waiting out his final days alone … so Blake thought.

Blake pulled into a parking lot at a seaside restaurant on the Malibu coast. The lot bustled with Los Angelinos and tourists anxious to valet their cars and hurry to a packed outdoor bar with vast ocean views.

“Blake,” the professor hollered from amidst the crowd.

Turning, Blake was shocked by the professor’s mussed hair and splotches of gray stubble that didn’t mask a face thinned by weight loss.

“I look like crap, I know.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Physically I feel fine. But you can’t imagine the pain of being alone this late in life. It’s like a punishment.”

“I wish I could say something to make it better.”

“Nothing needs to be said. Besides, I’m not one to spite God’s will. In fact, I think for the first time in my life I can appreciate his actions; God left me behind to finish a task I started decades ago. That’s why I asked you to meet me.”

“I’m honored. But you don’t need to wait for special occasions or moments of need to call me.”

“Yes, I know. Maybe things would be easier if I didn’t shut everybody out. I guess it was my way of not being an unwanted burden on my kids.”

“You could never be a burden on me, Professor Eldred.”

The aging professor placed an arm around his favorite student. “I appreciate that, Blake. You give me encouragement that calling you was the right thing to do.”

After being seated at a table overlooking a quiet stretch of beach, the professor confessed to eating at the restaurant several times a week, alone. Blake struggled to understand why the professor insisted on perpetuating his loneliness.

“So how’s your summer going?” the professor asked.

“I heard from NASA,” Blake said, no excitement in his voice.

The comment struck an inner cord with the professor. He had been an active participant in Blake’s pursuit of a career with NASA, then disappeared from his life for the culmination. He knew from Blake’s tone that the news was bad, but before he could respond, a waitress interrupted.

“Can I get you gentlemen some drinks?”

“More than ever,” the professor told her. “Beer, Blake?”

“Corona please.”

“Make that two, and two shots of tequila. A little hooch never did any harm,” he told Blake, showing his first unforced smile. “Especially after bad news.”

“It’s that obvious NASA said no?” Blake grimaced.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Four thousand applicants for twenty spots. I didn’t even get a second thought.”

“I’m sorry, Blake. You can reapply when you have more experience. For now, there are other options to consider. As I understand it, you have department approval to pursue your Ph.D.”

“I don’t know if the Ph.D. is in the cards any longer. I need money. At least I want to start earning some.”

“One rejection letter and you’re giving up on your dream? You knew that you were a long shot at this point.”

“I know, but the thought of staying in school doesn’t sound appealing anymore. This dream about working in the space program, I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve got to put in almost as many years as I would have with medical school, except there’s no guarantee that I’ll be doing what I want when I’m done.”

“You never had a desire to practice medicine. You just wanted the salary. If money is all you’re concerned about, go into business.”

“That’s never been an interest either.”

“Exactly my point. You need to do what you love; eventually the money will follow.”

The professor was again acting as the mentor Blake knew and admired, confident and optimistic with time-tested advice. Now it was Blake feeling sorry for himself. “I’m just worried that if I get my doctorate and don’t make the space program, my career will be focused around research and teaching. I’ll be in school my entire life.”

“And that’s not a good way to make a living?”

The waitress returned with the drinks.

Silently berating himself for insulting the professor’s livelihood, Blake tossed the tequila into his mouth and threw back his head to swallow. “That comment didn’t come out the way I intended,” he strained to say through a burning aftertaste.

“Actually teaching was a concession for me.” Not wanting a young drinker to show him up, the old man downed his tequila without the slightest cringe of his sunken cheeks.

“I always thought you were passionate about teaching,” Blake said thoughtfully.

“I became passionate after the fact,” the professor said. “There are a few things about my past that I never shared with you, or anyone for that matter, besides Constance. Ghosts you can call them. Being a humble professor and subservient member of society kept them from haunting me. The advantage I have now is that ghosts can’t haunt a dead man, or a man who is ready to die.”

“Talking about them seems to invigorate you.”

“That’s God’s doing. As I told you, he left me alone in the world for a reason. I also believe he kept you out of NASA for a reason. Instead of getting down on yourself, you need to find out what that reason is.”

“Something tells me you already know.”

“I have an option for you to consider. That’s all.”

“I’m wasting my days working out and lying in the sun,” Blake admitted. “I could use some options at this point.”

“There’s a project I’ve been working on since Constance passed. The timing is ripe for you to get involved. I think we can convince the department chairs to allow you to conduct an ad hoc field of study for your Ph.D. based on our research. I’ll see that your tuition is covered and you have money to live on, and maybe have some left over for a change.”

“This is a surprise.”

“The experience will also be crucial to your future plans. There’s no doubt that space exploration will become more privatized in your lifetime. The foreign space agencies are also working with American firms, planning shuttle programs far more advanced than NASA’s. This research will enable you to mold your future with these private companies. To hell with NASA and any regrets you might have about not becoming a doctor. I’m going to put you in control of your destiny.”

“Sounds like you have it all planned.”

“Just some ideas … with tremendous potential.”

“What’s the topic?”

“Gravitational-based propulsion systems. I’m going to teach you to build your own spaceship.”

“Where’d all this come from?”

“My very distant past.”

Blake took a moment to comprehend everything the professor had just dropped on him. “On the surface you make it sound too simple to pass up.”

“The topic has a few drawbacks,” the professor admitted.

“Like what?”

“Don’t worry about that now. Take a few days to mull over continuing your education. If it sits well with you, I’ll tell you more.” The professor was still waiting to hear from Special Agent Kendricks on the specifics of their deal, and that determined the extent he would include Blake in his work for Operation Patriot.