The Portent Page 4

  “I don’t know if they were used in jets,” he replied, “but I recall reading about turbines for velocity that far back. It may be just a coincidence, but the source I read that in was about somebody we both know—Viktor Schauberger. He worked on turbine technology back in the early thirties.”

  “Good grief,” she muttered, “the saucer geek. I feel like I’m back at Area 51.”

  Brian nodded. “I hear you. Most of Schauberger’s research was destroyed when the Allies bombed Germany’s top-secret rocket facility, Peenemünde, in 1943. Maybe the Nazis were thinking of using some of his work at an Antarctic base.”

  Melissa leaned on Brian’s desk to survey the fragment copies. “This is pretty amazing. Up until this, the only potential info about a Nazi base in the Antarctic was pretty much assigned to propaganda status.”

  “But as fantastic as all this is,” Brian said thoughtfully, “it doesn’t prove the Nazis actually built such a base. At best, it only shows they intended such a project.”

  “True,” Melissa said, her lips pursed in thought. “The human thumb proves only that someone was there—which we already knew. The polar expedition of 1938–1939 hasn’t been a matter of dispute. But plans for an operational base? There’s no documentation that I know of that the Nazis ever went back. War broke out in 1939, so it seems like they would have been pretty preoccupied.”

  “Still,” Brian mused, “the British did set up base camps in the Antarctic during the war, including one in what the Germans claimed as Neuschwabenland.”

  “And then, of course, there’s the notorious Operation Highjump, and Admiral Byrd’s alleged battle with Nazi UFOs in the Antarctic right after the war …”

  She looked at Brian, who said, “It still sounds funny—sort of.”

  “We can’t let our imaginations run too far on this, Brian. The only thing we do know with a fairly high degree of certainty is that the UFO technology wasn’t lost. We’ve lived that part.”

  “So, what should we do now,” Brian asked, “other than hide this stuff and maybe do more research when we’re bored? There’s no way I’m posting this on the web as an addendum to what I’ve already put up there. I might as well send Colonel Ferguson a Christmas card.”

  “There’s really nothing to do,” Melissa said with a sigh as she gathered the papers.

  “Maybe President Fitzgerald will have a suggestion,” Brian offered.

  “I don’t think we should tell him.”

  “Why not? We know we can trust him.”

  “I don’t doubt that, but he’ll probably be upset that we’ve been exposed. I’m concerned that this new development may make him consider moving us. I could see Andrew going in that direction. I just don’t want to move again.”

  “Neither do I. Okay, so for now we won’t say anything.”

  “I suppose,” she added, her mood lightening a bit, “you could hide all these in your secret desk drawer.”

  “Really?” He rolled his eyes. She suppressed a smile, but he could tell she had a point to make—again.

  “I’m sorry it bothers you,” he said, glancing at the only drawer in his desk that required a key. “I just have a few private things in there.”

  “I don’t hide anything from you,” she came back.

  “Don’t think of it as hiding. It’s just a little personal space.”

  “Men and their secrets.”

  “Women and their curiosity.”

  “I’ll figure out where to put the papers,” she said, turning toward the stairs. “I might even tell you where.”

  10

  When bad men combine, the good must associate; else they will fall, one by one, an unpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle.

  —Edmund Burke

  “And how are you this Monday morning—was it Molly?” the tall, sandy-haired man addressed the distracted co-ed seated at the desk.

  “Oh, yes,” she said glancing up from her keyboard. The man’s sparkling blue eyes quickly chased work from her mind. “It’s so nice that you remembered,” she continued through a dreamy smile.

  “Lovely faces are easy to remember,” he said charmingly. “I’m sure Gloria will agree,” he went on, glancing past the young girl to the secretary seated beyond her at another desk, near the doorway of his destination.

  “Of course.” Gloria smiled at him over her glasses. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Neff.”

  “Please, call me Graham, remember?”

  “I guess I’m old school,” she explained. “Board members deserve a little more formality.”

  “As you wish. I assume your assistant is doing a fine job,” he said, turning his attention back to the younger woman with a smile.

  “She’s a big help, for sure. President Fitzgerald is expecting you. You can go on in.”

  “Wonderful.” The man nodded appreciatively to the secretary and went into the office, closing the door behind him.

  The girl’s eyes followed him. “If you need to go out for some air,” the older woman said, smirking playfully, “just let me know.” The girl blushed.

  Inside the office, the man took a seat in front of a white-haired, rotund priest whose face was creased with laughter lines. However, on this occasion his expression was serious. The office held a slight hint of the aroma of pipe tobacco. The priest rose abruptly from his seat and went to the door. The seated man heard him instruct his secretary to make sure they were not disturbed. The priest closed the door before returning to his desk.

  “Now we can talk,” he said, sighing and getting comfortable. “How was your trip, Graham?” the priest asked.

  “Uneventful—and profitable,” Neff replied. “The way I like them.”

  “Excellent. And Tel Aviv? Were there any problems?”

  Neff shook his head. “The transaction went well. The cargo is in reasonable shape. There are some concerns, but my associates say they’re nothing major.”

  “I presume you’re staying on campus at the guest house?”

  “Checked in before walking over here.”

  “How long will you be with us?”

  “I’m not sure. I have some business in the area, so I’ll be coming and going. You might see me here and there.”

  The priest became thoughtful. “How soon till we can all get together?”

  “That’s tied to the concerns my associates have expressed. I had expected a couple of weeks, but it depends on everyone being ready for travel. If that doesn’t materialize, we’ll bring whoever is ready.”

  “I understand. Two weeks would put us on the cusp of Thanksgiving break here. It would be good timing. Campus will be less active, as most of the students will be gone.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Neff replied casually. “And how are things with the college? Having a good term?”

  “It’s quiet. Enrollment is up slightly. We’re plugging along.”

  “Good. I should add that the Tel Aviv arrangement was less expensive than I presumed it would be.”

  “My, that is a surprise.”

  “Yes. I thought I’d make another contribution with the savings. How does two million dollars sound?”

  “Excellent,” the priest beamed. “That’s very generous.”

  “I’m sure you’ll put it to good use. Take half a million and make sure our friends are taken care of—and keep everything anonymous. As always, I trust you’ll be unfailingly cautious.”

  “Of course. The Lord does indeed work in mysterious ways,” the priest said with a contented smile. “I look forward to seeing you around campus.”

  ***

  Graham Neff walked the short distance from the college president’s office to the parking lot, where a four-door jeep was idling. The burly, balding man inside hit the unlock button as he approached.

  “Good morning, Malone.”

  “Mornin’,” the man responded. “Have some coffee.”

  “Thanks.” Neff reached into his coat pocket and produced a baggie with some pills. He emptied the co
ntents into the palm of his hand and popped them into his mouth, swallowing them with a careful sip of coffee.

  “You might need something more potent once we talk.”

  “Tel Aviv?”

  “Yep.”

  “What happened?”

  Malone gazed into his own coffee, watching the vapors rise from its heat. He took a sip. “One of them wasn’t clean. Nili got rid of the problem. Everyone got stateside okay, though.”

  “Interesting. Anything else?”

  “Nili said it was messy, to put it mildly. She decided to call in Clarise once they were airborne. She must have thought it was serious. Clarise flew herself.”

  Neff shook his head. “I just told Aloysius everything was going fine.”

  “I wouldn’t tell him any of this—not yet anyway. And if you think we stepped in it with Tel Aviv, wait till you hear what I learned last night.”

  Neff eyed him curiously.

  “For one thing, our target is married.”

  “That doesn’t sound like such a challenge,” Neff replied.

  “Challenge doesn’t even begin to describe the situation. You won’t believe the rest. I followed the two of them into a coffee shop. I couldn’t get set up right away, so I only caught about half of the conversation, but just wait till you hear the recording.”

  “Do we need backup?”

  “I hope not. We’re a little short on that right now.”

  Neff sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.

  “At the very least,” Malone continued, “we’ll need to rethink the plan. This is going to take longer than expected. And no matter what we come up with, discretion will be more essential than ever. We can’t leave the slightest whiff of a trail or we’ll be out of business, and then some.”

  11

  There are no hopeless situations; there are only men who have grown hopeless about them.

  —Clare Boothe Luce

  “How are we feeling this morning, Mrs. Carter?” the doctor asked, gently lifting Melissa’s top to expose her abdomen.

  “Nauseous. It really hit me hard for the first time.”

  “Well, that’s not uncommon. Maybe it’s a bit of anxiety, too,” he suggested. “This is your first, after all.”

  “Right,” Melissa replied weakly. Her mouth was already beginning to dry. She turned her head to look at Brian, who reached out, took her hand, and forced a smile. He couldn’t completely hide his own apprehension.

  “It’s okay to be a little anxious,” the doctor reassured her as he watched her blood pressure and heart rate slowly rising. “Just breathe in and out, slowly. Everything’s just fine.”

  The doctor pulled on a pair of gloves. “This will feel a little cold,” he cautioned as he began smearing Melissa’s abdomen with the lubricant for the ultrasound. He reached for the transducer. “You can watch on the screen to my right. In case you don’t recall, we’re checking to make sure everything looks as it should, and, if we’re lucky, we’ll learn the sex of the baby—presuming you want to know that.”

  “Sure,” Melissa responded, maintaining eye contact with Brian. Her mind started to race. The thought of seeing what was in her womb paralyzed her. She had imagined the likeness of the malformed, freakish thing hundreds of times. She couldn’t push the face of Adam from her mind.

  Melissa and Brian had tried to recollect the conversation they’d had about Adam with Father Benedict and Lieutenant Sheppard that last day on the base, but they couldn’t be certain their recollections were accurate—not when every word was critical. Was Adam a real extraterrestrial? Was he a manufactured entity with enough consciousness to go through the motions the Group had contrived?

  Melissa remembered Sheppard telling her that the Grays he knew of were dumb and useless, created by the Group to perpetuate an ET mythology. But she also recalled his uncertainty about the mind scans. He’d insisted the Grays—whatever they were—did not have that ability. She’d read a lot about so-called alien abduction, about how many researchers had concluded that mind scans were some sort of electrically stimulated effect that, along with a screen memory placed in a person’s brain, amounted to mental conditioning—again to perpetuate the myth in alien visitation for whatever grander agenda.

  She’d been content with all that until she discovered she was somehow pregnant. True, medical science could make women pregnant these days without intercourse, but the context of their bizarre experiences and the trauma of all that went on in the places she’d seen deep underground spurred her imagination in all the wrong ways. What about the pages Neil had given Brian? It hadn’t taken long to figure out they were part of a DNA sequence. And why were parts of it circled? What did they do to me? Her pulse began to soar on the monitor.

  “Mrs. Carter,” said the doctor, hesitating, surprised by the spike, “calm down. Breathe slowly. You don’t want to stress the baby.” He looked curiously at Brian.

  “She’s had some friends whose ultrasounds revealed some unfortunate things,” Brian lied, doing his best to explain Melissa’s behavior. “This is a big step for her. I’ll be her eyes.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll try to be brief, then. Just do what you can to keep her calm.”

  Brian nodded.

  The doctor placed the transducer on Melissa’s abdomen. Brian watched the monitor, fascinated by the sight. The grainy visual was an unfamiliar medium and initially disorienting. As his eyes adjusted to the fuzziness of the image and the doctor’s movements, he was able to discern a small form.

  “Have you felt any movement?” the doctor asked.

  “A couple times,” Melissa managed to reply.

  “Okay, let’s see. We have a slight side profile; the face is turned away from view—that’s why we’re only seeing one arm now. The crown of the skull looks good. Let me get some measurements.”

  Melissa opened her eyes to read Brian’s face. She saw his concentration, but no alarm. She began to breathe more naturally.

  The doctor held the transducer still and stared at the screen. “Hmm …” He began to move the instrument to different positions on Melissa’s abdomen, at times maintaining contact with her flesh, at other times lifting it to reposition it. Brian’s attention alternated between the screen and the doctor’s expression. He seemed perplexed and was far too quiet.

  “Well, this is unexpected,” the doctor finally said.

  Melissa froze. In seconds, her face contorted in anguished panic. Her pulse raced again.

  “No reason to worry, Mrs. Carter,” the doctor said reassuringly, having seen Melissa’s body tighten out of the corner of his eye. “You’re fine.”

  Brian stroked her forehead. “Everything I’m seeing looks normal,” he reassured her. “What is it?” Brian asked, turning to the doctor.

  “Take a look. Here, I think I can get her to move just a bit.”

  “Her?” Brian wondered aloud.

  “Yep. See the vertical lines there between the legs? You have a girl.”

  “Yes, I see them. So it’s a girl,” Brian said, looking at Melissa and smiling. Her eyes were still closed.

  “But that’s not the surprise,” the doctor continued. “Take another look. I think I can get her to adjust her position again just a bit.” He began gliding the transducer to different positions.

  Melissa opened her eyes to watch Brian’s expression carefully. He squinted and tilted his head back and forth, intently studying the screen.

  “No way …” Brian said absently. He was still transfixed by the view, his intense expression shifting to one of amazement. He felt Melissa’s hand suddenly tighten in alarm in his own. He patted her hand while he watched, shaking his head. Then he smiled.

  “Twins,” he said with a bewildered smile, turning to Melissa.

  “What?” Melissa finally spoke, astonishment evident in her voice.

  “Twins,” the doctor confirmed. “Congratulations!”

  “How can that be?” Melissa demanded. “There was only one heartbeat at t
he first ultrasound.”

  “I know, Mrs. Carter. I was there, remember?” he teased. “This really isn’t uncommon. Sometimes we only get one heartbeat because the heartbeats of both babies are beating in unison. I’ve known cases where women where were pregnant six months and had three or four ultrasounds before anyone knew there were twins. It’s a cramped space in there, and the baby we see can prevent the other from coming into view. You’re thirty-three, and women over thirty who have delayed pregnancy are more likely to have twins. And you for sure are having twins—twin girls, to be more precise.”

  “Shouldn’t my wife be … bigger?” Brian asked awkwardly.

  “Yes, for twins she should be showing more. It might be because of the abortion she had when she was nineteen. Statistically, there’s a link between abortion and lower birthweight in a subsequent pregnancy. You should also know there’s a link between previous abortion and later premature birth. But I’d say that, unless she doesn’t start to show in a more pronounced way in the next month, things are progressing fine, and there’s no cause for concern.”

  “What … what do they look like?” Melissa asked hesitantly.

  Brian could sense the dread in her voice. He felt it, too. “Is there any way to get a glimpse of the faces?” he asked.

  “We can try.” The doctor busied himself with the transducer, looking for a workable angle. “Maybe if you turned over a bit on your side, Mrs. Carter.”

  Melissa complied, still refusing to look at the screen.

  “There we go,” he said, holding the device steady. He quickly pushed a button to capture a still image. “Now, bear in mind that you’re only at twenty weeks. Lots of babies on ultrasounds at this point look like little aliens, but that’s normal.”

  Melissa exploded with wail and started to cry. Brian quickly leaned over and held her face in his hands as gently as he could. Her body shook with terror. With a jerk, she brought her knees to her chest to roll off the table, nearly smashing the doctor on the chin. She had turned toward Brian, whose body blocked her from escaping from the table.

  “Melissa, it’s okay,” Brian said as he pressed his cheek to hers and whispered in her ear. “It’s okay. They’re beautiful—really. Everything’s normal.”