1960
Alan’s mother pressed her lips to his forehead to complete her examination. Much of her red lipstick stayed behind.
“I’m going to call the doctor to be sure, but I would bet dollars to doughnuts that you have the mumps,” she announced. The boy’s painful and swollen glands under his chin made this all but a certainty.
“I don’t have any dollars or doughnuts,” Alan joked, “but I wouldn’t mind having a cupcake. You know, a chocolate one with the swirly icing on top.”
“I’ll be back with an aspirin and a glass of orange juice. No sweets for now, until I have spoken to the doctor. Better safe than sorry.”
Alan’s mother was a bottomless font of expressions and sometimes it seemed that she guided her family’s lives on the foundation of them.
“I wish I had thought to pack a thermometer,” she said, “but you know what they say about wishes ….”
“Sure mom, if wishes were horses boogers would ride,” Alan sat up, waiting for his mother’s reaction.
“Beggars, Alan! Beggars! Where on God’s green earth did you ever pick up a word like that?”
Before Alan could reply, Charlie, his younger brother, walked into the room. “Where did you put my swim fins?” he wanted to know.
His mother turned abruptly. “You’d better march yourself right out of here young man. Else you’ll catch what your brother has.”
Sometimes mothers just did not know what was important.
“But I can’t find my fins and Mr. McMahon is gonna take all of us to the pool.”
Charlie felt his mother’s hand cup the top of his head and spin him until he faced the door. “I said march Charlie. I will take care of you once I have finished with Alan. I am not going to have two sick boys on my hands.”
As he stomped out of the room, Charlie demonstrated the special skills possessed by most six year old boys: extraordinary facial contortion and mumbling just loud enough for someone else to hear.
“Anything else you need?” his mother asked Alan.
“I could use a new joke book mom. After all, laughter is the best medicine.” Her son could give as good as he got. This earned a short chortle from his mother.
“After the doctor has had a look at you I’ll call your father and ask him to pick one up for you, if it’s not out of his way.”
Just two days ago, as their father drove their packed car along the winding gravel road that led to their bungalow, Alan and Charlie called out excitedly as they passed a swimming pool, a ball field that had an actual dirt infield and a waste high fence circling the outfield, a weather worn wooden finger that pointed to Lake/Boats and an open framed shack that was purposed for Arts and Crafts, if the painter’s palette shaped sign over its doorway was to be believed.
Gus and Ruth Rainer were one of two couples from their neighborhood who decided to spend part of this summer in the countryside. The bungalows were located in the lush mountain greenery of Franklin County, approximately 150 miles north of their city apartment. The other couple joining them was their good friends Harold and Martha McMahon who, together with their son Howard would be in the bungalow next to them. The children were out of school for the summer and the reprieve from the oppressing asphalt would be a welcome change for all of them for the next month.
In previous years, Gus did not have the means to take his family away for the summer, but he had started a new job eight months ago and the bump in his salary was making it possible for his wife and sons to enjoy the landscape. Unfortunately for Gus, his job was too far from the bungalow to commute every day, so he was planning on spending the weekdays alone in their apartment and drive up to join his family every Friday afternoon, after work.
Ruth had another expression: Timing is everything. And in this case, Alan’s timing could not have been much worse, as his illness blossomed only a few days after the family arrived at the Meager Bungalow Colony.
A visit from a white haired doctor who, along with his nurse-wife, represented the colony’s medical staff, confirmed Ruth’s diagnosis of the mumps. Ruth called Gus at his office to let him know and was pleased to learn that her husband would not wait until Friday evening to join them. He was going to leave work early, stop off at home to pick up some things he would need and drive up that afternoon. He told Ruth that he would stay as long she needed him while she nursed their oldest son back to health.
“Better take yourself a pillow and blanket from the linen closet Charlie. You’ll have your own room for a while, at least until Alan isn’t contagious.”
The chance for independence brightened Charlie instantly. “That’s all right mom. I can stay by myself the whole time we’re here,” the young boy proclaimed, as he ran to gather the linens for his room.
“We’ll just see about that for now,” Ruth shouted at his back. “We may have some guests this summer and I’ll need the spare room for them.” But Charlie didn’t hear any of this as he was already making plans for his space. Ruth may have heard her young son say, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it but she wasn’t sure.
“What would you like for dinner?” Ruth called out from the kitchen.
Her sons answered without hesitation.
“Franks and beans!” from Alan.
“PB & J with milk!” from Charlie.
Charlie took position at the threshold of Alan’s doorway and pouted at his older brother. Perhaps due to his weakened condition or reconsideration of a preferable option, Alan folded, “Make it PB&J for me too mom!”
“So, when are you gonna be better?” Charlie asked. “Mom isn’t going to let me take a boat out by myself.”
“Soon enough, bro. In the meantime, do me a favor … see if there are any cards lying around. No TV here, nothing good to read … you know what they say about idle hands.”
“They wipe the idol’s butt?” Charlie came back immediately.
Alan’s laugh was interrupted by a wet cough and a dull pain beneath his chin.
“Glands,” he explained to his brother who was looking on with concern.
Charlie nodded and ran to look for a deck of cards.
Alan surveyed the room from his bed. There was a window on the wall directly above him that provided an unobstructed view to a field that seemed large enough for a professional football game. There were no bungalows on the opposite side of the road that passed in front of theirs; giving Alan the sense that the field was endless. The trees that bordered the far end of the field looked small enough to put in his pocket. Outside, just below his window and running along the front of his bungalow was a narrow wood planked porch. Alan had watched his father roll a small, round barbecue grill onto it when they arrived. “I’ll pick up some charcoal when I get back. Nothing better than burgers and dogs off the grill.” There wasn’t much to look at in the room. He had left all of his plastic soldiers, cars and trucks at home since his father told him he couldn’t bring any of his toys with him. “You boys are going to be too busy with other activities,” Gus informed him. Alan did manage to smuggle his transistor radio and some of his comic books into his valise. But he had read each of the comics about a hundred times already. His mother had also brought two books that his teacher had recommended as summer reading, Ivanhoe and Huckleberry Finn, but he was not looking forward to doing what he considered to be homework while he was on vacation. He hoped that his dad remembered to bring a new joke book for him.
Charlie scampered back to the doorway and tossed a sealed deck of plastic cards to his brother. “What are you going to use those for? No one can sit with you while you’re sick.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll think of something,” Alan’s replied confidently. Alan was a very imaginative boy who was accustomed to making use of scraps of this and that to amuse himself and Charlie.
Ruth decided to take Charlie next door so that he could spend the rest of the day with the McMahons. In part so he would be away from Alan’s germs and in part so he would not be underfoot while she went about her housecleaning. A bungalow that had sat vacant for months at a time needed a lot of scrubbing. Martha and Harold adored the boy and were happy to welcome him to their activities, which sadly for Charlie did not include going to the lake that day. Their son Howard was a very studious and stable pre-teen and set a good example for his young visitor. It seemed everyone was still settling in to their new surroundings and soaking in the tranquility of lightly traveled dirt roads and silent blades of grass bowing to gentle winds. The highlight of Charlie’s day was repeatedly and intentionally calling Harold, Howard and Howard, Harold. Perhaps it was the rural peacefulness, but Charlie sensed that he had been permitted to get away with this a lot longer than if he had done it back home. In any event, after a while he came to appreciate his neighbors’ tolerance and stopped doing it.
Ruth sat in her kitchenette making a list of additional items they would need. She would call Gus later to let him know what she wanted so he could pick them up on the way to the bungalow.
“Anything special you need? She called out to Alan.
“Just the joke book mom. And maybe a couple packs of baseball cards.” He figured he would try his luck at engendering some additional good will on the back of his illness.
“Your father said he would look for a book for you. I don’t want to have him running around like a chicken with his head cut off. I’d like to see him get here before it gets too late.”
Well, she slipped another one in there. No point in pushing it.
“That’s okay mom, I wouldn’t want to bite the hand that feeds me.”
Now it was his mother’s turn to mumble beneath her breath.
For the remainder of his day Alan either slept or played a concoction he had devised with the playing cards. Later, the sound of a car door slamming announced his father’s arrival and roused him from a brief sleep.
“I could use a little help out here!”
Charlie raced outside to greet his father and relieved him of a small brown paper bag of groceries. Ruth welcomed her husband with a firm hug.
“How’s the patient?”
“Quiet for the most part. He’s been keeping himself busy when he isn’t dozing.” Gus left the provisions he had placed in the back seat to Ruth and Charlie so he could look in on Alan.
“How ya feeling’ Champ?” Gus asked, his hands behind his back.
“Gettin’ there Dad. What’s that, behind your back?”
Gus revealed a handful of books, and handed Alan the latest edition of Milk Shooting Jokes and Riddles.
“Wow Dad! I hope you bought plenty of milk. What else you got?”
Gus handed him what appeared to be a very adult book, with a hardcover. It was blue and looked kind of official.
“I think you’ll like this one. It’s all about UFOs.”
Gus and Alan loved watching science fiction movies together. Sometimes Charlie would join them, if his parents thought it wouldn’t be too scary. They would never miss Invaders from Mars or The Day the Earth Stood Still when they were on the television and they would talk incessantly about the movies and whether or not there really were flying saucers and Martians.
“He’s supposed to read Ivanhoe for school Gus.” Ruth stepped into the room.
“He can read this after he’s read Ivanhoe.” He handed the book to Alan with a surreptitious wink. It was great to have a father who got it.
That night, as promised, his father fired up the barbecue and grilled some burgers. So not to exclude their son, the rest of the family sat on the porch while they ate. His father plated and delivered burgers and potato chips to Alan through his open window. Everyone spoke loud enough for Alan to hear and he was content eating his dinner, knowing that his family was close. Afterward, his parents came in to clear away any food he had not eaten (his mother made him get out of bed so that she could shake out his sheets to clear off invisible crumbs).
Either due to his fever or boredom, Alan grew tired of conversing through the window and turned to his radio for company. He couldn’t find the stations that he usually listened to and contented himself listening to a station that played the kind of music that his parents liked. Ruth and Gus took turns coming in to check on him throughout the night.
“You still feel warm,” his mother told him unnecessarily. “Your father is going to pick up a thermometer and some fresh washcloths tomorrow. For want of a nail a kingdom was lost.”
Alan didn’t really understand that expression and he wasn’t particularly interested in examining it with his mother just now. He was finishing a baseball game he had come up with using the playing cards and wanted to get into his new joke book before he had to go to sleep. He wasn’t planning on being sick for long and needed new material.
Ruth stood over Alan, listening to How Much Is That Doggie in the Window? playing on the radio and trying to decipher his unusual use of the playing cards.
“I can’t wait to see what you can come with when you get older,” she said proudly.
“Necessity is the mother of invention, right mother?” he wise-cracked.
“And a fresh son does not get dessert.”
“I never heard that one before.”
“I just invented it,” she said with finality.
Gus entered the room and gave his wife a soft kiss behind her ear. “Like father, like son.” She pecked kisses on both their cheeeks and left the room. Gus and Ruth had been married for fifteen years, so he usually knew when it was better not to ask his wife a question he did not want the answer to.
“Your mother’s had a tough stretch son. Let’s try to give her a break, okay Champ?”
“Sure Dad.”
“By the way,” Gus reached under his son’s pillow and withdrew the joke book that Alan had hidden under it. “You have a little reprieve from Ivanhoe. At least until your fever breaks. Better make the most of it.” He placed the book on his son’s chest, patting his hands.
“Thanks Dad.”
“And lights out at ten thirty. You need your rest.”
Ten minutes later, Alan replaced the book under his pillow, rolled over and fell asleep.
After cleaning off the grill, Gus helped Ruth straighten up the bungalow. Charlie had already dozed off, without much of a fuss, in his own room. By 11:30 all of the occupants of the bungalow were fast asleep.
Alan’s room was dark, other than a faint patch of moonlight that slipped through the overhead window. Passing clouds shaded and shaped the patch that morphed on the wall facing his bed. Fever had brought Alan a restless sleep. At one point he woke to slip off his pajama top, which had become moist from perspiration, and replaced it with a sleeveless tee-shirt. Unable to sleep, he watched the changing, muted grey patterns of light that formed over his feet.
Flat, legless ducks surrendered to spiny horned salamanders which in turn yielded to club footed sea lions. On and on it went in Alan’s imagination. When he tired of identifying each colorless, mutated animal that inhabited his wall, he considered what circumstance may have resulted in the horrific transfiguration. The comic books he read and movies he watched with his father fed his thoughts. However, the impetus of his imagination was dispelled when he kneeled on his bed to peer out the window and noticed the crawl of clouds shielding a moon that was hovering just above the tree-line that bordered the far end of the vast field that fronted the bungalow. Eventually he could stay awake no longer and yielded to an uneasy sleep.
The following day was uneventful for Alan. Charlie, who had been anxious to explore the grounds, convinced his father to take him to the lake where they rowed a rickety boat around the circumference of the still water. Gus thought the boat should have been retired a few years ago as its cleats refused to stay lodged in place, causing the oars to come unhinged frequently. He acknowledged that was to be expected at the Meager Bungalow Colony. Their neighbors, Harold and his son Howard, circled the lake in front of them, in a boat that seemed rusted, perhaps beyond seaworthiness. While this eventually became tedious for the fathers, their sons took endless fascination in the activity. Ruth spent the day sitting on white Adirondack chairs on the porch with her friend Martha. Alan heard them discussing what some of their other neighbors were doing that summer (most remained in the city) and something that happened to one of the girls that he knew went to the high school he would be attending in a few years, but he couldn’t quite understand what they were saying. They also discussed whether or not someone could get the mumps more than once. His friend Howard had the mumps three years ago, when he was Alan’s age, and they decided it would be better to keep them separated for now, just in case.
Oh well, he had his cards, his radio and his books and that should be enough for a few days. Besides, the mumps had placed his energy on a roller coaster and for the time being he was content being left more or less alone. He already knew many of the jokes in his new book, and some others he considered to be silly or too babyish. However, there was a section called Limericks that had some funny and unusual poetry; he would have to commit these to memory. For now, he turned his attention to the blue UFO book. Thumbing through the pages, he saw documents that appeared to have come straight out of some government or military records. In some cases, words had been blacked out in order to guard against revealing something. Some of the pages were even stamped Top Secret. Although he knew it would not really help, he held those pages up to the light hoping he could see the words through the hidden areas. Why would somebody allow these letters to be seen at all, if the best parts were going to be crossed out? Some of the comic books he read mentioned that the government knew about Martians or beings from other worlds and that they were trying to keep it to themselves. Howard once told him that there was a special place where aliens were being kept for examination and questioning. How would you talk to a Martian? They probably did not speak English as they did in the movies. It sure seemed like somebody was trying very hard to hide something important.
Grainy, black and white pictures in the book were taken by regular people, from all around the world, showing strange objects flying or floating in the sky. One picture was taken be an actual Air Force Lieutenant Colonel (it even had his picture and name under it). The pilot had snapped the picture from the cockpit of his jet plane. It was of a formation of triangle objects flying above him.
“Where there’s smoke there’s fire,” his mother would have said. Alan was convinced that Earth was being visited by aliens from other planets or galaxies. He just hoped they were not like the ones from Invaders from Mars or Twenty Million Miles to Earth. He was going to have to discuss it with his father when he got back from the lake.
When the boatmen did return, Charlie was exhausted from the bright sunshine and exhilarated from the experience. “Dad said next time we can get some fishing poles. The man said there’s all kinda fish in it. Maybe some more than a foot long!”
Gus was just exhausted. “Let’s let Alan get his rest Charlie. We want him up and out there catching those fish with us as soon as he’s able.”
“We can cook what we catch and eat them for dinner, right mom?”
“We’ll see.” Even a six year old knew what that meant. Charlie was about to seek a better response when his mother interjected, “Baths for both of you. Charlie, you first.”
A few moments later Charlie emerged from his room wearing a bathing suit and his swim fins. “I can clean up in the pool mom.”
“The bathtub. Now!”
This time she was sure she heard her youngest son mumble something under his breath as he tossed the fins back into his room.
“And use soap!” she added.
“Hey Dad!” Alan bellowed from his room. “This UFO book is great! You gotta see all the pictures it has.”
Although conceding to her husband to allow Alan have the UFO book before he read Ivanhoe, Ruth was not going to permit him from tending to the business of getting well. And exerting himself for what she considered to be nonsense and shouting through the bungalow was not her recipe for his recovery.
“You better be resting yourself young man! I don’t plan on being cooped up with you in this bungalow for the remainder of the summer!” She stepped over the threshold of the doorway to emphasize her point.
The words 'discretion is the better part of valor' and 'live to fight another day' raced through Alan’s head. He quickly stashed the book underneath his pillow.
“Yes mom.” But an eleven year old boy’s curiosity and determination are very difficult to stifle.
That night, despite his mother’s cautions, Alan knelt at the head of his bed so that the murky moonlight could feebly illuminate the pages of the newly forbidden book. But the effort was outweighing the reward. Alan gave up before long and lay on top of the covers, entertaining himself with the whitish light show that was again displayed on the wall.
The parade of malformed beats returned. Rotund platypus, two headed cat, triple-tailed orange squirrel.
Orange?!
Where did orange come from? He had heard about a harvest moon that could be yellow, but he didn’t think the color would change in the middle of the night. Alan shook any lingering sleep from his eyes so he could be sure of what he was seeing. But the procession of animals stopped, replaced by dark tentacles waving within a shapeless amber frame. The boy considered what he could be looking at and challenged himself to garner the explanation without cheating a peak out the window. Yet the answer would not come to him. As he was about to give in and raise himself to peer out the window, his entire room was engulfed in a bright light. It lasted for only few moments, after which the gloomy images on his wall returned.
Placing his hands on the window sill, he elevated his eyes only high enough to gaze over the pane. The same moon he had noticed the night before was still lingering above the tree line. He held his position for several minutes expecting the source of the bright or orange light to reappear. When it did not he placed his head heavily on his pillow. He could feel the weight and shape of the book he had hidden beneath it.
1990
A hard snow covered the landscape. The roads had not been cleared, more by design than neglect. Traffic here was discouraged, vigorously. The dozen or so structures had been set back from the thoroughfares to deter the curious. If that failed, the barbed wire rimmed fences that encircled the area delivered the message. Should an intrepid soul persevere beyond the boundary, they would become very unhappy very quickly, as promised by the signage. Stupid got what stupid earned. The rooftops of the few buildings that dotted the interior had been painted with non-reflective paint. Any unauthorized aircraft would be hard-pressed to get a glimpse of the secreted location. Air traffic was strategically routed around the area and the very few small planes that ventured into the restricted space, by accident or otherwise, would promptly be compelled to land or flee. The pilots also would find themselves very unhappy.
The front door to the smallest gray building opened.
“Damned if I know what we are doing here,” a white camouflage uniform identified it’s wearer only as Huxley.
Seated behind an austere desk sat a very large man wearing olive green military utilities, a gold bar on each collar and a patch over his left breast that identified him as Bradford.
“Lieutenant, we’ve been here for over a month and all we’ve done is tunnel through this cursed icy crust like flippin’ ants,” Huxley stomped residual snow from his heavy boots.
“Sergeant,” Bradford stood sharply erect, placing the palms of his hands firmly on the desktop. “Would you rather be burrowing your sweating, sorry butt under the sand, dodging scuds? I can have new orders written for you in no time!”
The reddish hue in Huxley’s cheeks drained to match his camouflage.
“No thank you Sir!” he roared as he snapped to smart attention and gave his mentor and friend a crisp salute. Better here than a dessert half a world away where things were exploding on a regular basis.
“Look Donald,” the lieutenant relaxed and seated himself. “This little project for the Congressman may seem like a waste of time, but you know that he has similar outposts in a half dozen other sites and a few of them have reported finding traces or suggestions of evidence.”
The tension between the two men had been broken. Huxley pulled open his heavy jacket and folded it on the seatback of one of two metal chairs facing the desk. He lifted his leg over the back and placed it on the seat. The lieutenant looked at the foot and raised an eyebrow. The offending foot was promptly removed.
“Relax Don. I know it seems like we have all been chasing our tails, but the Colonel has been coordinating data from other locations and will be coming in tonight with the Congressman to review our progress, such as it is, and to share what they have learned so far. It may just point us in the right direction.
“That’s good Bob. The men would like to feel they are contributing to the effort, whatever it is.”
“At ease Sergeant.” Tension between these men always seemed to be one wrong word away. “Information will be made available to those who need it, when they need it.”
Huxley saluted and walked behind the desk to pour himself a cup of coffee from a glass pot.
“Pour one for me too Don.”
Donald Huxley had initially served under Robert Bradford in Panama where the latter led a squad during Operation Just Cause. Mutual respect and trust had grown between the two men since that time, only challenged periodically by spikes of testosterone or competing romantic interests. But these never escalated beyond reason. The men sat comfortably for a couple of hours, reliving past exploits and acquaintances. As evening’s veil fell over stark bleached Franklin County, the lieutenant’s desk phone buzzed to announce an incoming call. It was answered immediately.
“Braddock. Yes Sir. Yes Sir. Nothing unusual Sir. Understood. We are looking forward to that Sir. Yes Sir. Goodbye Sir.”
“Anybody I know Lieutenant?” Huxley curled a wry smile.
Lieutenant Bradford’s adopted a commanding tone. “Sergeant, the Colonel and Congressman will be in our airspace at oh-one hundred hours. They will be expecting a walkthrough the underground and status reports. Prepare Meager Two for entry and instruct Miller to illuminate EndZone in preparation of their arrival.”
“They’ll be airborne Sir?” Huxley asked.
“I believe my instruction was quite clear Sergeant.”
“Understood Sir.” Huxley was already putting his heavy camouflage jacket back on. “We will ready for their arrival.”
Just after midnight, Bradford opened the door of his office and noticed a white form, led by a narrow beam of light, striding rapidly toward him. He knew it would be Huxley.
The lieutenant’s attire now matched the sergeant’s as he closed the door behind him and stepped into the pitch black air. Huxley snapped to attention.
“Preparations complete Lieutenant. I recommend we initiate EndZone Sir. It has not been operational since snowfall.”
“Proceed Sergeant.”
Huxley turned to face the blinding darkness and raised both arms above his head, interlocking his hands. An unseen face had been monitoring the sergeant’s movements, anticipating this signal. In turn, another silent indicator was displayed for another set of unseen eyes. Less than a minute later two amber lights began to glow. The lights appeared to be roughly rectangular, each about 500 square yards and exactly one hundred yards from each other. As the seconds passed, the amber hue brightened to orange as the snow covering what had once been the end zones of a football field melted away.
“Everything copasetic Sir,” Huxley turned to face Bradford.
“Leave ‘em on Don. If I know the Colonel, they’ll be early.”
With a salute, Huxley withdrew into the night.
As if on cue, Bradford detected a deep droning in the distance. If he had not already been expecting the sound he probably would not have become aware of it. Its volume increased marginally as he noticed a distant star growing proportionately to the sound. As he walked forward, the wind appeared to alter direction. Finally the growing star became a bright spotlight, emerging directly above the snow covered field. The rotors of a Blackhawk helicopter stirred the air, blowing shards of ice and snow into his face. Resolutely, he stood his ground, then double-timed toward the aircraft as it settled equidistant between the two orange markings.
As the copter door slid open, Bradford stepped up to the cabin and tossed a hurried salute to the man in the process of extricating himself.
“Welcome Colonel. All is ready.”
“At ease Lieutenant. Let’s get the Congressman inside ASAP. You know these civilians are not very accustomed to the elements.”
A tall, red bearded man, wearing a charcoal gray Burberry overcoat jumped from the helicopter, nearly stumbling to the snow. He was alertly caught under his arm by the Colonel, who helped him recover to a respectable, erect position.
“I’ll never get used to these things,” the Congressman remarked as he straightened his coat.
Bradford stepped up and offered his hand. “Welcome Congressman. We have been looking forward to your arrival.” The men shook hands as they hurried away from the still moving rotors.
“I hope you have news for me Lieutenant. This is our primary search area and there is almost certain something here for us to find.” The Colonel’s voice was unequivocal.
They shouted over the diminishing noise of the helicopter and the augmenting sounds of the wind.
“Sergeant Huxley, our Team Leader will bring us the results of our latest dig. Twenty-four feet down, covering a three mile vein. If you will follow me.” Gesturing toward his office, the two men followed, haloed by the orange lighting that still flanked them.
Entering his office Bradford offered both men a cup of steaming hot coffee. While the Congressman welcomed it and burned his lips hurriedly taking an initial sip, the Colonel placed his cup on top of the desk.
It was the first time Bradford had met his Commanding Officer. He was not tall in stature and his virile face appeared to be ten year years younger than his close-cropped salt and pepper hair indicating his true age. Piercing blue eyes seized his attention.
“Lieutenant, we are going to have to expedite this visit due to incoming weather. I would like to see what you have found. I am …” The Colonel flung his long blue coat onto the desk. The Congressman stepped forward, still blowing on his hands.
“Chuck, I believe the Lieutenant deserves some context for his assignment. I appreciate your confidences for all of this, but recent events make it all but certain that our efforts will become known shortly.” Bradford noted that the Congressman appeared to be very familiar with the Colonel. Either that or he was extremely confident of his standing that he would interrupt him. The Colonel simply gestured for the politician to proceed.
“What I am going to tell you may, at first, appear to borne from either lunacy or desperation, but I assure you that is not the case.” The Congressman and Colonel exchanged knowing glances. The latter nodded for the other to continue.
“Thirty years ago, a young boy disappeared near the very spot we are standing now. He was only eleven years old; as curious and determined as many boys his age are inclined to be. In the spring and summer, this area is really breathtakingly beautiful. Lush foliage, crystal clear lakes. The boy and his family had planned on spending an enjoyable summer vacation together. Swimming, fishing, playing ball and enjoying the intimacy of a close-knit family. Sadly, they had little opportunity to do this.
The boy, spawned by his inquisitiveness, the proliferation of certain science fiction tales of the era and events that he had recounted to his family and friends, became determined to discover the source of unusual lights that he claimed to have witnessed from his bedroom.”
The Colonel, who had been standing alongside the Congressman, moved to the office door. He opened it just enough to peer outside. The Congressman regarded him pensively and continued.
“On several occasions, unbeknownst to his parents, the boy had set out, either alone or accompanied by his younger brother, seeking his answer, which he believed would be found somewhere beyond the northern end of your football field.” The Colonel, who had turned to regard his companion, returned his attention to the exterior, opening the door a bit wider.
“Of course, the boy’s parent and other adults dismissed the boys assertions, particularly as they had come on the heels of a recent illness and his infatuation with a certain book; The Blue Book Project.”
Lieutenant Bradford, who was familiar with that book and other similar to it, was inclined to interrupt the soliloquy at this point, but was waved off by the Colonel.
“One evening, immediately following dinner, the two boys set out together in exploration. Until that day, they had limited their searches to the relative safety along the fringe of the tree line. However, that evening the older boy decided to venture into the flora, directing his brother to remain behind. Night had not yet fallen, as they had intended to return before dark, neither had brought a flashlight. As the boy found his way through the trees, the boys would call out to each other to reassure themselves. After several minutes, the older brother stopped returning the shouts from his sibling. Bravely, if not foolishly, the younger brother followed into the woods.
When he returned to the bungalow alone, crying and seemingly disoriented, he told his mother and father that an orange light had emanated from the ground and enveloped his brother. He watched it, inexplicably, pull the boy through the solid earth.
The Colonel pivoted to face the Lieutenant and picked up the thread of the account.
“The missing boy’s name was Alan Rainer.”
The Lieutenant stared, aghast at his Commanding Officer, who continued.
“His six year old brother’s name was Charles, but in those days everyone called the boy Charlie.”
The Lieutenants’ eyes released from the piercing blue eyes and found the name, which he already knew, emblazoned on the Colonel’s breast: RAINER. The Congressman cleared his throat to regain Bradford’s attention.
“Lieutenant, you should know that the Rainiers had been joined that summer by another family from the same neighborhood, Martha and Harold McMahon…” he emphasized the last name and paused for effect. “ … and their fifteen year old son, Howard.”
Bradford collapsed into his seat, trying to make some sense of what had been recounted to him by Congressman Howard McMahon. Colonel Rainer strode to the desk.
“Bob, I know this sounds wild and I suspect you have questioned yourself how and why Howard and I have enlisted you and your men to pursue personal objectives. The big picture is that this is a matter of national security. Hell, planetary security! No more, no less. The little voice in your head is probably telling you the same thing my parents said and everyone else thought: he’s lost his grip on reality. No one would listen then. Alan was never found and his disappearance was never explained.
The Lieutenant stood and walked around his desk toward Rainer. His face was red and he appeared to be on the verge of rage. McMahon stepped into his path, providing him with an opportunity to regain his composure.
“Lieutenant, there was one person who believed Charlie. One other person who witnessed the odd lights emanating from the woods. He told his parents what he had seen, but was dismissed for continuing the farfetched tale.
Charlie Rainer and I made a pact that summer, that we would spend the rest of our lives, if we had to, finding out what had happened to that sweet young boy. Each of us has chosen careers that afforded us the opportunity to bring resources to bear on the effort.”
“Congressman, Colonel … with all due respect, this is madness. To employ government and military personnel and resources, spend who knows how much money, in a vain effort to satisfy your personal agendas is, is … “
The front door flew open, by the entry of Sergeant Huxley and a howling wind.
“I’m sorry Sirs, but the storm is worsening and I thought you would want to review the results from our recent excavation before you had to depart. Nothing extraordinary.” He placed a large box on the desk. “Just animal bones, unremarkable rocks, ordinary garbage and bits of a tattered old book.”
The Colonel moved quickly toward the desk and thrust his arm into the box’s contents. The Congressman’s eyes were fixed on him. McMahon stirred the contents, feeling through the dirt and grime. Slowly, he extracted pages of a book that showed the unmistakable signs of burial decades ago. He flipped it over, unable to divert his gaze from the remains of a cover, still partially intact: JOKES AND RIDDLES.
“I’m going to call the doctor to be sure, but I would bet dollars to doughnuts that you have the mumps,” she announced. The boy’s painful and swollen glands under his chin made this all but a certainty.
“I don’t have any dollars or doughnuts,” Alan joked, “but I wouldn’t mind having a cupcake. You know, a chocolate one with the swirly icing on top.”
“I’ll be back with an aspirin and a glass of orange juice. No sweets for now, until I have spoken to the doctor. Better safe than sorry.”
Alan’s mother was a bottomless font of expressions and sometimes it seemed that she guided her family’s lives on the foundation of them.
“I wish I had thought to pack a thermometer,” she said, “but you know what they say about wishes ….”
“Sure mom, if wishes were horses boogers would ride,” Alan sat up, waiting for his mother’s reaction.
“Beggars, Alan! Beggars! Where on God’s green earth did you ever pick up a word like that?”
Before Alan could reply, Charlie, his younger brother, walked into the room. “Where did you put my swim fins?” he wanted to know.
His mother turned abruptly. “You’d better march yourself right out of here young man. Else you’ll catch what your brother has.”
Sometimes mothers just did not know what was important.
“But I can’t find my fins and Mr. McMahon is gonna take all of us to the pool.”
Charlie felt his mother’s hand cup the top of his head and spin him until he faced the door. “I said march Charlie. I will take care of you once I have finished with Alan. I am not going to have two sick boys on my hands.”
As he stomped out of the room, Charlie demonstrated the special skills possessed by most six year old boys: extraordinary facial contortion and mumbling just loud enough for someone else to hear.
“Anything else you need?” his mother asked Alan.
“I could use a new joke book mom. After all, laughter is the best medicine.” Her son could give as good as he got. This earned a short chortle from his mother.
“After the doctor has had a look at you I’ll call your father and ask him to pick one up for you, if it’s not out of his way.”
Just two days ago, as their father drove their packed car along the winding gravel road that led to their bungalow, Alan and Charlie called out excitedly as they passed a swimming pool, a ball field that had an actual dirt infield and a waste high fence circling the outfield, a weather worn wooden finger that pointed to Lake/Boats and an open framed shack that was purposed for Arts and Crafts, if the painter’s palette shaped sign over its doorway was to be believed.
Gus and Ruth Rainer were one of two couples from their neighborhood who decided to spend part of this summer in the countryside. The bungalows were located in the lush mountain greenery of Franklin County, approximately 150 miles north of their city apartment. The other couple joining them was their good friends Harold and Martha McMahon who, together with their son Howard would be in the bungalow next to them. The children were out of school for the summer and the reprieve from the oppressing asphalt would be a welcome change for all of them for the next month.
In previous years, Gus did not have the means to take his family away for the summer, but he had started a new job eight months ago and the bump in his salary was making it possible for his wife and sons to enjoy the landscape. Unfortunately for Gus, his job was too far from the bungalow to commute every day, so he was planning on spending the weekdays alone in their apartment and drive up to join his family every Friday afternoon, after work.
Ruth had another expression: Timing is everything. And in this case, Alan’s timing could not have been much worse, as his illness blossomed only a few days after the family arrived at the Meager Bungalow Colony.
A visit from a white haired doctor who, along with his nurse-wife, represented the colony’s medical staff, confirmed Ruth’s diagnosis of the mumps. Ruth called Gus at his office to let him know and was pleased to learn that her husband would not wait until Friday evening to join them. He was going to leave work early, stop off at home to pick up some things he would need and drive up that afternoon. He told Ruth that he would stay as long she needed him while she nursed their oldest son back to health.
“Better take yourself a pillow and blanket from the linen closet Charlie. You’ll have your own room for a while, at least until Alan isn’t contagious.”
The chance for independence brightened Charlie instantly. “That’s all right mom. I can stay by myself the whole time we’re here,” the young boy proclaimed, as he ran to gather the linens for his room.
“We’ll just see about that for now,” Ruth shouted at his back. “We may have some guests this summer and I’ll need the spare room for them.” But Charlie didn’t hear any of this as he was already making plans for his space. Ruth may have heard her young son say, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it but she wasn’t sure.
“What would you like for dinner?” Ruth called out from the kitchen.
Her sons answered without hesitation.
“Franks and beans!” from Alan.
“PB & J with milk!” from Charlie.
Charlie took position at the threshold of Alan’s doorway and pouted at his older brother. Perhaps due to his weakened condition or reconsideration of a preferable option, Alan folded, “Make it PB&J for me too mom!”
“So, when are you gonna be better?” Charlie asked. “Mom isn’t going to let me take a boat out by myself.”
“Soon enough, bro. In the meantime, do me a favor … see if there are any cards lying around. No TV here, nothing good to read … you know what they say about idle hands.”
“They wipe the idol’s butt?” Charlie came back immediately.
Alan’s laugh was interrupted by a wet cough and a dull pain beneath his chin.
“Glands,” he explained to his brother who was looking on with concern.
Charlie nodded and ran to look for a deck of cards.
Alan surveyed the room from his bed. There was a window on the wall directly above him that provided an unobstructed view to a field that seemed large enough for a professional football game. There were no bungalows on the opposite side of the road that passed in front of theirs; giving Alan the sense that the field was endless. The trees that bordered the far end of the field looked small enough to put in his pocket. Outside, just below his window and running along the front of his bungalow was a narrow wood planked porch. Alan had watched his father roll a small, round barbecue grill onto it when they arrived. “I’ll pick up some charcoal when I get back. Nothing better than burgers and dogs off the grill.” There wasn’t much to look at in the room. He had left all of his plastic soldiers, cars and trucks at home since his father told him he couldn’t bring any of his toys with him. “You boys are going to be too busy with other activities,” Gus informed him. Alan did manage to smuggle his transistor radio and some of his comic books into his valise. But he had read each of the comics about a hundred times already. His mother had also brought two books that his teacher had recommended as summer reading, Ivanhoe and Huckleberry Finn, but he was not looking forward to doing what he considered to be homework while he was on vacation. He hoped that his dad remembered to bring a new joke book for him.
Charlie scampered back to the doorway and tossed a sealed deck of plastic cards to his brother. “What are you going to use those for? No one can sit with you while you’re sick.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll think of something,” Alan’s replied confidently. Alan was a very imaginative boy who was accustomed to making use of scraps of this and that to amuse himself and Charlie.
Ruth decided to take Charlie next door so that he could spend the rest of the day with the McMahons. In part so he would be away from Alan’s germs and in part so he would not be underfoot while she went about her housecleaning. A bungalow that had sat vacant for months at a time needed a lot of scrubbing. Martha and Harold adored the boy and were happy to welcome him to their activities, which sadly for Charlie did not include going to the lake that day. Their son Howard was a very studious and stable pre-teen and set a good example for his young visitor. It seemed everyone was still settling in to their new surroundings and soaking in the tranquility of lightly traveled dirt roads and silent blades of grass bowing to gentle winds. The highlight of Charlie’s day was repeatedly and intentionally calling Harold, Howard and Howard, Harold. Perhaps it was the rural peacefulness, but Charlie sensed that he had been permitted to get away with this a lot longer than if he had done it back home. In any event, after a while he came to appreciate his neighbors’ tolerance and stopped doing it.
Ruth sat in her kitchenette making a list of additional items they would need. She would call Gus later to let him know what she wanted so he could pick them up on the way to the bungalow.
“Anything special you need? She called out to Alan.
“Just the joke book mom. And maybe a couple packs of baseball cards.” He figured he would try his luck at engendering some additional good will on the back of his illness.
“Your father said he would look for a book for you. I don’t want to have him running around like a chicken with his head cut off. I’d like to see him get here before it gets too late.”
Well, she slipped another one in there. No point in pushing it.
“That’s okay mom, I wouldn’t want to bite the hand that feeds me.”
Now it was his mother’s turn to mumble beneath her breath.
For the remainder of his day Alan either slept or played a concoction he had devised with the playing cards. Later, the sound of a car door slamming announced his father’s arrival and roused him from a brief sleep.
“I could use a little help out here!”
Charlie raced outside to greet his father and relieved him of a small brown paper bag of groceries. Ruth welcomed her husband with a firm hug.
“How’s the patient?”
“Quiet for the most part. He’s been keeping himself busy when he isn’t dozing.” Gus left the provisions he had placed in the back seat to Ruth and Charlie so he could look in on Alan.
“How ya feeling’ Champ?” Gus asked, his hands behind his back.
“Gettin’ there Dad. What’s that, behind your back?”
Gus revealed a handful of books, and handed Alan the latest edition of Milk Shooting Jokes and Riddles.
“Wow Dad! I hope you bought plenty of milk. What else you got?”
Gus handed him what appeared to be a very adult book, with a hardcover. It was blue and looked kind of official.
“I think you’ll like this one. It’s all about UFOs.”
Gus and Alan loved watching science fiction movies together. Sometimes Charlie would join them, if his parents thought it wouldn’t be too scary. They would never miss Invaders from Mars or The Day the Earth Stood Still when they were on the television and they would talk incessantly about the movies and whether or not there really were flying saucers and Martians.
“He’s supposed to read Ivanhoe for school Gus.” Ruth stepped into the room.
“He can read this after he’s read Ivanhoe.” He handed the book to Alan with a surreptitious wink. It was great to have a father who got it.
That night, as promised, his father fired up the barbecue and grilled some burgers. So not to exclude their son, the rest of the family sat on the porch while they ate. His father plated and delivered burgers and potato chips to Alan through his open window. Everyone spoke loud enough for Alan to hear and he was content eating his dinner, knowing that his family was close. Afterward, his parents came in to clear away any food he had not eaten (his mother made him get out of bed so that she could shake out his sheets to clear off invisible crumbs).
Either due to his fever or boredom, Alan grew tired of conversing through the window and turned to his radio for company. He couldn’t find the stations that he usually listened to and contented himself listening to a station that played the kind of music that his parents liked. Ruth and Gus took turns coming in to check on him throughout the night.
“You still feel warm,” his mother told him unnecessarily. “Your father is going to pick up a thermometer and some fresh washcloths tomorrow. For want of a nail a kingdom was lost.”
Alan didn’t really understand that expression and he wasn’t particularly interested in examining it with his mother just now. He was finishing a baseball game he had come up with using the playing cards and wanted to get into his new joke book before he had to go to sleep. He wasn’t planning on being sick for long and needed new material.
Ruth stood over Alan, listening to How Much Is That Doggie in the Window? playing on the radio and trying to decipher his unusual use of the playing cards.
“I can’t wait to see what you can come with when you get older,” she said proudly.
“Necessity is the mother of invention, right mother?” he wise-cracked.
“And a fresh son does not get dessert.”
“I never heard that one before.”
“I just invented it,” she said with finality.
Gus entered the room and gave his wife a soft kiss behind her ear. “Like father, like son.” She pecked kisses on both their cheeeks and left the room. Gus and Ruth had been married for fifteen years, so he usually knew when it was better not to ask his wife a question he did not want the answer to.
“Your mother’s had a tough stretch son. Let’s try to give her a break, okay Champ?”
“Sure Dad.”
“By the way,” Gus reached under his son’s pillow and withdrew the joke book that Alan had hidden under it. “You have a little reprieve from Ivanhoe. At least until your fever breaks. Better make the most of it.” He placed the book on his son’s chest, patting his hands.
“Thanks Dad.”
“And lights out at ten thirty. You need your rest.”
Ten minutes later, Alan replaced the book under his pillow, rolled over and fell asleep.
After cleaning off the grill, Gus helped Ruth straighten up the bungalow. Charlie had already dozed off, without much of a fuss, in his own room. By 11:30 all of the occupants of the bungalow were fast asleep.
Alan’s room was dark, other than a faint patch of moonlight that slipped through the overhead window. Passing clouds shaded and shaped the patch that morphed on the wall facing his bed. Fever had brought Alan a restless sleep. At one point he woke to slip off his pajama top, which had become moist from perspiration, and replaced it with a sleeveless tee-shirt. Unable to sleep, he watched the changing, muted grey patterns of light that formed over his feet.
Flat, legless ducks surrendered to spiny horned salamanders which in turn yielded to club footed sea lions. On and on it went in Alan’s imagination. When he tired of identifying each colorless, mutated animal that inhabited his wall, he considered what circumstance may have resulted in the horrific transfiguration. The comic books he read and movies he watched with his father fed his thoughts. However, the impetus of his imagination was dispelled when he kneeled on his bed to peer out the window and noticed the crawl of clouds shielding a moon that was hovering just above the tree-line that bordered the far end of the vast field that fronted the bungalow. Eventually he could stay awake no longer and yielded to an uneasy sleep.
The following day was uneventful for Alan. Charlie, who had been anxious to explore the grounds, convinced his father to take him to the lake where they rowed a rickety boat around the circumference of the still water. Gus thought the boat should have been retired a few years ago as its cleats refused to stay lodged in place, causing the oars to come unhinged frequently. He acknowledged that was to be expected at the Meager Bungalow Colony. Their neighbors, Harold and his son Howard, circled the lake in front of them, in a boat that seemed rusted, perhaps beyond seaworthiness. While this eventually became tedious for the fathers, their sons took endless fascination in the activity. Ruth spent the day sitting on white Adirondack chairs on the porch with her friend Martha. Alan heard them discussing what some of their other neighbors were doing that summer (most remained in the city) and something that happened to one of the girls that he knew went to the high school he would be attending in a few years, but he couldn’t quite understand what they were saying. They also discussed whether or not someone could get the mumps more than once. His friend Howard had the mumps three years ago, when he was Alan’s age, and they decided it would be better to keep them separated for now, just in case.
Oh well, he had his cards, his radio and his books and that should be enough for a few days. Besides, the mumps had placed his energy on a roller coaster and for the time being he was content being left more or less alone. He already knew many of the jokes in his new book, and some others he considered to be silly or too babyish. However, there was a section called Limericks that had some funny and unusual poetry; he would have to commit these to memory. For now, he turned his attention to the blue UFO book. Thumbing through the pages, he saw documents that appeared to have come straight out of some government or military records. In some cases, words had been blacked out in order to guard against revealing something. Some of the pages were even stamped Top Secret. Although he knew it would not really help, he held those pages up to the light hoping he could see the words through the hidden areas. Why would somebody allow these letters to be seen at all, if the best parts were going to be crossed out? Some of the comic books he read mentioned that the government knew about Martians or beings from other worlds and that they were trying to keep it to themselves. Howard once told him that there was a special place where aliens were being kept for examination and questioning. How would you talk to a Martian? They probably did not speak English as they did in the movies. It sure seemed like somebody was trying very hard to hide something important.
Grainy, black and white pictures in the book were taken by regular people, from all around the world, showing strange objects flying or floating in the sky. One picture was taken be an actual Air Force Lieutenant Colonel (it even had his picture and name under it). The pilot had snapped the picture from the cockpit of his jet plane. It was of a formation of triangle objects flying above him.
“Where there’s smoke there’s fire,” his mother would have said. Alan was convinced that Earth was being visited by aliens from other planets or galaxies. He just hoped they were not like the ones from Invaders from Mars or Twenty Million Miles to Earth. He was going to have to discuss it with his father when he got back from the lake.
When the boatmen did return, Charlie was exhausted from the bright sunshine and exhilarated from the experience. “Dad said next time we can get some fishing poles. The man said there’s all kinda fish in it. Maybe some more than a foot long!”
Gus was just exhausted. “Let’s let Alan get his rest Charlie. We want him up and out there catching those fish with us as soon as he’s able.”
“We can cook what we catch and eat them for dinner, right mom?”
“We’ll see.” Even a six year old knew what that meant. Charlie was about to seek a better response when his mother interjected, “Baths for both of you. Charlie, you first.”
A few moments later Charlie emerged from his room wearing a bathing suit and his swim fins. “I can clean up in the pool mom.”
“The bathtub. Now!”
This time she was sure she heard her youngest son mumble something under his breath as he tossed the fins back into his room.
“And use soap!” she added.
“Hey Dad!” Alan bellowed from his room. “This UFO book is great! You gotta see all the pictures it has.”
Although conceding to her husband to allow Alan have the UFO book before he read Ivanhoe, Ruth was not going to permit him from tending to the business of getting well. And exerting himself for what she considered to be nonsense and shouting through the bungalow was not her recipe for his recovery.
“You better be resting yourself young man! I don’t plan on being cooped up with you in this bungalow for the remainder of the summer!” She stepped over the threshold of the doorway to emphasize her point.
The words 'discretion is the better part of valor' and 'live to fight another day' raced through Alan’s head. He quickly stashed the book underneath his pillow.
“Yes mom.” But an eleven year old boy’s curiosity and determination are very difficult to stifle.
That night, despite his mother’s cautions, Alan knelt at the head of his bed so that the murky moonlight could feebly illuminate the pages of the newly forbidden book. But the effort was outweighing the reward. Alan gave up before long and lay on top of the covers, entertaining himself with the whitish light show that was again displayed on the wall.
The parade of malformed beats returned. Rotund platypus, two headed cat, triple-tailed orange squirrel.
Orange?!
Where did orange come from? He had heard about a harvest moon that could be yellow, but he didn’t think the color would change in the middle of the night. Alan shook any lingering sleep from his eyes so he could be sure of what he was seeing. But the procession of animals stopped, replaced by dark tentacles waving within a shapeless amber frame. The boy considered what he could be looking at and challenged himself to garner the explanation without cheating a peak out the window. Yet the answer would not come to him. As he was about to give in and raise himself to peer out the window, his entire room was engulfed in a bright light. It lasted for only few moments, after which the gloomy images on his wall returned.
Placing his hands on the window sill, he elevated his eyes only high enough to gaze over the pane. The same moon he had noticed the night before was still lingering above the tree line. He held his position for several minutes expecting the source of the bright or orange light to reappear. When it did not he placed his head heavily on his pillow. He could feel the weight and shape of the book he had hidden beneath it.
1990
A hard snow covered the landscape. The roads had not been cleared, more by design than neglect. Traffic here was discouraged, vigorously. The dozen or so structures had been set back from the thoroughfares to deter the curious. If that failed, the barbed wire rimmed fences that encircled the area delivered the message. Should an intrepid soul persevere beyond the boundary, they would become very unhappy very quickly, as promised by the signage. Stupid got what stupid earned. The rooftops of the few buildings that dotted the interior had been painted with non-reflective paint. Any unauthorized aircraft would be hard-pressed to get a glimpse of the secreted location. Air traffic was strategically routed around the area and the very few small planes that ventured into the restricted space, by accident or otherwise, would promptly be compelled to land or flee. The pilots also would find themselves very unhappy.
The front door to the smallest gray building opened.
“Damned if I know what we are doing here,” a white camouflage uniform identified it’s wearer only as Huxley.
Seated behind an austere desk sat a very large man wearing olive green military utilities, a gold bar on each collar and a patch over his left breast that identified him as Bradford.
“Lieutenant, we’ve been here for over a month and all we’ve done is tunnel through this cursed icy crust like flippin’ ants,” Huxley stomped residual snow from his heavy boots.
“Sergeant,” Bradford stood sharply erect, placing the palms of his hands firmly on the desktop. “Would you rather be burrowing your sweating, sorry butt under the sand, dodging scuds? I can have new orders written for you in no time!”
The reddish hue in Huxley’s cheeks drained to match his camouflage.
“No thank you Sir!” he roared as he snapped to smart attention and gave his mentor and friend a crisp salute. Better here than a dessert half a world away where things were exploding on a regular basis.
“Look Donald,” the lieutenant relaxed and seated himself. “This little project for the Congressman may seem like a waste of time, but you know that he has similar outposts in a half dozen other sites and a few of them have reported finding traces or suggestions of evidence.”
The tension between the two men had been broken. Huxley pulled open his heavy jacket and folded it on the seatback of one of two metal chairs facing the desk. He lifted his leg over the back and placed it on the seat. The lieutenant looked at the foot and raised an eyebrow. The offending foot was promptly removed.
“Relax Don. I know it seems like we have all been chasing our tails, but the Colonel has been coordinating data from other locations and will be coming in tonight with the Congressman to review our progress, such as it is, and to share what they have learned so far. It may just point us in the right direction.
“That’s good Bob. The men would like to feel they are contributing to the effort, whatever it is.”
“At ease Sergeant.” Tension between these men always seemed to be one wrong word away. “Information will be made available to those who need it, when they need it.”
Huxley saluted and walked behind the desk to pour himself a cup of coffee from a glass pot.
“Pour one for me too Don.”
Donald Huxley had initially served under Robert Bradford in Panama where the latter led a squad during Operation Just Cause. Mutual respect and trust had grown between the two men since that time, only challenged periodically by spikes of testosterone or competing romantic interests. But these never escalated beyond reason. The men sat comfortably for a couple of hours, reliving past exploits and acquaintances. As evening’s veil fell over stark bleached Franklin County, the lieutenant’s desk phone buzzed to announce an incoming call. It was answered immediately.
“Braddock. Yes Sir. Yes Sir. Nothing unusual Sir. Understood. We are looking forward to that Sir. Yes Sir. Goodbye Sir.”
“Anybody I know Lieutenant?” Huxley curled a wry smile.
Lieutenant Bradford’s adopted a commanding tone. “Sergeant, the Colonel and Congressman will be in our airspace at oh-one hundred hours. They will be expecting a walkthrough the underground and status reports. Prepare Meager Two for entry and instruct Miller to illuminate EndZone in preparation of their arrival.”
“They’ll be airborne Sir?” Huxley asked.
“I believe my instruction was quite clear Sergeant.”
“Understood Sir.” Huxley was already putting his heavy camouflage jacket back on. “We will ready for their arrival.”
Just after midnight, Bradford opened the door of his office and noticed a white form, led by a narrow beam of light, striding rapidly toward him. He knew it would be Huxley.
The lieutenant’s attire now matched the sergeant’s as he closed the door behind him and stepped into the pitch black air. Huxley snapped to attention.
“Preparations complete Lieutenant. I recommend we initiate EndZone Sir. It has not been operational since snowfall.”
“Proceed Sergeant.”
Huxley turned to face the blinding darkness and raised both arms above his head, interlocking his hands. An unseen face had been monitoring the sergeant’s movements, anticipating this signal. In turn, another silent indicator was displayed for another set of unseen eyes. Less than a minute later two amber lights began to glow. The lights appeared to be roughly rectangular, each about 500 square yards and exactly one hundred yards from each other. As the seconds passed, the amber hue brightened to orange as the snow covering what had once been the end zones of a football field melted away.
“Everything copasetic Sir,” Huxley turned to face Bradford.
“Leave ‘em on Don. If I know the Colonel, they’ll be early.”
With a salute, Huxley withdrew into the night.
As if on cue, Bradford detected a deep droning in the distance. If he had not already been expecting the sound he probably would not have become aware of it. Its volume increased marginally as he noticed a distant star growing proportionately to the sound. As he walked forward, the wind appeared to alter direction. Finally the growing star became a bright spotlight, emerging directly above the snow covered field. The rotors of a Blackhawk helicopter stirred the air, blowing shards of ice and snow into his face. Resolutely, he stood his ground, then double-timed toward the aircraft as it settled equidistant between the two orange markings.
As the copter door slid open, Bradford stepped up to the cabin and tossed a hurried salute to the man in the process of extricating himself.
“Welcome Colonel. All is ready.”
“At ease Lieutenant. Let’s get the Congressman inside ASAP. You know these civilians are not very accustomed to the elements.”
A tall, red bearded man, wearing a charcoal gray Burberry overcoat jumped from the helicopter, nearly stumbling to the snow. He was alertly caught under his arm by the Colonel, who helped him recover to a respectable, erect position.
“I’ll never get used to these things,” the Congressman remarked as he straightened his coat.
Bradford stepped up and offered his hand. “Welcome Congressman. We have been looking forward to your arrival.” The men shook hands as they hurried away from the still moving rotors.
“I hope you have news for me Lieutenant. This is our primary search area and there is almost certain something here for us to find.” The Colonel’s voice was unequivocal.
They shouted over the diminishing noise of the helicopter and the augmenting sounds of the wind.
“Sergeant Huxley, our Team Leader will bring us the results of our latest dig. Twenty-four feet down, covering a three mile vein. If you will follow me.” Gesturing toward his office, the two men followed, haloed by the orange lighting that still flanked them.
Entering his office Bradford offered both men a cup of steaming hot coffee. While the Congressman welcomed it and burned his lips hurriedly taking an initial sip, the Colonel placed his cup on top of the desk.
It was the first time Bradford had met his Commanding Officer. He was not tall in stature and his virile face appeared to be ten year years younger than his close-cropped salt and pepper hair indicating his true age. Piercing blue eyes seized his attention.
“Lieutenant, we are going to have to expedite this visit due to incoming weather. I would like to see what you have found. I am …” The Colonel flung his long blue coat onto the desk. The Congressman stepped forward, still blowing on his hands.
“Chuck, I believe the Lieutenant deserves some context for his assignment. I appreciate your confidences for all of this, but recent events make it all but certain that our efforts will become known shortly.” Bradford noted that the Congressman appeared to be very familiar with the Colonel. Either that or he was extremely confident of his standing that he would interrupt him. The Colonel simply gestured for the politician to proceed.
“What I am going to tell you may, at first, appear to borne from either lunacy or desperation, but I assure you that is not the case.” The Congressman and Colonel exchanged knowing glances. The latter nodded for the other to continue.
“Thirty years ago, a young boy disappeared near the very spot we are standing now. He was only eleven years old; as curious and determined as many boys his age are inclined to be. In the spring and summer, this area is really breathtakingly beautiful. Lush foliage, crystal clear lakes. The boy and his family had planned on spending an enjoyable summer vacation together. Swimming, fishing, playing ball and enjoying the intimacy of a close-knit family. Sadly, they had little opportunity to do this.
The boy, spawned by his inquisitiveness, the proliferation of certain science fiction tales of the era and events that he had recounted to his family and friends, became determined to discover the source of unusual lights that he claimed to have witnessed from his bedroom.”
The Colonel, who had been standing alongside the Congressman, moved to the office door. He opened it just enough to peer outside. The Congressman regarded him pensively and continued.
“On several occasions, unbeknownst to his parents, the boy had set out, either alone or accompanied by his younger brother, seeking his answer, which he believed would be found somewhere beyond the northern end of your football field.” The Colonel, who had turned to regard his companion, returned his attention to the exterior, opening the door a bit wider.
“Of course, the boy’s parent and other adults dismissed the boys assertions, particularly as they had come on the heels of a recent illness and his infatuation with a certain book; The Blue Book Project.”
Lieutenant Bradford, who was familiar with that book and other similar to it, was inclined to interrupt the soliloquy at this point, but was waved off by the Colonel.
“One evening, immediately following dinner, the two boys set out together in exploration. Until that day, they had limited their searches to the relative safety along the fringe of the tree line. However, that evening the older boy decided to venture into the flora, directing his brother to remain behind. Night had not yet fallen, as they had intended to return before dark, neither had brought a flashlight. As the boy found his way through the trees, the boys would call out to each other to reassure themselves. After several minutes, the older brother stopped returning the shouts from his sibling. Bravely, if not foolishly, the younger brother followed into the woods.
When he returned to the bungalow alone, crying and seemingly disoriented, he told his mother and father that an orange light had emanated from the ground and enveloped his brother. He watched it, inexplicably, pull the boy through the solid earth.
The Colonel pivoted to face the Lieutenant and picked up the thread of the account.
“The missing boy’s name was Alan Rainer.”
The Lieutenant stared, aghast at his Commanding Officer, who continued.
“His six year old brother’s name was Charles, but in those days everyone called the boy Charlie.”
The Lieutenants’ eyes released from the piercing blue eyes and found the name, which he already knew, emblazoned on the Colonel’s breast: RAINER. The Congressman cleared his throat to regain Bradford’s attention.
“Lieutenant, you should know that the Rainiers had been joined that summer by another family from the same neighborhood, Martha and Harold McMahon…” he emphasized the last name and paused for effect. “ … and their fifteen year old son, Howard.”
Bradford collapsed into his seat, trying to make some sense of what had been recounted to him by Congressman Howard McMahon. Colonel Rainer strode to the desk.
“Bob, I know this sounds wild and I suspect you have questioned yourself how and why Howard and I have enlisted you and your men to pursue personal objectives. The big picture is that this is a matter of national security. Hell, planetary security! No more, no less. The little voice in your head is probably telling you the same thing my parents said and everyone else thought: he’s lost his grip on reality. No one would listen then. Alan was never found and his disappearance was never explained.
The Lieutenant stood and walked around his desk toward Rainer. His face was red and he appeared to be on the verge of rage. McMahon stepped into his path, providing him with an opportunity to regain his composure.
“Lieutenant, there was one person who believed Charlie. One other person who witnessed the odd lights emanating from the woods. He told his parents what he had seen, but was dismissed for continuing the farfetched tale.
Charlie Rainer and I made a pact that summer, that we would spend the rest of our lives, if we had to, finding out what had happened to that sweet young boy. Each of us has chosen careers that afforded us the opportunity to bring resources to bear on the effort.”
“Congressman, Colonel … with all due respect, this is madness. To employ government and military personnel and resources, spend who knows how much money, in a vain effort to satisfy your personal agendas is, is … “
The front door flew open, by the entry of Sergeant Huxley and a howling wind.
“I’m sorry Sirs, but the storm is worsening and I thought you would want to review the results from our recent excavation before you had to depart. Nothing extraordinary.” He placed a large box on the desk. “Just animal bones, unremarkable rocks, ordinary garbage and bits of a tattered old book.”
The Colonel moved quickly toward the desk and thrust his arm into the box’s contents. The Congressman’s eyes were fixed on him. McMahon stirred the contents, feeling through the dirt and grime. Slowly, he extracted pages of a book that showed the unmistakable signs of burial decades ago. He flipped it over, unable to divert his gaze from the remains of a cover, still partially intact: JOKES AND RIDDLES.
