The Third Craft Read online

  “No doubt he sees my sons as some kind of half-breed and won’t subjugate himself to them. He has already revolted against our House and me. But those reasons are more complex than I can go into at the moment. Suffice it to say that we have to get Stell under control, or out from underfoot. One or the other.”

  The Secretary let out a long sigh.

  “Stell needs me out of the way,” Grayer said. “You’re aware of his plans. He will use them to get to me.”

  “And the long answer?”

  Grayer smiled. “Takes too long.”

  “We have received reports of UFO activity on the east coast. We also intercepted transmissions from Cuba to Mother Russia regarding possible missile or air attacks. Could be your sons buzzing Cuba.”

  “Could be. I’ve been looking at the same intell. I think you’re right. The reports are following a route, a pattern of sightings heading south. I am confident this is the route of the spaceship.”

  “They’ve got to try to make contact with us,” Gerst said with concern. “Why haven’t they tried to reach us?”

  “Us? Us who? Think about it. They were attacked by our own Government agents. They don’t know who to trust.”

  “We should have shut down Wixon and his people long ago,” Gerst said angrily. “This would never have happened.”

  “True. But think about it, Dwight. We’ve flushed out Wixon’s people. That’s one accomplishment. I have a short list of names that I believe are Stell and his crew.”

  “Let’s hear it. Anyone I know?”

  “These names won’t be a surprise. They’ve all been named as suspects by our counterespionage operatives. There’s Wixon and James Cringen, working out of Agency headquarters at the Pentagon. Another, named Steve O’Sullivan, works at the Missile and Space Intelligence Center at Redstone Arsenal, Huntsville. There are two others we suspect may also be his men. They are Max Pulman, who works for the CIA as the personal assistant to the Director of Central Intelligence, and Jao Wang, also CIA, who works in research.”

  “Are they back from Canada yet?”

  “Unknown.”

  “Doesn’t matter where they are. We’ll have them brought in for questioning, Frank.”

  “Let me know if and when you have any of them. I can be of help. Our species gives off a distinct aura. If they are aliens, I’ll be able to detect it. I’m going to continue tracking the ship as best I can. Thanks for your help, Dwight.”

  “We have a real challenge ahead. I’m concerned that Wixon may be more of a serious obstacle than we first thought.”

  As Gerst said goodbye and hung up, there was another call on hold, waiting for Grayer to pick up.

  “Frank, we have another verified sighting,” the voice said. “This time off the coast of Chile. Several confirms. Seems the ship is heading north.”

  Grayer thanked his caller and turned to his wall map of North and South America. He reached over, picked up the bright red tack from his desktop, and stuck it into the map about halfway up the coast of Chile. He stood back and examined the map. There were about twenty red tacks in all, beginning in Canada, near Sudbury. Then the trail went east to the Atlantic Ocean, south to Cuba, and finally followed a haphazard pattern through the northern part of South America and into Chile.

  Sometime later, the caller rang Grayer again. “They’re leaving Chile, heading north up the west coast. Present position is just north of Chile.”

  “Any attempt from my sons to contact me?”

  “No, sir.”

  Twenty minutes later, Grayer received another call. The craft was now over Mexico’s west coast. Still heading north. Ten minutes later the caller informed him that there had been confirmed sightings in U.S. airspace near the southern part of New Mexico.

  After Grayer pushed in the last tack, he stood back and observed the pattern. The craft had meandered during the initial stages of its flight, but after Chile there was a straight line. The craft was coming back to the U.S. New Mexico was their last known position. Grayer had an intuition that this was the final destination. It was too much of a coincidence that the original crash site was in New Mexico.

  Grayer picked up the phone. “Get me a small commuter jet. A Bombardier? Perfect. And a fresh pilot to get me to Albuquerque ASAP. Call Secretary Gerst and let him know my itinerary. Arrange for an air-to-ground telephone link. Oh yes, and have a set of jump-suit fatigues waiting for me. I’ll need to be armed – side arm, good knife, that sort of thing.”

  “Will do. Yes, sir. That’s odd – our latest sighting of the target is from just outside of Albuquerque.”

  “What a coincidence.”

  “Coincidence. Yes, sir. I will have a car waiting for you by the time you reach the front door.”

  Grayer flew to New Mexico that night. There had been one report of a sighting after he boarded. It was near Roswell, New Mexico. He was not surprised. Grayer had long surmised that Stell’s craft was hidden somewhere in the New Mexico desert. What better place to hide a UFO than where there were UFO crazies around always reporting UFOs? Stell must have a cave or an abandoned hangar nearby.

  His worst fears were about to be realized. For some time he had been concerned that the boys had made no attempt to contact him. Why head for New Mexico? They would not have gone willingly. Therefore they must have been compromised. No other explanation seemed reasonable.

  About twenty-five miles out of Albuquerque, Grayer made his way to the cockpit.

  “Evening, boys.”

  The co-pilot lifted his D.C. headset to free an ear. “Help you, sir?”

  “I need a helicopter and pilot to meet me upon arrival.”

  “Civilian?”

  “No. Air Force.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem, sir. Washington already made standby arrangements in case you needed a chopper.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?”

  Grayer smiled and patted the doorframe. “Nope.”

  The co-pilot nodded and resumed his pre-landing ILS check.

  After the sleek twin-engine jet had taxied and coasted to a stop on the tarmac apron in front of a discreet Government hangar, Grayer deplaned and boarded a waiting green helicopter.

  Grayer shook hands with the helicopter pilot after he badged him, and then he put on the light-green David Clark H10-56 headset the pilot had handed him.

  “Good evening. I’m Frank Grayer. DoD. I’d like to do some low-level recon near Roswell.”

  CHAPTER17

  WEST COAST OF CENTRAL AMERICA

  One hour earlier, over Central America, a pop-up window suddenly flicked on in the main forward view screen. A super-large image of Wixon appeared on the screen. It was evident that he could see into their control room. His eyes narrowed as he looked in on them.

  “My, my, Cringen. You have done well.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And you have friends with you. Good evening, Dr. Bohr. How on Earth did you manage to get aboard? Don’t bother answering,” he said in a bored tone. “The question was rhetorical anyway. And who are your young friends?”

  “You know who we are,” Joe said.

  “Frank Grayer’s sons. Joe and Harry. Correct?”

  “Hawk. I’m Hawk, don’t call me Harry.”

  Bohr glared at Hawk, signaling him with his eyes to keep quiet. The less these people knew, the better.

  “You’re in a bit of a jam, by the look of things.”

  The three prisoners merely glared back at the screen. It was evident that they were tied to their chairs.

  “Cringen, how did you manage to get inside the ship? We never could figure out what became of you after the arena explosion,” Stell said. “Good work. You have saved us a lot of trouble.”

  “Thank you. As for gaining entry, I was the flight engineer for a while aboard this vessel. It recognized my Signature and opened the front portal for me. By the way, I ran a diagnostic and the ship is in fine shape. I have not run a complete we
apons check yet, though, because I don’t want to alert any Earth tracking devices.”

  Stell talked directly to Cringen through the screen. “It doesn’t matter. You have probably been tracked since you left Canada. We have what we came for. The time for secrecy is over.”

  “Did you check with Washington to see if the Agency has been tracking the ship?”

  “Yes I did, and the Department of Defense has a flight log on the craft,” Stell said. “When I tried to dig further, I sensed something wrong there. When I contacted my office, I was told to come in ASAP, orders from H. But I couldn’t get hold of H personally. That has never happened before. I was suspicious, so I called an agent I know. The first thing he asked me was what all the trouble was about. Something big is going on at the DoD, and it involves all of our little group. I’m afraid that they have figured out who we are because they are searching for you, me, and O’Sullivan. I called CIA and pulled Max Pulman out. He was sure to be on the list.”

  “As you say, it doesn’t matter. We have the two remaining ships. Time to contact the fleet?”

  “Never mind that,” Stell said. “We have more immediate matters.

  We have to deal with Kor. We have the brats. Fly to the old hangar. We will be waiting for you.”

  “See you shortly,” Cringen said, and the view window disappeared.

  Within minutes, the spacecraft was soaring over the New Mexican desert. They had bled off most of their altitude. It was a dark cloudless night. Moonlight bathed the ground in a milky white glow. The ship passed over a small cluster of abandoned USAF hangars. The runways had been torn up long ago to discourage civilian aircraft from landing at the deserted outpost. There were no maintained roads into the site. The one tired dirt road that led into the area was barricaded with a barbed wire fence. It was all Government land that had been rezoned as “environmentally sensitive.”

  The craft banked sharply, then hovered in front of a rusted corrugated-steel hangar with a domed roof. The corrugated steel was ribbed every fourteen inches for structural support. The ship flashed a UHF signal to the ground. Two giant wooden doors creaked open. The vessel nosed down toward the opening and flew gracefully inside.

  Cringen flew the ship slowly because it was designed more for interstellar travel than planetary flight. It was a starship, not an airship. It did not maneuver well in confined spaces, such as when taxiing into a hangar – especially a hangar already crowded with another, identical, spacecraft.

  The ship made a whisper-quiet landing a few feet in front of its twin craft which was blocking the entranceway. A Honda diesel generator provided power for dozens of old incandescent overhead light fixtures with large green shades. The 1940s illumination was woefully inadequate, yet there was enough light to see all but the farthest corners of the building. There was a small adjutant’s office in the corner by the hangar doors. It, too, was sparsely lit. Inside was Stell, seated lethargically on an old chair.

  The portal opened and Cringen emerged. “The missing ship, delivered,” he said with a laugh, but his face didn’t change expression.

  O’Sullivan greeted Cringen, then ushered him into the dusty old adjutant’s office.

  The trio was still bound tightly to their chairs back inside the ship, feeling sorry for themselves. The ship was locked down, and all the view areas had reverted to blank, gray walls. A subtle pale green glow remained in the dull walls and floor.

  “Sorry I couldn’t warn you about the trap,” Joe said. “That guy got the drop on me and slugged me out cold.”

  Bohr shook his head back and forth like an old grandmother. “Shush, Joe. Not your fault at all.”

  “David’s right, Joe. We should have searched the ship better once that car wreck was yanked from the door back at the arena.”

  “That fellow who flew us here, Cringen, was known to the ship,” Bohr said. “Most probably he dampened the intruder alert and homing mechanism because he knew some bio-identification that allowed him to subvert the system.”

  “So that’s how he shipped with us as a stowaway right from the start,” Hawk said.

  “Exactly. The ship didn’t warn us because it recognized Cringen as a legitimate crewmember.”

  “Still, it’s amazing how he must have climbed up the tow rope, then hung on to something as the car was ripped out of the fuselage.”

  “Not entirely human.”

  “Obviously not,” Joe said. “And, I don’t know if anyone has noticed, but there’s another spaceship exactly like ours parked a few feet away. What is going on here?”

  “And government agents who can fly spaceships,” Hawk said.

  “We’ve got to get the hell out of here,” Joe said.

  The three began trying to free themselves.

  Bohr’s face was flushed from the exertion. He was becoming very worried about his future prospects. He was of no use to Stell and his men, and his life was forfeit. They had no reason to free him. He was baggage. No, worse than that, his position and influence could expose the aliens to the world. He was a threat.

  Droplets of blood were slowly dripping down his wrist. “I can’t seem to budge these bindings,” he said.

  “Me neither,” said the other two at once.

  “David, I’ve been meaning to ask you about what’s happened in the last few days,” Joe said. “What I mean is, how come there are people in the government, you know, the ‘Agency,’ who know how to fly a spaceship? Like this Cringen guy, a flight engineer? He knew how to fly a spaceship. God! How many flight engineers fly spaceships?”

  “Joe, I am just as surprised as you,” Bohr said.

  “Joe’s right. Something doesn’t add up,” Hawk said. “After we reported the discovery of the ship, how come you showed up with Major Connelly? I remember that you and the Major worked together on a secret project in Los Alamos. Is that true?”

  “Yes,” Bohr answered cautiously.

  “You’re right, Hawk, I see where you’re going,” Joe said. “Didn’t you and Dad work on that same project together, David?”

  Bohr sighed. “Your father and I worked on a very secret project in Los Alamos, that’s right.”

  “Suddenly, all you guys show up at our doorstep at once,” Hawk said.

  “Right,” Joe said. “I’m betting that there’s a connection between our finding the spaceship and Los Alamos. Am I right?”

  Bohr sighed. “You are correct, both of you.” He looked from twin to twin. “I should have told you this from the outset. The Los Alamos job was a secret Government project. It involved the reconstruction of a destroyed spaceship that had crashed in the desert. A ship identical to the one that you found intact.”

  The boys looked at each other with “I told you so” expressions.

  Bohr went on. “We were told that there were others also. Two other spaceships crash landed into Earth at the same time.”

  “This one is one of the two?”

  “Right.”

  “Why did they crash?” Joe asked.

  “Who told you about the other two?” Hawk asked at the same time.

  “No one knows why they crashed.” Bohr looked up, hesitant to continue, searching for the right words. “The crew was in a state of … a state of suspended animation. They were not awake and therefore the ships weren’t piloted by living humans.”

  “Why three ships?” Hawk asked.

  “I have often thought about that myself. My theory is that this was a scouting squadron of some sort. An advance guard, perhaps.”

  “Advance guard for what?” Joe asked.

  “Whom. For whom. Others of the same species, I suspect.”

  The twins pondered this for a while.

  “How was Dad involved in all this?” Hawk asked.

  “Your father’s job initially was to assist in the field research of the wreck. As we gained more and more knowledge about the aliens, his job shifted to locating the two other missing craft.”

  “How did you know about the missing ships?” Hawk
asked.

  “Your father knew. He told me.”

  “How did he know?” Joe asked.

  “Weren’t you, and Dad, and Major Connelly on the same side?” Hawk asked. “Didn’t you all work for the U.S. Government? So what happened? Why is our Government hunting us?”

  Hawk turned to his brother. “We would have been cooperative if it hadn’t been for their weird behavior, right, Joe?”

  “Yeah, and why are we here now with our hands tied behind our backs like prisoners? These are our own Government people.”

  Bohr looked hard at Joe and pursed his lips. “Maybe not. I am convinced only your dad is truly working for the government.”

  “Who would they be working for then?”

  “Hard to say.” Bohr continued to be somewhat evasive. He wondered aloud, “How could Cringen possibly know how to fly this ship? A human could not. It’s not possible.”

  “I did,” Joe said.

  “I know you did, Joe. But you were trained in that chamber for a period of time. Cringen was not.”

  “David’s right, Joe. Cringen said he knew how to fly this particular craft. Only an alien would know what he knows.”

  “He doesn’t look like an alien,” Joe said.

  “What does an alien look like?” Hawk asked.

  “I don’t know for sure.”

  “I think that the bunch of them are aliens,” Hawk said. “Didn’t you overhear them talking about the other guys and how the Government was on to them?”

  “I agree,” Bohr said. “They must have been aboard the second spacecraft that we couldn’t find, the one that’s right beside us. I believe that all three ships were manned by a small crew of four or five aliens. They may look human, but I think several of them are imposters who have assumed human form.”

  “Yes, but we searched the ship,” Hawk said. “There were no aliens on board this craft.”