Blackstar, p.3
BlackStar, page 3
Finally around noon, Lieutenant Haut came back in with another press release. It was rescinding the previous statement According to the new release, the object recovered was nothing more than a high altitude weather balloon. The mix-up was due to the fact that it was an experimental balloon and few knew of its appearance.
Several test dummies used for high altitude experiments were recovered as well, according to the release. The Lieutenant produced a picture, showing pieces of the balloon in the Colonel's office. The picture was to be distributed with the new press release.
The reporter looked at him for several seconds and then just said, “Yeah, right.”
The Lieutenant pulled at his tie, nodded his head and left. So, it’s started already, he thought. He was very accurate indeed. It was just the beginning of sixty years of cover-up and denial by the government.
CHAPTER SIX
- PRESENT DAY -
“Now let me get this straight. You’re saying that you have firsthand knowledge of the Government’s cover-up of a crashed alien
spacecraft? That they have not only visited us before, but they are still coming here? On top of that, one of these aliens is even working
with our military?”
“That’s not exactly what I said. I said I had hands-on experience. That’s not the same thing. I actually saw and worked on some of these projects.”
“Mr.?”
“You can call me Robert for now,” he said.
“All right, Robert. You’re sitting here telling me this, but what proof do you have?”
“Well, I can tell you about several projects I was involved with,” he said.
“I would have no way of verifying them, so I would need more. A hell of a lot more.”
“All right. I will tell you this. I worked on projects at Groom Lake,” he said.
“Groom Lake?
“Area 51. Dreamland. The Nellis Gunnery Range. They are all essentially the same thing.”
“You worked there?”
“Yes, for three years.”
“I’m sorry..ah, Robert. I would like to have a long chat with you but unless you can prove any of this, I afraid I can’t be of much help,” the interviewer said.
“I understand your reluctance to take this at face value but let me tell you about what has been going on in my life. Essentially, because I left the program and they are afraid I will spill the beans, so to speak, they have made every attempt to not only discredit me, but to make me vanish as a person.”
“Vanish? You mean kill?” the interviewer asked, becoming a little more interested.
“No. I mean vanished as if I never existed. My hospital records, military service records, employment records, and even my education records have disappeared. Vanished. Wiped out. Gone.”
“How can that happen?”
“You tell me. All I know is that when I try to access my school records, none exist. It is the same for my military service records and everything else. Whoever is responsible, they are trying to make me seem like some nut running around yelling the sky is falling. Well, for me the sky is falling,” he said.
“So you can’t prove any of this. For that matter, Robert, you can’t even prove you are who you say you are.”
“Correct. I have become afraid for my life now that they have managed to erase almost all of my past existence,” he said, closing his eyes.
“Almost erased?”
“Yes. They still have some loose ends but who knows what will happen after that?” he said.
“What kinds of loose ends?”
“Here,” he said, handing over a backpack that was loaded down.
“My real name is Lake. Doctor Lake. Maybe I should have said that from the start but I have to be very careful. It’s my life I’m gambling with here.”
“Alright. Let’s stick with Robert for now if that will make you more comfortable. What are you giving me?” he said tapping the bag with his foot.
“Inside the backpack you will find a lot of leads that will prove I am not only who I say I am but that what I am telling you is the truth. You will have to dig for some of it, but if you are really interested, and the investigative reporter that I have heard you are, you will find what you’re looking for.”
The interviewer played with the strap of the bag, trying to make up his mind. This could be something really big. It could possibly be his ticket to fame and fortune. The thing was, if this was a hoax, it could drag him down and end his career.
“Let’s say I buy your story for now. I would have to make damn sure that this is all on the up and up. My career would be on the line here,” he said.
“I appreciate that but my life is on the line. You can start a new career but it’s harder to start a new life.”
“Well Robert, let me look into this a little more and I will be back in touch with you one way or the other, I promise,” the interviewer said.
“That’s all I could ask for. If you find the material in there,” he said, tapping the backpack with his toe, “to be factual, and you will, you can reach me at this number.”
He scribbled out a phone number on a slip of paper and handed it to him.
“I’ll be in touch.”
“Good,” Lake said as they shook hands.
~~
Lake climbed into his car, checking around before pulling out. He wanted to see if anyone was following him. Sure enough as he passed a line of parked cars, one pulled out a little ways behind him. He turned left to see if they would follow and they did. He slowed down and they slowed as well. He was trying to time the light so he could just slip through on yellow. He slowly crept toward the cross street and when the light turned yellow, he floored the car.
The dark car sped up as well but was unable to make it without going through on the red. He quickly raced up the street and made a quick right turn followed by another right. He wanted to make sure they had no idea where he was headed.
After a few minutes of turning and backtracking, he decided he was safe and headed back to his house. Shack was a more accurate description. Most of the windows had been boarded up and he had no electricity. His bed was a mattress on the floor with a couple of worn blankets. Water he could get from a well outside the back door but it had a heavy sulfur smell and covered everything with a light tan residue. He hid his car in a barn that was just barely standing. He thought it might collapse at any time.
When he got home the ice in the chest had melted and everything was floating in water. Just great, he thought. He dug around in the water and found a soggy lump of cheese. It would have to be his dinner tonight. He wasn’t about to take a chance going out again.
He had run a phone line from the booth at the edge of the street back to the house. Now all he had to do was stay out of sight and let the reporter do his job If he was any good at all, he would find proof that he was telling the truth.
The investigative Reporter Lake had talked to, George Snapp, wasted no time in trying to sort out the truth. The backpack contained copies of a birth certificate, high school and University yearbooks, medical records, a DD 214, discharge form that verified that Lake had served in the Navy, and a stack of newspaper clippings.
He spent the rest of the day just organizing and planning how he was going to proceed. The last thing he wanted to do was leave some stone unturned or show his hand too soon. If what Lake had said was true, they may come after him too. Whoever ‘they’ were. Once he had finalized his plan of attack he got down to work.
“Hello. My name is George Snapp. I’m an investigative reporter and I'm doing a story on a student that graduated from your high school.”
“Just a moment. I’ll transfer you to records.”
Terrible music filled the phone while he waited.
“Records, can I help you?”
“I’m looking for the graduation date of one of your students. I don’t need his grades or anything like that; I just need to verify that he graduated when he said he did. His name is Lake. Robert Lake. He graduated in 1971. Can you verify that for me?”
“Just a moment,” she said as she placed him on hold again. Within seconds another voice came on the line.
“Sorry, we have no one by that name on record here.”
“You’re sure? It certainly didn’t take long to check,” Snapp said.
“We do not have a record of anyone by that name. Sorry we can’t help you.”
“Wait. Would you check again? According to your yearbook, which I have in my hand, he graduated in 1971,” Snapp said.
“Your information is incorrect. We have no one by that name on our records. Goodbye Mr. Snapp,” the man said and severed the connection.
Snapp put a check mark by the high school and began calling the Universities he was supposed to have attended. He got the same answer at each place. No such person on record as having ever attended their University. Even when confronted with the signature of the University President, his existence was denied.
A call to the hospital revealed that according to their records he had never been born at that location. Every search ended up the same.
When he tried to confirm that he had worked at the Los Alamos Atomic Lab, once again it was a dead end. Even when he read a newspaper clipping to them with a picture showing Dr. Lake standing inside one of the buildings at the facility, he got the same answer. Sorry, we have no such record on file.
Lake really didn’t exist. So who the hell was he talking to? Why would anyone go to such great lengths to erase the past of someone? Whoever it was, they had to be big and powerful. Only the Government or some clandestine branch could make someone disappear off the face of the earth. Out of sheer dumb luck, or as he liked to think of it, good investigative reporting, he happened to mention what he was working on to one of his colleagues.
“Hey, you should hook up with a Doctor…what the hell is his name. Botcher, Bonner, something like that. He had a similar story. You remember Langford? He was going to do a story on the guy but could never verify what the guy told him.”
“Really? Where is Langford now?”
“At Channel 5, the last I heard.”
Snapp called over to Channel 5 and was able to locate Langford.
“Hey George, what’s up? Long time no see,” Langford said.
“I was talking to Royster and your name came up. I just thought I would see what you were up to,” he told him.
“Sure it did. I know you too well Georgie-boy. What do you need from me? A job or information?”
“Can’t a guy check up on an old friend?”
“Sure he can but…”
“Okay. You win. Royster said you were doing a story on some doctor by the name of Botcher, or Boyer or something along those lines. He couldn’t remember exactly. I came across some material and I wanted to check the source. I think he might help me,” Snapp told him.
“Not the UFO stuff? Look, I talked to the guy. Nothing he said could be verified. He is a nice enough guy, if a tad eccentric. Basically it was not worth much as a story. Believe me, I tried to make a go of it,” Langford said.
“Would you mind if I took a look at it? The story isn’t about him. I just need confirmation on some details.”
“Well buddy, I wouldn’t risk my professional career on anything he confirmed or denied. He is a bit of a fruitcake,” Langford said.
“I’ll be careful. Can you give me his name?”
“Doctor Dan Barnett. Doctor B to his friends, the few he has.”
“Where can I find this guy?”
“Hell, you want me to write the story for you too?”
“Don’t bust my chops. I saved your ass plenty of times over here,” Snapp said.
“Oh sure you did. Well, the last time I talked to him he had a home over on Locus Street. Some place in the 3200 block. Big old house with a huge garage attached. It’s on the corner I think. You’ll spot it. It’s as weird as he is.”
“Thanks. Look, I owe you a beer. I’ll give you a call and we can get together and shoot the shit,” Snapp said.
“Sure, when pigs fly,” Langford replied as he hung up.
CHAPTER SEVEN
- Dr. Barnett’s House –
Snapp pulled into the drive. At one time there must have been an iron gate across the entrance. Two massive stone pillars stood on each side of the drive. The house was just like Langford had described it. Old, with peeling paint on the woodwork. It must have been quite elegant at one time but it was rundown now and seriously needed a renovation.
He parked and went up to the door and rang the bell. No one came so he rang it again. He was just starting to leave and go around to the garage when someone opened the door.
“Yes, can I help you?”
“I hope so. I’m George Snapp. I was hoping to locate a Dr. Dan Barnett. Does he happen to live here?”
“Who are you again?”
“George Snapp.”
“Why do you want to talk to him?”
“Well, it’s rather personal.”
“So you might as well tell me, I’m his personal secretary,” she said.
“I see. So the doctor does live here?”
“You’re not too bright are you? I said I was his personal secretary. Why else would I be here?”
“Yes ma’am. May I please speak to the doctor?”
“Wait here. I’ll see if he wants to talk to you. Are you a reporter?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so. You’re like bad pennies, you just keep turning up,” she said and closed the door.
He looked around the yard while he was waiting. The landscape was in much better shape than the house. He wondered if it was a hobby of Barnett’s or of the secretary.
“Beautiful aren’t they,” a man’s voice said from behind him.
He turned and saw a well groomed man, probably in his sixties or early seventies. He had a white beard and was right at six feet tall, George guessed. He looked to be in fairly good condition for his age. He had his glasses down on his nose. He looked like what George envisioned a scientist looking like. He certainly didn’t look like a fruitcake.
“Mr. Snapp? I’m Dr. Barnett. My secretary said you would like to speak to me. She warned me you were a reporter, not some of her favorite people I’m afraid,” he said, taking a seat on the porch swing.
“I’m afraid she is right. I am a reporter. I won’t try to smooth talk you and I don’t want to waste your time. I’ll come right to the point if that is okay with you?” George said.
“Then by all means, come to the point,” the doctor said.
“I am thinking about doing a story on Area 51. Specifically the facility called S-4. Are you aware of such a place?”
The doctor took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief from his coat pocket.
“I take it you have had the good sense to do a background check on me. You must know that I indeed do know about S-4. I spent a great deal of time working in the EBL facility.”
“EBL?”
“Extraterrestrial Biological Lab.”
“Extraterrestrial? You mean as in little green men?”
“Whatever you would like to call them Mr. Snapp.”
“Sir, I did do some checking on you and I can find nothing to back that up,” Snapp said, sitting down on the porch banister.
“Then you haven’t been looking in the right places,” the doctor said, smiling and mopping his brow with a second white handkerchief that he took from his other jacket pocket.
He folded it very precisely before replacing it.
“And where are the right places?”
“Look at the body of my work. What I was trained for. Whom I have worked for. Do you know who EG & G is?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Snapp admitted.
“You need to find out. I’ll tell you one thing. They do the hiring for the scientists who work at Dreamland. No one gets into that place until they have vetted them first”
“And they will confirm that you worked for them?”
“Good heavens no. They will totally deny it. Not only that, they will tell you that they don’t even know what or where Area 51 is.”
“So how is that supposed to help?”
“That’s what you need to find out. Who the hell is EG & G? Why do their people handle the security for the entire area? Why they will deny supplying security for many of the Nuclear Reactor sites around the US? Start by finding out just what they do and who else they don’t work for,” he said and chuckled.
“Doctor, this really isn’t helping much,” Snapp said.
“Why don’t we take a little walk? Maybe I can show you something that will put you on the right track.”
The doctor got up and slowly straightened, rolling his neck around. George could hear the creaking noise from where he sat.
“Please, come with me,” he said and led George through the house and into the large building out back. It was not a garage; that was for sure. It was a laboratory and it was exceedingly well equipped with stainless steel tables, tubes with different materials in them, an electron microscope, and many other items that he didn't recognize.
“Here,” the doctor said, opening a filing cabinet and taking out a large book. It was filled with pictures, paper clippings and documents. Right in the very front, on the first page was a badge that said:
“It was my security badge. Turn it over and you will find who issued it.”
Snapp took it out of the plastic cover and turned it over. On the back was the date of issue, a signature that was scrawled out and property of EG & G Inc.
“How do I know this was yours? It says Dr. Dan Cane. Who is that?”
“I am, or was. No one uses their real last name for security reasons. We keep our first name most of the time because that is an easy one to get stumped on. I was Dan Cane.”
Snapp looked at him, waiting for a more satisfactory answer. None came.
“All right, suppose I buy into that; it doesn’t say anything about this alleged Area 51 or Dreamland if you like. There's no mention of this secret S–4 lab,” George said.
