The midnight drive from Vegas to LA seem much longer
than it had the morning before, partly due to Brad's
fatigue, but also due to the sick feeling he'd had since
leaving the motel in Alamo. He hadn't meant to do anything
to Melanie... he couldn't begin to imagine what had gotten
her so upset. Truthfully, he had hoped to have left on much
better terms. If things had worked out, he would have been
more than willing to spend a few weekends in Vegas if
Melanie had been part of the deal.
But, alas, destiny had failed Brad again. He tried to
shrug it off by telling himself that long distance love
affairs never worked, and it wasn't worth driving a couple
hundred miles just to get laid. The girl may have been
great looking, but that didn't mean she was any better in
bed then the California girls Brad was use to. Even though
there was no shortage of blondes around LA, this one was
stuck in Brad's mind.
After a fretful (and short) nights sleep, Brad was
ready to continue his quest of truth. Wheeler had expected
him to spend the night and drive back that afternoon, so
Brad decided to use his morning for a trip to the library to
visit Jennings' friend, the UFO guy. He asked at the
information desk for Don Ralston, and was told that Ralston
worked downstairs in microfilm. Brad walked down two
flights of stairs, and wondered to himself why this kind of
person always worked underground. He thought first of
Jennings, then a mole, and laughed as he scanned the
employees in the dimly lit office.
Nerd alert! Nerd, twelve o'clock high.
Brad walked to the counter where a man that looked
enough like Jennings to confuse his mother, was sorting
through returned microfilm reels. When Brad said hello, it
startled the man so bad, his reaction caused Brad to flinch.
"You Don Ralston?"
"No. Don's over there." The man pointed to the far
end of the desk where another man was looking into a film
viewer.
Brad stared in utter amazement. "That's Ralston?" The
nerd looked at him, but didn't bother to answer. After
recovering from the shock, Brad started toward Ralston.
Don Ralston was nothing like what Brad had pictured.
The man stood an inch or two over six feet tall, had the
chest of a body builder, and wore clothes that could have
been displayed at any of the Beverly Hills men's stores.
For that matter, Ralston could have been displayed in the
windows of any of the stores. If he ever lost his job at
the library, he could probably have found work as a male
model.
"Don Ralston? I'm Brad Dartmouth," introduced Brad as
he offered his hand. "Harry Jennings suggested I talk to
you."
Ralston shook Brad's hand with a bone-crushing grip.
"Harry sent you, eh. You work for the paper, too?"
"Yeah, I'm a reporter."
"Oh... What are you reporting?"
"Let's say that I'm reporting on the Air Force's
involvement with UFO's," hinted Brad.
"Okay. What can I do for you."
"Jennings said you could help me out." As Brad was out
of the office, away from prying ears, and talking to someone
who actually believed in flying saucers, he felt more
confident about admitting his interest. "I'm exploring the
possibility that the Air Force may be holding survivors of a
crashed UFO."
Ralston snorted a laugh that hit Brad's self-confidence
like a bunch in the nose. "Old hat. That story's been
written so many times that the tabloids have even stopped
carrying them. You got a new angle?"
Brad wanted to say yes, but he wasn't sure. He hadn't
read any stories other than the ones that Jennings had given
him, and they were all from his own newspaper. "I've got a
witness."
"That's good, but unless he's a General, nobody's going
to believe him." (Brad certainly didn't want to admit that
Gatewood had received a psychiatric discharge.) "Where did
he see the bodies?" asked Ralston.
"These were survivors. They were alive."
Ralston raised an eyebrow. "Alive, that is unusual.
Usually the aliens recovered from a crash site are dead.
Did your witness tell you which crash they were from?"
"No, I don't know if he knew. To be honest with you, I
only know about the crash in New Mexico."
"Roswell or Aztec?"
"Ah... Roswell. What's this about Aztec?"
"Aztec was a few years later, 1950. The Roswell crash
caught the military off guard," started Ralston, as he
stepped to a desk a few feet away. "They almost blew it
because the Air Force public relations officer didn't know
to cover it up. He issued two official press releases
admitting that crews had found debris, and later the actual
ship. Subsequent crashes have been handled better."
Ralston returned to the counter with a folder full of
clippings and printed copies of microfilm frames.
"How many crashes have there been?" inquired Brad, as
he withdrew his steno pad.
"No way of really knowing. There are about four or
five that stand out. Look over these articles. This one,"
stated Ralston as he tapped a sheet, "is probably the one
where your witness's alien came from. These are mine so
make sure you give them back."
Brad thanked Ralston, and headed to a well-lit table
near the stairway to examine the articles. The first page
was copied from microfilm and noted as coming from the New
York Times, February 26, 1979, page 14. It told of a little
known event in the town of Aurora, Texas, where an alien had
died in a flying saucer crash and been buried in the town
cemetery. It was most likely a tourist trap in some one-
horse town, thought Brad, but he was astounded that the
crash was alleged to have taken place on April 16 of 1897.
Next was a series of articles discussing the Roswell
crash, including the one from the Herald that Jennings had
given him. Also, were several that talked of the Aztec
crash, but only one of them caught his eye. It was a
photocopy of an article from Newsweek, April 17, 1950, that
told of a Los Angeles salesman who returned from Mexico with
an account of a crashed flying saucer that contained dead
Martians. It went on to mention that there were rumors that
an alien had been kept alive by placing it in a carbon-
dioxide atmosphere, but had died from other wounds sustained
in the crash.
For another hour Brad waded through Ralston's
collection of clippings. He read dozens of claims from
unrelated witnesses blaming the Air Force with a cover-up.
There were statements from scientists, doctors, and retired
military officers. There was even an article dated August
26, 1987, about a group that had recovered documents from
President Truman's administration outlining the operation of
a secret research group code-named "MAJESTIC," established
to study the crashed UFO's. Of course, an independent firm
(hired by the government) had testified that the documents
were counterfeit, which, as far as Brad was concerned, lent
to the documents authenticity.
The last article was the one that Ralston had pointed
out. It was a copy of page 252 from The Encyclopedia Of
UFO's that recounted the tale of two Death Valley
prospectors who witnessed a flying disk crash during the
night of August 19, 1949. When they arrived at the crash
site, they saw two "little men" that ran away from them.
They tried to chase them, but one of the mules refused to
follow. By the time the animal changed its mind, the
prospectors had lost the survivors in the desert. When they
realized they had no chance of catching them, they returned
to investigate the ship. The book claimed they could not
find the correct spot.
It seemed odd that a couple of old prospectors prowling
around Death Valley with mules wouldn't be able to locate
the crash sight a second time. Surely they knew their
territory well enough to find something as large as a flying
saucer. After all, they had found it once.
Stapled to the page was an article from the Herald
dated a few days after the crash. It included statements
from several locals who had seen an uncommonly high degree
of military activity in the area. The opinion of most of
those interviewed was that a plane from Muroc Dry Lake
Airfield must have crashed nearby. No military officials
were willing to comment. The article closed with a comment
from an old prospector that he'd seen a flying disk crash,
and that the Air Force must have taken it away.
Suddenly it made sense. Ralston had said that the Air
Force was better organized after the Roswell crash in 1947.
They must have seen the UFO on radar and sent a team to the
scene when they saw it go down. The recovery team loaded
the flying saucer and debris onto trucks, helicopters, or
airplanes and transported it to a secure area where the
secret research group could study it. That would explain
why the prospectors couldn't find the crash sight-- even if
they were in the right spot, the military had already
removed all evidence of the accident. But where was Muroc
Dry Lake?
Brad neatened the stack of papers and walked back to
where Ralston was placing tags on film reels. "You find
anything interesting in there?" he asked as Brad handed him
back his folder.
"Yes, that last one especially. My witness did say
there were two aliens, the Air Force may have captured those
survivors when they stole the UFO."
"The Death Valley crash isn't as well known as Aztec
because it was so close to a military base. Aztec wasn't as
well contained because some witnesses say the ship actually
went down in Mexico and the Mexican military wasn't happy
about the Air Force taking over."
"I can understand that," stated Brad. "You said Death
Valley was near a military base, you mean that Muroc
Airfield?"
"Muroc Dry Lake. They renamed it several years later
after a test pilot who was killed there. Now its called
Edwards Air Force Base."
For a second Brad racked his mind for the connection.
Why did he feel that was important. "Edwards? That's where
Eisenhower went to see the UFO's!"
"I didn't know you'd read that book."
"No, I just read a review, but that seems too
coincidental." Brad couldn't believe what he was seeing
unfold before him. The more he studied, the more obvious it
became to him. There had to be a cover-up, something was
going on. He shook his head in disgust. "How have these
people gotten away with this for so long?"
Ralston laughed. "It's simple: they've gotten away
with it for the same reason that they will continue to get
away with it. There is no hard evidence. Nothing other
then eyewitness accounts, and witnesses are easily
discredited. Its gotten to the point that a lot of people
are afraid to admit seeing UFO's for fear of being called
crackpots. Quite seriously, the only way the American
people will believe that there are aliens is when they see
Barbara Walters interview one on TV, even then half the
viewers will think it a joke."
"Why hasn't there been a crash recently?"
"The general consensus is that most of the crashes
occurred in the late forties and early fifties when the
United States was heavily engaged in nuclear testing.
Perhaps residual radiation from the atomic bombs caused the
flying saucers guidance or propulsion system to malfunction.
Since most of our nuclear testing took place in Nevada and
New Mexico, the crashes are centralized in the west. If
there were a crash in the Pacific near Bikini Atoll, the
saucer would be at the bottom of the ocean."
"That makes sense. So the fact that we've stopped
above-ground nuclear testing, accounts for why there haven't
been any more crashes. This may seem a little personal, but
I've got to ask-- why do you have all these clippings? I'm
not trying to insult you, but it does seem..."
"Strange?" offered Ralston, with a grin.
"How 'bout unique."
"It doesn't bother me: most people have the same
reaction. Some people collect stamps, some collect
butterflies. Me, I collect stories about UFO's. I think it
all comes down to trying to solve one of life's great
mysteries. More than anything else in the world, I'd just
like to know if there really is anyone else out there. Are
we alone? Is there life on other planets? I'll probably
never know for sure, but I've got to try to find out."
Brad nodded in agreement. To a degree they were very
much alike-- they were both seeking their own form of truth.
Don Ralston was searching for the truth about the universe,
possibly creation, and his own life. Brad Dartmouth was
seeking the truth behind the shroud that the government used
to keep the people ignorant and controlable. Fate let their
paths cross for a brief instant.
"One more personnel question... Have you ever seen a
UFO?"
Ralston face lost its smile and he studied Brad as he
considered his answer. "An unidentified flying object is
just something the observer can't identify. That doesn't
mean it's a flying saucer from outer space," he stated
defensively.
"I understand that," started Brad, "but I think you
know what I mean."
Ralston was quiet for another moment; his silence made
Brad uneasy. "Off the record?"
Brad made a symbolic gesture of placing his notepad in
his jacket pocket. "Off the record."
"A few years ago, I was in the Air Police-- the Air
Force's cops. I had range duty one night with a couple
other guys. We'd stopped at the one of the bombing range's
control towers for coffee, and I walked up to the top of the
tower to talk to the controllers. There was no air traffic
in the area and no exercises scheduled: it was suppose to be
a quite night."
"I was halfway up the stairs, when I heard a whirring
sound. I turned to look to the southwest and saw a glowing,
disk shaped object moving across the range. All I could do
was watch; I couldn't force myself to move. When it was
gone, I ran to the tower, still shaking, and asked if the
controllers had seen it."
"They both swore they didn't see anything. I asked
them to rewind the tape that recorded everything the radar
saw, but they wouldn't because they knew there wasn't
anything out there. The other Airmen on my team were all in
the office below, so they didn't see anything either."
If Ralston's story had been made into a movie, it
wouldn't have scared many people the way he told it, but it
did send a chill down Brad's spine. "What did you do? Did
you report it?"
"Ha! The next day, the rumor that I had seen a flying
saucer had spread through the AP squadron. I didn't come
back in until the next night, and was surprised to find my
captain waiting for me. He pointed out that a lot of secret
testing went on at the base, and it wasn't a good idea to
make too many comments on what we see. So, I told everyone
that it was an F-4 with its landing lights on."
The chill in Brad's spine had inched its way to his
neck, where it made the short hairs stand on end and tingle.
He had to ask: "What base were you at?"
"Nellis, it's near Las Vegas," answered Ralston
innocently.
Brad's knees went limb and he felt as if he were going
pale. "You say this UFO came from the southwest?"
"Right."
"Heading for Alamo?"
"Yeah! How did you know?" asked Ralston suspiciously.
"I'm familiar with that area. Did you try to find out
if anyone near Alamo saw the thing?"
"Of course. I bought newspapers from all the
surrounding towns and looked for any mention of UFO's:
that's how I got started collecting the clippings.
Unfortunately, there were no sightings off the base."
That could only mean one thing.
"Don, you've been a big help, but I've got to go now.
One last question. Why does the Air Police patrol the
Nellis bomb range in armored cars? I mean, why patrol it at
all?"
Ralston was very surprised by the question. "Ah, if a
pilot dropped a bomb too close, the armor would offer some
protection against shrapnel. As for why we patrolled it at
all, I guess it was to keep civilians from getting hurt."
Brad thanked Ralston for the help and hurried for the
door. It was obvious to him that Ralston had only been
following orders, and had no idea why they really patrolled
the range-- he wondered how many other Air Force veterans
had helped the cover-up without knowing it.
A week ago Brad would have laughed at a UFO story, but
now he wasn't sure what to believe. He hadn't mentioned
Nellis to Ralston, so he had to be telling the truth about
his sighting. The thought that this was actually happening
made Brad's head spin, but he couldn't let it go. He had to
tell Mr. Wheeler.
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