Douglas Bunger's Blaze Of Glory

Chapter 15



 
 
 
    Brad wasn't certain of what to think of his own feelings when he returned to the newsroom. He was excited about what he had learned from Ralston and Mrs. Gatewood, but he was extremely apprehensive about presenting it to Mr. Wheeler.
    Apprehensive probably isn't the right word... scared is the right word.
    How was he going to admit to his boss that he was beginning to believe Sgt. Gatewood's story? He would have to lay his evidence out carefully and professionally if he were to convince Wheeler. Yet, no matter how you said it, it still amounted to flying saucers and little men from outer space.
    Wheeler was in his office talking with two other reporters and Fletcher was waiting outside when Brad arrived. The fact that he was going to have to wait made matters worse. He paced the aisle that ran past his desk and cursed Fletcher for no real reason.
    Fletcher acted so cool, while he waited. He didn't seem to care what the other reporters thought of him, because he was one of the Herald's 'pet' reporters. Brad despised the man because he spent his days walking the streets with the sleaz and slime that congealed on the corners, but still managed to get big stories. How could Fletcher tell Wheeler about some of the things he wrote without looking like a moron?
    And what about Johnson...
    Johnson had written dozens of award winning articles by spending his time in the world's hot-spots, and had earned a reputation as the Herald's only war corespondent. How had Johnson told Wheeler that he wanted to go to Afghanistan, Beruit, or Central America and expected the paper to pay his way? If Brad had tried that, Wheeler would have laughed and probably commented that he'd be killed. No one ever laughed at Johnson, and no one worried about him getting killed... So what if he'd been a Green Beret.
    The two reporters concluded their business and Fletcher stepped inside. The longer Brad paced and thought, the more worried he became. He considered the articles he'd read about the UFO's and the men that had written them. Had their bosses considered them crazy? No, surly not. They were just reporting what someone had told them. Brad's story was different: his was making an accusation against the government based on his own investigation.
    Fletcher left Wheeler's office, and Brad felt as if he'd throw-up. He walked slowly toward the door and reassured himself that his story was only slightly different from Woodward and Burnstien's Wategate story. They had burglars, and he had aliens. Brad tapped on the glass, and closed the door as he entered.
    "Back from Vegas, eh. I don't guess you have any of that expense money left," joked Wheeler as Brad took a seat. He didn't want to admit that he didn't.
    "I talked to Mrs. Gatewood," stated Brad. "From what she said, I feel like something is definitely going on."
    "You mean a cover-up."
    "Yes, but much bigger than we first suspected. First she confirmed that Gatewood had worked on the Stealth fighters and later spy satellites, but he didn't have his breakdown until he moved to another secret assignment. That's where the cover-up begins. You remembered the Major I talked to?" Wheeler nodded. "He told me that he didn't know anything about the Stealth fighters and didn't know Gatewood personally. Mrs. Gatewood said that same Major had been a Stealth pilot and was now in charge of security."
    A faint smile crossed Wheeler's face, but Brad knew better then to let it go to his head. The editor might like the story now, but he hadn't heard the punchline, yet. "Furthermore, the Major brought Sgt. Gatewood home the first time he came to Los Angeles."
    "Good," said Wheeler, as his smile widened. "They passed you off to security, where the a Major told you a pack of lies. Were you able to find out from Mrs. Gatewood what was her husband's last assignment?"
    "Sort of..." Brad swallowed hard. "It was after his last transfer that Gatewood started talking about aliens. See, he worked at this secret installation in the middle of the bomb range. The only way to it is by helicopter. That's because the Air Force doesn't want anyone to see what's going on. Also, they have guards that patrol the bomb range in armored cars to protect the installation-- I met a man who use to patrol the bomb range. I think we can use him as a corroborating witness."
    Wheeler's eyebrows dipped in apparent confusion. "A witness to what?"
    "He saw a UFO heading toward the installation."
    Wheeler sat motionless and speechless for several seconds. "A UFO? Like a flying saucer?"
    "Yes sir."
    "I thought we agreed that Gatewood was an unreliable source."
    "He was one of the Air Force's top communications men before he went crazy. Now he talks about aliens. Maybe the secret installation is a like a prison camp where they study the aliens, and seeing one of them was what drove Gatewood crazy."
    Wheeler leaned forward and rubbed his eyes. "Brad... Do you have any idea how many times that story's been published? People have been accusing the Air Force of a UFO cover-up for as long as there's been an Air Force. It's a crock... it just doesn't float."
    "I understand, but my story is different: I know where the aliens are! If we print the location and challenge the Air Force to prove us wrong, we'd have them."
    "They'd load your aliens on a plane and fly them to Alaska before the presses had even finished rolling. I'm afraid you haven't thought this through."
    "But I have! I've got witnesses, I've researched the background, I even had a run in with the Air Police trying to locate the compound."
    Wheeler could tell Brad was having trouble grasping the meaning of their earlier talk. "Think about this, son. How did the Air Force capture the aliens?"
    "Their saucer crashed in Death Valley in 1949-- our paper covered the story."
    "Do you have any evidence?" asked Wheeler.
    "Well... no."
    "Of course not. And if these aliens have been around since 1949, then why hasn't anyone exposed the program before you came along? Military personnel rotate every three or four years, that means new people constantly entering the compound, yet none of them have come forward with the location of this place before now? What about the fact that this conspiracy has remained secret through every Presidential administration since then? How can you believe that?"
    "Maybe the government threatened to kill them if they talked."
    "If you kill someone after they talk, it's too late-- not to mention the fact that it looks very suspicious. Besides, there would have to be thousands of veterans who knew the truth, not to mention secretaries, politicians, and scientists. If only one hundred of them came forward, there'd be no way the government could silence them all. But here's the big question. Why haven't the other aliens rescued them yet?"
    Brad thought hard and realized that the thought hadn't occurred to him. "Maybe they don't know where they are."
    "No: You said a witness saw a UFO heading toward the compound."
    "Maybe they're afraid the Air Force would shoot them down," countered Brad.
    "These aliens can travel through space, but are afraid of an Air Force that pays two hundred dollars for a hammer? It's time to face reality-- there are no aliens."
    Tears began to form in the corner of Brad's eyes. He congratulated himself for managing to humiliate himself in front of his boss. "But all the evidence..."
    "Look," interrupted Wheeler, "The only way I'll ever believe aliens exist, is when you bring one through my office door!"
    "I can't write the story?" asked Brad pitifully.
    "Go ahead, maybe the National Enquirer will print it. While you're at it; why don't you ask if they have any job openings you can apply for!" Wheeler walked to the window and stared at the street below while he tried to calm down. Brad wondered silently if he'd just gotten fired.
    After a moment, Wheeler continued. "That's a long, boring drive from Vegas to LA; I've made it a few times myself. Why don't you go home, get some rest, and we'll start you on a new piece Monday."
    Brad was not about to let Wheeler know he'd made the drive last night. It was better to be a humiliated cub reporter than an unemployed fool. He thanked his boss and walked out the door.


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