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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