read it, then asked a question, to which Lee nodded his head in response. Then they both hurriedly left the top of the scaffolding and used the stairs to reach the bottom of the newly installed vault.
The men and women, all security or technicians of the Event Group, watched in curiosity as their boss and the president of the United States left with looks on their faces that told them something wasn't right in the world.
Garrison Lee saw the president to a secure area lining the new level of vaults so he could call the Pentagon situation room.
The president hung up the phone and joined Lee in the corridor outside the secure communications room.
'Mr. Lee, I'm very pleased with what I've seen here today.' He paused long enough to place the now crumpled fedora on his head, and Lee helped the older man into his coat. He noticed that the president had a distant look on his face. 'After the things you've shown me, I think I can guarantee your current budget and maybe a little more, although I know for a fact that the brass-hat sons of bitches are going to scream that I'm stealing from them. To hell with them, I say. What's a couple of overpriced bombers when it comes to doin' good for the American people?' Truman walked toward the main elevator. 'After all, who am I but a country boy just following in the footsteps of great men? Tell your people, Lee.' He turned and shook the senator's hand again. 'I'll talk to you soon.'
Garrison Lee took President Truman's hand and firmly shook it, pleased by the minimal promise of the Group's current budget. But he had to risk the next question, which was burning him up inside.
'Mr. President, I believe the Event Group may be better equipped to handle the situation in New Mexico, if you would allow us.'
A Secret Service agent cleared for the Event Center held the elevator doors for Truman. The president turned and gave a quick shake of his head.
'Sorry, Lee, I have to stick with the boys who won the war on this one. I have to assume they know what they're doing.' The last words were almost cut off by the closing doors.
Lee stood at those same doors for a moment and watched the green indicator light glow. He felt as if he was being left out of the biggest event since the coming of Jesus Christ, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Garrison Lee hadn't heard from the president of the United States for almost five days and was assessing field assignments when Alice stepped into his office. She quickly opened the right bottom drawer of his desk and removed a bulky red phone. There was a small handle on the top that she practically punched with the palm of her hand, instantly freeing the device from its security holder. She lifted the receiver and held it out to Lee.
'It's the president and he doesn't sound happy,' she said quickly.
'Mr. President, this is Lee.'
'Mr. Lee, I want you to get your ass with your best security team and science people and get control of that goddamn situation in Roswell.'
'What do I need to know, Mr. President?'
'Know? Know, Lee? Haven't you read the goddamn papers?'
'Been busy here, sir'
'Well, damn, man, the Army Air Corps just released a press statement that they have a flyin' damn disk in their possession. I had General LeMay, General Ramey, and Allen Dulles on the phone and all they gave me was the runaround! Sons of bitches don't know who they're dealin' with!'
'LeMay and Dulles will do that, Mr. President, if they think you're treading on their turf.' Lee knew Allen Dulles and knew the man always had ulterior motives for everything he did. Every move was calculated for what good it would do him and whatever group he was working with.
'Let me tell you something,
'Yes, sir, I hear you and agree, Mr. President, it's your backyard.'
'Damn right, mine and the people of this nation who pay our salaries. I think sometimes the damn generals and spooks need to be put in their place, no offense, Lee. I take it you have an aircraft available to you?'
'We have twelve, four converted C-41 Dakotas, three P-51 Mustangs, and several scout craft, sir.'
'P-51s! Who in the hell gave you those? Ah, never mind. As I was saying, you and a team of scientists or whatever eggheads you need get there and get control of that crap in the desert, now!'
'Yes, sir.'
'And, Lee?' The president sounded as if he was grinding his teeth. 'I've sent you a letter with my signature on it, authorizing you to do what you think is right, and I'll back you one hundred percent. If you have to hang someone, I'll supply the rope!'
'I'm on my way, Mr. President, and thank you, sir.'
'Thank you nothin', get there and find out what's going on. You tell them if I have to come down there and fire some butts, I will.'
'I'll pass along the message, Mr. President,' Lee replied, but found that the call had already been terminated.
Alice handed over a sealed envelope. 'This was just wired over from the White House,' she said.
Lee opened it and scanned the words. It did indeed authorize him to do anything just this side of murder to gain the cooperation of the air corps and army.
'What's going on, Garrison?'
'Well, Alice, I guess that's what I'm flying to New Mexico to find out.'
FIFTEEN
The four converted C-41 war-surplus Dakotas touched down on the runway at Roswell Army Airfield at eight that night. They passed row upon row of Boeing B-29 bombers lining the runway and taxied to a small hangar, all the time under the watchful eyes of air police, who escorted them in four jeeps. Lee wasn't concerned with their presence. As he looked out his window, he saw the giant Boeing bombers and noticed how the aging birds still looked lethal. The 509th Composite Bomb Group was world famous for a plane that was once listed among its ranks, named the
The bomber-group intelligence officer, Colonel William Blanchard, stood at the bottom of the staircase after it was rolled into place by the base ground crew. The high wind was flapping the bottom of the officer's trousers, and he held on to his hat as he waited for Lee to descend.
'General Lee, I had heard you were a private citizen after your service during the war.' The colonel extended his hand. The offered handshake was ignored by Lee. He was followed down the staircase by men who carried bags and boxes full of equipment. The second, third, and fourth Dakotas were unloading larger pieces of equipment, and the Event Group's security teams exited through the rolling side door used for cargo. Garrison wasn't at all surprised the base's intelligence officer knew of him and whom he used to work for.
Lee looked at the base roster sheet he had studied on the plane ride over. 'You must be Colonel Blanchard?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Colonel, where is your commanding officer?'
'The base com--'
'I don't need the base commander, Colonel, I mean the man that's in charge of'--Lee once again looked at his clipboard and flipped a few of the pages that had been wired from Washington--'Operation Purple Sage.'
Blanchard seemed taken aback by this. 'I don't think you know the way army intelligence works any longer, sir.'
Lee smiled and tilted his hat back, fully exposing his eye patch. 'Colonel, two years ago I was still a brigadier
