general on active duty in the OSS. I now hold a civil rank equivalent to that of a four-star general, so don't you dare pretend to tell me how the army or its intelligence apparatus operate. Johnson! Bridewell!' he called over his shoulder.
Two men broke away from the Group's security team and ran to where Lee and the colonel were standing. They wore army fatigues and were carrying sidearms.
'If the Colonel says anything other than 'Yes, sir' and doesn't lead us to where they either have the wreckage, or to the gentleman in charge of this investigation, arrest him on charges of disobeying a direct order from the president of the United States and obstructing an official presidential inquiry.'
The two men moved to either side of Colonel Blanchard and stood at parade rest.
'Very well, if the president wants amateurs running this show, it's his funeral,' the colonel said into the rising wind, then abruptly turned and started for the hangar entrance.
They followed Blanchard as if they were in a parade. Garrison had assembled the largest field team since the Lincoln Raid on Ararat in 1863. He had metallurgists, language experts, paleontologists, atomic and medical- research scientists, quantum theorists, structural engineers, machining experts, and sixty security personnel. The quantum theorists were on loan from his friend at Princeton, Albert Einstein. They had been flown from New Jersey into the dirt runway at Las Vegas by his P-51s and weren't at all happy about it. He knew Albert would charge him a huge favor in the near future for the loan.
Blanchard walked over to one of the huge hangars that held sway over Roswell Army Airfield. It was large enough to house two B-29s side by side. Military police had surrounded the building, and they all carried Ml carbines or Thompson submachine guns. The colonel glanced over his shoulder at Lee and gave him a sour look as he saw the Group's security personnel advance on the MPs and give them new orders. He scowled and then opened a small door just to the left side of the large hangar doors. Lee followed him into a spacious office with several people in the smoke-filled room. Colonel Blanchard walked over to a surprised man in a white shirt and whispered something to him.
Lee scanned the faces in the room as his security team followed him into the office. They closed the door behind them, shutting out the noise of the blowing wind, and totally surrounded the men in the office.
The men standing around in mild shock were the intelligence types Lee had come to know well during his hitch in the Office of Strategic Services. But it was the one man who was seated all alone at a table that caught Lee's immediate attention, as he definitely looked as if he didn't belong there. He was sweating profusely because of the huge light they had trained on him. The disheveled man looked at Lee with a dull gaze, then quickly looked away. Garrison spied an officer standing against the far wall. He recognized this man from the roster and briefing material, which included his photograph. Major Jesse Marcel. He held Lee's gaze, then slowly shook his head.
'Can I help you... General Lee, is it?' asked the man with whom Blanchard had spoken. He stepped forward and held out his hand and said, 'I'm Charles Hendrix, Army Intelligence, and special adviser to General LeMay.'
Lee continued to look at the man in dungarees and sweaty denim work shirt sitting with head lowered at the table. He handed the letter from the president over to Hendrix instead of shaking his hand, not sparing the man a glance while doing so.
Hendrix read the letter, first frowning, then with a shrug of his shoulders. 'The president shouldn't be too concerned with what we have here.'
Lee knew the type of man who faced him. He had run into a few during the war. Their favorite saying, 'For the good of the country,' was a phrase this man would use to justify everything from torture to murder.
'Would you like to tell President Truman he shouldn't be concerned, personally, Mr. Hendrix? And if you're looking for a title to use in connection with me, try
'The point I'm trying to make is, I think the president has little understanding of what has happened here,' Hendrix said, taking a Camel cigarette out of the pack in his shirt.
Lee smiled. 'You may be surprised by what he understands, and if he has little understanding of this situation, it's because someone is not passing on the adequate amount of intelligence. Don't ever play word games with me again.' Lee pulled out a chair next to the man sitting at the table and slowly sat down. He removed his hat and placed it on the table. He gave the man what he hoped was a comforting smile to try to relax him, knowing at the same time his scar might have just the opposite effect.
'This man is being detained for questioning,' Hendrix said calmly as he paused with the match held an inch from his cigarette.
Garrison turned and looked at the man from Army Intelligence, then back at the scared gentleman with his head lowered at the table.
'Sergeant Thompson, remove this light, please.'
One of the security men in the detail walked to the wall and pulled a plug. The area of table where it had been shining darkened to a more comfortable setting from the soft fluorescent lighting from the ceiling.
'Don't know about you, but bright light hurts my eye.'
The man at the table didn't respond; he just raised a shaking hand up to his face and touched a bruised spot on his cheek.
'Who are you, sir?' Lee asked.
'Br... Br... Brazel,' he answered.
Lee searched the notes he had taken from a Teletype he had received from Washington. The name was familiar. 'You work a ranch about... what, seventy miles from here, don't you?'
The thin man looked at the senator and then looked quickly at Hendrix standing behind Lee, who was calmly looking down at him. Lee caught the movement of the man's eyes and thought,
'Mr. Brazel, make no mistake, I'm the boss man here. I speak on behalf of the president of the United States.' Lee placed a hand on the man's knee and patted it softly.
Suddenly the man's right arm went up and he pointed to Hendrix. 'That's what he said, said the president wanted me to say it was a lie what I found.' Brazel lowered his eyes. 'What I found was real,' he mumbled in a barely audible whisper.
Lee looked at Hendrix, who arrogantly returned the stare.
'That was a lie itself, Mr. Brazel. The president wouldn't ask that. He may ask that you stay quiet about this, but not to lie.'
'No?' was all the man asked. He was looking deeply into Lee's eye, trying to see if there was truth there.
'No, Mr. Brazel.
'He said something bad could happen to me and mine, said we would never be found.'
Lee closed his eye and tried not to turn to face Hendrix. Instead, he patted the man on the leg again. 'No one is going to harm you or your family, Mr. Brazel, I promise you that.' He leaned forward and looked into the man's face.
'Now, you found some wreckage from something that crashed out on your ranch, correct?'
'Yes, sir, that and the three small green fellas I found the day after.'
Lee was stunned. 'You found bodies?' He turned to look at Hendrix. 'That wasn't in the reports to Washington.'
Hendrix stomped his foot and walked away and whispered something to Colonel Blanchard, who in turn started for the side exit.
Lee snapped his fingers and a Colt .45 appeared in Staff Sergeant Johnson's right hand. He pointed it straight at Colonel Blanchard. The man came to a halt and raised his hands slightly, as if he were embarrassed and didn't know how to proceed.
'Are you going to shoot an officer in the United States Air Corps, Lee?' Hendrix asked.
'You bet. You weren't hesitating to threaten Mr. Brazel here.' Lee nodded toward the rancher. 'What makes you any better than the very people you are sworn to protect?'
Hendrix took this all in with a calm that only experience could teach. But Garrison could also see the muscles in the man's jaw working in slow clenching movements. He definitely wasn't used to having his orders countermanded.
'You found three crewmen in the wreckage?' Lee asked, still looking at Hendrix.
