Fallen Star (Project Gauntlet Book 1) Read online

  Grant saw the logic in Maclean’s argument and began to re-evaluate his opinion. He decided to push Hayes a little. “I have to agree; Sergeant Maclean could be onto something.”

  “Gentlemen, I feared this might happen,” said Hayes, putting the two pictures away. “In the MOD, I work for the advanced propulsion workshop, and I can assure you that the craft you saw was a drone, and not some kind of UFO from outer space.”

  “Then why did the locals never spot it, and more importantly, why did the people who slaughtered our friends have to blast it out of the ground?” said Maclean.

  “I can’t say why the Iraqi farmers never came across the drone,” said Hayes. “There was a powerful sandstorm in your region a week before the attack. Perhaps that’s when the UAV was lost. The blowing sand could have easily covered the drone lying at the bottom of the riverbed. And the reason they had to use explosives to free it was because when it crashed it jammed itself tightly into the rocks.”

  Grant and Maclean looked at one another and shook their heads. They weren’t buying Hayes’ explanations.

  The professor placed his hands palm down on the table and smiled patronizingly. “Gentlemen, just because you can’t identify something doesn’t make it an extraterrestrial craft. For that to occur, you would need some form of proof, and you have none. In fact, there has never been an alleged alien crash site that has ever held up to scientific scrutiny. Trust me when I say that there are no UFOs or alien bodies being held by anyone inside or outside of the U.S., nor any other allied nations’ governments. No extraterrestrial culture or technology has ever been uncovered by anyone anywhere in the world. You have to face facts. To date, there has been no irrefutable evidence found connecting UFOs to extraterrestrials. If you want the truth, you have to realize that what you saw was a manmade craft and not some downed alien disc.”

  “Well, if you put it that way, I guess I may have been mistaken,” said Maclean.

  “It happens. A few years back I thought I saw a UFO, but it turned out just to be some flares dropped by a C-130 during a training exercise on the Brecon Beacons in Wales.”

  “Is there anything else you would like to discuss, Doc?” asked Grant.

  “No, I think I’m done,” replied Hayes, scooping up his folders and standing. “Good day to you two gentlemen.” He turned and exited the room.

  The second the door closed, Maclean jumped out of his seat. “That man’s full of crap. His job was to come in here and convince us that we didn’t see what we both saw.”

  Grant sat back and linked his hands behind his head. “Agreed, but we’re not really sure what we saw. Now are we?”

  Maclean shrugged. “No, I suppose not, but I’m not convinced that what I saw was a UAV. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that since the first day we arrived here, these so-called experts haven’t asked us a question about our dead mates?”

  “Yeah, but I thought they had all they needed from us.”

  Maclean grew agitated. “The craft is all these bloody people care about. Not you, not me, not our dead friends.”

  The door opened, and a tall, African-American U.S. Air Force Colonel with a shaved head walked inside and closed the door behind him. He had a black leather briefcase in his right hand, which he placed on the floor by his feet.

  Both soldiers respectfully came to attention.

  “Please take a seat, gentlemen,” said the colonel, pulling out a chair at the other end of the table.

  Grant and Maclean resumed sitting.

  “I’m sure by now you’re both sick and tired of talking to people, so I’ll keep this short. My name is Colonel Oliver Andrews, and I have been brought in to conduct this investigation.”

  Grant raised a hand. “Sir, I’m not trying to be disrespectful, but why is the Air Force investigating the attack of Camp Bayonet? Shouldn’t the army be doing that?”

  “That investigation is already over, Captain,” replied Andrews. “It has been determined that ISIS sympathizers infiltrated the camp dressed as Iraqi security personnel, and waited until it was quiet before attacking and killing everyone there.”

  “That’s a load of bull, and you know it, sir,” said Maclean. His voice grew loud. “It wasn’t ISIS. It was someone else who killed all of my mates. I was supposed to be going home on leave in a month with Sergeant Adams. He was going to get married, and I was supposed to be his best man. Someone’s going to answer for his death.”

  “That may be so, Sergeant, but as far as the U.S. and Australian forces are concerned, what I told you is the official story.”

  Grant leaned forward in his chair. “What about the two stealth helicopters that we saw? How do you explain those, Colonel?”

  Andrews fixed his dark-brown eyes on Grant. “They weren’t there. In fact, it would be in both of your best interests to never say a word to anyone about what you believe you saw one week ago.”

  Grant shook his head. “Colonel, over the past few days, we’ve told more than a dozen people about what happened in Iraq. They have our sworn statements, and now you want us to pretend that it never went down the way it did?”

  “Correct, Captain.”

  Grant sat back and crossed his arms. “May I ask why, sir?”

  Andrews reached down and lifted his briefcase onto the table. He opened it and placed a photograph in front of the two soldiers. It showed the burnt hulk of an Mi-26 helicopter sitting in the desert. “This was taken by a military surveillance satellite over Iran the day after the attack on the camp. As you can see, whoever was behind the attack flew north of the City of Dehloran and landed. They then transferred the craft you saw dug out of the ground onto a waiting plane. Since they didn’t have any further need of the Mi-26 anymore, they set it on fire. Intelligence analysts believe the tire marks on the ground next to the wreckage belong to a Russian-built An-12 transport aircraft.”

  “Damn. So, it was the Russians who did this,” said Maclean. “Those bastards! Why would they do something so stupid as to risk a war with NATO to retrieve a crashed experimental drone?”

  “First off, there is no direct evidence connecting this to the Russian government or their armed forces,” said Andrews. “Secondly, the craft you believe you saw doesn’t correspond with any known Russian aircraft or drones.”

  “So whose was it, then?” asked Grant.

  “We don’t know. That’s why I’ve been brought in.” Andrews reached into his case and brought out two pieces of paper, which he slid across the table to Grant and Maclean. “Gents, before I say another word, these are your non-disclosure agreements. If you wish to leave this base before you grow old and die, I suggest that you sign them without delay.”

  Grant picked his up and read it. He raised an eyebrow and looked over at Andrews. “This non-disclosure form is for the rest of our natural lives.”

  “Yes, I know,” replied Andrews, as he placed a fountain pen on the table.

  “Hey, I don’t work for you or your armed forces,” protested Maclean. “Before I sign this, I want to speak with one of my own officers.”

  “I thought you’d say that.” Andrews stood and opened the door. A Royal Australian Air Force officer got out of a chair in the hallway and nodded at Andrews. “Wing Commander Wallace will be more than happy to fill you in on your government’s position regarding this investigation, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Maclean, getting to his feet.

  When they were alone, Grant placed his paper down on the table. “Colonel, if I sign this, then what? Are we free to go?”

  Andrews shook his head. “Not yet. As you two are the only people to have seen the crashed craft, and the men who took it, I need your help with my investigation.”

  Maclean strode back in the room, picked up the pen and signed his name. His face was pale. He looked at Grant. “I’d sign it if I were you, Captain.”

  “Why?”

  “Have you ever heard of a place called Diyarbakir prison?”

  “No.”

  “I’
m not surprised. It’s in Turkey, and I’ve been reliably told that it’s a nasty place to be locked up for the rest of your life.”

  “So? What does that have to do with us?”

  “Because, sir, I’ve been told that Amnesty International declared it one of the most brutal prisons in the world. My people told me to sign on the dotted line, or we’d both end up in a secret military installation somewhere in the Indian Ocean that makes Diyarbakir look like a holiday spot.”

  Grant looked at Andrews and saw he was smiling. A shiver ran down his spine. He was being boxed into a corner with no recourse. Grant pursed his lips, took the pen, and wrote his name on the paper.

  Andrews took both forms and slid them into his briefcase. “Now that that’s out of the way, there are a couple more people you will need to see before we leave.”

  Grant’s head was swimming. “Leave? Where are we going, Colonel?”

  “To Batumi, Georgia,” replied Andrews. “That’s where the An-12 landed.”

  “Sir, before we have any more discussions or board a plane to Georgia, can we at least speak with our families to let them know we’re still alive?” asked Grant, knowing his parents would be worried sick, wondering if he was still alive or not.

  Andrews sat back and ran a hand over his smooth head. “Unfortunately, no.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because both of your families have been told that you were severely injured in the attack and are in hospital recuperating from your wounds. You have my word that you can speak with them when this is all tidied up.”

  “Sir, you won’t be able to keep this a secret forever. The truth is bound to get out.”

  “You’d be surprised what has been kept secret from the public over the past few decades. Besides, if the truth somehow leaked out about what happened, it would only be because one of you two said something you shouldn’t have. Any breach of the non-disclosure agreements that you both signed will result in hard jail time for the rest of your lives. As for Camp Bayonet, the world’s media is already reporting this as the worst incident of ISIS infiltration into the Iraqi security forces since we re-deployed our forces into Iraq. Trust me; the message is being carefully controlled. Hell, even ISIS has gleefully taken responsibility for the attack, even though they had nothing to do with it.”

  “I see you’ve thought of everything, sir,” said Grant.

  “That’s why I work in the Special Investigations Branch in the Pentagon. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make a few calls before we depart.”

  “And when might that be?” asked Maclean.

  Andrews looked at his watch. “In precisely two hours and thirty-one minutes.”

  Both men stood as Andrews left without saying another word.

  “What a bunch of horse crap,” said Maclean. “My God, they’re laying it on pretty thick. I can see it in his eyes. That Colonel is deliberately not telling us the whole story.” He stood and pushed his chair across the room with his right foot. “I honestly don’t give a damn about that alleged UAV. All I want to know is who killed my mates, and how I get my hands on them.”

  “In a matter of hours, Sergeant, I think you’re going to get your chance,” said Grant. “If there is a secret drone sitting in the back of a plane in Batumi, you know it’s going to be guarded, and I’m willing to bet it’ll be the same bastards who attacked our camp.”

  Maclean clenched his right hand into a fist until his knuckles turned white. “God, I hope so. It’s high time somebody paid for what happened.”

  Chapter 4

  An all-white Learjet entered Georgian airspace at an altitude of ten thousand meters, and flew straight toward the coastal city. Built on the shores of the Black Sea on the remains of an ancient Greek colony, the picturesque Batumi was the second largest city in Georgia.

  Grant and Maclean sat in the passenger compartment, accompanied by Colonel Andrews and Professor Hayes. The two soldiers had traded their coveralls for some of their civilian clothes recovered from the camp, and some new ones bought on the base in Kuwait.

  Hayes opened his briefcase and produced a handful of photographs which he handed to Grant. “Captain, this is the An-12 we believe was used to transport the downed UAV from Iran to Georgia.”

  “How can you be sure this is the same jet?” asked Grant, as he studied the pictures, showing the transport plane parked inside a spacious hangar.

  “We have our sources,” Andrews curtly replied.

  “If this drone is so important to someone, why is it still there?” asked Maclean. “It’s been over a week since the attack. Why haven’t they moved it?”

  “We don’t know why,” said Hayes. “Hopefully, you can determine that for us once you find a way inside the hangar and positively identify the craft you claim to have seen being dug out of the sand in Iraq.”

  Maclean leaned forward and like a jackhammer, he jammed his right index finger into Hayes’ chest. “Listen here, Professor, I know what I saw. The captain and I aren’t making this stuff up for kicks.”

  Hayes’ eyes widened. He sat back, trying to get out of reach of the Australian Sergeant.

  “Sergeant, calm down and sit back in your seat,” warned Andrews. “Before we boarded this plane, your armed forces posted you to my office, so until you’re told otherwise I am your new commanding officer. Learn to control that temper of yours.”

  Grant looked at his colleague and nodded.

  Maclean let out an infuriated sigh and stood up. He walked to the back of the aircraft and poured himself a glass of water.

  “I take it I’m also posted to your office?” said Grant to Andrews.

  “That is correct,” responded the colonel. “It’s only temporary. When this investigation is wrapped up, you’ll both be sent back to your respective organizations.”

  Grant smiled thinly. He wasn’t sure if he believed Colonel Andrews or not.

  “Sergeant, please take your seat,” said Andrews.

  Maclean walked back and sat down.

  “Before we land, there are a couple of things we need to go over,” said Andrews. “First off, quit using each other’s rank. First names only from now on.”

  “I don’t even know your first name, Captain,” said Maclean.

  “It’s David,” replied Grant. “But you can call me Dave; all my friends do.”

  “And I’m Jim. Only my sister calls me James. It’s going to take some getting used to, calling an officer by his first name.”

  “Now that that’s out of the way, here are a couple of surveillance devices we need you to wear,” said Andrews. He nodded at Hayes who opened his briefcase and gave the two soldiers a couple of small boxes each.

  Grant opened one and saw there was a contact lens case inside of it. “I don’t get it. I don’t wear contacts.”

  “Those aren’t ordinary contact lenses,” explained Hayes. “Inside, you will find a lens with a built-in camera.”

  “You’ve got be kidding,” blurted out Maclean, as he checked out the lenses.

  “There’s no need to put them on now. You can slip them over your right eyes just before we land.”

  “And what’s in the other box?” asked Grant.

  “Near-invisible hearing aids,” explained Hayes. “We’ll be able to hear everything you say. We can also speak to you via the device.”

  Maclean chuckled as he looked at Hayes. “If you work for the advanced propulsion workshop at the British MOD, then I’m a male underwear model.”

  Hayes shrugged and turned to look out of the window.

  “Sir, will there be someone there to meet us when we land?” Grant asked Andrews.

  “Yes. I have an asset on the ground who has been watching the An-12 ever since it landed,” said Andrews.

  “Has this person had any luck getting near the plane?”

  “No. My orders to her were to observe and do nothing else. She’s the one who secretly took the pictures of the plane in the hangar.”

  “Colonel, what if we can�
�t get close enough to the plane to see what’s inside?”

  “Be creative. I need to know if the UAV is still there. If it’s not, we could be in a world of hurt.”

  Grant found the last statement to be strange, but let it go. He sat back and closed his eyes. He let the enormity of everything that had and was about to happen sink in.

  The Learjet landed smoothly, and taxied to a building used for private airport customs and reception. The front door of the jet opened, and the stairs were lowered by the co-pilot. Almost right away, a heavy man in an ill-fitting, dark-blue uniform boarded the plane.

  “Passports, please,” said the man in English.

  The co-pilot handed over everyone’s passports. The man smiled and stamped the books, without even reading the passports. The last book, the co-pilot’s, held the usual two-thousand-dollar bribe.

  “Please enjoy your stay in Georgia,” said the customs agent before leaving.

  “That’s it?” said Grant.

  “For now,” replied Andrews.

  “Hello in there,” called out a woman’s voice. Her English was good, despite her Georgian accent. “Permission to come on board?”

  “Permission granted, Tatiana,” replied Andrews, smiling.

  A slender woman in her mid-fifties with salt-and-pepper hair, walked up the stairs and into the plane. She was wearing a blue jacket over a short dress. In her left hand was a shopping bag. A pin on her jacket identified her as a member of the Georgian Customs Agency.

  “Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to Tatiana,” said Andrews. “She is my best asset here in Georgia.”

  “You flatter me, sir,” said Tatiana.

  “I’d like you to meet Misters Gray and Black,” said Andrews, indicating with his hand to Grant and Maclean.

  Grant held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Tatiana.”

  “It’s not my real name, but the pleasure is all mine, Mister Gray.”