Homecoming Chapter 2 (Serialized Novel)

Chapter 2

Anthony McGee shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He had been escorted to one of those undisclosed locations that one hears about only in the motion picture flicks. The kind where very important men placed thick sacks over your head during the transportation. Here the effect being that the individual could not make out and discern whether or not they were at a military compound, isolated silo, or any other distinguishable place at all.

The only thing about his setting that he was familiarized with was that of the date; November 1st, 1961, the day after his birthday. So, there was the date, although that much he could not be certain of, for quite some time had elapsed since he had been brought to his current location. Then there was the matter of the small cool enclosed room that he found himself in.

Everything in the room was of a thick sterilized sheet of metal. Presumably steel, it made up the walls, to which there were no clocks, the chairs, and the table in the center of the room. There was even a water canteen situated on the table in front of Anthony that was made up of it.

The only exception to this, the room’s composition was that of the recently mopped linoleum flooring, that was of a bland speckled beige, a microphone piece that ran out of the table in front of him and the wires that went with them into the other room, as well as a portion of the wall to the right of him, that he was quite certain housed a bulletproof one-way mirror to which he was being observed through.

Much to his relief, the table in front of him also provided him with a pack of cigarettes and an ashtray; a ration of Lucky Stripes with a steel ashtray that had a watered-down strip of paper running through it. Again, everything in the room was sterilized. Tired of his prolonged waiting time, Anthony took to pulling one of the cigarettes from out of the pack and lighting it up with a deep drag using the spare butane lighter provided him.

The reasons that he found himself in the position that he was currently in were many, most of which related to matters of national security. Anthony McGee was a Special Force Operative for the United States Government that had gone deep undercover to collect intel as it related to the Cold War and the use of nuclear forces. More specifically, he had to report back with the information from the Tsar Bomba testing. To see if it really was the King of Bombs as the rumor was. Needless to say, the information that he had to divulge to his superiors were of a sensitive nature.

Anthony sat crossed legged and armed at the table, the elbow of his right arm resting on the hand of his left in a kind of ninety-degree angel so that he could smoke his cigarette as leisurely as possible. It did not take long for it to create for a thick cloud and to fumigate the empty room. Just as it did not take long for the ventilation system to kick in. Whoever was running the building sure had a knack for decontamination.

He was about halfway done with his smoke, when all of a sudden, there was a buzzing sound that issued forth from the microphone in front of him, a red light switching on as it did so. Anthony had been in the field long enough to know what these things meant. It was cueing him to the fact that from this point on he was to give a statement of everything he knew, as he knew it, and that everything he said was to be recorded. It was nerve racking to say the lease. But it was part of the job description that he had signed up for.

“Could you please state your name and rank for the record,” inquired a firm voice through some kind of speaker that made it seem as if it were sounding from a loudspeaker coming from the room on the other opposite side of him with the bulletproof one-way glass.

“Anthony McGee, Special Force Operative reporting,” he answered, not long after quickly taking to snuffing out the cigarette butt in the ashtray and leaning over the table to better push the button on the side of the microphone in order to give his response.

The Special Force Operative could not see the men in the other room, but they could see him. They were not of the caliber of elect superiority that wore typical military greens. In fact, had Anthony been given a chance to meet the men inside, he would have thought something rather odd about all of it.

These were the men that dressed in slim black suits, white button-up shirts, and matching black ties. The one’s that used earpieces before any police or militarized force and that watched over and protected other very important men. All of whom were analyzing Anthony as hunters would a predatory creature in a cage. But all these things are concealed and very behind the scenes.

“It is good to see that you are safely back from the field Mr. McGee. We will ascertain that you are aware of why you are here. Let it be so ascertained for the record. Go ahead and report Mr. McGee,” another voice boomed from behind the wall. The voice was almost feminine but at the same time, there was something cool and mechanical to it, to both the voices, as if they were subject to augmentation and alteration. Something that wouldn’t have surprised Anthony in the least.

“Well, as you noted, I will be documenting the events from my Mityushikha Bay nuclear testing range assignment as I was ordered,” Anthony started, but something caused him to pause. He had taken part in many interviews and interrogations. Some of them international, but there was something to this one that felt different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was off, and he didn’t much like it. Still, he shook the thought off like a pestering mosquito. “Per the mission, I stationed myself at a safe enough distance within the U.S.S.R Mountains away from the Novaya Zemlya island where the nuclear testing was to be conducted,” he continued in a verbatim sort of way that takes place when we’ve taken to memorizing something. “Synchronizing myself with Moscow Standard Time, I made sure that I was safely positioned at this locale one hour before, at 1030 on the 30th of October, their time.”
“Go on Agent McGee. What else did you witness while you were in the field. Is there anything that can be concluded from what you saw while you were in Russia,” the cold voice demanded of Anthony.

“What I observed from my spot in the U.S.S.R mountains was that the Russian military jet arrived on scene at around 1128. As was speculated, the Russian jet made its ascent at around 1130, at which time it successfully dropped its payload in Tsar Bomba at 1132.”

“Tell us more about the payload and the explosion Operative McGee. Be as descriptive and thorough as possible and remember that you are on the record.” This time it was the feminine voice that was making the request. All the same, Anthony could not stand the way that these little discussions went. Most of all, he detested the way that they always made their comments in the form of commands to assert their position of authority. “Also, make sure to specify the weapons nature, and to make sure and tell it whether or not it was as they said it was,” the voice continued that sounded out, that will be all, as if the speaker was reading his mind.

“What I can say as it relates to the Tsar Bomba testing performed by Soviet Russia as it occurred on the 30th of October 1961 on the Novaya Zemlya island is that it was definitely thermonuclear in its nature. That much I am sure of. As for the impact, it is of an almost ineffable nature. It decimated almost everything in sight. And from what I’ve seen from the Hiroshima and Nagasaki footage, the plume, or mushroom cloud that surrounded it was probably two to three times that from our original nuclear activity. I estimated this from my vantage point in that this, cloud of death, for lack of better words staggeringly towered over the plane that dropped this ungodly payload, and to the same end, above the mountain top that provided me my sense of safety. So, to this end, I would say, yes. It is exactly as they say it is. The Tsar Bomba, or the Theoretical Tsar Bomba is definitely King of Bombs,” Anthony answered carefully, knowing full well that this wouldn’t be information that they would like.

“Is there anything else Mr. McGee? Something that you might have overlooked or that you may be forgotten. Perhaps something that you didn’t think was of any particular importance, or that you may have been distracted by,” the robotic female sought of him after a prolonged silence that filled the room with a palpable tension.

To say that there was something else would have been a drastic overstatement. But it was difficult to find the words to express what it was. The first and most obvious reason being that it was the stuff of crazy talk. He also had to consider the audience and his present situation in giving his personal statement. For the very same reason, it was the stuff that could lead to career suicide. What made the dilemma all the more difficult for him, was that he had sworn an oath, and was thus obligated to bear testimony to what he had seen, as otherworldly as it may have been.

“As I noted before, my name is Anthony McGee, and that in speaking on my own will and volition that I want the record to state that there was in fact something else in the airways during my mission and time in the field,” Anthony said, being every bit as selective with his word choice as he had been the duration of the interrogation. He lingered for a moment, as to what to say next. He knew that it sounded absurd, but he had seen it clear as day, and as such, he knew that there would have been others. And as such, he also could deduce that they would be cross-referencing everyone in a similar method to confirm the fact. Even so, it was perhaps the most difficult thing he had ever had to do in all of his years in his role.

“Fact stated. As you were Mr. McGee,” the voice urged of him in an almost indifferent sort of way, as if it wasn’t asking him, but that it was simply expected of him, as it was to a certain extent.

“Again, on the date previously mentioned that was the 30th of October 1961, I witnessed what seemed to be an unidentified flying object emerge from out of the expanse of the bay and linger in close proximity to the mushroom cloud. This occurred at around 1135 Moscow time.”

“Agent, could you please explicate on this further? The assertion that I hear you make suggests that what you saw was an aircraft of some kind, but then you also remark that you saw this vessel emerge from out of the sea which would imply that it is an emerged craft. How can you explain this? Could you please describe as clearly as possible to avoid being vague and ambiguous as it relates to the matter?” This time it was the other voice, and it called him to answer the question in a stern tone of voice that reminded Anthony that he was working closely with Uncle Sam.

“I honestly don’t know what to say as it relates to this matter that could help clarify it any further. All I know is that is what I saw, and that I am required by law to relay everything that I find while I am in the field. I simply can’t find the words to provide an explanation to this phenomenon,” Anthony answered, running his hand through his greasy jet-black hair, and folding his tattoo covered arms onto the table as he did so. He was disappointed in this answer because it didn’t provide the answers that they would be looking for, and he didn’t like coming up short.

“At present, you have defined this thing as an Unidentified Flying Object. Can you please expound on why that is and describe the characteristics of this foreign entity to the best of your abilities,” pressed another question from the room on the other side of Anthony. It concerned him that the pauses were growing longer with each inquiry.

“Of course. I would be more than happy to assist in this matter,” he started, looking for the words to best portray what he had seen that day. “For one thing, there is this fact that has already been previously noted in that it appeared to be both a submerged and flying object. It carried both of these traits, but for the duration of the time that I observed it, it was mostly flying or hovering in the air. As for its composition, it was made of a strange dark metallic substance. This material shined brightly in the day’s sun. What I noted as it rose from out of the bay was the way that it was rounded, being parabolic in its design, with two addition parabolic arches at the back that created for that gave it the effect of having tails on either side of the back end of it. Almost like what one can expect from the crescent moon,” recalled Anthony as best as his memory would permit him to, putting his description qualities to the test as he did so. “Oh, yeah, that, and the thing was quick. It sort of hovered in place for a bit, and then it shot off in the direction of the heavens as fast as it had arrived on the scene,” he finished, not wanting to leave any details out.

“I see. That all sounds very fascinating agent. Your country thanks you for this experience that you have relayed to us. Now tell me. To the best of your knowledge, do you think that this unidentified aircraft was of Russian design,” surveyed the stern voice all more interested.

“No. Whatever it was that I saw the other day, it certainly wasn’t Russian. Although, that is also why I describe it as such. That is, an unidentified flying object. At least, that is what I hear them calling these things. No. Whatever I saw, I don’t think it was even of this earth. I certainly don’t know anything of this world that can both submerge itself in water and fly at the same time. And that’s the other part of it. The vehicle maneuvered itself in ways that I’ve never seen another aircraft do. It could stop on a point. Just as it could hover in place or change direction at will. And I have yet to see an aircraft take off into the atmosphere as quickly as it did. This was no Russian bird,” Anthony responded, turning himself in his chair, and contorting his body so that he could better get a look at the one-sided mirror, and the people in the room that were questioning him.

“Thank you for specifying Agent McGee. You are doing great. For these next questions we are going to have to ask you to make some conclusions for yourself for us. This is extremely important to us. To begin with, from all that you observed in the Tsar Bomba nuclear test, would you say that there is some kind of correlation between this happenstance and the UFO sighting. A direct relationship that is,” probed the unknown individual with the formidable tone of voice unseen to Anthony. The female must have concluded with everything that she had to ask of him.

“Based on my assessment, there can be no doubt that these two events are interrelated. I think that this can be determined in the way that the object arrived at the same time that the bomb was detonated. It did so in the same way that we would. I mean that it seemed to be collecting its own form of intel in advance, as if it knew that the Tsar Bomba testing would be taking place. The way that it just hovered and lingered in place in its observatory way would definitely suggest it,” Anthony said, helping himself to another Lucky Strike cigarette with a quick flip of a butane lighter. “Yes. There is no coincidence that these two events should happen idiosyncratically with one another. In my opinion, it would seem to be an effort of reconnaissance by an unknown part. However, I cannot determine whether or not it was one that felt particularly threatened or that demonstrated hostile behavior. Nothing about its presence seemed suggestive of either given the circumstances,” he finished, exhaling his cigarette as did so.

“Your observations have been noted. You have been more than helpful. We have one more question, and then we shall be well onto our way to getting you out of here. In your opinion, do you think that the Russian’s or other outside intelligences are aware of this occurrence?”

“I would like to hope that we are the only ones that have the knowledge of this event, but unfortunately, I don’t think that is the case. In my honest opinion, I know that they are every bit as informed on this matter as we are. It took place in their territory, and it was a sight that was hard to miss. And just as we sent our own informants out to retrieve news on the testing, I am sure that there will have been others that can confirm as much. There is no way possible that they were so engrossed in their nuclear testing to have missed it.”

“Well, what do you make of it all,” Special Agent Smith asked of his colleague once Anthony had finished giving his personal statement. He pressed the little square button on the panel in front of him that cut off the channel to the intercom device as he did so, creating for a sound like static that was followed only by silence on Anthony’s side of things. Special Agent Smith being the source of the harsh toned voice during the interrogation.

“His comments match those of the other reports that we have been receiving. There are all idiosyncratic with one another, and tell of the same phenomenon being witnessed, which concerns me. As for who else knows about it, or what they are going to do with this information, there is no telling, which is also troubling to me. One thing is for certain, news of this can not be leaked to the general populace. We have the greatest nuclear explosion, which is credited to the Soviets, not to mention reports of alien aircrafts. This is the stuff that would create for a national panic,” answered Special Agent Miller, the female in the party.

“My thoughts exactly, more or less,” he responded, with a glance over to his colleague. His usually stoic face made a sort of judgmental grimace as he did so. It surprised him that a female had the same level of government clearance that he did, not to mention her appearance. They may have had the same matching creased black suits, but the loud shaved bleach blonde hair did not meet his standards, nor would he think the standards of their superiors. He attributed it to the fact that it made it less likely that she would be thought an operative on any level. After all, he had heard something about how women made the best spies, because men were always spilling their secrets to them in their affairs. “What do you think is the best tactic for handling the operation moving forward,” he asked of her moving his attention back to Anthony and the mirror in front of them, the two of them observing the man in the other room like a fly caught in a jar.

“We will have to act diligently with complete discretion in all matters related to the operation. This has to be done on all levels from top to bottom. This will mean that everything related to Project Q will need to be blacklisted, whitewashed, suppressed, not to mention classified. Perhaps in response, we will need an act of subterfuge, or something that may appear as espionage to redirect the attention of other intelligences. Ultimately, at the end of the day, it has to be as if it never existed. Today, it may be noted that there was nuclear testing, but it can be nothing more than that. Are we understood,” Agent Miller responded without so much as acknowledging her partners social cues, and with a crispness that was much less understanding as she had been with Anthony.

“Of course. Obviously, the Russians and other foreign agencies would not want this data brought to the public’s attention anytime soon. There would be mass hysteria, and it would make us question our theologies, religions, social structures, and every other aspect of our existence. It would make sense that they would classify this as sensitive materials for a need-to-know basis and would do the same. That only leaves the question of what to do with him if it is to be across all levels that we seal this information.

“Standard procedure states that there are two options in his case. The first is termination. That, or, we can decide to excommunicate, however, it would be tricky. From the looks of him, he would elect for the first choice. Generally, the alternative doesn’t abode well with his type.”

“What’s the difference?”

“With termination, life. As for excommunication, they are drugged and taken to a mental facility where they are to be convinced that what they were subjected to is the byproduct of a mental illness. Unless the individual is extremely headstrong, which I am sure that he is, the mind will completely deteriorate as they try to sort out their reality really is. Think of Manchurian Candidate, MK Ultra, and other brainwashing techniques. Really the first would be doing him a favor. I couldn’t imagine living like that.,” Agent Miller explained with a would-be sympathetic expression that etched out across her defined facial features.

Inside the interrogation room, Anthony McGee had stood himself up from his seat and taken to pacing around the room with his arms stretched out above his head with his hands placed squarely on the back of his head as he awaited his fate. He took to inspecting every square inch of the room as if he would final some gadget that he had not previously noticed. He was curious like that. That, and it gave him something to do that would distract his sense of angst. He did not like how long he had been couped up in the small, glassed room without so much as a mutter from what he called the other room.

“We can’t just terminate someone for doing their job and serving their county. How is that not highly unethical. It wouldn’t sit well with me. Shit, I don’t know if I would be able to live with myself knowing that it had happened,” Agent Smith let out, shocked to find that a woman could be more indifferent about the difficult judgement calls then he could be.

“Then it should so decided that we implement excommunication. Starting sedation now,” Agent Miller continued, flipping a slim metallic switch on the panel in front of them as she did so.

Back inside the room where Anthony McGee waited for any kind of interaction, a thick custard yellow gas began to fill its contents. It passed through the room like a wave that was looking for some other thing to sterilize and disinfected. This gaseous substance crept up on Anthony McGee until it lingered at his feet. In noticing it his face snapped towards the mirror on the other side of the room. Instinct took over, and he grabbed the steel chair and made his way over to the thick one-way mirror. Once there, he took to banging the chair against it over and over hoping that he could find a means to escape the midst that was surrounding all over. “What the hell is this? Get me out of here! You can’t do this to me,” he shouted in rage as he did so.

“You know,” Agent Miller began as they watched the man beat on the mirror with every fiber of his being. “It used to be that we had hired doctors come in and have a conversation about how they were having a fit of delusions, hallucinations, and a complete psychotic break. That they were having a Schizophrenic episode and needed to be taken in for assessment at one of the local hospitals,” she continued coolly as Anthony began to slide slowly to the floor, the sedative starting to take hold. “What we found, especially in cases like his, is that they would grow aggressive and combative, wanting to fight for their freedoms. Naturally, the doctors for hire were not found of having to wrestle with these agents in order to tranquilize them. That, and it didn’t set well with their conscious that they were lying to these men in the worse of possible ways. So now, we find that this is the most effective methodology for dealing with those that are excommunicated,” she finished in a matter-of-factually sort of way that astonished Agent Smith.

“What do we know about his family, and how do we proceed with them in scenarios such as this,” Agent Smith asked speculator to Anthony’s gnawing and thrashing for oxygen in his sedation.

“Mr. McGee is both husband and father to Mallory and Stephanie McGee. The latter being his daughter. We tell them the truth. And by truth, I mean that military personal show up at their home offering their condolences that the head of their household has suffered a major psychotic breakdown, and that he needs to be committed as a result of this break,” Agent Miller responded as Anthony McGee finally went limp and motionless on the speckled beige linoleum floor.

“Make sure and remind me to never be on the wrong side in matters of National Security,” Agent Smith as the door to the room opened up. “It’s tragic. Sad really. The man was only doing his job. He doesn’t deserve this, and by the time this is all said and done, he is going to be all fucked up in the head, with some actual mental issues to deal with. Not being able to be able to distinguish between reality, what he lived through, and what he is being told is the truth. I almost feel bad for him,” he continued as two men entered into the room. They were wearing biohazard suits and equipment as not to meet the same fate as the man on the floor.

Their bright yellow suits reflected the lighting of the room as the took to picking Anthony from up off his place on the floor. Spittle drizzled from out of his mouth as they dragged him across the floor towards the door. In this fashion they carried him to an awaiting Humvee, that would transport him to his new life, and that would leave a household without both husband and father.

“Do you ever feel as if moment to moment, all this life is a matter of choice? Like it’s all a game of pick much as how women go making selections out of their Macy’s catalogs. And that some of those choices and decisions are harder to make than others are,” Agent Miller asker of his partner, the decisions that they had made it their secured room still not sitting well with him.

“As I said before. I would have chosen the first option if it were me. A bullet to the back of the head sounds a whole lot better than trivial, menial, life full of the banalities of a mental asylum, with nothing more to look forward to than cooked meals, and to which my reality is always being questioned for that in which I actually encountered. As for your inquiry, all I know are protocols and procedures to which we’ve sworn an oath to follow and protect at any cause. There is no room for philosophical sentiments and questions to cloud your mind, and that is something that I would like to remind you of Agent Smith. That being said, make sure his family is given some kind of certification. His sacrifice should not be for naught. Now, let us be going. We have another briefing in fifteen,” Agent Miller retorted, collecting the files on the table in front of her and taking the time to place them neatly in their corresponding manilla folders.

Together the two Government Operatives collected their things and made their way out of the secured room. In Soviet Russia, a similar happenstance was being performed. Little did they know, that while all these efforts were being conducted to hide, conceal, and otherwise suppress the information that they collected, that this event would only be the beginning of one that would affect the world over.