Dulce Truths

Back in his room, Ellis can’t stop thinking about what Carl had said about Donlon. The Dutchman simply couldn’t believe it — Donlon’s no traitor, I’m sure of it!

But was he? That thought kept coming back to him over and over… what was he sure of anymore? Mark had spoken of Aaron, but Carl assured him that was nothing… despite whatever it was that’d happened down in South America. And then there was the Black Knight Satellite. How the hell’d it get started again?

It’s all too much, and Anderholt wasn’t able to clear any of it up — he’d never even heard of this report from Herres. “What the hell’s that old bird doin’ in on this?” he’d said when Ellis had brought up the subject. “He reports to Jones in the Pentagon and that’s it — takes orders and passes ‘em on, nothing more than a middle man.”

So now Ellis was thinking of that too, and wondering if Carl will have him up by dinner, and then he can look at that report that–

Ellis stops dead in his tracks. There on his bed is a plain white folder, “Lab Samples’ marked across it in red letters. ‘Lab Samples’ was always used because it was less likely to draw prying eyes than ‘Top Secret;’ people figured if they opened it, they’d get the plague. Ellis knew the truth — folders marked with that label contained highly classified material, almost always dealing with the secret space program, the humans serving off-world, and of course the latest alien political and economic intelligence reports. Ellis had seen many of those folders, but he hadn’t seen one in nearly a year, and he’d never seen one outside a highly restricted office or archive setting. What was it doing here?

Ellis moves over and picks it up, his need for sleep and the sick feeling in his stomach from lunch both forgotten. He sits at the small table in his room and opens the folder, flips through the pages.

It all comes out. The real reason for the attack on Dulce, the sham SALT-II talks that President Carter was involved in, and even Illuminati and Rothschild family plans for speeding up the collapse of the economy while furthering the expansion of a vast secret military complex under the Denver International Airport. And then the real bomb hits. There on Page 9 was an image of Carl, the same Carl that Ellis had been eating lunch with just a short time before. He begins to read, and his eyes go wide.

KNOCK, KNOCK!

The short, sharp raps of two knocks come at the door, and Ellis’s attention is torn from the pages. He closes the folder and looks to the door, tensing up as he does so. For a moment he thinks, say nothing, let them think you’re asleep, but then his sense of duty takes over and he calls out, “Yes?”

“Ellis, it’s me.”

Carl, Ellis thinks and he slides the folder under a small stack of magazines, TIME and LIFE mostly, but a few Popular Mechanics. Then he goes to the door. He stands there for a moment, wondering what to do. Then he opens it.

“I’ve got that report,” Carl says, holding up a manila envelope, “the one mentioning Donlon. Thought the way your mind is racin’ you might like to see it, you know, before you hit the hay.”

He nods at Ellis’s bed as he says that last, and Ellis nods back. “Yes, yes… I do, come in… have a seat.”

Carl comes in, handing over the envelope as he does so. “Pretty dry stuff that ol’ Herres is sendin’ our way,” he says as he closes the door behind him, and — making sure Ellis isn’t watching — locks it too. Then he moves into the room to give Ellis some space.

“Usually is,” Ellis says as he flips over the top cover of the envelope and begins scanning the pages inside. For the most part it looks to be diagrams of bases, and looking at their names, Ellis quickly determines that each has a tube station beneath it. He continues to flip the pages, scanning headlines and passing over numbers. He’s just about to ask Carl what he thinks when his friend speaks up instead.

“Hey!” Carl shouts out, and Ellis tenses up, turns back to look at him. “Did you read the article about high speed photometers in this February issue of Popular Mechanics?” he asks, reaching for the magazine. Ellis’s heart skips a beat, but he can’t make himself call out. “Here, let me show you… hey, what’s this.” As Carl begins to turn back around, Ellis doesn’t need to look to know what’ll be in his friend’s hand. He does anyway, and sees the white folder marked ‘Lab Results.’

“What’s this?” Carl asks, looking from the folder to Ellis.

“It’s nothing, Carl, just…”

Ellis trails-off as Carl puts the folder back down on the desk, slowly and with a sigh. After that he crosses his arms, looks down at the floor and begins to shake his head.

“Oh, Ellis, Ellis, Ellis… what ever are we gonna do with you?”

Ellis’s eyes narrow in doubt and confusion, but he says nothing.

Carl looks back up at the Dutchman. “How long have you known, Ellis?”

“Known what?”