Free Groom Lake by Bryan O

and Papoose.”
    Chills ran up the congressman’s spine. Until now everything they knew about Papoose Lake was based on rumors, secondhand testimonies and theories derived from studying manipulated budget allocations. “How could you wait to tell me good news like that?”
    “It’s bittersweet. There were some security problems. Val wasn’t close enough to analyze the craft in detail.”
    “Security problems? Didn’t the Bio Suit work?”
    “The suit worked, but it’s untested. The security in Papoose was greater than Val had anticipated. He had to move slowly, test the suit and learn the land as he went. To make matters worse, a trespasser was in the area jeopardizing his position. Val tripped a motion sensor, which led to her capture, but in the commotion he was unable to film the craft.”
    “Her? Who was the trespasser?” the congressman asked.
    “There’s no trace of an apprehension. He has some photos, but not detailed. She’s Asian, maybe Chinese. Maybe a spy. Don’t know.”
    “If they can keep an entire base secret, hiding the apprehension of a trespasser is nothing,” the congressman said. “I don’t imagine she’s the first person caught out there. For now we shouldn’t be concerned unless it’s our man.” He had hoped just one undercover mission would be necessary. Even with the sophisticated life support and surveillance equipment they provided for their agent, forcing a man to trek around the Nevada desert for two weeks at a time was perilous. “You’ve got to send him back,” he continued. “Especially now that we know there’s something to film.”
    “I know. We’re going to Joshua Tree this Friday to run more tests on the equipment. I want him to rest another week after that before returning.”
    “You ever hear of gravity anomalies?” the congressman asked.
    “No.”
    “They’re changes in density below the surface that affect the gravitational pull above ground. Oil companies measure them to find new drilling sites.”
    Grason understood the congressman’s angle. “Sounds like they could pinpoint an underground base.”
    “That’s what I’m thinking. There are a variety of ways to measure. Our best option is through one of several European companies that run satellite observation programs; check it out.”
    “I was thinking the other day,” Grason said, “an outsider might not view Operation Patriot any differently than the other black programs.”
    “Are you having second thoughts about our intentions?”
    “No, but they may be ambiguous in certain circles.”
    “That’s why I use my own money. I’m not in bed with any outside interests. But that’s enough talk about getting caught. Let’s get what we need and move on before they know who we are.”
    “I’m working at it,” Grason told him.
    “Do you need me to do anything?”
    “Try doing nothing for a while—let me handle things.” Grason admired his friend’s passion and his ability to muster the same passion in others, but he feared the ramifications if those passions were not contained. The people they investigated had remained invisible for decades. How they handled probing outsiders was unknown, and he didn’t care to find out.
    “I read the other day about another Mars probe,” the congressman said. “We had the means to send probes twenty years ago. I’ve got a suspicion that whatever is hidden below the desert will show that our space program didn’t stop with the shuttle.”

CHAPTER 12
    Damien Owens lived a reclusive life as an elite intelligence agent. He preferred thinking to talking, so the fact he had no friends outside work was not a problem, but a preference. His psychological traits helped qualify him for his unique position in the intelligence community.
    In 1966, Owens became a member of the Navy’s Seal Team One based in Coronado, California, where he underwent extensive training that prepared him for the war in Vietnam. Dehumanization of the enemy was a technique