"Service advises that all roads are backed up solid," the chief of staff said. "They say it would take 'extraordinary measures' to clear the way for a motorcade. By that I think they mean bulldozers."
The president was already in a foul mood from having heard on CNN that he - and not the Secret Service - was "nervous" about flying over the marchers.
"Where does that leave us?"
"1 was thinking we might seize the opportunity and stay here for the weekend. Prep for the debate."
"I will not be a prisoner in my own house! Get me
Marine One.
I want my helicopter. Get a gunship escort if you have to."
"Now how's that going to look?"
"I don't care how it
looks'."
"I have an announcement." the press secretary told the reporters in the White House Press Room. "The president has a cold. He and the First Lady have decided to remain here for the weekend."
It was getting dark. Scrubbs had probed the entire perimeter of the backstage area. Short of digging a tunnel underneath, there was no way in.
He saw from the program that Kathy Carr. his other prize abductee, was going to sing the national anthem. Banion was scheduled to go on last. He had to get to him before he spoke. He studied the program.
Tall Nordic Singers? The program had a picture of them in their costumes.
He presented himself to a guard.
"I'm with the Tall Nordic Singers. 1 got separated at the bus station. Where are we supposed to change?"
The guard looked at his clipboard. "Tent F, that way."
Scrubbs found his way to a large tent to the side of the stage area. It was outside the security perimeter, so he did not have to present a pass. He took a deep breath and went in. About fifty people were inside, some of them already wearing their Tall Nordic outfits, consisting of silvery body stockings and face masks with almond eyes, gilled ears. It was a look Scrubbs knew well. He had worn this uniform himself years back, when he was just starting out.
He looked for someone approximately his size who hadn't yet changed into his costume. He found one, circled him a few times until he was able to read the name on his pass, then approached.
"You Rob Farbert?"
"Yeah?"
"You got a phone call." "I do?"
"They said it's urgent, something about a fire at your home. Phone's at the Commo desk, all the way the other side of the stage." "My God!" He ran off. "Don't mention it."
Scrubbs scooped up Rob Farbert's changing bag and made his way out the opposite end of the tent.
"Senator Gracklesen, line two," Elspeth announced. "Hello, Hank. Did you just look out your window?" "Jack, let's just start over." "Little late for that. My speech is already written."
"We can work together on this. Put our heads together. Reach some kind of consensus. I hadn't realized the extent of this abduction phenomenon, in terms of the sheer numbers."
"So I can go ahead and announce tonight that we have your promise - let's make that solemn promise - to hold hearings? Right away?"
Banion heard senatorial dry-swallowing.
"I can't have it sound like 1 just caved to pressure. That wouldn't work for either of us." "It would for me."
"Let's let this evolve. Gradually. You and I, we sit down, talk it over, give the press to understand that we're getting closer and closer to an understanding, then announce an exploratory review . . ."
"And then do nothing. By which time my people have all gone home. No, I don't think so."
"I'm trying to meet you halfway, Jack."
"I'll go with my speech the way it is now. Then we'll see what evolves."
"What are you going to say?" the senator asked nervously.
"Let's see . . . hm . . . hm . . .
hm."
"What?"
"I'm not sure you want to hear this, Hank. It's kind of
harsh."
"Jack, we go back a long ways -"
"Course, it's only a speech. Still, you might want to leave the country for a while. Go to South America. Have some plastic surgery, change your name . . ."
"It's against the law to incite violence, especially against federal officials."
"I'm well aware of it. But some of my people are little excitable, and when they hear that one senator in particular despises them and holds them beneath contempt - who knows what they might do. But there's nothing in my speech that specifically urges them to make your life a living hell."
'All right, you got your damn hearings."
"Why, thank you, Hank. Mighty democratic of you."
"But I want to hear you say loud and clear in your speech that we worked it out amicably, or it's no deal. 1 don't want any of your freaks coming after me."
"I don't see a problem. I've always been a process guy. Would you like to attend the speech? I'll get you a seat in the VIP section, you want."
"No thank you." Senator Gracklesen slammed down the phone.
Scrubbs's tall Nordic singer costume was a pretty good fit, if a bit tight in the crotch. He made sure to stick close to the other costumed Tall Nordics. Through his mask he could see the hapless Rob Farbert looking in vain for his purloined duffel.
"My bag. Has anyone seen my bag?" he cried. At one point he looked directly at Scrubbs. Scrubbs shrugged.
Finally a marshal appeared to lead them inside the perimeter to the backstage area. Scrubbs kept close to the other singers.
Damn. The guard was checking passes at the rope.
"Where's your pass?" he asked Scrubbs.
"Huh?"
"Your pass. I need to see your pass."
"Oh, gee, I had it right here."
"You can't go in without a pass."
A marshal appeared. "He's okay, he's with the singers."
Scrubbs was in.
Banion was making his final changes to his speech when a guard rapped on his door.
"It's one of the Tall Nordic Singe
rs. Says he needs to speak with
you."
"What does he want?"
"He says it's real important."
"Tell him I'll see him afterwards."
"Says it can't wait."
"Oh yes it can."
Banion went back to his speech. A moment later he heard shouting, the sounds of a scuffle.
He went and opened the door. Two guards had one of the Tall Nordic Singers pinned up against the curved side of the saucer with their batons. They looked ready to administer earnest bastinadoes.
"What's going on?" Banion demanded.
"Mr. Banion," said the Tall Nordic Singer, "I really, really have to speak to you."
"This better be important," Banion said, motioning the guards to release their prisoner.
They were alone inside the trailer. "Well?"
Scrubbs peeled off his Tall Nordic face mask. "I'm the one who abducted you."
"What do you mean?" Banion said with annoyance.
"The golf course, the speech in Palm Springs. That was me. Us. I work for a government agency called MJ-Twelve. It's a covert program to promote belief in UFO's so's to keep up military and space funding."
Banion stared. Scrubbs felt somewhat ridiculous standing there in his silver bodysuit.
"Go
away,"
Banion said. He turned back to his speech.
"You've got to believe me."
"Will you go sing, please? There are three million people out there. Get a grip, man. This is no time to lose it."
"'You like be on my TV show?'" Banion stood still.
"What you said in the saucer in Palm Springs. Those weren't aliens, Mr. Banion, and that wasn't a flying saucer any more than this thing we're standing in is."
Banion's face went as slack as ebb tide. He had never, for obvious purposes of dignity, told anyone about his desperate attempt, in a moment of extremis, to try to mollify the aliens with the offer of a guest slot on
Sunday.
Whoever this man was, he
..
. knew something that no one else did.
"Not a flying saucer?"
"No sir. It was a model. Kind of like this.
I
see you took some decorating clues."
"Not
aliens?"
"Costumes. Like this thing I'm wearing. The aliens are humans. They work for me. We call them baggers. You got bagged. Twice. Sorry about that."
"Sony?"
"Yeah, see, it wasn't authorized. I sort of did it on my own. I see you've got Kathy Carr on the program singing the anthem. She was one of mine, too. You all right, sir? Do you need a drink of water or something?"
Banion was croaking. Scrubbs decided he might as well tell him everything while he was in a state of shock.
"MJ-Twelve, Majestic Twelve, Majic. I don't really know too much about it - which is the whole idea, it's compartmentalized for security reasons - but it was set up during the Cold War to convince the Russians we knew about UFO's. Then one thing led to another, and it became sort of a tool for fund-raising, you might say - military, space budgets, the whole nine yards. The sightings, abductions, what have you, that's all us. There's a computer somewhere that generates names of people to abduct. Obviously, you don't want to snatch people too prominent, like yourself. I decided more or less on my own to grab you. It was sort of a protest, you might say. Not such a great idea, huh? Anyway. MJ-Twelve wasn't happy about it, and they tried to. well, kill me. basically. Only now they're telling me it wasn't them, it was some other secret government agency that did it. Which is bullshit, of course. To be honest, I really don't know
who's
trying to kill me. Someone is. But the reason I need to tell you all this is . . . You with me, Mr. Banion?"
Banion was staring at Scrubbs.
"...
is that you're now in danger yourself." Scrubbs chuckled. "I mean, I gotta hand it to you, sir, you really ran with this ball. I'm downright proud of you. Three million people. That's impressive. But now you've got them shitting bricks. This is just way too much UFO belief. So unless you cool it. right away, they're going to take you out of the picture. I figured I owed you that much, to tell you. Can I get you something? Mr. Banion? Sir?"
He heard a voice, summoning him back to the surface.
"Mr. Banion? Don't crap out on me now. There you go. Breathe into the bag. Deep breaths. That's it.
.."
Banion shoved away the paper bag that Scrubbs was holding to his mouth.
"What. . . ?"
"You fainted. Don't be embarrassed. I'd have done the exact same thing, it was me."
Banion blinked up at the ceiling. He took stock. He was lying on the floor. He sat up, groped his way to the chair.
"This . . .
grotesque
story you have just told me," he said. "It's
true!"
"I'm afraid so."
"You wrecked my life. And you didn't even have
permission!"
"I was going through a bad patch. Personally speaking." 'And now this, this, this agency is going to kill me?" There was a knock on the door. The stage manager put his head in. "Fifteen minutes, Mr. Banion."
'And you're telling me all this . . .
now!"
"I realize the timing's a little awkward. But it wasn't easy getting to you. I could have telephoned, but I wasn't sure I'd get through. Plus, I figured you'd want to hear this in person."
Banion was staring like a tranquilized mental patient. Interesting thoughts were going through his mind.
"Three million people are waiting for me to speak to them."
"Quite some crowd. I understand the biggest ever. Helluva job you did."
"I wasn't looking for a compliment. What am I supposed to tell them? That their whole world, their entire cosmology, everything they believe in, is a total fraud?"
"Kind of like finding out about Santa Claus. huh?"
"It is fucking well
not
like finding out about Santa Claus! It is fucking well on an entire different
order
of disillusionment than finding out about
Santa Claus!’
"Maybe you shouldn't be shouting so soon after fainting. Let's focus on the practical problem first, then we can deal with your feelings of anger, which are understandable."
Banion felt another tingling under his scalp, the presentiment of oxygen saying ta-ta to the brain. He put his head between his legs and took deep breaths.
"I'll expose you," he gasped. "I'll tell the world. You'll go to prison. You'll -"
"Let's talk about that. You could get up there and say, 'Okay, people, it's all a fake, it's the government.' Fine. But one. you're going to have three million extremely confused people on your hands. Who could turn very angry on you. Two, how are you going to prove it? By pointing to me? While I was on the run, I got arrested for trying to beat the bill at a fleabag hotel. MJ-Twelve can make me look like a total flake. My credibility rating is zero. Three, you've worked hard to get this kind of following - three million people. Is this any time to be telling them, 'Never mind, go home'? We're up against the U.S. government. Three million people could come in very handy."