The Rogue

A hot, summer night. New Mexico. July 8, 1947. A black limousine sits dark and idling on the opposite side of a security fence at the end of a runway, along the exterior perimeter of a military base.

A tall, slender, shadowed figure glides stealthily out of the darkness toward the limousine, as if carried along by a light breeze and with purpose. Possibly a man, but with the grace of a woman, the figure sports a black “gangster”-style suit and a white fedora, and carries a black briefcase handcuffed to one wrist. The rear door to the limousine is opened from within, the figure slips inside and the door closes.

The dim glow of the interior lights illuminates the figure’s smooth, ghostly-pale complexion and androgynous appearance, which leans more toward the masculine side. Jet-black eyes contrast the figure’s seemingly ageless, aristocratic appearance.

“Colonel Gusev, I presume?” the figure questions the man sitting across from him. His tone is cold and devoid of all emotion and subtle nuance. Almost monotone.

Colonel Gusev, clad in a business suit, nods. He wipes beads of sweat from his deeply creased forehead, which, along with sagging jowls, betrays his age.

“Agent Zahn?” Gusev asks with a stern, heavy Russian accent. His demeanor a by-product of his decades in service to the Soviet military machine.

Zahn nods, lights a Cuban cigar and offers one to the colonel, who declines. Zahn shrugs and eyes a folded copy of the Roswell Daily Record resting on Gusev’s lap. Gusev notices and taps the paper several times with one finger. The main headline reads: “RAAF Captures Flying Saucer On Ranch in Roswell Region”.

“My superiors will be quite pleased if you can deliver what you have promised. I trust that you can?” Gusev asks.

“Yes, I can deliver, Colonel.”

“And the price? It satisfies you?”

“We must talk about the price.”

Gusev becomes angered. “We had an agreement, Zahn.”

Zahn partakes of the limousine’s mini-bar and pours himself a cognac. “I’ve grown accustomed to the finer things this world has to offer, Colonel. And what you’re asking me to do comes with a price of its own. The consequences can be fatal.”

Gusev eyes Zahn bitterly, then nods once. “We half-expected this.”

“I’m happy to have not disappointed you.”

“How much more do you want?”

Zahn shakes his head. “No, Colonel. The question is, how much more are you prepared to offer?”

“Double. Twenty-thousand dollars.”

In a brief moment of apparent delight, Zahn’s eyes widen. “Now, that, I didn’t expect. I’ll contact you for the exchange once I have the unit.”

Gusev nods. Zahn raises his glass and drinks. He then exits the car and disappears into the night as casually as he arrived.

Gusev’s attention is drawn to the divider between the passenger cabin and driver’s cabin as it lowers. He suddenly looks confused as he sees familiar-looking jet-black eyes staring back at him in the rearview.

-----

Zahn strolls casually out of the darkness and approaches the guardhouse at the main gate of the Roswell Army Air Field.

The guard on duty jumps into action. “Halt! Identify yourself!”

Zahn displays a picture-less ID badge, which simply reads: “AZ-MIB1138”.

The guard takes the badge and stands down. He removes a small, black, but otherwise non-descript, notebook from a safe and writes down Zahn’s badge number, along with the date and time. The entry is one in a long list of many similar entries filling several pages. The guard returns the badge to Zahn and allows him to pass.

-----

Two soldiers standing guard at the entrance to a large airplane hangar ready their weapons as Zahn approaches. He flashes his badge and they allow him to enter.

Once inside, Zahn slowly scans the empty hangar with scrutinizing eyes. Unconcerned, he turns to leave when a rat scurries by his feet. When it is halfway across the hangar, the rat vanishes from head-to-tail. After a moment, it reappears on the other side of the hangar, head-to-tail.

Zahn follows the rat’s path and vanishes at the same point where the rat disappeared.

-----

Standing in the center of the hangar, Zahn is unmoved by the sight of an extremely large, damaged flying saucer that rests on the floor in front of him. The air surrounding him and the saucer ripples like pond water in a high wind – the effect of a cloaking shield.

Zahn releases the briefcase from the cuffs securing it to his wrist and opens it. To one side of the interior is an empty compartment. To the other is a computerized panel displaying keys with hieroglyphic symbols. He swiftly taps a few keys, a section of the saucer opens and he enters.

-----

The saucer’s control center is alive with the humming of a circular bank of computers. Above the computers, a holographic sphere flashes hieroglyphic symbols and mathematical equations that appear more complicated than anything Albert Einstein could have ever imagined.

As if he has done it many times before, Zahn instinctively presses keys on one of the computer bank’s touch screens. A compartment next to the screen opens and he proceeds to remove a smooth, metallic object that is about the same size and shape of a small toaster. The computer bank’s central processing unit; it’s “main brain”.

The humming of the computers ceases and the holographic sphere fades out.

-----

The cloaking shield surrounding the saucer dissipates and it becomes visible.

-----

Still in the saucer’s control center, Zahn carefully places the processing unit in the empty compartment of the briefcase. The adjacent computer panel flashes a variety of hieroglyphic symbols and mathematical formulas as it links to the processing unit. Zahn closes the briefcase and re-secures it to his wrist.

-----

Exiting the saucer, Zahn stops dead in his tracks. Parked just inside the hangar entrance is Gusev’s limousine.

The driver’s door opens and Agent Prol gets out. Physically, Prol appears to be an exact copy of Zahn, but wears a black business suit and black fedora.

“Agent Prol, we meet again,” Zahn acknowledges his counterpart, and tips his hat. “I find your master sleuthing skills to be impressive.”

Prol responds in the same monotonic voice as Zahn, “We cannot allow this, Zahn.”

The limousine’s rear doors open. Three more agents get out. All look like exact copies of Zahn, and all are dressed like Prol. They take up positions behind Prol and stand in silence.

Prol continues to confront Zahn. “Look at yourself. You’ve succumbed to the so-called pleasurable trappings of this primitive civilization.”

“I have, and I enjoy them,” Zahn says, nonchalantly and with a hint of a smirk. “I make no apologies.”

“You betray the four precepts of the mission: Infiltration…”

The other three agents respond in order, one at a time, in the same monotonic voice as Zahn and Prol:

“Deception…”

“Manipulation…”

“Domination.”

Prol turns to the three agents behind him and nods once.

Two of the agents assist Gusev out of the limousine and retain their hold on him. He appears nervous and confused at first and then becomes enraged at the sight of Zahn.

“Zahn?! What is this?! We had an agreement!”

“And we have a plan, Colonel,” Prol answers before Zahn can respond. “Your own government’s time will come.”

Prol nods again. The agent not assisting with keeping Gusev at bay pulls a small chrome device, similar-looking to a penlight flashlight, from his pants pocket. He aims it at Gusev, whose rage quickly turns to fear. Gusev struggles briefly to free himself from the clutches of the two agents holding him in their grasp.

Prol nods yet again. The two agents release their hold on Gusev, who runs frantically toward the hangar entrance. The third agent presses a button on the device and a high-intensity beam of white light is silently emitted. The beam strikes Gusev, who is instantly vaporized.

Prol holds out a hand toward Zahn. “The briefcase.”

“Agent Prol,” Zahn begins, almost sarcastically, lighting a Cuban cigar. “You don’t expect me to just turn myself in, do you? I thought you knew me better than that.”

Prol nods to the agent holding the vaporizer. The agent points the weapon in Zahn’s direction.

“I make no apologies,” Zahn says, as he drags off the cigar and blows smoke in the face of Prol, who is unaffected.

Zahn presses a button on the handle of the briefcase just as the agent fires the vaporizer. Zahn vanishes. The weapon’s deadly beam travels harmlessly to the far side of the hangar and is absorbed into the wall.

-----

An Army flatbed transport truck leaves the RAAF base, its payload covered with camouflaged tarps.

A major and Prol watch as it rolls past the main entrance guardhouse.

“Where are they taking it, Major?” Prol asks.

“A new facility called Area 51. After the breach last night, we can’t afford to take any more chances. Come with me.”

Prol follows the major to the guardhouse, where the major removes the black notebook from the safe. He strikes a match, touches off the notebook and drops it into a wastebasket where it is consumed by flames.

The major turns to Prol. “My superiors are not happy about the missing item. I trust you will get it back sooner rather than later?”

Prol nods once.

-----

July 9, 1947. The hustle and bustle of downtown Roswell, New Mexico.

Pedestrians pass back and forth in front of a newspaper dispenser, which displays the day’s edition of the Roswell Daily Record.

The main headline reads: “Disk Craze Continues.”

A sub-headline beneath it reads: “Army Disk-ounts New Mexico Find As Weather Gear”.