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those phenomena himself in his flying days. “Up to and including the planet Venus, right?”
    “So they said. But even the brass wasn't convinced by Project Grudge, so they kick-started the investigation again in 1952, this time as Project Blue Book. They issued Regulation 200-2, which gave official instructions for reporting and investigating UFO sightings. Paragraph 9 states in no uncertain terms that information will be given to the public only for cases that have been positively explained and identified. Any sightings that couldn't be brushed aside remained classified.” He looked at Devlin with an indignant expression, as if he expected him to argue. “Who knows what's still lurking in their secret files?”
    Devlin knew better than to argue, especially after the alien lifepod he'd seen with his own eyes.
    “Project Blue Book fizzled due to lack of funding, lack of support… and lack of authority. The low-ranking officers in charge couldn't get the cooperation they needed, and so the group was officially disbanded in 1969.” Freeth leaned over until he was whispering in Devlin's ear. “But reports kept coming in, and the dusty old files contained so much evidence that only the most unimaginative and stubborn people refused to believe in extraterrestrials.”
    Devlin kept a straight face. “Don't over-estimate open minds, Mr. Freeth. People still insisted the Earth was flat for quite a few centuries after they should have known better.”
    The Sierras crouched before them in a line of rugged hills, brown-grass chaparral darkened with live oak and mesquite. Devlin took a left off the main highway while other drivers headed in a caravan toward Yosemite, or south to Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks.
    Freeth glanced over at the back of Devlin's head, as if looking for a small screw at the base of his neck. “I recently conducted a survey, Major Devlin. Ninety percent of Americans believe that extraterrestrial spacecraft are being kept at Area 51 in Nevada. The same percentage believes that a saucer crashed at Roswell, probably the most inept cover-up in U.S. history.”
    Devlin whipped around another curve, making Freeth swallow convulsively.
    “I've sold over a million copies of my video. That's domestic and international. People do want to believe. The government can't keep everything hidden from us, you know. No matter how hard you try.”
    Devlin gave him a tolerant smile. “I'm not trying to hide anything, Mr. Freeth. I'm taking you there, remember?”
    The expert clenched his hand over one knee; his freckled face yielded a suspicious frown. “Why exactly are you being friendly with me, Major Devlin?”
    “Just a friendly sort of guy, I guess.”
    Devlin turned onto a poorly marked county road and left the last remnants of rural traffic behind. Normally, he might have been concerned about giving away the route to the hidden Proteus Facility, but Arnold Freeth was paying no attention to the trip.
    Devlin had to reassess his opinion of the UFO expert. He was not just a gullible nerd who'd found his niche in life. He was a credulous firebrand—quick to believe assertions, and just as quick to defend his beliefs—but he wasn't unintelligent, and his passion was real. Devlin couldn't fault the guy for that.
    According to Freeth's dossier, he held a bachelor's degree in astronomy and another in sociology from the University of California at Berkeley. Freeth had published numerous articles and essays, some of them quite compelling to the open-minded; he'd been noticed in mainstream magazines as well as stacks of UFO tabloids.
    Freeth was an articulate speaker who delivered an intriguing lecture. His passion was enough to keep him circulating on an endless quest through Rotary Clubs and public libraries to deliver his message to anyone who would listen. And he had the energy for it.
    Devlin finally slowed as he found a gravel road that switchbacked up a granite mountainside. Pon-derosa pines clutched any