“I think, if anything, they are probably better known than the president of the United States, as a result of television and their recent very great exposure for the whole world to see.
“It is my very great privilege today to welcome them not only here again to this house and this office, but to announce that Colonel Borman, his wife, and two sons are going to make a goodwill trip to Western Europe.”
A murmur of appreciation passes through the room.
“As Colonel Borman goes to Europe, he pointed out to me just a few minutes ago that his two colleagues have a mission here at home that they need to undertake and consequently will not be going with him.
“I should also point out that as he goes to Europe, he emphasizes a fact we often forget: that the knowledge which made possible these great discoveries is not limited to this nation; that it comes from the whole history of scientific discovery, and there is certainly no national monopoly on that kind of knowledge.”
2
After what feels like an eternity of glad-handing and pat responses to questions they’d answered a thousand times, the media call finally reaches its conclusion and the astronauts are able to follow the president out of the room.
Perhaps upset at being upstaged in his own theatre, Nixon vanishes back inside the Oval Office without another word, allowing several other nameless West Wing staff to scatter in various directions. Everyone bar Ziegler is out of sight behind closed doors in moments.
“Thanks for coming,” he tells them, “I think that went well.”
“Glad to do it,” says Borman.
Lovell says, “Always a privilege to visit the White House.”
“Again,” Anders adds, grinning.
Ziegler shakes their hands and points to a pair of burly Secret Service agents. “I’m told these boys will show you out. Thanks again.”
The agents begin politely, but firmly, herding them toward a side entrance, until a man they all recognize blocks their path. The smile on Dr Donald Menzel’s face appears genuine enough. “Good to see you gentlemen again.”
“Spotted any bogeys lately, doc?” Lovell asks.
“Nothing to write to Santa Claus about, Captain.”
Lovell grins. “That’s good, I like that.”
Such is Menzel’s oblique way of referring to the unidentified craft the Apollo 8 crew spotted on the far side of the Moon — something very few people know about. When they finally left lunar orbit to head for home, Borman had told Houston, “Please be informed there is a Santa Claus.”
Menzel grins back dismissively, then quickly turns to Borman. “Frank, do you have a minute?” The question is posed more like an order than a request.
Lovell raises an eyebrow. “Now I’m really interested.”
Borman says, “We were just on our way out.”
One of the Secret Service agents says, “It’s fine, Colonel. I think you two need to talk.”
Menzel says, “There, see? Afterwards, I can take you wherever you need to go.”
Borman can see the scientist isn’t going to take no for an answer. He turns to Anders and Lovell and tells them, “Go on ahead guys, I’ll catch up.”
They silently wave their goodbyes. The Secret Service agents split up, one escorting Lovell and Anders, the other remaining behind. Since being anointed the point man on all things unexplainable, Menzel has enjoyed the full cooperation of the Secret Service, an arrangement set in place by President Harry Truman and honored to this day. Though since Eisenhower left, every succeeding president has been kept in the dark about it.
Menzel waits for the other astronauts to disappear, before ushering Borman into a small windowless office to their right. The Secret Service man takes position outside the door.
The room is tastefully furnished with a drinks cabinet and a smallish conference table for meetings of up to eight people. Menzel closes the door behind them. There is a jug of water and two glasses in the middle of the table. Menzel sits down facing the door, placing a thin leather attaché case on the table in front of him. He holds out his arm, urging Borman to take a seat opposite.
“How have you been, Frank?”
Borman sits and pours himself a glass of water. “Busy.”
“So I’ve noticed. No rest for Time magazine’s Men of the Year, eh?”
A less confident man might be troubled by the undertone of mockery in Menzel’s remark. Borman ignores it. “We’ll be yesterday’s news soon enough. Once we get Neil and Buzz down in the Sea of Tranquility, nobody’s gonna be talking about Apollo 8.”
“No regrets about hanging up your space helmet?”
Borman smiles and slowly shakes his head. “I’ve done what I set out to do. We beat the Russians to the Moon.”
Menzel raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Was that truly your main motivation?”
“If it wasn’t for our burning desire to beat the commies, we wouldn’t be going at all. I just helped get it done by President Kennedy’s deadline.”
“Five years in the ground and Kennedy is still a man of his word,” says Menzel. “Of course, the fact that we threw twenty billion dollars at the problem helped things along, wouldn’t you say?” Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “Along with the bravery and ingenuity of everyone involved.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t call me in here to blow wind up my butt. Wouldn’t have anything to do with Mr Nixon’s job offer by any chance?”
The astrophysicist pulls a manila folder out of his attaché case. “You don’t want to be NASA administrator. Nixon is going to gut the place. Do you want to be remembered as the man who killed the space program?”
“You don’t mince words, do you Donald?”
“Look, I don’t for a moment think you are yesterday’s man, Frank. On the contrary, I think you are still very much a man of your time.” He opens the manila folder just far enough to check on what’s inside.
Borman is staring at the folder. “You here to talk to the president?”
“Good God, no,” says Menzel. “He doesn’t have the clearance to talk to me. I’m here to see you, Frank.”
When last they’d met, Menzel had revealed himself as the head of a shadowy group known as the Verus Foundation; keepers of the world’s greatest secrets, gathered together in one place for that moment in the future when they might be revealed. A group one step removed from official intelligence channels — outside of government, politics, and big business — solely dedicated to the preservation of one thing: the truth. Thus far, Menzel has given Borman no indication of when, if ever, Verus plans to reveal all.
For now, that dedication appears to be focused only upon keeping the truth hidden from public view. This is largely due to the power wielded by those within official military-industrial intelligence circles. These few are likewise privy to the secrets, but unwavering in their determination that they remain so permanently. Which, of course, is the very reason Verus is so important. Truman had reasoned that with secrets being compartmentalized into smaller and smaller parcels, each guarded jealously by a select few who never talk to one another, critical information could one day be lost forever. Or that it could never be fully understood in the proper context.
Verus is both memory and the context, jealously guarded by Menzel and his associates. While regarded with increasing degrees of antagonism by the military-industrial intelligence establishment, they remain autonomous and untouchable. They have the goods, as it were, on anybody who might wish them harm.
Before they blasted off to the Moon, Borman, Lovell, and Anders had been briefed on the possibility of seeing something strange on the far side. Colonel Wade Fallon, a crusty, laconic, and lethal plain-clothed defense intelligence man, had handed Borman a Minox spy camera and ordered him to photograph whatever they saw. They were the same rank, but Fallon had the drop on him by his clearance level. He clearly knew a lot more than he revealed to the astronauts.