“Now, Colonel, can I ask you to stand up?”
Borman pushed out his chair and rose to his feet. By the time he was upright, the scene around him had changed completely. The shock of it sent his head spinning, such that Menzel had to hold him by the arm to keep him from falling to the ground.
“What just happened?” Borman demanded.
The floor beneath his feet was concrete. He felt no vibration, no movement. His senses told him they were no longer on the Yorktown, yet that was a physical impossibility. Unless Menzel had somehow drugged him and he had blacked out. But that wouldn’t explain the sensation of standing up and instantly shifting locations. He hadn’t lost consciousness, and he was as confident as anyone might be in such a situation that he hadn’t lost his mind.
“You have just moved through a space-time gateway. Though such a device must seem impossible to you, I can assure you the technology is very real and that far from your eyes deceiving you, you have in actuality been transported across a vast distance in a fraction of a second.”
Menzel suddenly seemed menacing.
“Why am I here, doctor?”
The question was answered by another man from somewhere behind him.
“You are here, Colonel Borman, because we have a proposition for you.”
Borman turned to find a tall, bearded man, mid 30s, casually dressed. He held out his hand.
“My name is Clarence Paulson.”
Borman ignored the handshake option. “Kidnapping a member of the US Air Force is an act of treason. This little stunt could earn you both a death sentence.”
Paulson laughed lightly. “They’d have to find us first.”
Borman found nothing amusing in his response.
“Relax, Colonel, I’m joking. We’re not kidnapping you. We have every intention of returning you to the Yorktown in a few minutes.”
“I’d like to go back there right now.”
“Please Frank,” said Menzel, “just listen for a minute, will you? I said I had something to show you and you agreed. How could I possibly have explained what happened next? You would have thought I was insane.”
Borman smiled humourlessly. “Try to imagine what I’m thinking now.”
Paulson pointed to a makeshift lounge area. “Please, have a seat, Colonel. We won’t keep you long, I promise. Let me explain.”
Borman was unmoved.
“I understand you are reluctant to accept Dr Menzel’s explanation for the scientific rejection of unidentified craft as a serious field of study. It might interest you to know I have just finished reading a classified report compiled for the RAND Corporation that reaches a very different conclusion. It found a number of sightings almost certainly fall into the extraterrestrial category and that more serious attention along the lines of Project Blue Book is most certainly warranted. Now, will you sit down for a minute? Please?
Borman found himself walking toward the lounge, if only because his head was still spinning and he really needed to sit down to get his bearings.
“Who are you people?”
Paulson sat down beside him. “It might surprise you to learn that I am a representative of the Vatican. I am what they call a papal nuncio, a diplomatic representative of the Holy See. I am permanently attached to an organisation known as the Verus Foundation — verus being a Latin word for truth.”
Borman chuckled and pointed at Donald Menzel, who was sitting opposite. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This man has done nothing but dance around the truth from the moment we met.”
“Dr Menzel is not a member of Verus,” said Paulson. “I say that not to insult him, but to explain the difference in our positions. As the chief executive of the Verus Foundation, I offer you my personal word of honour that nothing I say to you now will be anything other than the unadorned truth.”
Though not himself a Catholic, Borman found he took some comfort in the idea that he was dealing with a man of God. “I’m listening.”
“Verus was set up at the behest of US president Harry S. Truman in 1947. From then until now it has remained at arm’s length from all government and outside control and is dedicated to building the complete and ultimate record of human history.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“History as we know it has always been slanted. As is often said, it’s written by the victors. But it is also obscured by the victors. Key facts are hidden, terrible secrets are buried forever. The job of Verus is to record everything: the good, the bad and the ugly if you will, for the future betterment of humankind.”
“How is that even possible?”
“We have many amazing tools at our disposal, such as the one that brought you here.”
“Why have I never heard of you?”
“Because the only way we can function effectively is to do so in the utmost secrecy. Much of what we have recorded remains too sensitive to be revealed to the world now. It is my fervent desire that one day in the very near future the human race will be mature enough, enlightened enough, for our work to be made public. Alas, now is not that time.”
“You’re right, Frank. I haven’t been honest with you,” said Menzel. “That’s the role I find myself in. An odd one for a scientist, I grant you, but I do it in the interests of national and international security.”
“You mean you’re seeking to advance US interests with alien technology,” said Borman.
“In a word, yes.”
“I have nothing to offer you in that regard.”
“Dr Menzel brought you here at my request,” said Paulson. “I have a proposition for you, in return for which I can offer to fill in some of the blanks. We are aware of the craft that Apollo 8 encountered on the far side of the Moon. We are also aware you were provided a Minox camera with which to capture an image of that craft. You have that camera with you now, do you not?”
Borman looked at one man and then the other. “I do.”
“The craft you photographed is a ship belonging to a race of people known as the Anunnaki. They have maintained a presence on our planet for several thousand years. They were known to the ancient Mesopotamians and even played an active role in government at that time. They gave us written language, civil order and advanced skills in agriculture. But around 2000BC, for reasons known only to themselves they chose to vanish from public view. Despite their invisibility, they remain here among us, to this very day. It is their base on the far side of the Moon over which you flew.”
Borman had no frame of reference for this information. It could merely be a work of fiction designed to placate his sense of curiosity, except somehow he knew beyond question that Paulson was telling the truth.
“What do you want from me?”
“It is really very simple. A request, not a demand. The choice is yours to make, but I ask you to give me the camera.”
“I can’t…”
“Before you say no, I’ll point out there is an easy and believable explanation for why you might return to Houston without the Minox in your possession. I understand splashdown was rather violent and wet. I imagine something as fragile and sensitive as a miniature camera could easily be destroyed in such an event. I can sense your horror and disappointment to find the camera smashed to pieces. You would, I think, feel more than justified in disposing of the evidence at sea. No risk then of anyone at NASA asking uncomfortable questions about contraband.”
“And what if I say no to you?”
“I am a man of my word, Colonel. If that is your choice, go now. Dr Menzel will return you and your camera to the Yorktown and we will never see one another again. But if you do so, you will never see the photos you took.”
“What… are you saying you’d send me a copy of the prints?”
“Not send. But we could certainly find a way to show them to you. At the same time, you would have the comfort of knowing they are safe and secure, and will one day be made available for all the world to see.”