Sleeping Gods Page 6

  * * *

  They found Donald Menzel waiting for them upon their return to the admiral’s suite.

  Borman turned to Lieutenant Packer, the ship’s officer assigned to escort them through the bowels of the Yorktown so they didn’t get lost. “We’ll be fine now, Lieutenant, thank you. I think Dr Menzel would like a quiet word.”

  Packer saluted. “There’ll be a man just outside in the corridor. If you need anything, you only need to ask.”

  “Much appreciated, thank you.”

  Packer closed the door behind him. It was thick enough to ensure they would not be overheard.

  “I took a look at your report,” said Borman. “Can’t say I think too highly of its methodology.”

  Menzel frowned. “Really? How so?”

  “Let’s just stop playing games, shall we doctor? You and I both know that report was a foregone conclusion from the moment Condon’s group of scientists was drafted by the Air Force. Either they’re lousy researchers or they agreed to toe the line, but either way that report is nothing less than an orchestrated disinformation campaign.”

  “Well of course I disagree with you entirely, but you seem to be quite determined in your position so I won’t attempt to talk you out of it,” said Menzel.

  Borman suspected this was as close as Menzel would come to openly agreeing with him.

  “Let me ask you this,” said Menzel. “Would it really be in the US Government’s best interests to have Apollo astronauts talking about visitors from outer space when so many of your brothers in arms are fighting and dying in Vietnam?”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” said Anders.

  “Then let me be blunt. You’re military men, all of you. If any of you were grounded by NASA, in theory there would be nothing to prevent your reassignment overseas. Do you think anyone at the Binh Thuy Air Base in South Vietnam will care about your stories of bogeys and space visitors?”

  “That’s an awfully big stick to wave around,” said Lovell. “You ought to be sure you can back it up.”

  “Oh I’m sure,” said Menzel.

  “I really don’t think you are,” said Anders. “It’s not such a good look… the men who risked their lives to fly to the Moon getting shunted off to the front line in Vietnam. Sounds like a PR disaster to me.”

  “Who said I was talking about any of you? There are more than 60 men in the astronaut program. NASA doesn’t need all of you. Hell, a bunch of you have already been grounded for one reason or another.”

  Anders clenched his fists, but decided to walk away without responding.

  “You men are heroes. You’re an inspiration to the nation — to the whole world,” said Menzel. “But you should never forget: half a world away your brothers are dying in the thousands in defence of their country.”

  “I’ve been there already. I fought for my country,” said Lovell.

  “Jim — don’t,” Borman warned.

  “What? He sits there and smugly suggests we’re dodging the war effort by joining the space program? That’s horse shit.”

  “That’s not what I said at all,” said Menzel.

  “All right, all right. Jim, why don’t you and Bill go make a cup of coffee.”

  Lovell marched toward the galley in the next room. Borman looked squarely at Menzel, who appeared unrepentant and unmoved. He wondered if the man had any idea at how close he had just come to having his teeth knocked out by an astronaut. “Give me a second,” he said, then followed Lovell into the next room.

  Jim was still steaming. “That guy has one helluva nerve talking to us like that.”

  “He’s bluffing,” said Anders. “No-one would be stupid enough to send an astronaut off to war.”

  Borman raised an eyebrow. “Has it occurred to either of you that he feels free to talk to us this way because he really does wield some serious power? Look, leave him to me. I’ll sort this out.” He picked up the Condon committee report from under his bunk, returned with it to the conference room and placed it on the table in front of Menzel.

  “You’ve got more of a problem than you may realise,” said Borman.

  “Sit down, Frank.”

  Menzel touched the top of the seat next to him. Borman pulled it out and sat down.

  “What problem is that exactly?”

  “I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess you know we saw something up there on the far side of the Moon.”

  Menzel’s eyes lit up for just a moment, but he said nothing.

  “It’s all right,” said Borman, “I don’t expect you to openly confirm it, though I’ve got to say your poker face needs some work.”

  “Go on,” said Menzel.

  “We’re going to be sending more men to the Moon. A whole lot more. It’ll take us at least two more lunar orbital missions to get to the surface and we’re not just going to stop at one landing. We’re going to keep going back and maybe even one day build a base there.”

  “Your point being?”

  “Whatever it was we saw up there was not of human origin. It wasn’t the Russians, it wasn’t some rogue satellite. It was an intelligently controlled spacecraft with capabilities way beyond our wildest dreams. And they’re out there on the far side of the Moon. It looked a lot to us like they might be living up there. Now unless you want some over-eager astronaut inadvertently telling the world all about it, you’re going to have to brief each and every crew member of future Apollo missions on what they can expect to see.”

  Menzel thought about it for a minute. “You’re right.”

  “You can read them all the riot act like you’ve just done with Bill and Jim, but don’t be surprised if you get a similar reaction each time. These guys are the best of the best. They are members of the most exclusive club you could imagine. You’ll never stop them talking amongst themselves behind closed doors. They’re facing the threat of life and death every day. Their lives are already on the line. Threats are simply not going to get the job done.”

  Menzel nodded. “I hear what you’re saying. I appreciate your candour.”

  He turned around and saw neither Anders nor Lovell were in earshot.

  “Now there is something I’d like to show you. Do you have a few minutes?”

  Borman wasn’t sure what he was getting at. “I suppose so.”

  Menzel placed a small metal device on the table in front of them.

  “Do you have the camera on you?” said Menzel.

  Borman was caught off guard.

  Menzel smiled. “Poker face, Colonel. It’s all right. I’ll assume the answer’s yes. You don’t need to respond.”

  Borman stared at the scientist, then at the strange device on the table between them, trying to fathom what the man was up to. Menzel placed his hand on Borman’s arm, then flicked a knob on the device. The world around them immediately took on a strange shimmer, as if the air had become super-heated.

  “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.”

  Borman looked into the priest’s eyes. What he asked could be regarded in some circles as an act of treachery. It was certainly more than enough to justify his dishonourable discharge from the Air Force.

  It was a long way down from national hero to universal disgrace, although he suspected it would never happen — that would reflect too poorly on the space program, right at the moment America was closer than ever to landing the first men on the Moon.

  But men, it seemed, would not be alone up there.

  “What do we know about them?” Borman asked.

  “There is a dialogue of sorts between ourselves and the Anunnaki,” said Paulson. “This is where my involvement with Verus might become a little clearer for you. The Anunnaki have a liaison who is based inside the Vatican. Being the most enduring of human institutions of the past two millennia, they saw Vatican City as the most strategic place to work from.”

  Borman looked at Menzel. “Meaning the intelligence community is forced to negotiate with the Catholic Church on matters of the utmost secrecy.”

  “Secrecy has never been a problem for the Vatican,” Paulson assured him. “It is very much in the inter
ests of the Church to keep a lid on the Anunnaki presence.”

  “You’re confident they represent no threat to the planet?”

  “The Earth is their home too,” Menzel said. “They’ve been here for thousands of years. If there is a point in time when one must assume a migrant to be naturalised, the Anunnaki passed it a long time ago.”

  “They have a particular connection with Earth history you of all people will appreciate,” said Paulson. “They are mentioned in the Bible.”

  Borman’s eyes widened and he examined the priest’s eyes closely for signs of a lie.

  “Mentioned where?”

  “In the Old Testament, of course. In a number of places — in Daniel and Jubilees they are called the Watchers. They’re also called the Nephilim.”

  “The Nephilim were fallen angels,” Borman recalled.

  “Angel is a very emotive word, Colonel,” Menzel replied. “One man’s angel is another man’s alien. But as those passages suggest, their presence on Earth was, in those days at least, openly acknowledged.”

  “There are those among the higher ranks of the clergy who believe the Nephilim might be closer to gods than angels,” said Paulson.

  Menzel rolled his eyes at the priest’s description. “Frank, you’ve no doubt heard mention of a missing link in anthropology — an undiscovered piece of humanity’s evolution absent from the fossil record that would link ancient man to homo sapiens. We believe the Anunnaki are that missing link.”

  Borman was incredulous. “How does that work?”

  “Cross-breeding,” said Menzel. “To quote the Old Testament: ‘The sons of the gods laying with the daughters of men’.”

  “In theological terms, one might go so far as to call them our Creators,” said Paulson.

  Borman didn’t know what to say. It was enough to make him — indeed anyone — question their most fundamental beliefs. This was a revelation so immense it had the capacity to bring about a paradigm shift in modern civilisation. Wars had been fought over less.

  No wonder the Catholic Church was happy to keep it a secret.

  Borman stared hard at Clarence Paulson. “If what you say is true, surely you are the last man I should trust with my photographs. The Vatican would never want them to see the light of day. If the Anunnaki are gods, as you put it, the Church is little more than an empty vessel.”

  Paulson nodded, as if in agreement. “Which is why I operate at arm’s length from the Vatican. The Church has no authority inside the Verus Foundation.”

  “I only have your word on that.”

  “No, you have mine as well,” said Menzel. “And believe me, I have no interest in preserving the Christian myth.”

  Borman shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He found Menzel both arrogant and offensive. But he also knew he must find a way to keep his personal feelings at a distance and think like a military man.

  He pondered the value of the photographs from an intelligence perspective. On their own, they would not reveal much. The astronauts’ observations would offer a much more useful insight into the capabilities of the Anunnaki spacecraft. The photographic evidence would merely confirm their sighting. Photographic analysis might offer something more useful, but the existence of the alien craft itself was obviously no great surprise.

  “If the Verus Foundation is already operating inside the intelligence loop, why not simply request a copy of the photos?” Borman asked them.

  “That would seem an obvious solution, wouldn’t it?” said Menzel. “And if the various arms of US intelligence cooperated rather than competed with one another, it might even be possible. But the NSA and the CIA don’t trust one another, and neither has much faith in the competence of defence intelligence. The level of classification we’re talking about here also goes way beyond normal intelligence channels. Only a handful of people will be made aware of your photographs. To everyone outside that closed loop, they simply won’t exist.

  “How do you request access to something that doesn’t exist?”

  Once more, Gordon Cooper’s sighting sprang to mind. Borman could see his photos disappearing in just the same way. “What guarantee would I have you won’t use this against me, or that the photos will be leaked and my crew will take the blame?”

  Menzel leant forward in his chair. “The Verus Foundation is not completely autonomous. Any decision to publicly reveal anything from its archives must to be unilaterally agreed upon by the people in that closed loop I told you about.”

  “It’s the only way to ensure the foundation can continue to function,” said Paulson. “Any future release of information can never come from us. It must be attributed to a different source, most likely an arm of government.”

  “Or science,” Menzel added.

  “For the sake of credibility,” said Paulson.

  “Look around you,” said Menzel. “In this room, there are no secrets. Here and now I give you my word as a scientist and a patriot this photo will remain in the Verus archive for at least 50 years. Probably longer. However, from the moment we return to the Yorktown I shall never admit this discussion took place.”

  “This information changes everything,” said Borman. “What makes you think humanity will ever be ready to hear it? By what measure could anybody make that call? Surely the impact will be the same, whether you go public now or in 50 years.”

  “Computers are changing the world,” said Menzel. “There will come a day when information will spread so quickly that no intelligence service in the world will be able to stop it.”

  Borman wanted to trust them, but it was a big ask. “You’re with Navy intelligence,” he reminded Menzel. “I take it you realise this makes you complicit in an act of treason.”

  Menzel shook his head. “Treason is an action designed to deliberately threaten one’s own nation. This is no such thing. All the relevant people will still see your photographs. I am merely acting upon an opportunity to record a moment in human history that might otherwise get lost in a miasma of compartmentalised secrecy. No-one but Verus has the bigger picture in mind with this material.”

  It’s why Harry Truman set up the foundation alongside MJ-12 in the first place, thought Menzel.

  “This is about so much more than intelligence, it’s about the truth,” the astrophysicist continued. “One hundred years from now, don’t you want the world to look back and see what you three have seen up there?”

  Borman sighed. The man had a point. This might be one last risk he simply had to take.

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