Alien Agenda: Why They Came, Why They Stayed Page 8

  Jim opened the back door, waved, then went back inside the kitchen. He didn’t have to speak. Sister Fran, with the girl in tow, headed to the van. They passed the driver on his way into the house without speaking.

  The driver entered carrying a small toolbox and a plastic, five-gallon fuel tank. He was a clean-cut, well-built man, in his mid-thirties. He opened the toolbox and went to work.

  Before leaving Jim turned to make sure everything was on the kitchen table. His wallet, passport, credit cards, cell phone (sans SIM card), computer hard drive. and checkbook—basically his life waited to be consumed.

  Five minutes later, as the van accelerated onto the freeway, they heard distant sirens: fire trucks rushing to Jim’s flaming house. Jim sat buckled into the passenger seat. Sister Fran and the girl sat cross-legged on a futon that nearly filled the back of the van.

  The driver’s eyes nervously shot between the road and the rearview mirror. So far no one had spoken.

  “I don’t know about you,” Jim said, “but I’ve never done anything like this. I am about to mess my pants.”

  “Me too,” replied the driver.

  The driver seemed anxious but not scared shitless like Jim. Maybe he wasn’t so new to illegal, covert escapades.

  Watching the driver’s cool, blue eyes flick between the mirrors and the road ahead, Jim asked, “Why are you doing this?”

  “Why are you?” he shot back.

  “I asked first,” said Jim.

  “As I understand it, the less we know about each other the better.” The driver then added, “I have my reasons.”

  “You’re right,” Jim said, sitting back and trying to relax enough to reduce the nervous tension crawling along his spine like dark electricity.

  “I hope they don’t put the fire out,” Jim said, thinking about his identification on the kitchen table.

  “Not a chance,” the driver said as he changed lanes.

  The girl had fallen asleep. Sister Fran, if that was her name, looked at Jim with an almost-angelic, annoying, little smile. Jim needed a drink.

  The only thing Jim knew about the girl was her name, Melanie, and that he was involved in kidnapping her—from the federal government.

  The white van continued south on the freeway. The driver constantly watched his mirrors and cruised at the speed limit.

  A cell phone rang in the front seat.

  The driver looked in a shoe-box-sized carton and answered the ringing phone. After a few seconds he said, “Okay.”

  He removed the battery from the cell phone as he said, “In the passenger side seat pocket, there’s a road atlas. Tell me how to get to I-66. We are going to Huntsville, Alabama.”

  Jim read the directions to the driver then sat back. What’s in Huntsville? he wondered, closing his eyes and settling in for the eight-hour drive. His adrenalin level was too high to sleep, so he tried clearing his mind with breathing exercises. Instead his mind recalled the start of this adventure. It was hard to believe so much had changed in less than four months.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Genetics was a fairly new science in 1952. Truman knew almost nothing compared to what we know today. Part of what we know today is because Truman understood so little.

  Earlier I said this book is not about quantum physics. It is not about genetics either. My assignment to the Roswell Incident and subsequent documents is the only reason I know anything about these topics at all.

  A basic understanding of genetic mutations is essential to grasping the ramifications of Truman’s treaty.

  Between 1856 and 1863, Father Gregor Mendel grew peas, Pisum sativum to be exact. Born into a poor Austrian family, he was lucky enough to have attended and excelled in a local school. He could not afford university, so a teacher suggested he join the Augustine monks, who would pay for continued education. After graduating, he moved into a monastery and taught science and math to local students and neophytes.

  Soon after settling into a monk’s life, he obtained permission to use a portion of the monastery’s garden and began growing peas—lots of peas. Over the next seven years he planted, spliced, pollinated, cross-pollinated, and cataloged details for about 29,000 pea plants. After seven years he became the abbot and was too busy to grow peas.

  By 1865 Mendel had organized his work into a paper that primarily focused on hybridization, not heredity. It was viewed as having little impact and was cited only three times by academics over the next thirty-five years. In all three cases it was criticized. Today it is considered a seminal work in genetics, and Father Gregor is called the “Father of Genetics,” which no matter how you cut it is better than being known as Pea Pa.

  Mendel’s work demonstrated and proved the existence of recessive and dominant aspects of genes.

  Allele (pronounced ah-leel) is short for the Greek word allelomorph, which means ‘other form.’ An allele is one of two or more forms of a DNA sequence of a specific gene. Each side of the chromosome double helix is marked with sets of allele. Depending upon how the allele are located and match their counter set on the strand of the other helix, they make a trait dominant or recessive.

  Mendel’s peas provide a clear explanation of what this means.

  His study showed that one in four pea plants had purebred, recessive alleles, two out of four were hybrid, and one out of four were purebred dominant. His experiments led him to make two generalizations, the Law of Segregation and the Law of Independent Assortment, which later became known as Mendel’s Laws of Inheritance.

  Mendel crossed two pea plants. The first has dominant allele that create a short vine and recessive allele that produce white pea shells. The other possesses recessive allele for long vines and dominate allele for green pea shells. The generation of this combination produces four plants that are all short vined with green pea shells. These four pollinate to produce sixteen plants that break down as:

  9 plants with short vines and green peas

  3 plants with long vines and green peas

  3 plants with short vines and white peas

  1 plant with long vines and white peas

  Mendel’s ratio of the appearance of recessive genes in future generations is 9:3:3:1. One in sixteen of the third generation will exhibit the traits of both recessive allele sets.

  If it happens in peas that the long-vine, white-pea variety bears more fruit, then farmers breed to fill their fields with this type of plant. The same is true for cotton, corn, and cows.

  Most credible scientists today believe evolution is about one thing—the explanation for the changes of allele over millions of years.

  The aliens have grown peas a very long time.

  CHAPTER TWELVE: Norfolk, VA, Previous March

  Jim Sees stared blankly at the screen. Too many Irish whiskeys down the hatch for another night. He was about to go to bed when the chat box filled with words.

  “Are you the author of Otherworld?” is sent by someone named 07-1947.

  Written ten years ago, it was one of four books he had published that cursed him with just enough financial security to drink too much night after night. Although not his best work, it was the one of which he was most proud. Jim Sees, his real as well as his online name, was occasionally recognized by someone on one of the conspiracy websites he trolled trying to catch ideas for his next book, the one he planned to start writing next week—every week.

  He had been fishing for five years. Too many whiskeys down the hatch for him to come up with his own ideas.

  It was time for bed. He was drunk, again. “Goodnight,” he typed and closed his web browser.

  The next afternoon 07-1947 sent him a message in a different conspiracy chat room. It said, “Are you?”

  Somewhat surprised, he thought about answering. He had some notoriety from speaking on the UFO and New Age circuits, but he had never been stalked.

  What the hell, he thought and typed, “Yes.”

  Almost instantly the words snapped onto the screen, “Can we go to private cha
t?”

  “Why?” Jim Sees typed, wondering why he responded at all.

  “I need your help,” appeared on his screen.

  Jim thought about his next move. The guy on the other end was probably a total wack job.

  “How did you find me today?” Jim typed.

  “I have been reading what you say online,” 07-1947 answered.

  Wack job confirmed, thought Jim. It was time to end this.

  “Don’t log off. I’m not a stalker. I’m not even a fan of your writing. I am a fan of what you wrote. You are right and we are in trouble,” appeared on the screen, and now Jim was torn. He was not interested in chatting with a high-strung UFO-ologist who believed crop circles are the results of aliens mining for breakfast cereals. He did enjoy the notion that 07-1947 thought he was right.

  “About what?” he typed.

  “Stonehenge was a stone hinge,” came the reply.

  Well, at least he read the book, Jim thought. I guess it can’t hurt to hear what he has to say.

  Jim Sees clicked the box by 07-1947’s name and a private chat window opened.

  “I know things. I am selling you your next novel, your first blockbuster.” There was a pause; Jim thought about clicking off then he saw that 07-1947 was typing a message.

  “You won’t believe me at first. You will freak out. So I will start slow to keep you with me.”

  Jim typed, “What do you mean, selling me my next novel?”

  “Just that.” The reply was almost too quick, as if 07-1947 had already typed it and hit the send button. The next line flowed across the chat-box window. “I am going to trade you information for a guaranteed best seller.”

  Jim poured his first drink of the day, early even by his standards. This guy was a fucking kook. He probably had some tired idea about the Loch Ness monster, Yetis, or aliens invading birthday parties in Mexico City.

  The psychological effect of Jim’s first two sips of whiskey steadied his hand and calmed his instinct to unplug and change his screen name before going back to any more websites. What the hell, he thought, then typed, “I’m sure you are going to want your money up front, before you give me the idea.”

  “No, nothing like that,” came the reply. “I need your help; I don’t need money.”

  “Sounding better all the time,” Jim typed and added a smiley face.

  “In fact, if things go as planned, I’ll be giving you money.” Jim studied this line from 7-1947.

  “Like I said, sounding better all the time,” Jim typed.

  “This is the easiest part,” appeared on Jim’s screen followed by, “convincing you I am not another nut.”

  “Convince away,” Jim entered.

  “I’ve followed you in chat rooms. Some of what you say hint you know things you should not. I’ve researched you and feel you can be trusted enough to begin this process. I want you to write a book to make the public aware of the truth—a truth that no one even suspects. I will give you everything you need.”

  Jim sighed, thinking, A total wack job. He typed, “I think I’ll pass. But thanks just the same.”

  “I assure you, in a few days you will want to know more.”

  Jim held off shutting down the connection. Whoever this was, he or she had a genuine gift for intrigue. Even if he was a nutcase, maybe there was something to be gained and used in the next book Jim was about to start next week, or the week after at the very latest.

  Jim thought then typed, “You sound practiced. I get the feeling I am not the first you have approached.”

  Jim waited and then his chat box read, “You are the first recruited to write the story.”

  “Why should I believe any of this?” Jim wrote.

  “Finally,” 07-1947 replied, “you want proof. It took you long enough.”

  “If, and that’s a big if,” Jim answered, “I decide to work with you, there has to be a certain level of credibility and eventually trust.”

  “Fair enough,” 07-1947 replied then added, “I’ll email you a PDF. Read it, research it on your own, then I’ll meet up with you next week in a chat room.”

  “Great. My email is jimsees21@…,” Jim stopped typing as an e-mail arrived in his Outlook and 07-1947 signed off the chat room.

  Jim thought, “This guy is scary—scary but good.”

  Jim opened the PDF and started reading. He could not stop.

  “Have you read it?” 07-1947’s message opened in a speech bubble on the website Jim Sees was absently poking around in. It had been two days since he read the file.

  Jim’s reaction to the file was one of disbelief and curiosity. He had gone in and out of every related website he could think of, trying to verify the story. No one on the Internet knew about this. The odds were pretty good it was invented by 07-1947 to hook him into some mad scheme. Yet there was something about it. It was so straightforward and authoritative. Essentially, the document was about a computer virus that was disrupting the nuclear centrifuges at Iran’s nonexistent nuclear-enrichment facility. The virus eroded their ability to enrich plutonium for the rocket warheads they weren’t making to fall on Israel. The only details that could be confirmed were the names of some companies that were contracted as part of Iran’s nuclear effort. Jim had to admit, true or not, it was a hell of a story executed by a cyber James Bond.

  “I read it,” Sees typed. “Great yarn, wish it were true.”

  07-1947 replied, “The truth will out. What matters is that you know that I know things that people outside of spooky agencies shouldn’t.”

  “Maybe,” Jim typed, “but why would you know secret stuff?”

  “Because I am freshly out of one of those spooky agencies,” flashed the reply.

  Jim thought then typed, “In the movies, they kill people like that.”

  07-1947’s message shot back, “In real life too.”

  “Then how come you are alive and talking to a stranger who might turn you in?” Jim replied smugly.

  “Because I need your help and in return I will help you,” 07-1947 typed.

  Jim thought a moment then replied, “If what you say is true, what can you offer me that would make me risk getting involved with a fugitive?”

  “Two things: Go to the chat room at your favorite alien abduction website. I’ll open a private chat and invite you when you are logged in.” 07-1947 signed off.

  Jim wondered why he was doing this. At best this guy was only a clever nut job. At worst he was a fugitive from the CIA or some other agency. Against his better judgment, he logged on to the website, received the invitation to private chat, and typed, “So, what are the two things?”

  07-1947’s message appeared, “I already told you one. You are going to write a book about this. You don’t believe me yet, but you will be famous, a top-selling author. The big break you have been waiting for.”

  Jim poured his second whiskey of the day then responded, “I don’t buy that for a minute, but even if I did, what’s the second reason?”

  “I can help you get your family back.” O7-1947’s words made Jim lean back from the screen, as if he had been slapped.

  How did this guy know about his family? What did he know? More importantly, why did he know?

  Maybe Jim had underestimated the danger in toying with 07-1947. Maybe Jim was being set up to be coerced into something very wrong. He thought about logging off, unplugging his computer then resurfacing with a new cyber identity in a week.

  So that is what he did.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Now the part I hate. This is where the government needs for you to stop reading rubbish about aliens coming into people’s homes. People who talk about being abducted are obviously emotionally deficient, psychologically defective neurotics who need attention to feed their egos in their otherwise drab existences. That is, unless they are talking to a roomful of emotionally deficient, psychologically defective….

  The definition of alien abduction found on Wikipedia is:

  The terms alien a
bduction or abduction phenomenon describe “subjectively real memories of being taken secretly against one’s will by apparently nonhuman entities and subjected to complex physical and psychological procedures.” People claiming to have been abducted are usually called “abductees” or “experiencers.” Typical claims involve being subjected to a forced medical examination that emphasizes their reproductive system. Abductees sometimes claim to have been warned against environmental abuse and the dangers of nuclear weapons.

  This begs the question: are any of these experiences objective?

  The short answer is yes. There is truth (and perverted wisdom) in blaming our herding instinct for impacting the psychologically needy and falsely increasing the number of events that are purely subjective memories. Saying all alien abductions are manifest fantasies is simply another giant lie in the avalanche of disinformation pouring down Mt. Washington, DC.

  The next question is: if some occurrences are real, how many have there been?

  Again, the short answer is no one really knows, except maybe the aliens. Authors, and TV and movie writers, have claimed up to 5 percent of the world’s population has been abducted. That’s just crazy. A more conservative number, according to the heirs of the Roswell Incident, is that between 1953 and 2010 approximately 300,000 Americans experienced real encounters with representatives of Husbands of Commerce Utility. The number of people claiming to have had encounters could be fifty times greater.

  It is believed the HCU began their studies in earnest in 1953, a few months after the Truman Treaty was in place. The physical examinations are part of the studies we know as alien abductions. In 1953 there were between one and two thousand abductions/examinations. The number has increased each year until the current annual estimate is around 40,000 in the United States. Many of the 40,000 visits include follow-up house calls to previously examined patients. The best guess is that about 35,000 new humans are taken and examined each year.

  The physical reality of abductions is hotly debated—but not here. It is imperative to the government that even the idea of little gray men entering a home, kidnapping a sleeping victim, then taking them to another location to stick things up their nose and butt remains absurd to the general population. If too many people believed, there would be panic in the streets and citizens demanding protection and explanations, not to mention a run on petroleum lubricants. There are dozens of books on the subject. You can draw your own conclusion. For the moment, suspend disbelief and go along for the ride, if for no other reason than to see what all this has to do with James Forrestal, the Philadelphia Experiment, and your not-so-distant future.