The Invitation-kindle

by Michael McKinney

  “Please send him in, Connie.”

  A moment later the door opens, and Tim Colby briskly enters.

  “Morning, Tim,”

  “Good morning, Sir.”

  Without bothering to be seated Agent Colby opens his briefcase and removes a large envelope. Placing it on the table in front of the Director, he sits down to apprise his boss.

  “Sir, as reported we were able to obtain the brain scan results done on Ken Myers when he was hospitalized.”

  “Before we go any further, let me ask you, are we exposed?” the director asks.

  “We are not.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m certain of it.”

  “You know this could be political dynamite.”

  “I know that, Sir.”

  Picking up the envelope the Director removes the numbered photographs. Looking at the first one he asks, “So, is this the original scan?”

  “It’s a photo of the original. We looked at it and found nothing unusual. Then I had the image magnified. The second photo shows what we found when we magnified the original fifty times.”

  Looking at the second photo with a mixture of curiosity and bafflement, the Director asks, “What am I looking at?”

  “We don’t know, Sir. It looks a little like a chip of some type. In the next two photos we magnified the image eighty times, and then two hundred.”

  Quickly turning to the last photograph, Director Slaughter pauses, and tries to make sense of what he’s seeing.

  “So whatever this thing is, it’s inside his brain?”

  “Yes, Sir, it’s in a part of the brain called, uh, I have it written down here. The dorsolateral prefrontal cortex.”

  “What is that?”

  “It’s in the left hemisphere of the brain, in the frontal lobe, as I understand it.”

  “You have an expert coming in to help us out this morning, don’t you?” the Director asks.

  “Yes Sir, Professor Alan Hobart from Georgetown. He’s an expert in neuroanatomy.”

  “Hmm, so he has brains, and knows them, too.”

  “Yes.”

  “He should be here soon. I told him to come in at nine, Sir,” Agent Colby says.

  “Good, maybe he can make some sense of this. I assume he’s unaware of whose brain scan this is.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Let’s keep it that way.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “These photos are strange. What’s the size of this thing we’re looking at?”

  “We estimate it’s roughly one one-hundredth of an inch.”

  “One one-hundredth of an inch? No computer chip is that small. What are those things coming out of it? They look like tiny hairs or something.”

  “Our people are at a loss to explain it.”

  “Maybe the good professor can enlighten us,” the Director says.

  “I hope so.”

  A moment later the voice of Mr. Slaughter’s secretary interjects.

  “Sir, Mr. Hobart is here to see you.”

  “Thank you, Connie, Please tell him we’ll be right out.”

  Muting the intercom, the Director says to Agent Colby, “Our expert is here. Show him in, would ya, Tim?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Oh, and uh, let’s keep things confidential.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Mr. Colby says as he rises to go.

  Moments later Mr. Colby returns with Professor Hobart and introduces him to Director Slaughter.

  “Sir, this is Professor Alan Hobart. He teaches neuroscience at Georgetown University.”

  “Professor Hobart, thank you for coming in. I hope this is not inconvenient for you.”

  “Not at all, I’m glad to be with you.”

  “Please sit down.”

  “Thank you,”

  “Professor, you’re an expert on neuroanatomy, as I understand.”

  “That’s what I teach.”

  “Prior to teaching you were a practicing neurosurgeon as well.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Let me ask you, Professor, how often did you use brain scans in your practice?”

  “Nearly always. It’s fundamental. Brain imaging technology allows us to see inside a patient’s brain. It’s a powerful diagnostic tool.”

  “Have you read a lot of brain scans?”

  “Yes, hundreds.”

  “Professor Hobart, we would like you to look at a brain scan image, and give us your opinion of what you see.”

  “Sure, be glad to,”

  “Tim, you have a DVD of these photos so we can see them on the TV screen?”

  “Yes Sir, I do.”

  Director Slaughter closes the window blinds, and as the room gets darker Agent Colby cues up the DVD, and turns the widescreen television on. As the first image appears the three men sit back, and view the image. After a few seconds, Professor Hobart speaks.

  “What we’re seeing here is what’s known as a DTI scan, short for diffusion tensor imaging. It’s actually more detailed than a conventional MRI scan. This looks like the brain of an adult. I would guess between the ages of thirty to fifty years old. Nothing really unusual about it.”

  “Show him number two, Tim.”

  As the second image appears Professor Hobart looks intently at it, pauses, then hesitantly asks, “What am I looking at here?”

  “That’s what we were going to ask you,” the Director says.

  “The next two images are the same with higher magnification,” adds Mr. Colby.

  “Let me see them,” Professor Hobart says.

  Seeing the magnified image, Professor Hobart fixes his attention completely on the object in the photo, and says nothing.

  “This is magnified eighty times,” Agent Colby says.

  After hearing no response from Professor Hobart, Mr. Colby shows the last photo.

  “And this image is magnified two hundred times”

  Seeing the strangely intriguing image, the Professor stands up, and slowly walks toward the TV screen. He sees the clearly discernible symmetry of a six-sided object, with what looks like thousands of microscopic filaments attached to it extending outward in all directions. Even the cursory glance of an untrained eye would immediately recognize it as something with design, purpose, and function. Squinting his eyes, Professor Hobart shakes his head in perplexity, and looks at Mr. Slaughter.

  “This must be a hoax. Somebody doctored the original scan.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well first, I’ve never seen anything like this before, and I’ve been reading brain scans for over twenty years. Secondly, to think this thing is actually implanted in a person’s brain is simply not credible.”

  “Any guesses as to what it might be?” the Director asks.

  “It’s a hoax. It has to be.”

  “Is it possible that a foreign country could have developed this technology, whatever it might be?”

  “That’s not possible, in my opinion.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, it’s so small. No technology that I’m aware of could even begin to make something like this.”

  “It’s about one one-hundredth of an inch in diameter,” Mr. Colby says.

  “That’s roughly the thickness of, what, four or five sheets of paper? That’s impossible.”

  “Well, bear with me for a moment, Professor. Let me ask you this. If this thing were real, and had some kind of active, functioning purpose, would it make a difference where in the brain it was placed?”

  “I would think so.”

  “What if it were placed in, uh, what is it, Tim?”

  “Uh, it’s the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex,” Agent Colby says.

  “Yeah, we call it DLPC for short.”

  “Is it significant?”

  “Very. It’s the part of the brain that’s associated with cognition and abstract thinking, a center for planning, and information processing. It provides executive functions that regulat
e other more primitive parts of the brain. Because of that, it’s a highly interconnected region.”

  “You mean something like a command center?” the Director asks.

  “Generally speaking, yes, but again, I have to tell you. What you’re suggesting is not possible.”

  Pointing closely to the image still on the TV screen, Professor Hobart continues: “If you look at the perimeter of this object, you can see literally thousands of these tiny hair like strands coming out of it. I’m only speculating, but they look surprisingly like axons, though much larger, of course.”

  “What are axons?”

  “Axons provide connectivity for neurons in the brain, a bit like the electrical grid carries power.”

  “So this would suggest that this thing is actually wired into the brain somehow?” the Director asks.

  “That’s right, which is utterly impossible. The micro-engineering required to make something so small and complex, and then to place it deeply into the brain, is practically inconceivable. It’s like humans traveling to the stars. Also, if you look closely at the photo, you can see a faint halo surrounding the object.”

  Straining to see this detail, the Director acknowledges the overlooked, and almost imperceptible, aura radiating from the strange object.

  “Wow, I never even noticed it.”

  “Neither did I,” Agent Colby says.

  “What does that mean?” the Director asks.

  “I don’t know what it means, but what it suggests is that this thing is giving off some kind of energy, and the only energy in the human brain that I’m aware of, are the minute pulses of electrical energy that naturally power the brain. However, they look nothing like this. Everything that you’ve shown me here today is way outside the capabilities of modern science, so I’m sorry to tell you, but I have no doubt that we’re seeing the product of an elaborate hoax.”

  “Hmm. Well, we have to know these things. Professor Hobart, I don’t want to take up any more of your time. So, I want to thank you for coming in and sharing your expertise.”

  “It’s my pleasure. If I can be of further help just let me know.”

  “We certainly will,” the Director says, rising to shake hands and cordially walk the professor to the door.

  “Thank you for coming in, Professor Hobart,” Agent Colby says.

  “You’re more than welcome.”

  As the door closes behind Professor Hobart, Director Slaughter returns to his seat, and looks intently at Agent Colby.

  “So it’s a hoax. But it’s not a hoax, is it?”

  “No, Sir, I’m afraid it isn’t.”

  “Hmm. This is beyond our purview. We’ve done all we can do. We need to brief a few senators, one from each party. I want to broaden the authority on this. Senator Fields is the ranking member on the Intelligence Committee. I’ll ask him and a Democrat, to keep it nonpartisan. We’ll bring ̓em in and show ̓em everything we have. I can’t see any other option.”

  Pointing at the image still displayed on the TV screen Director Slaughter continues, “We have to assume that this thing, whatever it is, is still lodged in the brain of the President of the United States. I mean that’s the logic of it. Isn’t it?”

  “I think so. Do we brief the Justice Department? Because we’ll have to eventually.”

  “Not yet. I want to see what our Senators have to say first.”

  “What do we say about how we obtained the medical records?”

  “I’ll tell them they were sent to us anonymously by a concerned citizen.”

  “That’s plausible.”

  “We can’t do anything more in this case without a mandate of Congressional authority,” the Director says.

  “I agree.”

  “Tim, I’m sure you understand that this thing is going to take on a life of its own. I can’t guarantee that the question of how we got the medical records won’t be pursued.”

  “I understand, Sir.”

  “I can reassign you. It might keep you out of the fray.”

  “Sir, I prefer to remain. My only concern is to see the investigation through. I’m not worried about anything else.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely,”

  “Good. We’ve seen a lot of investigations through, and we’ll see this one through as well, both of us.”

  “Thank you, Sir,”

  “Okay, I’m going to call Senator Fields, and see when he can come in, hopefully tomorrow. Meanwhile, I want you to go through the records and find out when, where, how many times, and for what reasons Ken Myers had contacts with foreign governments.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Both as President, and when he was Governor of Florida. Look for anything unusual, gaps in his itinerary, unscheduled meetings, anything out of the ordinary.”

  “I will.”

  “Good. This couldn’t happen at a worse time, with the Olympics coming up. We’ll be stretched a little thin. We’ll be okay, though. That’s it. Thanks, Tim, for coming in.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

  “Good.”

  Agent Colby makes his exit, and Director Slaughter sits back looking at the image still visible on the screen. It seems to beckon him. In a subdued tone, with quiet determination he says, “…What are you? We need to know, and we will.”

  Chapter Eight

  As late evening descends, it brings to a close another day at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. With the day’s obligations behind them, the first couple enjoys an interlude of relaxation before retiring. Carol, however is preoccupied tonight. Unsure as to whether or not she should tell Ken about the conversation she had with his mother, she is deeply ambivalent. How does one tell a spouse that their mother believes she was part of some strange, otherworldly encounter? With all that must be on his mind, should she add to his list of concerns? On the other hand she asks herself, wouldn’t he want to know about it, to do what’s necessary to keep it confidential? Her reticent mood prompts her husband to ask,

  “You’re quiet tonight, Carol. Is everything all right?”

  “I’m fine. So, Congressman Kearns is coming with us on Friday.”

  “Yes he is. His wife Rebecca is coming to. They’re real nice. I’m sure you’ll like them.”

  “It must be difficult for him to travel, confined to a wheelchair”

  “We’ll make him as comfortable as possible.”

  “I’m sure. If it were me, I think I’d rather stay home.”

  “They’ll be glad they went.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Just an intuition,”

  “You’re being mysterious.”

  “Not trying to be,”

  “Well, you must know what you’re doing. The vote on the energy bill is Monday.”

  “Finally.”

  “Do you think it’ll pass?”

  “I think so. I thought it would pass six months ago, but with all this wrangling, it set us back.”

  “I hope so.…Ken,”

  “Yes, Love?”

  “I hate to bring this up, but, when I had lunch with your mother the other day she told me something very strange.”

  “What was that?”

  “She said one night when she was home, she had an experience. This was when she was pregnant with you.”

  “What kind of experience?”

  “She told me that one night she woke up in bed, and there was some kind of light above her.”

  “What kind of light?”

  “She didn’t know what it was, but she said it filled the whole room. Part of it came down and illuminated her body. She could see inside her womb. She said a beam of light focused on you. She could see you inside her womb.”

  “That’s bizarre. She must‘ve been dreaming.”

  “She says it was real. She showed me the nightgown she was wearing. It had a strange burn mark on it.”

  “Are you convinced that she believes it?”

  “Oh, she believes it. Th
ere’s no doubt.”

  “She never told me this before.”

  “I didn’t want to mention it, but I thought you’d like to know.”

  “Well I’m glad you did.”

  “I’m mostly concerned for your mother. If the press ever got hold of this, they could make life miserable for her.”

  “Thank you for telling me. Let’s do this: after we get back from Miami, when she comes over again for dinner, we’ll talk about it, just the three of us, and we’ll hear what she has to say.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “Has she told this to anyone else?”

  “No one knows but the three of us.”

  “Well, don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. Tomorrow’s Thursday already,” Ken says.

  “This week has flown by. I can’t believe the Olympics are almost here.”

  “Opening ceremonies are scheduled for Friday, a little after seven.”

  “Why so late?” Carol asks.

  “I guess it’s to maximize TV viewership.”

  “You’ll be going down a day ahead of time with General Croft.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I wish you could stay until Friday. We could all fly down together,” Carol says.

  “I have to go a day early. General Croft and I need to confer with our base commanders to make sure we’re all reading from the same page.”

  “Are you worried something might happen?” Carol asks.

  “I want to make sure we don’t respond inappropriately in case of any harmless intrusion into our air space.”

  “You mean civilian pilots.”

  “That’s right. I don’t want anyone getting hurt by accident.”

  “What time will I meet you in Miami on Friday?”

  “Probably around four. We need time to greet the Mayor, and a Congressional delegation.”

  “So who’s coming with us?”

  “The Vice President, Congressman Kearns, and his wife. That’s it. We’ll all be back by Sunday night.”

  “What time do you leave tomorrow?”

  “A little after nine,”

  “You better get some sleep. It’s been a long day,” Carol says.

  “You go ahead, Love. I’ll be in soon.”

  Receiving a kiss from his wife, the President affectionately bids her goodnight. Sitting back in his chair he calmly settles into a detached, reflective mood. Ken Myers has for his entire adult life been in the habit of ending each day with meditation and quiet introspection. His nightly ritual of personal solitude enables him to disengage from the enervating stress of his demanding routine.