The academic world was not alone in their disappointment. In the Kremlin, a shakeup high in the government led to the MVD being stripped of its role. The entire task of bringing whatever remnants there were of the Martian landing back to the USSR was given instead to the GRU, the Red Army Intelligence organization.
* * *
Cardinal Angelo Roncalli was elected to succeed Pius XII as Pope John XXIII on January 25, 1959. Cardinal Tisserant, Pius’ Camerlengo, manager of the deceased Pope’s secular affairs, was no longer in the picture. For a time, as a liberal, the new Pontiff attempted an overhaul of the tenets his predecessor had established. He especially wanted to liberalize the centuries-old authoritarian structure of the Catholic hierarchy. Collegiality--democratically allowing the bishops more say in governance, use of local languages in the liturgy, and attempts at an ecumenical renewal of Christian unity--was one of his main goals. He failed in all but dropping the use of Latin during Mass.
While Pope John XXIII was attempting to bring religion into the 20th century, forces in America were going in the opposite direction. The revolution in belief, long incubating in prayer meetings in the rural South, had been greatly facilitated by radio. And when television burst on the scene, what has been called “Charismatic Evangelism” began to flower. There were also many Catholic fundamentalists who believed in the literal translation of the Bible. And, for many Protestants, an innate suspicion of Catholic dogma precluded any meaningful dialogue.
But while the new Pope believed that humankind was not ready for Martian technology, he felt that any real evidence of extraterrestrial beings was further proof of the universal glory of God. Unlike his predecessor, he didn’t believe that debunking Genesis would further divide the monotheistic religions. Rather, the realization that humans had existed on both planets would, in his estimation, tend to promote brotherhood even more strongly than ancient scripture. John XXIII was alone in this thinking, and it was not long before most of his progressive ideas were sidetracked.
It was decided that the discoveries in East Africa would be so upsetting to the status quo that many Catholics would question their faith, and it would probably not be long before the more insightful ones would leave in droves. The solution had to be the eradication of all evidence of the discovery.
Celestre was again summoned to the office of Vatican Security. Somehow, the information that he also served the Mafia had been lost, a testimonial to the secrecy that obsessed the previous Pope. After the usual formalities, the grotesque Sicilian was ushered into the office of the new Captain of that department.
“Father Celestre,” he said, “you’ve been summoned here on a matter of the utmost importance to the Holy Office. I’ve been briefed on the knowledge you brought back from Tanganyika, and I believe you are best qualified to fulfill the mission now before us. Before explaining further, I must insist on absolute secrecy. All communication from Africa, or wherever your mission takes you, shall be encrypted, and if somehow your activities become known to the press, you will deny any connection whatsoever to us. Do I make myself clear?”
“Of course, Captain,” he replied, recalling the previous Pope’s implying excommunication. “But my previous orders were merely to observe and report. Nothing ever came of that, to my knowledge.”
“Quite so,” the Captain observed, “but the problem this time is much more complex. Your mission now is to find and destroy any evidence of aliens ever landing here.”
“But sir, my duties then were those of any priest, to administer the sacraments. This will require illegal activities, breaking and entering, destruction of official files and archival material. How long can I avoid being caught and imprisoned?”
The Captain regarded the Sicilian with a benign smile. “Did any true servant of God worry so about his own skin? And speaking of skin, you are to disguise yourself as an Indian, which won’t be difficult for you. The transition to the new government, we’re told, has created much confusion, and much more graft. Nowadays, being taken for non-white is an advantage, and will serve as an entrée. The funds that the Vatican will make available to you will allow you to grease the proper palms. Money will furnish access to anything you want. Once you are alone in the archives, whether governmental, at the university or those belonging to the press, it will be a simple matter to remove and destroy the material.”
Celestre was thinking he might end up with that estate of his own after all, if the Mafia didn't catch up with him first. “I see it all now, Captain. I’m at your command.”
“Excellent. We will be contacting you with the details.” Handing Celestre a small packet, he added, “Here is your new passport--the Italian one is no longer welcome--and your reservations for passage and accommodations in Dar-es-Salaam.”
The deformed Jesuit then said, with a knowing smirk, “What about the source of my ‘spending money’? That will be the most important factor in our succeeding.”
“First things first, Father,” he replied, dismissing him with the usual imperious wave of his hand. “This battle is different. You have to get into position first, and then your ammunition will be delivered. We have bankers all over the world for that purpose. Wait for one to contact you there.”
* * *
It was for other reasons that the U.S. government took the same stance as the Vatican.
At the beginning of the space race, it became important for the U.S. government to minimize any news or information about the Martian landing in Africa. Its space program, lagging behind the Soviet effort, and puny compared to the Martians, was just getting started, and the public’s enthusiasm was all-important in funding it. News of the momentous African discovery had already been disseminated, but minimizing it would help keep American efforts in space from being upstaged.
While the news was already in the popular press, thanks to the publication of Diana’s paper, as usual, more than half the American public would never get the message. Attention was diverted elsewhere by the government’s emphasis on ICBMs, the nuclear race, and the idea of mutually assured destruction. That chilling concept, blared constantly via the press and the broadcast media, created a near- panic. Some Americans even went so far as to build live-in fallout shelters in their back yards. By playing on the majority’s fears, the national focus was shifted to the struggle with the Soviet Union. Americans’ insecurities were diverted to the Cold War and away from the space aliens.
The Heist
The windows in the room at the Drake Hotel on North Michigan Avenue looked out on an expansive view of the Lake and the Near North Side. The water was calm and green that day, and the sun, well to the south, lighted the sky in a lovely luminescence seldom seen.
Nobody in that suite was in the least bit interested in that rare display, intent as they were on another prize far to the west. Two men stood as guards at the entry to the room. Two large Chippendale chairs, one occupied, faced the burning log in the fireplace. The Consiglieri, dark, hulking, and clad in black, didn’t get up to meet his guest, merely motioning to the empty chair.
“So, Manzone, it is good to see you. I trust your long journey was a pleasant one?” The question was rhetorical, and turning to the newcomer, he offered his hand, or rather his ring. “Will you have some refreshment? Coffee, Arab style, with cardamom, I believe it is. Yes?” Clapping his hands twice, and giving directions to a fawning servant, he turned to his fellow Mafioso. “Now tell me again of your proposal for our Chicago Family. You know that we deal in things lucrative, not scientific or military.”
Rubbing his hands together over the fire, Manzone began, telling the story of the discovery in Africa and the advanced technology it revealed. “Until today, we had no clue as to the whereabouts of this priceless material here in America. Now we know, and we have devised a scheme to take it for ourselves. The secrets of this alien technology, when unlocked, will prove of immense scientific and military value, which translates into untold riches for us. The Soviet Union or China will pay millions for it, e
specially if it can be delivered without implicating them in the operation.”
The Don took no more than a second to recognize the value of the prize, and the role his men would be asked to play. “Our Family here is happy to work with our Sicilian brothers in this operation. What percentage do you offer?”
Wringing his hands, then taking a sip of his coffee, his guest replied, “The usual. We don’t know how much we will be paid, but our Family’s head in Catania offers an even division.”
“Even!” The Don indignantly snorted, his eyes narrowing. “We do the all the work over here, and you collect all the money overseas. The danger of our being exposed, apprehended, incarcerated, and even then never seeing one dollar demands at least seventy percent. Tell your Don that. We are reasonable men here in Chicago, but as we have most of the risk, we must have most of the reward.”
Manzone grimaced a little at that, but said, “Thank you Don Gasparri. My Family is headed by a reasonable man also. I will communicate your answer tonight, and contact you in the morning.”
Don Gasparri finally agreed to a 60-40 split when the word came from Sicily that if that weren’t enough, Las Vegas would be brought in to do the job. For Chicago, that was an arrangement that had to be averted at all costs, and was the reason that the deal was sealed without further negotiation. The Don wasn’t happy, not only because of the money, but also because those Nevada punks weren’t even remotely Sicilian.
The heist in California went almost exactly as planned. Armed men disguised as Security were able to penetrate the lab at Buell and the facility at Caltech simultaneously, making off with all the metallurgic data and materials, as well as the vacuum chambers and other research equipment essential to unlocking the key to the Martian secrets.
At Caltech, they were discovered at the last moment. A guard at the Pasadena facility was seriously injured, not by gunfire, which was avoided altogether, but by a gate slammed on him as a Mafia van, laden with loot, crashed through in a high-speed exit.
The FBI and the CIA were alerted by the institutions’ authorities, but by the time they sorted out their jurisdictional differences, the culprits had made a clean getaway. Efforts to trace the stolen articles were unsuccessful, the only solid evidence being the means of their transportation out of California and perhaps out of the country. Earlier that night, a surplus Air Force C-54, owned by Flying Tigers Airfreight, had been commandeered by armed men, and when last seen, was heading east.
By the time the Pentagon was apprised of the sensitive nature of the plane’s cargo, it was too late for the Air Force to intercept them. Later it was reported that a Flying Tigers four-engine aircraft had been refueled in Newfoundland, but nothing further surfaced, even in Europe, where NATO forces and Interpol had been put on alert. Nothing was ever learned of the fate of the plane and its cargo. It was obvious the hijacked C-54 with its stolen cargo had never reached China.
The Mafia had failed to deliver the goods to Beijing. They would have profited immensely from their twin caper at Caltech and Buell, selling the remaining fragments of the shattered second ship, and the investigators’ workbooks and lab equipment. While no Martian material remained at either institution, the Dons in Chicago and Sicily were of one mind. What remained would still bring riches to their coffers, if they could locate it. They knew that the USSR, and possibly the Japanese Neo-imperialists, in addition to China, would pay them well. This time, they decided, they wouldn’t settle for a single buyer, and would demand half the money up-front.
Because Diana was the lead author of the paper that revealed the seminal findings, she became the object of intense scrutiny, as she was probably the only person in the world now possessing any Martian data of potential military value. And, although no one appreciated its significance, she always wore that pendant, a rust-red pyramid that had been handed down for centuries in her family. She also retained her journal, with its photos and linguistic material, as well as the Martian book, apparently a technical manual and possibly a history of Mars, which could be the greatest prize of all if it could be translated. For a time, the mandible remained on display in Max’s office.
Only belatedly did the White House learn of the loss of the potentially vital military secrets, a revelation that led to a shake-up in the President’s Cabinet. The Director of the CIA was particularly embarrassed by the failure, considering that he had only one man, albeit a promising young operative, assigned to the case. Unfortunately, at the time Dan Stuart was in Chicago with Diana. The day after the Mafia’s California caper, while lunching with her just off-campus, he received an urgent call from Langley.
“Stuart,” the voice snarled over the phone that was brought to their table, “you’re relieved of your assignment.”
“But, Chief,” he began, “I...”
“No buts, God dammit, you heard me. It seems you’ve lost more than your heart to a lady. While you were romancing her, everything connected to the African finding has been stolen, we think by the Mafia! You’ve bungled the chance of keeping the power of invincibility right here in your own country. Get the hell back to this office right now. I’m trying to figure out a new assignment for you. Maybe as an undercover agent in the Federal prison in Atlanta. That should keep you away from the ladies for a while!”
Diana heard the angry voice, but only part of the message. Leaning forward, she saw Dan's shocked look. She put her hand over his, which was still gripping the phone, and ventured, “Sounds rather like the axe, considering the anger I could hear and what your face shows. Am I right, and what, in fact, is that about prison?”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Dan replied. “It seems that while I was here in Chicago to be near you, I screwed up royally, failing to see the long arm--or rather the long tentacle--of the Mafia reaching over to the U.S. They snatched the Martian stuff right out from under our noses in California!”
“Bloody hell!” She exclaimed, “I thought Security there would attend to that.” As the enormity of the loss sank in, she continued tearfully, “Danny, don’t you see, everything we’ve worked for is going down the drain. First, it was the sinking of the Ancona off Sicily while carrying the wrecked engine from the second spaceship. Next, the bulk of our anthropological specimens and the intact engine went down when the American Traveler was also scuttled. Then it was the destruction of the hulk in Africa, and now all the progress in unlocking the Martian secrets has been whisked away to God-knows-where. That leaves only what little I have here.”
They were both dejected, and for a time, sat in a depressed silence looking woefully at each other. A lesser person than Diana would have been absolutely prostrate, considering the circumstances. She was reminded of other losses she had endured, such as the two other men in her life before Danny, who were shot down and killed during missions over Germany. She recalled the day when a Nazi V-2 missile made a direct hit on the house next to hers, killing her dearest friends. She had survived the grief of those losses, and even the physical injuries stemming from a bomb blast that, but for a fluke, would have killed her. As with her fellow Britons, her appreciable strengths had seen her through. At that moment she took heart, and smiling at Dan, wiped the tears away.
“Do you realize that this may, in fact, be our last opportunity to be together for some time?” Trying to make light of the situation, she remarked with a laugh, “Visiting at Federal prisons is very restricted, I hear.” Since there was no response, she reached over and, gently lifting his chin, said, “Stiff upper lip, Danny darling.” Then she added with a smile, “On a lighter note, it’s now my turn. I'm asking the gentleman to dinner. What do you say?”
That evening, at a restaurant on Rush Street, Dan remained inconsolable. This persisted through dessert, despite Diana’s affectionate attention and more than the usual amount of scotch. During the floorshow for which that district was famous, he hardly watched at first. Then a lovely exotic dancer, colorfully but scantily dressed, came on- stage just in front of their table, and began a sensuous number.
To the rhythmic beat of what was meant to mimic jungle music, the writhing motions of her body soon led her to remove her sequined top.
Even Diana was impressed by the sight of the woman's ample breasts, gently swaying to the music. So close was their table to the dancer, who was obviously seeking Dan’s approval, she could see the bluish veins just under her white skin surrounding the pasties she was wearing. If this doesn’t get his attention, Diana thought, nothing will. Few men could fail to respond to such a display, and it was with some relief that she saw that he wasn’t an exception.
With drink in hand, he first looked lovingly at Diana. “To you, Di, the woman I’ll always really want.” Then he raised the glass to the dancer, in another toast.
Just then, as if on cue, smiling suggestively at him, the dancer dropped the one remaining item covering her. Slowly turning away from them, she moved her hips provocatively, just as the music ended. Diana watched Dan with longing as he joined in the applause. She realized then what they both needed. It would be therapeutic, and it had been too long.
After paying the tab, and helping her on with her coat, he took her hand. “Where to now, sweetheart? It’s so cold out, we need somewhere warm and cozy.”
“I know just the place,” she replied, “There’s a fireplace in my bedroom.”
After waiting curbside too long in the icy wind, they finally got a taxi, which took them to her apartment on the South Side. During the ride, they snuggled together, ostensibly for warmth, but the kisses he gave told her he was recovering. It was obvious that he had thoughts other than the outside temperature on his mind. But then, so did she.
On entering her flat, they couldn’t wait, feverishly tearing off each other’s clothing on the way to the bedroom, while kissing one another passionately in the process. Gently pushing him down on the bed, she rolled over on top of him, and began to kiss him on the neck and chest. As he writhed in pleasure under the touch of her lips and caresses, he reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, thinking she’d prefer a dimly lit room.
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