“That seems doubtful,” Sabi said.
“I agree, but I’m just telling you what a literate Jew would have been thinking when looking at Jesus’ genealogy. There are other connections back to Genesis 6 that are more textually based, though. Ruth married Boaz, the gibbor, and later Jewish writings refer to four of their children as gibborim. Also, Ruth was from Moab, which was the ancestral home of one of the giant clans, the Emim, according to Deuteronomy 2:10–11.”
“And the reversal of the Genesis 6 transgression would be that Ruth was the grandmother of David,” Nili concluded, “who was the direct ancestor of Yeshua.”
Brian nodded. “It’s another way of using the Old Testament plotlines that extend from Genesis 6 to communicate the idea that the story of Jesus would counteract the evil spawned in Genesis 6. There’s a duel of theological ideas woven into the genealogy.”
“What about the fourth woman, Bathsheba?” Neff asked. “I don’t recall any of this sort of thing with her.”
“Bathsheba is always described as the wife of Uriah the Hittite—a Gentile—and she’s called Bathshua in 1 Chronicles 3:5.”
“Literally, that means ‘daughter of Shua’—that’s the name from the Tamar story!” Nili connected the dots.
“Right. It’s the same name. Since Shua is clearly Canaanite back in the Tamar story, many scholars think that Shua may indicate a foreign god. If so, both Uriah and Bathsheba were Gentiles. You can actually make a good case for the name Shua being a non-Israelite territory since Shua might be linguistically connected to the Shuhites, who were from either the upper Euphrates in Mesopotamia or Edom. Archaeologists still aren’t clear on which one.”
“What are the Genesis 6 connections?” Malone wondered.
“David is called a gibbor, and several members of his bodyguard are called gibborim. Bathsheba herself fills the role of the gebura—the biblical Hebrew term for the queen mother.”
“And Bathsheba became the mother of Solomon,” Melissa completed the description. “And he inherited the covenant promise to David and therefore produced the Messiah …”
“… who brought the kingdom of God back to earth,” Malcolm finished, “a mirror opposition to the evil that had overspread the earth at the time of the Nephilim.”
“So what does it all mean?” Malone asked, looking at Brian.
“It means that, for a Jew who knew the flood stories of Genesis and Enoch, and at least some of what we just talked about, a connection between all that and the birthday of Jesus would have suggested that Jesus’ arrival meant another campaign against cosmic evil was unfolding. And the New Testament would, of course, confirm that.”
“How?” Neff asked, his brow wrinkled in uncertainty.
“There’s actually a lot more to this spiritual reversal idea when we get past the birth of Jesus,” Brian answered. “Many of the places Jesus visited correspond to giant-clan turf in Old Testament times. And what He says and does at those places is pretty significant. For instance, Peter’s confession about Jesus being the Son of God takes place at an old religious site dedicated to Baal—a site that falls within Bashan, which was home to the giant Rephaim. The transfiguration happens at the foot of Mount Hermon—the place where Enoch’s Watchers descended to take their human women. There’s a lot more, too—it’s pretty stunning,” he said thoughtfully.
“Until we put it in the context of why we’re even talking about it,” Neff reminded him.
“Yeah, for sure.”
“And we’ve only uncovered one of the Colonel’s trails.”
“Actually,” Melissa said, turning to Brian, then to Neff, “we have more than that—a lot more.”
58
If at first, the idea is not absurd, then there is no hope for it.
—Albert Einstein
“Thank you,” Melissa said, taking the cup of coffee Neff extended to her.
“Just let me know if you need anything else,” Neff replied. “Are you sure you’re okay standing?”
“I feel good now,” she assured him, smiling. “I didn’t have trouble sleeping last night, for a change. We’ll see how it goes.”
Melissa surveyed the small audience coming together in the most spacious of Miqlat’s two small debriefing rooms. Kamran’s presentation the previous day had energized her—a condition that had, of late, been all too infrequent.
She watched as Brian finished passing out a stapled handout, her less-than-perfect notes thrown together in too much haste for her liking. Still, she was satisfied that she’d made good progress on several fronts, and it was time to contribute rather than be waited on. The subject matter today would involve Nazi activity, so Fern had once again volunteered to keep Summit occupied somewhere else. She’d catch up with the recording of the session.
Melissa put on her reading glasses. “The arrangement of these pages is rough, but I think you’ll be able to track through what I’ll be explaining. Don’t hesitate to ask questions.”
She heard a low whistle from the front row. Ward was already inspecting a page. Something had jarred him. “These documents … they’re for real?” he asked.
“All of them, and they’re just a selection to cover the core points.”
“I’m no engineer,” he replied, turning another page, “but I do know something about energy … and aeronautics. This is pretty wild stuff.”
“No argument there. And those of us in the room who’ve seen where the technology’s gone would use words like frightening for it.”
“Freakin’ creepy is more like it,” Madison mumbled, looking over Ward’s shoulder to see what page he was on.
“It’s probably easiest to start with the term that the Colonel gave Brian—his little homework assignment for me: Huemul.”
“Do we know now who that is?” Malone asked.
“Huemul is a place, not a person. More precisely, it’s an island off the shore of San Carlos de Bariloche, a city in Argentina. It’s famous—or infamous, as most would think of it—as the post-war location of the work of Dr. Ronald Richter, an Austrian physicist.”
“A Nazi?” Nili asked disdainfully.
“Richter wasn’t a party member; he seems to have been more of an opportunist. Allied scientists were divided about the nature of his work at Huemul, which gets referred to as the Huemul Project. Some thought he was a genius, others a crank.”
“I can see why,” Neff muttered aloud as he read. He shook his head.
“Richter did legitimate scientific work before and during the war. Some of that provides the context for what you’re reading. I’ll cut to the chase. Richter wound up in Argentina after the war. He was recommended to President Juan Perón by a German aeronautical engineer named Kurt Tank.”
“Perón—there’s a Nazi lover for you,” Malone grumbled.
“Tank had emigrated to Argentina and had gone to work for Perón under the cover name of Pedro Matthies. In 1948, Richter went to Argentina and presented a scientific proposal to Perón that promised the ability to develop controllable nuclear fusion—what would now be referred to as cold fusion. Perón set him up on the island of Huemul.”
“Was it bogus?” Neff asked.
“Apparently that depends on who you ask,” Ward mused, still reading ahead.
“And what part of Richter’s work you’re looking at,” Melissa added. “Remember the Colonel’s directive that I not get lost in what happened to Richter and the way his work gets talked about? That’s a critical point. Most people who find out about Richter filter him through the Perón fiasco and never take note of some of his fundamental ideas. He gets dismissed too early.”
“What was the fiasco?” Clarise asked. “What happened?”
“In 1951, Perón announced that Richter had produced nuclear fusion under laboratory conditions in a couple of bottles, the largest of which was a liter or so. Naturally, physicists around the world wanted proof. A couple teams of scientists tried to reproduce the results and failed. They eventually demonstrated that the c
laim was false.”
Neff chuckled. “I’ll bet Perón was pissed.”
“Considering the project cost the equivalent of three hundred million dollars in today’s terms, he was justifiably angry. Richter had to leave the country. He claimed that Perón had jumped the gun, that his work wasn’t ready for announcement. He basically just fades into history at that point—unless you’re following what led Richter to think he could do it in the first place.”
“What was that?”
“Richter’s proposal played off a discovery he’d made before the war that more famous Nazi physicists built on. While he was working in Czechoslovakia—and we’ll travel there more than once today—Richter discovered that he could induce radiation by injecting deuterium into lithium plasma.”
“What does that mean?” Madison interjected.
“I can’t explain it in terms a physicist or chemist would want,” Melissa confessed, “but I don’t need to—you’ll see why it matters in a moment. The discovery led to what’s became known as the photo-chemical process, where powerful electric magnets were used to produce fluorescence in mercury.”
“I remember,” Malcolm recalled, “that magnetism was part of Dr. Yu’s explanation of gravity modification. Does this have something to do with that—like what the Nazis were doing in their saucer development?”
“It’s related, though not directly, at least in terms of the declassified documentation you can find.”
“Who’s Dr. Yu?” Ward asked.
“Nazi UFOs?” Nili asked, surprised.
“Dr. Yu is a scientist we met back at Area 51,” Melissa explained. “And we’ll hit the Nazi connection in a bit,” Melissa added, turning to Nili. “Let’s stick to Richter since his work is, in many respects, a good starting point.”
Nili nodded.
“I can only give you a description of the photo-chemical process in layman’s terms, since I’m not a physicist or a chemist. Your handout has some pages taken from the available Freedom of Information Act documentation of Richter’s work. In simplest terms, mercury plasma was put inside some spinning, rotating drums. Flasks of beryllium and thorium were also put inside the drums at the center. The addition of deuterium into the mercury would cause the mercury to fluoresce, and when that happened, the mercury ions that formed would cause the beryllium to emit neutrons.”
“So, this was something like a particle accelerator,” Ward said. He put down the papers and leaned back in his chair.
“If you say so.”
“It is. Go on.”
“Well, the neutrons that were emitted were then captured by the thorium, which changed them into uranium-233.”
“Hmm …” Ward said, closing his eyes and causing Melissa to pause. “Uranium-233 is used for nuclear energy. You’re suggesting that before and during World War II, the Nazis were capable of producing fissionable uranium without a nuclear reactor.”
“It’s more than a suggestion,” Melissa replied. “The Germans were the leaders in nuclear science at the time of the war. We were fortunate to get some of their scientists, like Oppenheimer and Einstein, as part of the Manhattan Project that produced our atomic bomb.”
“What’s important about this process for us?” Malone inquired.
“Several things,” she answered. “Do you remember what the periodic table abbreviation for mercury is?”
Ward shrugged.
“Hg,” Clarise answered.
“That’s right. Sound familiar?”
“Not—wait a minute,” Clarise caught herself. “Those are the first two letters in the letter sequence of Becky’s message!”
“They are, and I think that’s the point of their presence in her message.”
“I presume you have reasons for that?” Neff questioned.
“Good ones. Let’s follow the nuclear thread. We tend to think that the German physicists who didn’t come to America didn’t know how to produce an atomic bomb, or that they couldn’t do it because we never found evidence of a functioning reactor. That’s the accepted storyline, but it’s a myth. There’s good evidence that near the end of the war, prior to Hiroshima, the Nazis had the atomic bomb but lacked a delivery system for it—thank God.”
“What about what the British learned?” Ward hesitated. “There was some scheme they arranged to get that information—Farm something.”
“Farm Hall,” Melissa answered.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“What’s Farm Hall?” Malone asked.
“Look on page 5,” Melissa answered. “Farm Hall is the name of a house in Godmanchester, England. During the last six months of 1945, the British held ten German scientists in that house. Unbeknownst to those scientists, the house was bugged. The goal was to discover what the Germans knew about nuclear projects, specifically a bomb. The set-up was called Operation Echelon.”
“But from what I’ve read,” Ward objected, “the British basically learned that the Germans didn’t know anything about the bomb.”
“There are parts of conversations in the published transcripts that contradict that conclusion—especially if you have Richter’s work in front of you, Melissa replied. “I’m assuming most or all of you know the name Werner Heisenberg?” She glanced around for confirmation. “Heisenberg was a Nobel laureate in physics. He was one of the Farm Hall ten. If you read the transcripts, there’s a lot of ignorance among many of the scientists with respect to nuclear fission and bomb-building. But two days after our bomb was dropped at Hiroshima, Heisenberg gave a lecture on the bomb’s design and how it worked to his colleagues at Farm Hall.”
“In other words,” Neff smirked, “he got real smart real fast without being part of the Manhattan Project.”
She nodded. “Heisenberg knew a lot more than what he let on. The fact is, he knew about Richter’s discovery and its application. The historical record confirms that he advocated Richter’s method at a conference in July of 1942. Heisenberg argued for employing a heavy particle accelerator to produce bomb grade uranium-233 using thorium. There was at least one other person at Farm Hall who knew what you could do with Richter’s ideas, too—one you can bet Dr. Yu would have been fond of.”
“Who was that?” Malcolm asked.
“Walther Gerlach, another Nobel Prize winner. But Gerlach’s specialty wasn’t nuclear fission.” She looked at Malcolm over her glasses. “Want to guess what his specialty was?”
“Magnetism?”
“Close—gravitation.”
Malcolm sighed. “Here we go. Up, up, and away.”
“Gerlach won the Nobel Prize for his work on the spin polarization of atoms. Think about that in light of Richter’s process. There are passages in the Farm Hall transcripts where Gerlach complains to his colleagues about not having enough engineers for—and I quote—‘his photochemistry project.’ He insists that his work didn’t neglect, to quote him again, ‘isotope separation.’ ”
“Nice,” Ward quipped.
“I don’t want to get lost in the bomb physics.” Melissa paused. “What we’re talking about—the process—relates to two things, specifically: getting fissionable uranium for a bomb, or getting it for flight technology. The Nazis were working in both areas.”
“The Colonel did allude to some of that, too,” Brian reminded everyone.
“Last summer at Area 51,” Melissa continued, “we saw documentation that showed saucer technology had its roots in German science—not to mention we experienced it up close and firsthand.”
“Did you include any of the Majestic documents in the stack?” Brian asked.
“A couple—at the very end of the handout. The ones you suggested.”
“What are those?” asked Nili.
“The Majestic documents are a set of leaked documents that ostensibly were created in the 1940s and 1950s, but only surfaced in the 1980s. They talk about how the United States recovered extraterrestrial saucers and bodies from crashes like Roswell and covered up the ET reality.”
“Are
they real?”
“Depends on what ‘real’ means. They’ve been tested forensically and appear in that sense to be legit, but linguistic analysis of a bunch of them shows they weren’t written by the people who supposedly produced them. They have a long, shady history of how they surfaced, too. Most UFO researchers think they’re either fakes or disinformation. I think they’re a combination of fact and fraud, specifically to construct a narrative to move thinking in the ET direction.”
“Why do you mention them now?”
“I reread a lot of them in light of Melissa’s work on Richter,” Brian explained. “Some of the early ones produce a conflicting narrative—conflicting ideas.”
“How is that?” Neff asked.
“They combine extraterrestrial speculation with very human, terrestrial technology. For instance, they talk about saucers that can fly at 1,200 miles per hour. German Paperclip scientists and other sources make it clear that the Germans had aircraft that could go that fast, including wingless or deltoid craft. At that speed, it would take over 1,000 years to get to earth from Mars.”
“That’s hardly a mode of travel you’d associate with advanced aliens,” Ward scoffed.
“That’s the point. Other Majestic documents talk about gears and plastic and copper tubing in the recovered craft—again, hardly extraterrestrial. One document, the Air Accident Report, theorizes that the source of propulsion was a bladeless turbine. That’s precisely what Viktor Schauberger, long rumored to have developed UFOs for the Nazis, was working on. But for our purposes, the significant thing I found was in a document called the White Hot Intelligence Estimate by General Nathan Twining. It specifically says that one crashed, allegedly alien saucer contained a ‘neutronic power plant’ that had traces of—get this—uranium-235, beryllium, and thorium.”
The Portent Page 37