The Theta Prophecy

by Chris Dietzel

  But instead, JFK leaned forward and, smiling, said, “Do aliens exist?”

  Without being able to control himself, Dulles burst out laughing. He thought the newly elected leader was going to ask him why the CIA was meddling in the affairs of other countries if it always resulted in riots and hostage-taking, but instead the man was asking about Martians!

  When he collected himself, Dulles saw Kennedy was also laughing. Just about anyone else the director had known in his long career as a banker and diplomat would have been furious if they were laughed at like that, but Kennedy seemed to take it as a compliment, even wanting to join in on the joke.

  “I gather you have not been out to Wright–Patt yet?” Dulles said.

  Area 51 got all of the notoriety amongst conspiracy theorists for supposedly having alien ships stored in its underground hangars, and every year Dulles read accounts of people who had to be arrested after trying to break into the installation. The urge to see little green men was that overpowering. But it was Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, on the other side of the country, where the secrets were actually kept.

  “No, I haven’t,” Kennedy said. “It will be a while before I’m caught up enough in Washington to make my rounds to the rest of the country.”

  “Well, when you get there, you can see the remains of a craft that is not from this world.”

  The president considered this silently. Dulles watched for the variety of expressions he expected to witness and was surprised when none of them washed over Kennedy’s face. The man on the other side of the desk wasn’t scared at what this meant, wasn’t eager to hear what technology had been gathered from the ship and how it might be used as a weapon, wasn’t horrified at the thought of which parts of the alien’s mangled body had been pulled from the wreckage. None of it. He did look almost like a child, though, fascinated by what he had just heard.

  “I knew it,” he said. “I always knew there was other life out there. This is great.”

  Dulles let his hands rest on his desk so his fingers could tap on the dark maple as if a typewriter were there. He was waiting for what he knew would come next.

  And this time Kennedy did not disappoint him: “We have to tell everyone.”

  “Mr. President,” Dulles said, slipping back into formalities and, he noticed, not being stopped from doing so, “that is not a good idea.”

  “Why not?” Kennedy said, a slight edge in his voice.

  “There are things the people can know about and then there are things they are better off being protected from.”

  “Did you not hear what I just said about transparency? What harm could possibly occur from telling people that we are not alone in the universe?”

  Dulles noticed that what his associates in Washington had told him was true: Kennedy’s New England twang was charming when he was telling jokes, but it was like fingers on a chalkboard as soon as he irritated you.

  “Sir, people like to think the world revolves around them. They take comfort in believing we, the government of the United States, know everything that is going on in the rest of the world and can protect them from anything that happens. Telling them that other life forms exist in the universe, far superior to our own, would make them think we are irrelevant. There would be lawlessness.”

  “Lawlessness?” Kennedy chuckled. “Don’t you think that’s a bit melodramatic?”

  “Don’t give people too much credit,” Dulles said. “As soon as they realize we are but a speck of meaningless sand in the cosmos, the laws we ask them to obey will seem trivial. The taxes we impose on them would go unpaid. And you know why? Because none of it will seem relevant in the grand scheme of things. We will no longer have leverage in governing them.”

  JFK offered an exaggerated look of confusion. “We don’t need leverage; we provide a service to the people.”

  “All of our experts agreed,” Dulles said. “Of course, deep down, most people know there is too much evidence that life must exist out there somewhere, but humans have the amazing ability to avoid truths as long as they are repeatedly told the same lie.”

  This last comment made Kennedy begin humming, the same way one of Dulles’s perpetually disappointed teachers had when Allen was a child.

  Finally, Kennedy leaned back against his chair and said, “Let’s come back to that some other time. Let’s try to keep this meeting on a positive note.”

  “I wish for nothing else, Mr. President.” As much as he had tried, being informal, addressing the president by his first name, just wasn’t in his nature.

  “What else can you tell me? What other fascinating secrets do you guys keep to yourselves?”

  “Us guys?”

  “You know what I mean. What other secrets do only a few people know about?”

  “Sir?”

  “Oh, come on. There has to be something. I once heard a story that Franklin Roosevelt was at Oak Island before he ever thought about running for president. Tell me about that.”

  “It’s true. He was there in 1909 as part of a group of treasure seekers called the Old Gold Salvagers or something like that.”

  “I even heard that part of the reason he wanted to become president was so he could find out what the boys in Washington could tell him about what might be down there in that money pit.”

  Dulles nodded. “I heard the same rumor, Mr. President.”

  Not only had Roosevelt been a part of one of the teams that looked for treasure at Oak Island in the decades following Candenborn’s flooding of the mysterious hole, he frequently asked friends for updates on whether or not other expeditions ever found more clues about what was down there. As far as Dulles knew, Roosevelt had gone to his grave knowing as little about what had been at Oak Island as the day he and his expedition gave up trying to clear the pit of ocean water. And luckily for Dulles, Eisenhower, the man who had appointed him Director of Central Intelligence, had never seemed interested in such whims.

  “So, do you know anything about it?” Kennedy asked.

  The president was smiling, thinking the entire thing was a game. He had no idea Dulles was in fact one of the very few people who not only knew about the book, but was also familiar with what it said.

  “Sir,” Dulles said, pressing his fingers to his temples to relieve the pressure that was building up behind his eyes. It was a shame the meeting had taken this turn. Looking back, he actually would have preferred if Kennedy had come into his office screaming about how wrong it was to have various world leaders assassinated and governments overthrown just to further the nation’s interests. In the end, things would have been easier that way.

  “Sir,” Dulles said again. “There are things better left unsaid.”

  He didn’t want to lie because he knew Kennedy’s reputation, knew he would be out a job if the president found out he had been deceived, but he also didn’t want to be the one to let a man known for being brash, known for thinking it was better to tell the public more rather than less, in on a secret that could destroy the country.

  “Excuse me?” Kennedy said, not with an air of indignance, but really wanting to know if he had heard the director correctly. “But I haven’t even gotten to ask if time travel is possible!”

  When the president said this last part, trying to make a joke, not realizing that he was bringing up the only other topic that would make the director wish he were already with his wife someplace farther south, someplace warm and quiet, the director actually groaned.

  “Sir, I’m here to help. Honest, I am. But I would urge you to focus on matters of national interest—the communists and what our boy Hoover is up to—instead of wasting time on these other things you have mentioned.”

  Dulles expected Kennedy to break into a roar. Maybe scream something like, “Who are you to tell me what to spend my time on? I’m the President of the United States!” Maybe throw the stapler across the room, along with any other office supplies within reach. But there was none of that.

  Kennedy simply looked the dire
ctor in the face. Neither of them blinked. Dulles knew what question was going to come next. He should have known as soon as he said there was life on other planets. Why hadn’t he just lied from the start, or at least not offered information, and kept his mouth shut?

  “What?” Kennedy said.

  “What do you mean, what?”

  “I may not be a trained spy like the people you hang around with, but I did play an awful lot of poker at sea. You would be surprised how good some sailors can get at discerning when someone is bluffing.”

  “And?”

  “And your eye is twitching.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.” They stared at each other for another moment. Then Kennedy said, “Is time travel possible?”

  “Some day, I’m sure anything will be possible. Of course, we have no concept of how it might work.”

  He watched the president think about the answer he had been given. Of course time travel was not possible today. Man had not even gotten to the moon yet. But the response had been too general, as if he were testifying before Congress.

  “Have you ever seen proof that time travel might one day become possible?”

  “Sir?”

  “Do you want me to ask again?” The New England accent became more distinct when he grew angry. “Have you ever seen anything to indicate that time travel will become a reality?”

  Dulles closed his eyes. He kept them that way when he answered. “Yes.”

  “Well, don’t be shy. What was it?”

  Dulles could tell from Kennedy’s tone that he honestly had no inkling such a revelation could mean the end of the country they knew. To the young man in front of him, interested in fantastic stories rather than actual global threats, time travel was something magical to keep boys awake at night.

  “A book.”

  “A book?”

  “Yes, Mr. President. Written hundreds of years ago by someone from the future.”

  “Where is this book?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “You’re the Director of Central Intelligence and you don’t know where this book is?”

  “I’ve never actually seen it, sir. Only heard about it.”

  “And that’s enough to make you believe it exists?”

  “Yes.”

  Looking back, the next thing he would say would end up being one of the greatest mistakes of his career.

  He could have left the conversation where it was, let the president know that a book—such an ordinary object, certainly nothing dangerous!—had been discovered. But he saw JFK’s face contort with interest and stupidly thought that if he explained what was in the book he and the others working with him might have a new ally. And not just any ally but the person that the public thought of as the most powerful man in the world.

  “Not only do I know it exists,” Dulles said, “I have men all over the world, in every segment of society—some in Hollywood, some in academic and news circles—all on the lookout for a sign that someone they know might be from the future.”

  The president smiled, but it wasn’t convincing. “Well, that sounds very ominous. Why on earth would you do that?”

  “I assure you it’s necessary. The book tells how people from the future are set on changing our way of life.”

  “How so?”

  “They want to do away with our form of government. They think they know better than the leaders of this country what is good for everyone. Can you believe that? It sounds crazy, I know. But when you hear some of the things that are supposedly in it, you know it really is from the future. That’s why we’re determined to find anyone who might appear from the future, so we can stop them from changing the course of history. And it’s why we make sure no one finds out time travel will be possible one day.”

  “Why would they want to change our way of life, though? We have a democracy. We’re the freest country in the world.”

  “That’s exactly why we have to stop them,” Dulles said, hoping he had said enough to win over the new president.

  Something didn’t make sense to Kennedy, however. Why was Dulles willing to have people on his payroll trying to spot and stop this very thing when it made no sense? Who was in possession of this book if it wasn’t the director? He kept these questions to himself, though, and let the matter drop for the time being.

  The meeting only lasted another few minutes. Then the president excused himself so he could have dinner with the First Lady. Alone again, Dulles sat back in his chair and let out a long sigh. Nothing good would come from the things Kennedy had mentioned. Dulles knew there was probably a microphone in his office. Everyone in this god-forsaken city was recording what everyone else said.

  Two years later, he would watch the television coverage of Kennedy’s assassination and would suspect that the attempt on JFK’s life had probably begun that very evening, the newly elected president meeting with the Director of Central Intelligence, asking questions he never should have asked.

  15 – The Interrogation

  Year: 1956

  “What’s your name?”

  The time traveler blinked awake. The pain in his head made him wish he could go back to sleep. He tried to bring his right hand to his temple but it wouldn’t go anywhere. Confused, he looked down at his arm to see why it wouldn’t obey his commands. Handcuffs. He was handcuffed to the wooden arm of the chair he sat in.

  His other hand was free, though, so he brought it up and touched his hairline. Dried blood flaked away. Searing pain shot behind his eyes. He touched the very tip of his nose. The same result.

  “Here,” the man in front of him said, and tossed him a bag of ice.

  But instead of catching it, the time traveler watched it bounce off his handcuffed arm and land on the floor. The man who tossed it crossed the eight feet to the other side of the dank room, picked the bag up, and put it in the time traveler’s free palm.

  After a quick moment of dazzling pain, the ice numbed the time traveler’s entire face, making him feel like he was on some serious drugs. It was wonderful.

  “What’s your name?” the man said again.

  The time traveler looked first at the man, then at the room he was being held in. The man appeared to be around sixty years old or thereabouts, with close-cut gray hair and a gray beard with flecks of black to show what color his hair had been when he was younger. The guard could have been standing over his prisoner, barking threats and yelling just to hear how loud and ferocious he could sound. But instead, he sat back in his chair with his feet on top of his desk, a pleasant smile across his face as if this whole thing—a man appearing on the rocks outside a federal penitentiary—offered some excitement to an otherwise dull daily existence.

  From the objects littered around the room—certificates of merit, letters of recognition from the governor—along with the framed photographs of the man with various celebrities who had been in town and wanted a personal tour of the infamous prison, it was obvious to the time traveler that this man in front of him wasn’t a guard at all but the warden, Paul Madigan.

  “I’m sorry,” the time traveler said. “What?”

  The warden smiled again, but this time there was less friendliness behind it, replaced by a hint of annoyance.

  “Three times now I’ve asked what your name is.”

  A man knocked twice on the warden’s open door, then stepped into the office without waiting to be invited. Unlike the warden, the man wore a guard’s uniform just like the man who had kicked the time traveler in the face.

  “Yes?” Madigan said.

  “We’ve searched every cell, sir. There are no missing prisoners.”

  The warden frowned. But somehow, a remnant of the earlier smile still remained even as he looked confused.

  “Check again. Go into every single cell.”

  The guard opened his mouth to say something, probably that they had already gone into every cell during the first check and so he had no idea what they hoped to find during a second search
, but instead he closed his mouth, nodded, said, “Yes, sir,” and left the room.

  The time traveler didn’t bother trying to say he hadn’t been trying to escape, that he wasn’t a prisoner at all and that the guard who kicked him across the face was lucky he wasn’t the type to bring legal action. The prisoner count that the guards were performing would confirm that he wasn’t some convict trying to escape back to the mainland.

  Instead, he thought about how best to answer the warden’s question.

  He could give his real name. The only problem was that he hadn’t yet been born when Alcatraz was still in use, so no matter what year it was, he knew it was a year in which giving his real name would only create more questions—questions he couldn’t answer.

  He could give a fake name. But giving a fake name was no better than his real name. There would be no record of who he actually was, no record for the authorities to verify. The same problem would still exist: the police would have no record of his existence.

  He could give them his code name, the name he had been given, months earlier, at the first meeting of the Thinkers. But when he told them his name was one of the fifty states they would think he was playing games with them. How many people in the middle of the twentieth century knew someone named North Carolina or Delaware or Vermont? They would assume he was trying to hide his real identity and would hold him until they could pin some unsolved crime on him.

  There was only one response he could give that made sense and that was the one he offered.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t remember anything.” As if to emphasize the point, he repositioned the bag of ice on his temple and grimaced.

  “What do you remember?”

  “I came to in the water, saw the lighthouse in the distance, and swam to it. I don’t know anything other than that.”

  “How’d you hurt your nose? Lewis said it was already broken before you tried to get away and he had to bust you one.”

  “I wasn’t trying to get away,” the time traveler said. “And I have no idea how my nose got broken. It was like that when I came to.”