The Zul Enigma

by J M Leitch

  ‘But they’re myths, Carlos, just myths.’

  ‘Myths or legends? Some people believe survivors from Atlantis travelled the world passing on their knowledge to less advanced settlements of man; that they were like gods to these primitive people; that this explains the quantum advances in ancient man’s development.’

  ‘Really Carlos!’

  ‘Hey – the stories must have some basis in fact.’

  ‘I grant you Zul’s presented a fascinating hypothesis. I’ll give him that… but that all this is really going to happen.’ Greg shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, Carlos. And the video stops so abruptly. He doesn’t tell you what they want you to do. Why’s he taking so long to get to the point?’

  Carlos shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Greg. If it’s a hoax, you’d think he’d told us by now.’

  ‘Exactly. And the longer he drags it out the more time he gives us to track him down.’

  ‘Unless he’s so confident he knows we can’t.’

  ‘The Americans will. You can be sure of that.’

  Greg’s phone rang. When he hung up he was smiling.

  ‘We’re on. And the President’s requested you be present too.’

  ‘Me? You’re kidding. How about the Pentagon?’

  ‘You go as scheduled at ten and they’ll bring you over to the White House at midday. Then I’ll stay on after to discuss the rest of my business. Come on, we’d better start talking strategy.’

  ***

  ‘Hey, Drew.’

  ‘Charlie boy! How’s it going?’

  ‘Fantastic.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘At Greg’s in Manhattan. Listen, he just spoke to the White House.’

  ‘I don’t believe it! Don’t tell me you’ve got Greg on board.’

  ‘Not on board exactly but we’re meeting the President at noon tomorrow. Greg wants to ask him to authorise an investigation – you know – into where they came from.’

  ‘Bloody hell! That sounds risky. Letting them poke around in your computer system.’

  ‘Hans has it covered.’

  ‘But you didn’t tell Greg what you confided in me, did you? You didn’t tell him what you really think?’

  ‘Of course I did! That’s why I’m here.’

  ‘I mean, you haven’t laid any of your woo-woo crap on him, have you?’

  ‘What “woo-woo crap”?’

  ‘You know exactly what I mean.’

  ‘I just explained how much progress physics has made towards increasing our understanding of the universe and what some of the possibilities might be with even greater insights.’

  Drew grunted. ‘Carlos-speak for you woo-wooed him out the wazoo. Listen. I know what an impulsive bastard you can be. Don’t go overboard. It doesn’t matter a flying fart what you really think about all this. Just make sure you keep it to yourself. Don’t talk about anything you don’t have proof of. Now you know what I’m talking about, right?’

  ‘Sí. The ba…’

  ‘Don’t even mention it. You’ve got to play the game, mate. Don’t mess up. If you do they’ll have you. You mark my words. They’ll crucify you when all this turns out to be nothing but a crock of shit and you discover Mr Z’s some arsehole communications whizz kid with a major grudge and a fucking personality disorder.’

  ‘You just don’t understand what we’re on the edge of here, do you? You conservative small-minded English moron. Now, I know what I’m doing and I know how to look after myself.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’re right.’

  ‘And what makes you think you can lecture me, Andrew Roberts, like you’re the king of tact and discretion? You make me laugh.’

  ‘Ha ha, sticks and stones, Carlos, sticks and stones! I’m just doing what friends are meant to do. I’m looking out for you. So don’t mess up.’

  ‘Shut up for Christ’s sake. You sound like a broken record.’

  ‘Don’t you get on your high horse with me, Charlie boy. Now, pay attention. I’ll be in DC tomorrow afternoon, so any chance of a beer tomorrow night? Downtown. I’m staying the night with a mate in DC.’

  ‘Sí, why not? I’ll call you when I know what’s going on.’

  ‘Sounds good. Keep in touch then.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And Carlos?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t fuck up.’

  CHAPTER 9

  Carlos was whisked out of his meeting at the Pentagon into an official limousine and, accompanied by General James Schwabe, Director of the National Security Agency, driven along the slush-lined streets to the White House, aptly named that snowy day. After courteous but stringent security checks, Amanda, the President’s secretary, led him to an ante-room where Greg was already waiting.

  Five minutes later she showed them into the Oval Office. Although Carlos had never been there before, it looked familiar from the many photos and film clips he’d seen over the years. There was Bob Anderson sitting behind the gigantic wooden Resolute desk framed by two tall flags, the Stars and Stripes and the flag of the President, with Anita Goodwin, his Secretary of State, leaning with a conspiratorial air over his shoulder. It made an imposing tableau. As they both looked up and smiled in greeting, the scene was so picture perfect Carlos felt sure it was staged and trotted out for every newcomer.

  In a single fluid movement, Bob rose from his chair – he was taller than Carlos expected – and strode towards them, the epitome of what a handsome clean-cut no-nonsense American President should look like, with a confidence that belied the fact he’d been in power for less than a year, having taken up the reigns when the former President died in a car accident and the Vice President suffered a fatal heart attack a day later. Positioned much further to the right than his predecessor, he was nearing the end of his party’s first term in office and appeared at ease with the heavy load he carried on his shoulders, despite his administration’s struggle to weather a series of damaging political storms, the latest being the NASA fiasco.

  Although his manner was relaxed and confident, Carlos knew by reputation he was a hard man with the potential to be ruthless.

  Greg stretched out his hand in greeting. ‘Hello Bob, it’s been a while.’

  ‘It sure has. Good to see you Greg.’

  ‘Allow me to present Dr Carlos Maiz, Director of The United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs based in Vienna.’

  Carlos took a step towards Bob, weighing up his chilling blue eyes. Even the small wrinkles that edged them couldn’t soften his penetrating gaze. As Bob gripped his outstretched hand and gave it one firm shake, Carlos caught the hint of a fresh, tangy cologne.

  ‘Good morning, Mr President, it’s a privilege to meet you.’

  ‘Welcome to the White House, Dr Maiz.’ Bob said in his lazy Southern drawl. He looked over his shoulder towards his Secretary of State. ‘Anita, come over here and say “hi” to Mr Howard and meet Dr Maiz, won’t you?’

  Once the introductions had been made, Bob invited them to sit down at the opposite end of the huge oval room where there was a roaring fire protected by a fireguard. Perpendicular to it, two large plush cream brocade-cushioned sofas flanked by antique walnut side tables faced each other. At right-angles to the far end of each couch and offset towards the centre were two Georgian mahogany carver chairs upholstered in a satin regency stripe with their backs to the fire.

  Greg sunk into the cushions of the far couch, while Carlos and Anita sat next to each other opposite him. Bob took a seat on the upright chair at Carlos’s right elbow. Anita rested her notebook on her lap as she perched at an angle on the edge of the sofa, one foot anchored to the floor the other tucked neatly behind it. She was a petite plain woman who was especially softly spoken, but her retiring demeanour and mild manner concealed the scalpel blade of a keenly analytical mind.

  ‘First of all, thank you for adding this item to our agenda at such short notice,’ Greg began and Bob gave him a curt nod. ‘I’ll get straight to the point,’ said Greg
leaning forward and resting his small hands on his hefty thighs, the contrast making them look oddly out of proportion. ‘Last Monday evening the UN’s communication system in Vienna was compromised by an individual claiming to represent the Galactic Federation.’

  Anita threw a glance at Bob, but his face betrayed no reaction. ‘Go on,’ he drawled, and Greg recounted the story of Zul’s contact with Carlos.

  ‘Considering the sensitivity of this issue we felt obliged to inform you. We also request you to authorise an investigation by one of your agencies.’

  Everyone had been watching Greg as he spoke, including Carlos, but from time to time he’d noticed Bob’s eyes flash in his direction. Although each glance was as quick as the flick of a lizard’s tongue, Carlos was under no misapprehension he was being appraised. He shifted in his seat and unbuttoned his jacket.

  ‘Here are transcripts of the messages,’ Greg said handing Bob a blue folder. ‘The ITU-T report’s on top.’

  Nobody spoke as Bob scanned the documents. It didn’t take him long. He passed the file via Carlos to Anita, who leafed through and returned it to Bob.

  ‘Why are you bringing this to me, of all people?’ he asked.

  ‘Because your office has access to cutting edge communications technology, that’s why I’m asking you to investigate, to see if your people can find something ours missed.’

  As Bob grunted, Carlos interjected, ‘If they can’t prove the messages originate from Earth then we have a major situation. It won’t just concern us at the UN, it will concern the entire planet.’

  ‘You’re kidding me,’ Bob said looking down at Carlos from his upright chair.

  ‘No sir, we’re not kidding you.’

  ‘You mean you’re seriously suggesting that this, waddya call him, “Zul” is an alien?’

  Carlos bristled. The furtive looks earlier and now the patronising tone? He was insulted. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees and glanced over at Greg signalling that he’d take it from there. Greg tried to protest but it was too late. Carlos was already speaking.

  ‘Mr President, sir, I very much doubt it’s a hoax.’

  The angle at which their seats were positioned made it hard for Carlos to look Bob straight in the eye.

  ‘Now why would you say that? You can’t prove it.’

  ‘How do you explain that not only our communication specialists but those at ITU-T also don’t know where the messages came from or how they were lodged on our system?’

  Bob laughed out loud as he shook the file, his eyes searing through Carlos’s head. ‘There’s Jack shit in here. Do you really believe this lightweight piece of reporting is evidence you’ve been visited by little green men? Where’s your proof?’

  Sitting next to Carlos Anita dropped her head and began drawing a daisy chain round the border of the blank page in her book, shading it with crosshatching. He didn’t know whether she was embarrassed by Bob’s outburst or trying to hide her amusement.

  With a mocking smile Bob slapped down the file on the table at Carlos’s elbow. The sound made Anita jump. Bob then leaned back in his chair, elbows on the armrests, hands folded in his lap and legs straight out in front of him, crossed at the ankles.

  Carlos felt as if he’d taken a physical blow. His ears buzzed with a rush of adrenaline and he could feel his heart pumping, lifting his shirt with every beat. It took all his control to stop himself from lunging forward and grinding his fist through Bob’s perfectly shaped nose, spreading it like jam all over his handsome face.

  Carlos inhaled slowly, trying to steady his pulse and relax the muscles in his jaw as one by one he uncurled the fingers of his right hand and placed it on top of the folder that Bob had slammed down on the table. With enormous effort he kept his tone relaxed.

  ‘Hey, that’s why we’re here Mr President. To ask you to check about this evidence you’re calling “lightweight”, using your own highly trained experts.’ Then he raised a finger in the air and wagged it. ‘But I already know what the result will be. Your people won’t trace these communications either.’

  Greg, shocked by the blatant hostility coursing between the other two men, wanted to get Carlos’s attention, to stop him from making matters worse. He tried to shift his weight forward but, swallowed by the sofa cushions, ended up squirming like a fly caught in a web.

  Carlos squared himself towards Bob. He continued in a low slow voice, fixing him with an unwavering gaze.

  ‘You say you want proof. Well, I’ve seen proof,’ he jabbed himself in the chest with his thumb and paused to make sure his words had sunk in. ‘Zul said he’d send me a sign… and he did! He sent me a hologram. It was a newborn baby. I picked it up but in minutes she starts regressing to a foetus, getting smaller and smaller until I end up with nothing in my hands.’ Carlos stopped for effect. He touched his eyes with both hands. ‘I saw this happen with my own eyes.’ He looked from Bob to Greg to Anita. ‘This was Zul’s proof to me. Now I have no doubt in my mind that he is not from our…’

  Greg, escaping from the cushions, interrupted Carlos his big face flushed. ‘You said nothing about this to me.’

  Carlos held up his hands and shrugged. ‘I know. I should have told you.’

  The ensuing silence was only broken when Amanda opened the door and wheeled in a trolley laden with coffee and sandwiches. She poured the coffee and left. Bob signalled the others to help themselves to milk and sugar. Still, not a word was spoken, the only sound being the clink of silver teaspoons against bone china and muted chewing.

  An age passed before Bob put down his plate. He leaned towards Carlos. ‘Dr Maiz, forgive me, but I find what you say a li’l hard to take on board.’ He loaded his words with a helping of sarcasm that was impossible to miss.

  Greg also put down his plate. He cleared his throat. ‘Let’s just stick to the facts, right Bob? Dr Maiz has received messages and we don’t know who sent them. It’s an inexplicable breach in security and we have to get to the bottom of it. We’re here to ask your help. To ask you to authorise your resources to investigate on our behalf.’

  Bob glanced at Anita and nodded. ‘Okay, we’ll do it. We’ll need to contact your security people in Vienna. Do you have a problem with that?’

  Greg shook his head. ‘I’ll tell our Network Security Manager to expect your call. His details are in the file.’

  Bob slapped his hands on his knees and stood up indicating the audience was over. ‘I’ll get our guys on to this right away. I don’t know how long it’s gonna take, but I don’t want Dr Maiz disappearing before it’s resolved to our satisfaction. We have a guest-house a few blocks away. I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable there,’ he said glancing at Carlos. ‘Greg? You’re gonna have to excuse me while I brief my staff about the investigation you’ve requested. We’ll reconvene here to talk about the rest of the UN agenda in say a half hour?’

  He walked to his desk and buzzed Amanda. ‘Will you show Mr Howard and Dr Maiz to the waiting room and make arrangements for Dr Maiz to be taken to our VIP accommodations up the street? Then I want you back in here. Something urgent’s come up. I’ll continue my meeting with Mr Howard later.’

  The President gave Carlos and Greg’s hands a curt shake and Amanda ushered them out as Bob walked back to where Anita was still sitting. Within five minutes, Amanda was back in the Oval Office.

  ‘Amanda, don’t rush getting Dr Maiz out of here. I wanna hear what he and Mr Howard have to say to each other, so leave them for a while.’

  Amanda nodded.

  ‘And get hold of Barbara Lord, the Director of National Intelligence. Tell her I want everything on Dr Maiz they can find. See her report’s on my desk within the hour. I want that gentleman kept under the highest level of surveillance and I want regular updates on everything he does and everyone he speaks to. I wanna know about Mr Howard’s calls too.

  ‘Then get General Schwabe in here. I want you at the meeting too, so’s I can brief you all together. We’ve got ourselves a very odd
situation going down.’

  ***

  Amanda brought General James Schwabe into the Oval Office and they settled down on the couch opposite Anita. Bob, as was his habit, was already sitting on an upright chair.

  ‘So, Mr President, what’s this all about,’ asked James, Director of the National Security Agency, trying to mask his irritation at being kept away from his business at the State Department.

  ‘The Secretary-General of the UN, Mr Greg Howard, contacted me yesterday outta the blue wanting to add an urgent topic to the agenda of our today’s meeting, the topic being suspicious e-mails getting onto the system at the United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs,’ the President began.

  ‘Bearing in mind the Director of OOSA, Dr Carlos Maiz, was meeting James and his gang at the Pentagon this morning to discuss preferential usage terms for the Space Elevator… by the way how did that go?’ Bob asked James.

  ‘Just as we anticipated. He wouldn’t brook any partiality. None at all.’

  Bob grunted. ‘I see. No surprise there then. We’ll have to work on other ways. Okay… back to the messages… so considering Dr Maiz was the recipient of the said e-mails, I thought it prudent to invite him along to the meeting as well. Anyhow, this gentleman of Spanish extraction, who has the bearing and dress sense of a Colombian cartel boss, sat here at my elbow with a poker face and proceeded to tell me he believes he’s been contacted by aliens.’

  James and Amanda glanced at each other and then looked back at Bob.

  ‘Aliens! That’s ridiculous,’ sniffed Amanda, the President’s secretary.

  ‘I couldn’t believe what I was hearing either, Amanda. Neither, so it seemed, could Mr Howard and in deference to him, a man whose integrity I respect, I listened to what this individual had to say and promised to have my people look into the visitations he described.’

  Bob paused. ‘So, James, can you help us out here?’

  The General raised his eyebrows and pursed his full lips. ‘I’m not sure. As you well know, NSA eavesdrops on all phone calls and e-mails going in and out of the UN, although we don’t have other forms of surveillance in their offices. Nothing’s been brought to my attention to date. I’ll have someone check out OOSA’s records in Vienna immediately. But tell me, how did these… visitations… take place?’