RICHARD
Because I knew that it must be another world, that I was far, far away.
DOCTOR
It looked like another world?
RICHARD
It had to be another world. There was nothing like that on Earth. It was simply incredible.
DOCTOR
But the man, this Wilson, refused to tell you where you were? RICHARD
I asked him. I had to ask him. He wouldn’t tell me.
DOCTOR
What did he say?
RICHARD
He said I would find out soon enough. He said we had to go back now.
DOCTOR
Back to where?
RICHARD
I thought he meant back to the mother ship, but I couldn’t be sure. DOCTOR
Okay, what next?
RICHARD
He pressed the same button and closed the panels. He said he thought I had seen enough. He said that I wouldn’t remember this, that I might remember some of it, but that whatever I remembered would be confused and wouldn’t mean much to me. Then he repeated that I had great resistance. He said that was interesting. He said that most people forget it, but that I might be different. He thought I was interesting. He wanted me to come back. He said that when I ceased my resistance I would be very useful. After that, we went back along the corridor. DOCTOR
Wait a minute, Richard. What do you think he meant by all that? RICHARD
I don’t know.
DOCTOR
You didn’t think about it?
RICHARD
I didn’t remember it.
DOCTOR
All right. You went back along the corridor.
RICHARD
We went back along the corridor, through the laboratory, then into another room. There were a couple of surgical beds. The men in white smocks were there. The leader, the man called Wilson – I think he was the leader – told me to lie down on a bed. It wasn’t a bed: it was an operating table, with a metal cap attached to its headrest. I didn’t want to lie on it. I lay on it and the men moved in around me and then one of them pulled the metal cap down. I didn’t want them to do that. I didn’t want them to do that! I tried to resist, but I can’t move as they put the metal cap on my head. I don’t want them to do that! I don’t want to I don’t want to! I don’t want them to put that on my head, oh please God… I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want to!
DOCTOR
It’s all right, Richard, you are calm, you are safe, you are relaxed, you are deep, deep in sleep, it’s all right. Are you calm now? (The patient does not respond.)
DOCTOR
Can you hear me, Richard?
RICHARD
Yes.
DOCTOR
What happened next, Richard?
(The patient does not respond.)
DOCTOR
What happened next, Richard?
RICHARD
I’m on the hill. I’m cold. I don’t know where I am. I… DOCTOR
You are not on the hill, Richard. You are jumping ahead. You are on the operating table and they are placing the metal cap on your head. Now tell me what happened.
(The patient does not respond.)
DOCTOR
There is nothing to fear, Richard, you can tell me, you will tell me what happened.
RICHARD
I’m on the hill. I’m cold. I don’t know where I am. I… DOCTOR
Deep, deep sleep, you are deep, deep in sleep, you are relaxed, you have nothing to fear, you are very relaxed… You are on the operating table. They are placing the metal cap on your head. You have nothing to fear, you are relaxed, you can tell me what happened. What happened, Richard?
(The patient does not respond.)
DOCTOR
You can tell me, you have nothing to fear, you are relaxed, you can tell me. What happened, Richard?
RICHARD
No.
DOCTOR
You can tell me, you have nothing to fear, you are relaxed, you can tell me. What happened, Richard?
RICHARD
I didn’t want to lie down. I lay down. I didn’t want to be there. I lay there and the men all stood around me and one of them pulled the metal cap lower. I didn’t want them to do that. I didn’t want them to do that! I try to resist, but I can’t move and they’re putting the metal cap on my head. I don’t want them to do that! I don’t want to I don’t want to! I don’t want to have that thing on my head, oh please God, I don’t want to I don’t want to I don’t want –
DOCTOR
It’s all right, Richard, you are calm, you are relaxed, you are deep, deep in sleep, it’s all right, you can tell me… What happened, Richard? (The patient does not respond.)
DOCTOR
Can you hear me, Richard?
RICHARD
Yes.
DOCTOR
What happened next, Richard?
(
The patient does not respond .)
DOCTOR
What happened next, Richard?
RICHARD
I’m on the hill. I’m cold. I don’t know where I am. I… DOCTOR
All right, Richard, we’ll leave it for now. You are in deep, deep sleep, very deep, deep sleep, you are relaxed, you are very relaxed, you are sleeping, deep sleep, In a moment you can wake up. You will remember nothing that has been said between us. You will not remember until I ask you to remember, you are asleep, deep deep sleep. All right, Richard, you are wakening now, you are wakening, wakening slowly, you are very slowly, gradually, wakening. You can wake up, Richard.
Chapter Nineteen
Looking out of the rear window of the large, comfortable London taxi, the first thing that struck Epstein with pleasure was the peculiar beauty of the pearly-gray afternoon light, falling now, through a drifting layer of clouds, on the stately grandeur of Parliament Square, on the Guildhall and Big Ben, on the tourists who milled about on the pavements dominated by statues. Epstein loved the English light. He had loved it since the war. There was something about that mild, misty gray that pacified the most fearful soul.
‘How do you like being back?’ Campbell asked. ‘It’s been an awfully long time.’
‘How long?’
‘About ten years,’ Campbell said. ‘You came over quite a lot in those days. You were a regular tourist.’
Epstein smiled and rubbed his eyes. The taxi was passing the Cenotaph. He gazed at the Foreign Office, at Downing Street and the Treasury Buildings, saw more tourists around Horse Guards Parade, the soldiers stiff in red uniforms.
‘There were a lot of conferences then,’ he said. ‘There isn’t much happening now. The British are very secretive about UFOs, so there’s normally no point in coming.’
‘It’s better in America?’
‘For good and for ill. But once you sort the wheat from the chaff, then, yes, it’s better.’
Sitting beside Epstein in the back of the taxi, wearing a pinstripe suit, polished black shoes and a flamboyant tie, Campbell studied the glittering ring on his finger and nodded judiciously.
‘I know what you mean,’ he said. ‘We British are tight-lipped. The Official Secrets Act blankets all; we’re not as free as we think we are.’
The taxi was pulling out of Whitehall, into the dense traffic of Trafalgar Square, the four lions staring eternally, flocks of pigeons above the fountains, Nelson’s Monument soaring to the cloudy sky, the National Gallery beyond it. Epstein studied the scene with some sadness, recalling other days, better days, when he had felt more assured, his youthful innocence shielding him. Those days were gone forever and would never return. They had slipped away quietly, stealing hopes and good health, leaving him more restless and defeated, overwhelmed by shrinking future possibilities. He didn’t want to think of the hospital. He couldn’t pretend to be that brave. He coughed into his fist and looked out and saw the steps of the church.
‘St Martin in the Fields,’ Campbell said.
‘What are those people doi
ng there?’
‘Some sort of demonstration,’ Campbell said. ‘They often demonstrate there.’
The light was different here, darker, subtly tainted with carbon monoxide: the waste of the traffic that endlessly circled the square and caused chaos in the surrounding West End streets. Epstein rubbed his tired eyes, slumping deeper into his seat, suffering the acute disappointment that comes to old men when they discover that the past has slipped away and cannot be recaptured.
‘It’s a pity about Stanford,’ Campbell said. ‘I’m really sorry he couldn’t come. It’s not like him to miss a trip to London. You must he keeping him busy.’
‘He didn’t want to come this time,’ Epstein said.
‘Stanford? You can’t be serious.’
‘I’m serious. He didn’t want to come. He’s been a bit obsessed lately.’
‘Don’t tell me he’s in love.’
‘It’s not a woman,’ Epstein said.
‘With Stanford it’s always a woman… and our young friend can pick them.’
Epstein smiled. ‘You sound disappointed,’ he said. ‘Anyway, it really isn’t a woman. He’s obsessed with his work.’
‘You mean UFOs?’
‘That’s right.’
‘That doesn’t sound like Stanford.’
‘Stanford’s changed a lot,’ Epstein said. ‘He’s not the man you remember.’
‘You believe the UFOs are real?’
‘Yes, I believe they’re real. And now Stanford… he thinks they’re real as well, and it’s made him obsessed.’
As the taxi slowed down at Cambridge Circus, inching carefully into the traffic, Epstein glanced out and saw the shuffling crowds, the gutters littered with rubbish. The city was less enchanting here, packed with modern shops and fast-food cafes, the pervading grayness no longer romantic, enshrining neglect. Everything changed, Epstein thought, decayed, visibly crumbled, and he turned his eyes away to gaze inward, ashamed of his dark thoughts.
‘Those transcripts were remarkable,’ he said. ‘What’s your assessment?’
‘I agree with you,’ Campbell said. ‘It’s an amazing story. I’ve gone over the tapes time and time again, but can’t come to any kind of conclusion.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m simply confused. I don’t know what to believe. It’s the most incredible story I’ve ever heard to come out of hypnosis, and I’m afraid it’s left me rather baffled.’
‘Is it a true experience or isn’t it?’
‘It’s a true experience to Richard.’
‘But that doesn’t necessarily mean that it actually happened?’
‘No, I’m afraid it doesn’t.’
Epstein sighed and stared out at Tottenham Court Road, feeling weary after his flight from New York to Heathrow, a slight nausea in his stomach, his head throbbing, a little dizzy from jet lag.
‘It’s a very elaborate story,’ he said. ‘He always returns to the exact same story. If the story isn’t true, what can it mean? Why does he believe that it’s true?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Campbell said. ‘Something traumatic obviously happened to him when he was hitchhiking to Cornwall, and it’s possible that he’s just trying to conceal it.’
‘From himself?’
‘Yes.’
‘Even under hypnosis?’
‘Yes, even under hypnosis. They can be pretty tricky.’
Epstein glanced outside again to see the shops with plate-glass windows, an abundance of tape-recorders and televisions and stereo equipment, the audio and visual stimuli of a society increasingly divorced from its senses. There was input and output. The Western world was being programmed: plug in, turn on and forget that the real world exists… Yet what was the real world? Where did fact and fantasy blend? Young Richard Watson’s experience was real to him – and yet may never have happened.
‘All right,’ Epstein said. ‘Let’s suppose he’s hiding something. He’s been shocked and he can’t face up to it, so he creates his selfprotecting fantasy. Yet, if that’s true, what would make him think of UFOs? He’d never thought about UFOs before, so why think of them now?’
‘It’s not true that he’d never thought about UFOs before. He thought occasionally about UFOs. Like most of us, he’d read about them and discussed them now and then – not often, but he definitely must have done it, so they were there in the back of his mind.’
‘Hardly enough to make him switch on to UFOs to explain his amnesia.’
‘Well, there is something else,’ Campbell said. ‘A few weeks back I had a quiet conversation with Richard’s father, and he gave me some interesting information. It seems that Richard’s father – an engineer with British Leyland – was a Royal Air Force navigational pilot during World War Two. When Richard was a child his father used to tell him about the mysterious balls of fire that were seen by a lot of pilots and have since gone down in the literature as the first genuine reports of contemporary UFO sightings. What we’re told, we remember… so Richard could have remembered those UFO stories.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes. According to Richard’s father, he used to embellish his stories – just to scare the hell out of young Richard – by telling him that the balls of fire were actually flying saucers, that they were piloted by extraterrestrials, and that the extraterrestrials had a secret base in the Antarctic, from where they made all their forays.’
‘That’s an old UFO myth,’ Epstein said.
‘Precisely.’
‘So you think that this might account for the landscape of ice and snow that Richard talks about?’
‘Yes. There is a pattern there. First he remembers the balls of fire, immediately thinks of them as being of extraterrestrial origin, and then associates them with a landscape of ice and snow. This could account for his story.’
‘All right. But what would kick it off in the first place?’
Campbell shrugged. ‘Who knows? That’s the area he won’t discuss. As you could judge from the transcripts, there’s a point in his narrative beyond which he refuses to go. That point, obviously, is the actual incident that started the whole business, but he just doesn’t want to face up to it.’
Shifting uneasily in his seat, Epstein rubbed his eyes again, had a spasm of coughing, and felt despair as the taxi turned around Warren Street station, heading for Harley Street. The fantasy and the fact. The dream and the reality. He thought of the mysterious lights outside Galveston, of the enormous disk in the Caribbean, of the deaths and the disappearances and the contradictions in Air Force policy, and he realized that the dividing line was thin and could in truth be a mirage… And yet he had to know. His time was running out. He didn’t want to take his last breath before the truth was revealed to him. Epstein felt a growing rage. He wanted to smash the walls down. He wanted to do it for Mary, for Irving Jacobs and for himself, for all the researchers who had suffered or passed away while the mystery remained. The taxi turned into Harley Street, stopped in front of Campbell’s building. Epstein clambered out, leaving Campbell to pay the driver, and felt a rising impatience.
‘Here we are,’ Campbell said. ‘The home of the brave.’
‘How long before Richard’s appointment?’
‘Twenty minutes,’ Campbell said. ‘After you, sir.’
He opened the front door, ushered Epstein inside, then led him to the ancient elevator with its polished brass gate. Epstein felt trapped in the elevator, silently cursed its creaking lethargy, was relieved when they stepped out into the upstairs hallway and entered Campbell’s suite. Campbell still had the same secretary. She had been with him for fifteen years. Though noticing how much she had aged, Epstein said gallantly, ‘You haven’t changed a bit, Elaine,’ and shook her hand, then he followed Campbell into his office. After closing the door behind him, Campbell pointed to a chair facing the desk. Epstein nodded and gratefully sat down, breathing heavily, coughing.
‘That’s a bad cough,’ Campbell said.
‘Yes,’ Ep
stein agreed.
‘Did you eat on the plane?’
‘Don’t remind me,’ Epstein said.
‘Then a brandy won’t do you much harm. Large or small?’
‘Make it large.’
Campbell went behind his desk, opened a cupboard below it, pulled out a bottle of Rémy Martin and two empty glasses. He poured two stiff shots, slid a glass across to Epstein, then sat back and put his feet on the desk, his glass to his lips. Epstein had a sip of brandy, felt it burning down inside him, making his head feel light and bright, his eyes watering slightly. It did him some good, warmed him up, eased his feeling of unease, but it didn’t stop the growth of his rage, his increasing frustration. He coughed again and cursed mildly, recall the hospital in New York; they had confirmed what he had sensed all along, but now the truth was tormenting him. One year, maybe two. The doctor telling him this had smiled when doing so. Epstein thought again of what he had learned and then tried to forget it.
‘You had another session with Richard,’ he said, ‘since we talked on the phone. Did you manage to crack him?’
‘No,’ Campbell said. ‘The same routine, the same results. The minute you try to fill in the gaps, he stops giving answers.’
‘You tried bullying him into it?’
‘Yes. And he panicked. He just won’t face up to the missing period, and I can’t push too hard.’
‘He’s coming here twenty minutes from now?’
Campbell checked his wristwatch. ‘Fifteen minutes. He’s usually punctual.’
‘I want to know,’ Epstein said. ‘I want you to give him the Pentothal. Believe me, James, it’s very important to me… We must get him to talk.’
‘It could be dangerous,’ Campbell said. ‘He’s not just frightened – he’s terrified. I’m not sure what will happen if we force him. The very thought makes me nervous.’
‘Listen.’ Epstein leaned forward in his chair, placed his glass on the desk, clasped his hands together and spoke urgently, with quiet, clipped precision. ‘This is the most remarkable close encounter case that I’ve come across so far. It could be true, and if it is, it’s important. Indeed, it’s more than important – it’s vital – so we have to succeed. I’m not trying to invent UFOs. I actually know they exist. I don’t know what they are or where they come from, but I know they’re for real. I’ve seen one myself. Stanford and I saw it together. It was in the Caribbean. It was enormous and bright and very clear, and it was visible a long time. That UFO abducted a scientist. Stanford and I were the last to see him. Now the CIA is breathing down our necks, and their breath doesn’t smell nice. They don’t believe our story – at least they say they don’t believe it – but I have reason to think they might actually believe it, and that their concern is really due to the fact that we reported seeing that huge UFO in the Caribbean. Don’t ask me any more for now. I’m begging you, just believe me. Now the CIA is hounding us, they’re calling our story rubbish, and so, apart from natural curiosity, we have good cause to know. Richard might be what we need. He might unlock all the secrets. We have to take the chance – we have to crack him – because we have to find out.’
GENESIS (Projekt Saucer) Page 34