by W B Dineen
I take a big breath in preparation for replying in some way, but no words make their way out of my mouth. I inhale deeply a few more times for kicks, in hopes the oxygen will rush to my cerebral cortex and generate a response. Nope, nothing. I’m officially speechless.
Until I’m not. Then I manage, “Look here, Captain Kirk, I was barely getting to the place where I was willing to entertain some of your wackadoo notions about our government. I was on the verge of believing you and Niko really had created a sci-fi antimatter weapon, and that maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with 9/11. Maybe. But now, I’m pretty sure this whole thing has been some kind of sick joke.”
I look around the room. “Are there hidden cameras? Is that it? Am I being punked?”
I’m on the verge of hysteria when Jake wraps his arms around me. I’m not sure if he’s trying to contain me or if he’s offering strength, but it feels nice, so I let him. He pulls me over to the sitting area and drops down on a functional looking gray sofa with me on his lap.
My dad sits in a chair across from us. “Katie, in the 1960s there were computers that took up rooms the size of football fields. The phone in my pocket today has more functionality than those behemoth dinosaurs. How did this come to be? How did technology explode to this degree in fifty short years?”
It’s like Riverdance is being performed on my frontal lobe. I manage, “Dad, I’m a music therapist. I like to eat out and wear pretty shoes. I like to go to the movies and take long walks on the beach. Therefore, in answer to your question, I have no freaking idea! I assume it happened because scientists like you did your job and figured it out!”
He laughs in my face. I know he’s not trying to be cruel, but it smarts, nonetheless. “Sweetheart, that huge jump would not have been possible without reverse engineering alien technology. It’s that simple.” He continues, “Everything from our smart phones, the internet, stealth technology, and beyond is the result of reverse engineering.”
Tony interrupts. “Remember when I said 1954 was the year that changed the world?”
I want to nod my head, but I’m afraid the movement might launch some projectile vomiting, so I don’t. I just blink my eyes slowly in confirmation.
“In 1954, our government officially met with three factions of alien beings. We made deals to give them certain things in exchange for advanced technology.”
Tony pauses like he expects me to comment, but I don’t, so he continues, “The advancement in technology in the last sixty-five years is greater than in the first two thousand years of recorded time combined. That’s not a fluke. We had help.”
My mom joins the conversation, venturing, “And that help came from intelligence not from our planet?”
“Yes,” my dad replies.
All I can think is that two short weeks ago my biggest concern was choosing new draperies and getting to the airport on time. There doesn’t seem to be anything I can say. I briefly wonder if my dad might have also built a time machine that could take me back two weeks before any of this ever happened, back to when I was normal, boring Kate Randolph. Because let me tell you, if he had, I’d be jumping on it so fast your head would spin.
Tears roll down my face of their own accord and I can’t stop them. My head feels like a water balloon filled to the point of popping. I need to not think. I need to be unconscious for a while. As I realize this, my brain seems to agree because everything goes black.
CHAPTER 55
When I finally come to, my mom is sitting next to me, propping me up. She looks about as thrilled as I am with this latest plot twist. I mean, aliens? Shit. Are we talking little green men from Mars or nefarious grays who steal people out of their beds in the middle of the night? Maybe they’re even weirder than anything we’ve conceived of yet, like giant locusts with purple punk rock hairdos.
When the men realize I’ve regained consciousness, they join us. My dad sits next to me on the other side and takes my hand. “It’s a lot to grasp, Katie.”
I turn to him. “How long have you known about this? I mean, beings from other worlds and all that nonsense?”
He tries to smile, but it turns out to look more like a grimace. “I’ve known since I was a graduate student. One of my professors got permission to pull me on board a project she was reverse engineering. Together, we discovered what the item was and how it was used. Our government put me on the fast-track to get my doctorate, so I could work with them as soon as possible.”
I fling out my hands in front of me. “How did you react? Were you shocked such a thing was going on?”
He shakes his head. “I wasn’t shocked at all. I’d have been a hell of lot more surprised if we hadn’t met beings from other planets. It’s astonishing to me how ready humans are to hide their heads under a rock and pretend we’re all that’s out there. There are 100 to 400 hundred billion habitable planets in the Milky Way galaxy alone. Sixty billion of them exist in what we call the Goldilocks Zone, not too hot and not too cold. Using the Hubble Space Telescope, we’ve estimated there are between 100 and 200 billion galaxies in the universe. Statistically, there’s almost a zero percent chance that human beings are the only intelligent life source.”
While I know he must think this information is helping, it’s overwhelming me that much more. I finally ask, “Have you ever met any aliens? And if so, what do they look like?”
“I’ve seen some, but I haven’t worked with them. I mostly worked reverse engineering items they gave to our government or items that were retrieved from crash sites. As far as what they look like, they all look different depending on what planet they’re from. There are the grays, like you often see portrayed in films, there are reptilians who have a green scaly epidermis, there are the mantis which have an insectoid appearance.”
I want to scrub out the inside of my brain. Even though I asked the question, I don’t want to know this stuff, and I most certainly don’t want to believe it. My dad interrupts my internal tantrum, and adds, “And of course there are several races that are humanoid in feature and resemble us.” I’m going to cling to that last one with all I’m worth and do my honest-to-God best to ignore all the others.
I finally manage, “How many different types do we know of?”
Theo sighs loudly. “At least a hundred, but we only work with a small percentage of them.”
I bend over and put my head between my knees to keep from hyperventilating. After several moments I sit up and look at my mom. She hasn’t said a word in response to anything my dad has shared. She finally notices me staring at her and says, “I knew your father was working on some pretty amazing stuff, but I never had any idea about this.”
My dad interrupts, “My government work has always been top-secret. I could never tell you anything before now.”
My mom nods her head in understanding. “I’m glad I got to raise my children without knowing any of this. I’m not sure I would have ever felt I could have kept them safe otherwise.”
I badly need a break from this topic. So, I turn to Tony and demand, “What’s your story?”
CHAPTER 56
Tony’s full name is Anthony Leonardo Forscha III, making his father Anthony, Junior. The family dynasty goes back generations where they made their fortune manufacturing weapons. Charming.
He tells us that after World War II, the Forscha ancestors diversified their funds by buying into global commerce. They have real estate holdings all over the world, they own large chunks of several corporations which create food containers, power lines, aerospace and automotive parts, and of course they still sell armaments to whomever has the money to buy them.
The Trēdecim began meeting in 1992. Initially, they were only eight in number. They didn’t officially name themselves until 1994 when they reached thirteen in membership and stopped adding to their group.
Tony explains, “The perversity of their thinking drew them to the number thirteen. It’s important to them, much like the number thirty-three is to other secret societies.�
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I don’t want to get off topic, but I’ve heard this about the number thirty-three and I’m curious. “I watched a TV show that talked about the Freemasons and how they have a real thing for that number.”
Tony nods his head in affirmation. “The Illuminati did, as well. The numbers eleven, twenty-two, and thirty-three are considered their primary numbers. In 1870, a man by the name of Albert Pike was the head of the North American Freemason movement. Even back then there was talk of creating a New World Order. Pike claimed to have had a vision where he learned this order would finally be established after three world wars.”
I stand up and walk over to the water cooler. Suddenly, I need an aspirin. Tony keeps talking. “He had this revelation on January twenty-second, 1870, a full forty-four years before the beginning of the First World War. Pike specified that communism in Russia would be a result of this conflict. Twenty-two years before his prediction, Karl Marx published the Communist Manifesto. The war was officially declared over on the eleventh hour, of the eleventh day, of the eleventh month. Add those together and you have thirty-three. Elevens, twenty-twos, and thirty-threes run rampant in their thinking. Based on the reoccurrence of these numbers—and believe me they show up copious times in world events—some think the third world war is slated to start in the year 2022.”
I can’t help but think, why not add psychic visions and numerology to the pot? It seems every other nutso concept has been mentioned in conjunction with the mess we’re in.
I’m about to suggest we consult the Ouija board when he says, “The Trēdecim were drawn to the number thirteen because much of the world considers that number to be unlucky. Many buildings in the US and China don’t have thirteenth floors, opting to go straight from twelve to fourteen. There were traditionally thirteen steps to the gallows, Apollo 13’s mission failed, and in the tarot the thirteenth card is the death card.”
My mom seems to have had enough and interjects, “Don’t you think you’re grasping at straws here? I’m sure any number can be turned unlucky if you work hard enough.”
Tony laughs, “I don’t disagree, I’m just telling you a bit about how these secret societies think. The number thirteen has positive significance, as well. Thirteen is considered a number of leadership. You’ll see it repeatedly in the seal of the United States. There are thirteen leaves, thirteen olive seeds, and thirteen arrows. There’s even the number thirteen on the eagle’s head.”
“In 2013, a thirteenth zodiac sign, Ophiuchus—or snake bearer—was announced. Jesus Christ had twelve disciples, making him the thirteenth.” He digresses, “Of course, that’s lucky or not depending on whether you’re considering Judas’s betrayal.”
My dad interjects, “A lot of this sounds like superstitious nonsense, but remember numbers are powerful. Einstein believed he could prove the existence of God through numbers. If you take the three element numbers on the periodic table that correspond to the three primary occult numbers, you have sodium, titanium, and arsenic. Some believe they’re significant in that they represent the oceans, or fluid life; the land, or solid life; and finally, poison or death.”
I ask, “What’s the thirteenth element?”
Tony responds, “Aluminum.” When I snort in response, he continues, “Or malleable life. The Trēdecim would tell you this stands for their ability to fold, bend, and shape life at their will. And if you look at my family’s wealth, it all stems from the use of aluminum in some way.”
Mother of God, this voodoo of theirs runs deep. “That’s insane!”
“It’s only insane if you think being one of the richest people on the planet is insane.” Which of course I do. I need to think about all of this as a movie. If I try to grasp these concepts as reality, I’m sure to have a stroke or catastrophic heart failure.
CHAPTER 57
According to Tony, the Trēdecim formed after Bill Clinton was elected president in 1992. Of course, they knew he would win, as both the Bilderberg Group and the Trilateral Commission had decreed it a done deal before he’d even officially thrown his hat into the ring. Clinton was a member of both organizations, so he was in the loop and had every expectation he’d be president. Fellow members, both George Bushes, were on board with the change, as well.
Tony says it’s commonly known in these groups that the office of president needs to shift regularly between the two parties. Secret societies have worked for decades to create the great partisan divide that exists in the USA today, and the only way to keep it going is to generate as much conflict as possible by throwing blame back and forth like a game of hot potato. The more everyone is focused on the right hand, or what’s directly in front of their faces, the more the left hand is free to wreak unmonitored havoc.
Apparently, billions of dollars are spent every year to promote this unrest. Black Lives Matter, All Lives Matter, women’s marches, men’s marches, the NRA, the KKK—they’re all free game and encouraged. Funds are thrown at these groups like confetti at a parade, to keep everyone battling, which pisses me right off. I have a pink pussy hat and I wear it proudly. I go to marches in hopes of creating awareness and change. Finding out I’m playing into the hand of the devil really steams my knickers.
Tony says, “The more people are distracted by the mundane, the less likely they are to ask bigger questions, like what’s going on off planet. It’s interesting to note many presidential candidates, ones not affiliated with the Bilderberg Group or Trilateral Commission, claim to want to disclose governmental secrets regarding alien life before they’re elected, but once in office, they discover this information runs so deep they don’t have the security clearance to learn what they want to know. Of course, that didn’t stand true for the first George Bush, as he was the head of the CIA for many years. When questioned about aliens, he commented, ‘People can’t handle the truth.’ The powers that be were in agreement and decided early on to never let them have it.”
Tony continues, “In 1954 when Eisenhower met with the aliens, that was the moment two roads diverged in a wood, so to speak. Had the world been made aware of what was happening there would have been time to digest and process the information. Yes, it may have still turned into a 1938, Orson Wells, ‘War of the Worlds’ nightmare. But it would have been over relatively quickly with the governments’ assurance we were working with these beings and weren’t being taken over by them.”
Thinking about this as a movie script helps me conceptualize what he’s saying, and believe me, if I had Steven Spielberg’s private number, I’d have him on speed dial right now talking movie deals. “Are we still working with them?”
Tony replies, “In ways you can’t begin to conceive.”
“And they were behind the technology of this weapon that Dad and Niko created, right?”
He nods his head. “Yes.”
“What do they want? I mean if they’re working with us, they’re probably working with other governments, right?”
“Correct. And now you see how this is no longer merely a planetary game. As soon as extraterrestrials became players, the game board jumped from two dimensional to three dimensional and beyond. It was once a nice quiet cut-throat game of Risk and now it’s Star Wars.”
His comment makes me think of Ronald Reagan. In 1983, the then-president proposed building a missile base on the moon in his Strategic Defense Initiative. Ostensibly, it was to defend the US against attack from the USSR. I mention this and ask, “Is that what it was really about?”
“Only partially. At the time this idea was presented, we were at a crossroads with our other-worldly partners. They were demanding things we didn’t want to give, and they were threatening our planet’s security. It seemed like a good time to garner public support for the plan, so it wouldn’t have to be funded exclusively by black-op funds. Which, as you know, are extensive, but in the eighties, were nothing compared to what they are today.”
I ask, “What did they want from us?”
My dad inhales sharply. “They wanted human
s to perform their experiments on. They also wanted space on our planet to build facilities in order to carry out those experiments.”
The blood drains from my brain. “That sounds like a bad science fiction movie. It can’t be real.”
Theo shrugs, “What would humans do if they landed on a planet full of odd creatures?” I don’t have a chance to generate an answer before he says, “We’d want to know how they work. In order to do that, we’d perform experiments and most likely many autopsies.”
I cannot go down this road and maintain my sanity, so I ask, “Where does your weapon come into play?”
“We got through the eighties skirmish with them in one piece. In the early nineties, we were at odds about something else. The antimatter weapon was given to our government for twenty-eight days as a way of showing us what we were up against. Your father and Niko reverse engineered it and were able to create one of their own.”
“What happened to the original weapon?”
“It was reclaimed by the otherworldlies. To avert full-out war with them, we made further concessions we had no intention of making.”
“Exactly what concessions did we make?”
Tony sighs, “That’s a discussion for another time, Kate. I promise, if you still want to know after we’ve recovered the weapon I’ll tell you, but you might decide not knowing is the saner alternative.”
I think he might be right about that. “If we find the weapon, and you don’t give it to the Trēdecim, what will you do with it?”
“We’ll dismantle it.”
I like his answer, a lot. “But if you do that, what will the Trēdecim do to you?”
He looks down at his feet for a moment before staring me right in the eye. “That, my dear Kate, is the billion-dollar question.”
CHAPTER 58
Tony is coming back to Pasadena with us and has taken care of securing our housing and vehicles. We still don’t know who’s after us, only that an unknown threat is aggressively looking to take us out of the picture.