The Lone Gunmen, Part 1
Over Mexico, near the Fusang border – December 25, 1993, late night
Xocoyol Mazatl flew through the clouds in his Shenyang J-9 fighter jet on his regular patrol above the Mexican border. He loved flying, but he hated having to fly at night, especially in a rickety old J-9 like his. His superiors claimed it was the best plane in all of Mexico, but they probably just said that because the better ones were destroyed back in Desert Storm. He enlisted in the Mexican Air Force too late to participate in Desert Storm, which was probably a gift from the gods above. His two brothers were killed in the war, one in the “highway to hell” incident and the other at Albuquerque. At least he wouldn’t suffer the same fate.
Just as he thought that, he noticed a strange light bobbing in and out of the clouds, drawing close to him. He glanced at his radar, which displayed nothing out of the ordinary.
“Base, this is patrol six,” he radioed, “Request I.D. on object 25 miles from my position bearing three-four-one.”
“Negative on object,” a base officer replied, “Are your bearings correct?”
Xocoyol heard a loud humming noise from nearby. He looked around. “I swear it was there a second ago. Maybe it’s one of them Roman stealth—”
Suddenly, a bright flash of light illuminated the cockpit. Xocoyol screamed in panic.
“We have radar confirmation!” the officer shouted. “You’re under attack! Repeat, you’re under attack!”
“I can see that!” Xocoyol shouted. “What in Tlaloc’s name is that?!”
The officer could only offer a string of curses in response.
Xocoyol frantically put on his helmet and activated his targeting system. There was another bright flash as the UFO zoomed past and Xocoyol locked on.
“I’m locked on!” he shouted. “Xipe-Totec, guide my aim!”
He fired. A missile arced out from his jet and shot towards the UFO. For all of its advanced aviation technology, it could not dodge a few feet of metal and explosives heading its way. A huge fireball erupted in the sky.
“Yes!” he cheered. “Huitzilopochtli is great! I got him!”
Central Powers Surveillance Station, outside Fenghuang, Fusang
The officers continued sleeping, even as the radio buzzed with frantic calls and alerts. The interior lights flickered, and outside, night briefly became day. The UFO slammed into the desert outside, causing a loud explosion that finally woke up the officers.
“我的天,” Officer Liu said.
Officer Shen sat down at the radio and picked up the headphones.
“This is Nanyue to Hongyue,” he said, “We’ve got a downed plane at camp perimeter.”
“This is Hongyue,” the radio said, “That’s a negative, we have nothing in the sky at this time.”
Shen looked back out the window. He turned back to the radio.
“Well, we’ve got something down here,” he said, “Advise Medivac unit to be on stand-by, we’re going to check it out.”
“好,” the radio said.
Liu and Shen got up and put their hats on. Liu grabbed a fire extinguisher, while Shen got a first-aid kit.
“Medivac One, Medivac One, this is Hongyue,” the radio said, “Vector one reports downed aircraft in their area, over.”
“I didn’t sign up for this,” Liu muttered.
“Yeah, well that’s not part of my job description, is it?” Shen pointed into the sky.
They watched as another UFO descended from the clouds and hovered over them.
“Please tell me I’m not drunk,” Liu said, “Because I definitely didn’t order that as a Christmas gift.”
“You’re not,” Shen said, “That is some bad frakking juju.”
Route 100, outside Hermannstadt, Siebenbürgen – February 18, 1994, 12:20 AM
An unmarked truck drives down the road. Inside, Miklos Ranheim sat in the drivers’ seat, taking a sip from his coffee every few minutes. His eyes focused on the empty forest road, as they had for the last few hours.
“Break, breaker, this is Big Flight, anybody out there with me, come back to me, over,” a man said on his CB radio.
“I read you loud and clear, this is Bertha Blue, come on…” a woman replied.
Frustrated, Miklos turned on his radio.
“From Kronstadt, it’s the Grand Old Kron on WSM Radio 650,” the DJ said, “Brought to you by Friedrich’s Headache Powder. When the night’s been too long and the party’s been too hardy, Friedrich’s Headache Powder will straighten you right out. And you have my word on that. Good evening…”
Suddenly, the radio was filled with static. The channel rapidly changed, the dial spinning through frequencies on its own. Miklos fiddled around with the controls, but to no avail. Frustrated, he turned it off.
“I saw it, it was cigar-shaped, red and green lights, fast as hell,” a man said on the CB radio.
“I saw three of them flying over Hermannstadt County,” a woman added.
“Right, right, and six troopers were chasing them down 22!” another man said. “Whoa, I see one now! And he’s over the watertower!”
Miklos looked at the CB radio just as he heard police sirens. A police car sped by his truck, disappearing into the night again.
“I see him too!” the woman said. “Red and green lights, just like you said!”
The CB grew garbled, the voices covered with static, before Miklos shut it off. And that was when everything else suddenly shut of as well. The headlights went out and the engine unexpectedly died, and the truck skidded along the road. Miklos desperately slammed on the brakes and tried to steer the truck off the road. The truck finally came to a stop, and Miklos grabbed his shotgun and flashlight and got out. A loud hum permeated the air, raising the hairs on Miklos’s neck. He loaded his gun and walked around to the back. However, something drew his attention to the sky.
Hovering above his truck was a large UFO, its underside covered in red and green lights. As it just hovered there, the cargo doors behind Miklos swung open, its locks snapping apart as if under the influence of a strong magnetic field. Inside were several brown boxes. He spun around and aimed the flashlight at a pile of rustling bushes nearby. The flashlight went out. Feeling something was watching him, he aimed his shotgun and fired three times.
9:21 AM
Anders pulled out a Geiger counter from his backpack and started walking around. Nearby, Angela picked up a shotgun shell from the ground and put in an evidence bag. Other Athanatoi agents walked around the area, gathering evidence and taking notes with journals and recorders.
“From the trucker’s description, the shape he fired on could conceivably have been a wolf,” Angela said.
“Conceivably,” Anders said.
“The Imperial Weather Service last night reported atmospheric conditions in this area that were possibly conducive to lightning,” Angela said.
“Possibly,” Anders said.
The clicking from the Geiger counter grew stronger, and the meter went off the charts at a leaf that was crushed by something. Meanwhile, Angela took a picture of another shotgun shell.
“It is feasible that the truck was struck by lightning, creating the electrical failure,” Angela said.
“It’s feasible,” Anders repeated.
He opened an evidence bag and put the leaf inside. Angela stood up.
“And you know, there’s a marsh over there,” Angela said, “The lights the driver saw may have been swamp gas.”
“Swamp gas?” Anders said.
“It’s a natural phenomenon in which phosphine and methane rising from decaying organic matter ignite, creating globes of blue flame,” Angela said, walking towards him, “And Siebenbürgen is known for reports of blue flames appearing out of nowhere. Ties in nicely with local lore.”
“Happens to me when I eat Herman Hunds,” Anders said, “How can a dozen witnesses including a squad of police vehicles in three counties and one large city be hysterical over swamp gas?”
He got up and walked back to the car as Angela followed.
“I’ve investigated multiple sightings before,” Anders said, “The Bosporus, Lake Casteilla, Area 51 in Arabia. None had this much supporting evidence. Anecdotal data, exhume residue, radiation levels five times the norm.”
“Anders, none of that evidence is conclusive,” Angela said.
“The only question for me is, why was the truck driver singled out?” Anders asked.
“Isn’t it more plausible that an exhausted truck driver became swept up in the hysteria and fired at hallucinations?” Angela said. “I mean, after all, the road can play tricks on you.”
“Yeah, it can play tricks on you,” Anders said, “But not like this.”
He put the Geiger counter to the leaf again, and Angela watched as it howled again.
Hammersdorf Police Station, Hammersdorf, Hermannstadt – 10:51 AM
Miklos sat in an interrogation room with Angela and Anders. He scratched impulsively at rashes all over his face.
“I don’t know why they’re holding me,” he said, “This ‘firing a weapon on a county road’ charge is a lot of house manure. I’m a vet. I fought at Ruse. I know how to handle a gun.”
“Herr Ranheim, I’d appreciate it if you could elaborate on the report you filed last night regarding your encounter,” Anders said.
Miklos rubbed his eye and sighed.
“Like a saucer and green and orange lights,” Miklos said.
“Last night, you said it was cigar-shaped and black and red,” Anders said.
Miklos coughed. “I didn’t ask for this to happen. All I want to do is deliver my shipment of auto parts and forget…”
He coughed profusely. Angela handed him a glass of water.
“Pardon me for asking, but how long have you had that cough?” she asked.
“Why?” Miklos said.
“I’m just concerned, you said you were a veteran,” Angela said.
“What’s that got to do with this?” Miklos said.
“The cough, the fever, the rash,” Angela said, “Those are all symptoms of Gulf War Syndrome.”
“I was never in the Gulf War,” Miklos said, “I only served in World War III. Did my time, served my country, moved to Sibenbürgen. Sure looks different when I’m not trying to blow everything up.”
“Okay, so, how long have you not been yourself?” Anders asked.
“Since the thing last night,” Miklos said.
Anders was about to ask another question when a man in a suit walked in with an officer.
“Herr Ranheim, I’m Police Chief Sibiu,” he said, shaking Miklos’ hand, “Please, forgive the misunderstanding. Your truck’s squared away. You may go.”
“I’d like to examine the truck,” Anders said.
“That won’t be necessary,” Sibiu said.
Miklos got up and left. Anders started to follow. Miklos turned and stopped him.
“This man has had an alleged close encounter,” he said, “The truck undoubtedly contains important trace evidence.”
“Anders, leave it,” Angela said.
“You’ve gotten all you’re going to get out of this county,” Sibiu said, “We will no longer cooperate in your investigation.”
“Why?” Angela aside.
“Just… go away,” Sibiu said.
He left. Angela looked at Anders. After exchanging looks for several seconds, they took their things and left the room.
Kronstadt Airport – 4:15 PM
A man printed out a car rental slip and handed it out to Angela, who started filling it out. Behind them, a woman shook her pen with frustration. It obviously wasn’t working. She was trying to fill out a form as well. Her son and daughter sat impatiently on the desk. Angela almost felt sorry for having a working pen.
“It’s obvious someone got to the police chief. Ranheim was hiding something,” Anders said.
“Ranheim was sick,” Angela said.
“He only became sick last night,” Anders said, “For something he would’ve only gotten if he served in Mexico, which he didn’t.”
The woman tapped on Angela’s shoulder. “Excuse me, can I use your pen?”
“Sure.” Angela handed her pen to her.
“What are you suggesting, that Gulf War Syndrome is caused by UFOs?” she asked Anders.
“UFOs are frequently witnessed by soldiers during wartime,” Anders said, “Like the Foo Fighters during World War II, which were seen by both Loyalist and Angeloi bomber crews.”
The woman handed the pen back. “Thanks.”
Angela and Anders got on the bus and sat down.
“Anders, the only UFOs people are likely to see are secret military aircraft,” Angela said, “Like the M-117 in Mexico.”
“What if that’s what made the soldiers in Mexico sick, Angie?” Anders said. “The exhaust or fuel from a classified aircraft or its weapon.”
“Well, there is a military base in Bucharest,” Angela said, “You think that’s what the KL was flying that night?”
“They’d deny it, but it could possibly explain how Ranheim developed his symptoms,” Anders said.
“Possibly,” Angela said.
“I want to talk to some people when we get back to Constantinople,” Anders said.
“Anders, the military obviously isn’t going to talk about classified aircraft,” Angela said.
“No, these guys are like a government watchdog group,” Anders said, “Sort of on the extreme, but not Angeloi level, if you’re wondering. They publish a magazine called ‘The Lone Gunman’. Some of their information is first-rate; covert actions, classified weapons. Some of their ideas are downright spooky.”
The Lone Gunman Office, Ostend, Constantinople – 7:04 PM
Anders and Angela sat in front of the window. A long-haired and unshaven man named Reinhard Lander walked around wearing a Ramones t-shirt. A more clean-cut man named Ragnar Biers, with a professional-looking moustache and beard and wearing a suit and tie, stood in the corner. The third man, Rudolf Froniker, far shorter than Ragnar and Reinhard, took a picture of Angela. Angela immediately noticed, grabbed the camera, and slammed it against the wall, destroying it.
“Hey!” Rudolf said.
“So, check it out, Anders, today I had breakfast with one of the guys who shot Ragnar Beck,” Reinhard said.
“Is that so?” Anders said.
“Old dude now, of course, but yeah,” Reinhard said, “Says he was dressed as a cop on the grassy knoll that day.”
“And, Anders, listen to this,” Ragnar said, handing a newspaper to him, “Chen Shuibian, the leader of the Fuxingyundong and the next Chancellor of China? He’s being put into power by the most heinous and evil force of the 20th century.”
“Barney the dinosaur?” Anders joked.
Angela smiled, and Reinhard laughed. Ragnar, however, was unamused.
“The Athanatoi Foreign Division,” Ragnar finished.
“Not RSB?” Angela said, “Something’s off about that…”
“Is this your skeptical partner?” Reinhard said.
Rudolf took another picture. “She’s hot.”
Angela grabbed his second camera and destroyed it.
“Hey!” Rudolf said. “That had definitive proof Chancellor Kohl knows about the illegal donations to the CMU! And that there are illegal donations!”
“I have a boyfriend,” Angela said, “Also, Kohl would never do that. Campaign finance laws would’ve forced him to admit it by now.”
“You don’t believe that the Athanatoi, threatened by a loss of power and funding because of the end of the Cold War, wouldn’t dream of having the Reich’s nemesis back?” Ragnar said.
“I think you give the government too much credit,” Angela said, “I mean, the government can’t control the deficit or manage unemployment in the former Occupied Territories…”
The phone rang, and Reinhard picked it up, also turning on a tape recorder. “Lone Gunman.”
“She is hot,” Rudolf repeated.
Anders turned to him. “Settle down, Froniker, she’s my cousin.”
Ragnar walked up to them. “I’m not talking about the bunch of idiots in Augustaeon trying to bone their interns or accept illegal campaign donations. We’re talking about a dark network, a government within a government, controlling our every move. A deep state, if you will.”
“How can they do that?” Angela said.
“How?” Ragnar said. “I’ll show you how. You got a twenty mark bill?”
Angela dug into her pocket and pulled out a twenty. She looked at Anders, who smiled back and shrugged awkwardly, before handing it to Ragnar. Ragnar held the bill up and tore it in half, pulling out the anti-counterfeiting strip.
“Hey!” Angela said.
Anders laughed. Angela punched him in the arm.
“That’s just one method,” Ragnar said, “They use this magnetic strip to track you. Whenever you go through a metal detector at an airport, they know exactly how much you’re carrying.”
“Hey, Biers, it is a national crime to deface money,” Anders said.
“This strip is an anti-counterfeiting measure,” Angela said.
“How come it’s on the inside?” Reinhard said. “Other countries put that strip on the outside. Even Russia does it, and we all know how much the ruble's worth.”
“What are they hiding?” Ragnar said.
Anders waved his hand. “Okay, alright, now, what do you know about Gulf War Syndrome?”
“Agent Orange of the 90’s,” Reinhard said.
“Artillery shells coated with depleted uranium,” Ragnar said.
“Have you heard of classified planes being flown during the Mexican Gulf War?” Anders asked.
“Why would you need to expose a secret plane to an air force that runs to Mississippi or is blown out of the sky whenever you take to the air?” Ragnar said.
“What about UFO activity during that period?” Anders asked.
Reinhard and Ragnar laughed.
“Yeah, UFOs caused the Gulf War Syndrome, that’s a good one,” Reinhard said, “Just like Sentinel is really—"
“That’s why we like you, Anders, your ideas are weirder than ours,” Ragnar said.
Anders laughed a bit. Angela nodded her head slightly in agreement.
X-Division Office – 8:14 PM
Anders looked at the picture of the shotgun shell with a magnifying glass and another picture of the road, while Angela wrote in her notebook and listened to her Walkman.
“Those were the most paranoid people I have ever met,” she said, “I don’t know how you could think that what they say is even remotely plausible.”
“I think it’s remotely plausible that someone might think you’re hot, Angie,” Anders said, “Demetrios certainly did.”
Angela punched him in the arm. Then she shook her pen to get the ink flowing again. However, it still didn’t write, so she unscrewed her pen.
“Did you see the way they answered the telephone?” she said. “They probably think every call they get is monitored and they’re followed wherever they go. It’s a form of self-delusion. It makes them think that what they’re doing is important enough that somebody would…”
She looked at her pen and found electronic devices inside. She quickly paused her Walkman.
“What’s the matter?” Anders asked.
“Why is there a listening bug in my pen?” Angela asked.
Anders’ apartment, Psamathia District – 9:56 PM
Anders walked over to his light and replaced his bulb with a blue one. He opened the blinds, turned off all other lights, and sat down. He waited there patiently for the signal. Several hours flew by before the phone rang, jolting him from his sleep. He got up and picked it up, hearing a click on the other end. That was the signal. He put on his jacket (he should really get around to returning it to Demetrios) and left.
Hagia Sophia – February 19, 1994, 3:41 AM
Anders sat down on a bench next to the statue of Saint Gunhilda, eating an apple. He looked up at the statue of the Reich’s greatest military leaders and the patron saint of the Armed Forces. Her horse majestically reared up in the air, cutting an imposing figure. She had her sword drawn and pointing forward, as if ordering troops to charge. A shield covered her left arm, decorated with the coats of arms of the Schweinfurt and Hohenzollern dynasties, Christian symbols, and Latin phrases. She had no helmet, but her eyes looked defiantly in the direction of her sword, ready to fight whoever was stupid enough to step onto the opposite side of the battlefield.
Hans sat down next to him. “Looks a little like Angie, right?” he said.
“Can’t see well at this time,” Anders said.
“Alright, then,” Hans said, “So, pitchers and catchers report for spring training this week.”
“Yeah, and what are we doing here?” Anders asked.
Hans chuckled. “Missed your calling, did you, Anders? Ah, maybe this year we can catch a game in the Dockyards. Of course, we wouldn’t be able to sit together.”
“That’s too bad,” Anders said, “Something tells me you have the connections to get great seats.”
“Any park in the country, front row seats, tour of the locker rooms, meet-and-greet with any team you want,” Hans said.
A camera clicked. Hans instinctively turned away, facing Anders, to avoid more pictures.
“It’s just a tourist,” Anders said.
“At this time?” Hans said. “In our line, nothing is just what it seems.”
“What am I onto?” Anders asked. “We go down to investigate a truck driver’s encounter with a UFO and the next thing we know, we’re finding electronic surveillance equipment. Who’s listening to us? RSB? Sentinel?”
Hans looked at him and turned away.
“Why won’t you tell me?” Anders asked.
Hans sighed. Then he pulled an envelope out of his trench coat and handed it to Anders. Then he got up and walked away
“What am I onto?” Anders asked.
Hans stopped and turned back to him. “A dangerous path.”
He disappeared into the morning fog.
X-Division – 9:51 AM
“Subject: response to request for information,” Anders read the paper, “Regarding the contact and other related incidents…Via: INTERCEPT MEXICAN TRANSMISSION TO: Commanding Officer, Project Majestic.” The folder the paper came from was marked “TOP SECRET” and “CLASSIFED.” A tape recorder behind him played Xocoyol Mazatl’s conversation with ground control and his fight with the UFO, leading to its explosion. Meanwhile, Angela walked in. She had her headphones on again, probably listening to more Michael Joachim or something. She sat down and handed some papers to Anders.
“The truck is bogus,” she said, “And so’s the driver, Miklos Ranheim. First I checked his manifest. It listed a truck carrying 180 cartons of auto parts weighing 3,100 pounds. Then I checked with three weigh stations along his route and they have it listed at 5,100 pounds. There’s something in that truck, Anders, and it’s not auto parts. And of course, nobody reported him. Furthermore, Ranheim lied about being in the Gulf War and World War III. Nobody who fought at the first Battle of Ruse survived, at least on the Roman side. His name is Franz Darmstadter – and I worked hard to get this one. He was Special Operations Black Beret in Nochistlan, central Mexico. Also, he didn’t get sick from the encounter the other night. He’s been to a Bureau of Defense veterans’ hospital for treatment three times this past year.”
Anders shook his head angrily. “We had it! We had it and we let it go! Two months ago, a Mexican pilot shot down an unidentified flying object. The wreckage, and possibly the occupants, were recovered by the army. Ranheim, the truck driver, would be the perfect escort for the wreckage and/or bodies out of Mexico and into a laboratory in the Reich. That would explain why the truck weighs so much more than listed. The military has, in the past, transported dangerous materials and weapons across the country.”
Anders laughed, though Angela looked confused.
“I’m beginning to sound like those guys at ‘The Lone Gunman’, right?” he said.
“Where did you obtain this information?” Angela asked.
“Your grandfather,” Anders said.
“Grandpa?!” Angela said. “You’re still in touch with him?”
“Hey, he’s on our side,” Anders said, “All I know is that he’s guided us away from harm. He hasn’t given us wrong information yet.”
“How do you know that?” Angela said. “We work for the Athanatoi and we’re being bugged. What does that tell you?”
“That tells me that not everything is as it appears to be,” Anders said.
“Exactly,” Angela said, “And for all we know, Grandpa is the one responsible for the bug.”
“Can you believe what you’re saying?” Anders said. “Your own grandfather placed a tracking device in your pen! He’s never lied to me. I won’t break that confidence. I trust him.”
“Anders, you’re the only one I trust,” Angela said, “Not even Dad or Schulz. Those men may have already gotten to them.”
“Then you’re going to have to trust me,” Anders said, “Things must be really bad if you can’t trust your own dad.”
Angela leaned back in her chair.
“Did you find out where the truck is now?” Anders asked.
“Generally,” Angela said, “It’s heading west. Towards Helvetia.”
“Alright, Angie, we’ve got to try and intercept it and see what’s on board,” Anders said, “I’m going to get a few things, I’ll meet you back at your place in an hour, okay?”
He got up, put on his jacket, and left the office.
Anders’ apartment, Psamathia District – 10:53 AM
Anders unlocked his door and walked inside, finding Hans sitting in his chair.
“I liked your coffee,” he said.
“You risked exposure coming here,” Anders said.
Hans took out another envelope and handed it to him. “What I have here is too important.”
Anders took out a photo from the envelope. It was of a UFO.
“The photograph in that envelope was taken by an officer outside Malaga, Andalusia,” Hans said, “17 UFOs were spotted in one hour.”
“Is that where the Mexican wreckage is being held?” Anders said. “Are UFOs monitoring the area?”
Hans turned and walked out the door. “Nice place you have here.”
“Wait,” Anders said.
Hans stopped in the doorway and looked back at Anders.
“I, I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank you, Uncle,” Anders said, “You’ve helped my work so much and never asked for anything in return. I know you’ve put yourself at great risk to do so.”
Hans smiled. “I remember when I was like you, once. Your grandfather and I traveled the Reich back in the day, searching for the truth like you did. But times changed, and soon I found myself covering up the truth. You deserve better than to be left in the dark.”
He left the room and closed the door behind him.
Angela’s apartment, Deuteron District – 11:44 AM
The picture was of a policeman standing by a car with trees in the background. A UFO hovered above the trees next to the moon, clearly visible in the windshield. Angela inspected it with a magnifying glass.
“This is the best photographic evidence I have ever seen,” Anders said, “When I first saw the Bosporus photos, I knew they were a hoax but this… this is the quality of evidence the government has amassed for decades at the highest classified levels. That business with the truck was just a decoy to keep anyone from looking closely away from Malaga where they are keeping the remains of the Mexican UFO. We have to leave for Andalusia immediately, Angie—"
“Anders, this photograph is a fake,” Angela said.
“What?” Anders said.
“Look,” Angela said.
She pointed at the policeman with the magnifying glass. “This soldier’s shadow is allegedly created by the UFO’s lights. But it falls in a direction contradictory to the craft’s position.”
“There can be an off-camera light source creating that shadow,” Anders said.
“Now look closely at the color of the light reflected in the windshield,” Angela said, “Now that reflection should be from the UFO’s red lights, but it doesn’t match the color of the ship’s light.”
“There’s probably a degree of tint in the windshield or the gradation could be attributed to atmospheric conditions,” Anders said.
“We should have it analyzed,” Angela said.
“Why don’t you just admit it, Scully?” Anders said. “You’re determined not to believe him. You can’t believe your own grandfather? You can’t believe anybody?”
“Well, maybe you’re too determined to believe him,” Angela said.
Anders collected the pictures and got his jacket.
“I am determined to follow a lead that may result in proof of the existence of aliens,” Anders said, “I need to go.”
He walked off.
“Anders, listen to me,” Angela said.
“No,” Anders said.
“Please, will you just hear me?” Angela said.
Anders stopped.
“You’re my cousin,” Angela said, “You’re family. I’ve never met anyone so passionate and dedicated to a belief as you, not even Dad. It’s so intense sometimes it’s blinding. But there are others who are watching you, who know what I know and whereas I can respect and admire your passion, they will use it against you. Anders, the truth is out there but so are lies. I just want to help you find the truth.”
Anders smiled. “Uh, thanks.”
He turned and left.
Omar Mukhtar Building – February 20, 1994, 6:30 AM
Angela opened the door to her office, put down her coat and briefcase, and took her cup and went to get coffee. After returning to her room, she found her lamp was on and her briefcase lying on her desk instead of standing up. Anders sat in her chair.
“Next time, you should’ve given me some warning,” Angela said.
“I had the photo analyzed by Athanatoi computers,” Anders said, “Initially, it appears legitimate. The film grain matches, the pattern and density, color levels, shading… then I noticed this.”
He pointed to the moon in the picture. He then showed her the reflection.
“It’s the moon, half full,” Anders said, “I had the reflection in this window enlarged to 25. There’s the moon again, a quarter full. Not to mention the fact that the window couldn’t even catch the moon’s reflection from that angle. You were right, Angie. It’s a fake. He tried to deceive us.”
He sighed. “I thought we could trust Uncle Hans. Now we’re alone on this. There’s no one we can trust. They went to a lot of trouble to put us on the wrong track. There’s something here that no one’s supposed to find.”
Constantinople Aquarium – 7:31 AM
Anders stood at the shark tank, watching them swim. Hans walked up to him.
“Why didn’t you leave for Andalusia?” he asked.
“The photograph was a fake,” Anders said.
Hans was silent.
“At least you’re not insulting me further by feigning appalled surprise, Uncle,” Anders said, “I should’ve know better.”
“On the contrary, I think a compliment is in order,” Hans said, “That photo was performed by our very best.”
“I thought you were my ally,” Anders said.
“Oh, I am,” Hans said, “We’re family, right?”
“Yeah, imagine if Hugo Doukas told the rest of the Loyalists that D-Day would take place in Catalonia and not Gibraltar,” Anders said.
“Anders, I place my life in great jeopardy every time we speak,” Hans said.
“In my long career, I’ve been a participant in some of the most insidious lies and witness to deeds that no crazed man could imagine,” Hans said, “I spent years watching you and Angie to know that you two were the ones I could trust. I didn’t even go to your fathers. And your grandfather wouldn’t have agreed with what I'm doing. He prefers to stay out of trouble.”
“Then why did you lie to me?” Anders said.
“I needed to divert you,” Hans said, “You and Angie are excellent investigators and your motives are just. However, there are still some secrets that should remain secret – some truths that people are just not ready to know.”
“Who are you to decide that for me?” Anders said.
“The world’s reaction to such knowledge would be far too dangerous,” Hans said.
“Dangerous,” Anders said, “You mean in a sense of outrage like the reaction to the Ragnar Beck and Abraham Green assassinations or Siam POWs or radiation experiments on terminal patients, Wassertor, Agadir, the Carthage experiments, where will it end? Oh, I guess it won’t end as long as… men like you decide what is truth. That transcript you gave me of the Mexican pilot, that was the truth, wasn’t it?”
Hans nodded.
“Why’d you even bother to show it to me?” Anders asked.
“Well, I knew that you were onto the truck, so I knew that down the road I would have to steer you away,” Hans said, “That I would have to lie to you. And a lie, Anders, is most convincingly hidden between two truths.”
Anders started walking away.
“Anders,” Hans called.
Anders turned back.
“About the truth you seek,” Hans said, “Even if you do succeed, who will believe you? What makes you different from those before you, hoping to expose the government’s secrets? The government will just deny it again, and the people will just laugh it off, and you’ll get nowhere. What you should do is water it down to make it…palatable. Technically not falsehoods, but a partial truth. Anders, when a shark stops swimming, it will die. Don’t stop swimming. I’m not responsible for the electronic surveillance, but I do know they can still hear you. Flip a switch, and illuminate the truth. And make it palatable.”
Hans walked away, leaving Anders to watch the sharks.
).
