“Yes,” Dr. Jag said, stepping forward. “A self-contained environment within which we could conduct experiments. Very few people outside the world of pre-Columbian research care about this stuff, so the fallout was minimal and containable.”
Cam had heard this before, but Amanda and Georgia had not. “So,” Amanda said, “the CIA got to train its agents without having to use real bullets. If MK-Ultra could control what Americans believed about their history, then it could control what, say, the Vietnamese believed about their government.”
Wang smiled wryly. “Viet Nam is probably not the best example, but the concept is correct. Over the past couple of generations there have been a number of talented researchers trying to prove the ‘Columbus-first’ doctrine was outdated and wrong. But it is still taught in all our schools, which is a testament to the success of MK-Ultra and its agents.”
Amanda replied. “You should be very proud of yourselves. You have mastered the art of deceiving the people you serve. At any moment the Statue of Liberty is going to break loose from her pedestal and jump for joy.”
Again, Wang ignored the jab.
Cam asked something that had been bothering him. “So why give me the Bat Creek Stone bracelet if you’re trying to suppress this research?”
Wang nodded. “Fair question. And, honestly, a decision I may come to regret. But we knew we had a mole inside the Agency, and were looking for a way to smoke him or her out. In order to do so, sometimes one needs to start some fires. You, Mr. Thorne, were one of those fires. You and your research.”
It was a convoluted plan. But that’s how these guys’ minds worked. Wang didn’t know which of the MK-Ultra agents was the sleeper agent, so he had to assume any of them might be. So his plan was to put the whole operation on steroids, get everyone in the field and running around and out of their comfort zone. People only make mistakes when they need to make choices. The fake rune stone planted on Professor Antonopoulos was another fire, as was the Mormon parody video of Scott Wolter and Vito the blogger attacking researchers and the billionaire stealing the Narragansett Rune Stone and probably a dozen other things no one would ever know about. For these guys it’s all about manipulation and deception and misdirection. And what was a broken finger and a few bruises weighed against the task of making the world safe for democracy, which was what these guys saw themselves doing? Cam smiled wryly. “To a man holding the puppet strings, the whole world is their Pinocchio.” Deception and lies.
Dr. Jag, like his boss, ignored Cam’s jibe and instead responded directly to Wang. “Give yourself some credit, Deputy Director. You set into motion a series of events that allowed us to capture the sleeper agent. That never would have happened without your decision to involve Mr. Thorne.”
Wang closed his eyes and bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the praise, which Cam saw as mostly kissing up to the boss. Wang addressed Cam. “If the price for catching our mole was allowing you, Mr. Thorne, to prove the Bat Creek Stone was authentic, so be it. We would gladly pay it.” They had circled the open area at the head of the cascading fountain and began walking back downhill alongside the dormant waterway. Wang continued. “But your involvement had an unintended consequence, Mr. Thorne. Another price to pay. A dear one.”
“Yes. I nearly had my memory erased.” Cam shot an angry glance back at Dr. Jag. Despite the lies and subterfuge, Wang seemed like a decent guy. But Cam’s sense of Dr. Jag was that he was one of those soulless bureaucrats that made so many people abhor governments.
“I am referring to Ms. Spencer-Gunn’s giant research,” Wang said. “We had not foreseen this. In fact, we believed the question of ancient giants had been resolved decades ago. We planted a few fake skeletons which, predictably, had the effect of poisoning the entire well—no reputable anthropologist would risk his reputation by even examining a giant skeleton.” He pursed his lips. “It is not a question we wanted to reopen for debate.”
“Why?” Lovecroft asked. “Why is her research such a ‘dear price,’ as you say?”
Wang stopped and turned, the group stopping with him. “Because of you, Senator. Because of you.”
The Senator’s mouth opened but no words came out. He swallowed, shifted his weight and swallowed again. Finally he spoke. “What do you mean?” Lovecroft glared down at Wang and Dr. Jag. “Out with it, one of you. Stop beating around the bush.”
Wang responded in a measured tone. “As you know, officially the CIA does not interfere in American politics. And, in fact, in my decades at the Agency I am proud to say that this policy has for the most part been followed. But this election is different.”
“How so?” the Senator responded.
Wang raised himself to his full height. “Because, Senator, the senior staff members at the Agency are in unanimous agreement that this nation needs Webster Lovecroft as its next President.”
“Needs?” Georgia said. “Not wants. Not prefers. Needs?”
Wang nodded. “Our country is at a crossroads. We are becoming a nation divided. Rich and poor. Republican and Democrat. Red state and blue state. More and more we are defining ourselves by our differences rather than by our similarities. The CIA sees this. We all see this. We need a President who can bring us back together, who can unite this country.”
Lovecroft nodded. “Very well. And I am flattered by your confidence in me.” He bent forward and spoke slowly, like a parent to a stubborn child. “But you still have not answered my question.”
The deputy director responded. “To be blunt, Senator, we are concerned that research on giants could impact the election. Specifically, it could torpedo your chances.”
“So that’s it.” Lovecroft sighed. “You think I am a giant, or at least have giant blood in me. And you think the American public will not elect me because of it.”
Wang nodded. “We know about your double row of teeth, and about your Cherokee bloodline, and about your shoe size. What we don’t know is whether the American public is ready to elect someone … different than themselves … as their President.”
Georgia weighed in. “It’s a fair point. Romney lost in 2012 largely because people were not convinced a Mormon was normal enough.” She looked up at the Senator. “Imagine how easy it would be for your political opponents to paint you, to be blunt, as some kind of freak, perhaps even un-human.” She turned to Wang. “But this is all academic anyway. Some reporter already has the story. So unless you plan on silencing her, you’re too late.”
Wang gestured toward Amanda. “Meet your reporter.”
Georgia’s jaw fell. “What? Amanda?”
Amanda angled her head. “I did go visit the dentist. And he thought I was a reporter.” She shrugged. “But I’m just me.”
It took Georgia a second to process everything. “Wait, that’s great news. So the press knows nothing about this second row of teeth.” She turned to Lovecroft. “Your secret is safe,” she grinned.
But Lovecroft did not seem to share her joy. His face darkened as he turned on Wang and Dr. Jag. “So the CIA has been suppressing research on giants just because you’re afraid of what people might think?” He did not wait for a response. “This is America, darn it. People have a right to think what they want, whether the government likes it or not. If Americans don’t want a giant as their President, don’t want me as their President, so be it. That is their choice.”
The Senator glared at Wang and Dr. Jag. “Your actions are a fundamental betrayal of everything this country stands for.” He turned to Georgia. “Please call a press conference. I will be releasing all my medical records. Including my genealogy and dental records. The American people have every right to know who they are voting for.”
He glared again at the two CIA operatives. “And I expect this is the end of MK-Ultra. The American people also have every right to know the truth about their history.”
Amanda and Cam ambled through the park back to their car. The temperature had continued to climb and the morning sun glistened off the thin la
yer of remaining snow. “Well,” she said, “that was interesting.”
“Lovecroft was really pissed.”
“He’s an interesting bloke. I don’t know many other politicians who would offer up their medical records like he plans to do. He may be torpedoing his own campaign.” She smiled. “As the saying goes, there are some skeletons in his closet. Rather large ones.”
“I’m glad you waited until now to point that out. I don’t think Lovecroft would have appreciated the humor.”
She shrugged. “Honestly, after what they put us through, I’m past caring.”
“Back to your original point, I do give him credit for, as you say, opening up his closet. You’ve heard of ‘What would Jesus do?’ I think for Lovecroft, it’s ‘What would Abe Lincoln do?’ That’s how he looks at things.”
“Yes, well, Lincoln didn’t live in the internet age. Things are sure to get nasty and ugly.”
They walked in silence for a few seconds. “This is the piece Randall Sid could never figure out,” Cam said. “The big picture. In the end, the CIA knew all paths eventually led back to the Phoenicians. Back to the giants.” He smiled. “And they couldn’t have people stumbling upon beanstalks and giants if they wanted Lovecroft to win.”
“And it explains what Randall said, about how in the past year MK-Ultra had redoubled its efforts against researchers like us. There’s a researcher out in western Massachusetts, a bloke named Jim Vieira. He started looking at the old stone chambers in New England and it led him back to some fascinating research on giants. He did a lecture that was posted on the internet—then out of the blue the host pulled it, claiming it was too controversial.”
“Too controversial for the internet?”
She chuckled. “I’d wager the CIA was behind it. They couldn’t have anyone sniffing around so close to the election.”
Cam took her hand as they crossed the street. “But you messed them up. You didn’t follow the bread crumbs back to the giants. You started with the giants.” He grinned. “You cheated.”
“You mean I figured it out before you.”
“Because you cheated.”
She elbowed him in the ribs. They walked silently for a few seconds. “Seriously, I don’t know if it’s a question of where you start,” she said. “I think all of this is interconnected. You started with the Templars and it led you back to the Phoenicians. I started with the giants and it led me back to the Phoenicians also. People who study America’s Stonehenge and Burrows Cave find the same thing. Apparently all roads lead back to the Phoenicians.” She smiled. “At least all ancient roads.”
“So your instincts were right about the giants. Spot on, as you say. Now you’re finally going to be able to dig in.”
“Not just the giant research. All the pre-Columbian artifacts can finally be studied and honestly evaluated. Without the Smithsonian hiding artifacts and the CIA intentionally souring the milk.”
“Souring the milk?”
“You know, poisoning the research.”
“Like cheating, you mean.”
She leaned over and kissed him as he opened her car door. “You know, being smarter than you is not cheating.” She went in to kiss him again and instead poked him in the chest as he closed his eyes. “It’s just being smarter than you.”
EPILOGUE
“Wow. There sure are a lot of reporters here,” Cam said as he and Amanda found seats in the back of a Marriott Copley Place meeting room. Six rows of chairs were filled with men and women wearing press badges on their lapels while a half-dozen shoulder-mounted cameramen formed an arc behind them. In addition to the local stations, he saw cameras from CNN, CNBC and Fox. “Must be a slow news day.”
“Lovecroft promised a major announcement,” Amanda said. “They probably think he’s going to officially announce his candidacy. Or maybe receive an important endorsement.” She smiled. “But they’d be mistaken.”
Cam slipped his arm around her. The last time he had been in a hotel conference room was a month ago, listening to the alien reptile speaker Autier and then meeting Randall—or, rather, Morgan—Sid. It was nice to relax a bit and not worry about people trying to brainwash him. Or worse.
The Senator emerged from behind a curtain and strode to the dais as camera flashes bathed him in white light. A dark-haired man with bushy gray eyebrows walked by his side, eliciting a buzz amongst the crowd. “Is that the mayor?” a reporter a few seats away asked in a stage whisper.
His companion sneered at him. “The mayor’s a Democrat, you idiot. What would he be doing here?”
“So who is it?”
“Dunno.”
Lovecroft held up his hand to silence the crowd as he blinked away the flashes, After raising the microphone, he made a point of unfolding a piece of paper that presumably contained prepared notes before exhaling and tossing it aside.
“Nice effect,” Amanda whispered. “Makes him look unrehearsed.”
“That’s the thing about Lovecroft. I don’t think he did it for effect. I think he is unrehearsed.”
Always a dynamic speaker, Lovecroft today spoke with a restrained fury. “Thank you for coming today. Standing to my left is Doctor Artun Anoosian, DDM. When I am done speaking he will answer any questions you might have.”
Georgia peeked from behind the curtain as the Senator sipped some water. Cam noticed bags under the candidate’s eyes which had not been there two weeks ago in Washington—experts say running for President aged a man a full decade. But above the bags his hazel eyes smoldered.
“When I was a divinity student at Harvard in the 1970s, Dr. Anoosian removed a complete second set of teeth from my mouth. This condition is known as hyperdontia. There is some evidence to suggest hyperdontia is a genetic trait left over from a race of oversized humans—what most people would call giants—who lived in North America in the distant past. Given my height, and the fact that I am one-eighth Native American, I felt that this information should be known to the American people.” He scanned the audience, a looming presence atop the dais, as if daring any of them to challenge him. “Politics in this country being what they are, no doubt at some point my opponents will try to use this information to call into question my qualifications for higher office.” He paused. “I will therefore be releasing today complete copies of my medical and dental records. I will let the American people be the ultimate judge as to its importance and relevancy. Thank you.”
A woman near the front instantly stood. “Senator, are you saying you descend from a race of giants?”
Georgia stepped forward from behind the curtain to stop the question, but the Senator froze her with a quick glance. He looked the reporter in the eye. “I honestly do not know the answer to that. None of us can. But I will say that I believe in the Bible, and the Bible recounts numerous tales of giants living during Biblical times, Goliath being the most obvious example.”
She followed up before Georgia could intervene. “Are you disclosing this now because your political opponents are threatening to out you?”
Lovecroft shook his head. “I am one of God’s creatures, created in his image and with his infinite love. When you use the term, ‘threatening to out me,’ you are implying that there is something for me to be embarrassed or humiliated about.” He shrugged. “But who are we to question God as to in what form or size or color he chooses to create his children? We are all as God created us. Myself included.”
Georgia raised her hand to prevent more questioning, though many reporters shouted queries to the Senator as he slowly walked away, flashbulbs again illuminating the room. “Dr. Anoosian will answer any questions you have about hyperdontia,” she said, “but the Senator will not be taking further questions today.”
“That’s too bad. This was getting interesting.”
The voice came from behind Cam. He turned and froze for a second, before instinctively stepping in front of Amanda. His fingers tingled as he fought to process what was happening. “You’re supposed to be locked away, r
otting.”
The short, elderly man smiled. “You mistake me for my brother. I promise you, I am harmless.”
Cam squinted, studying the smiling man in the white dress shirt and gray slacks. Randall, but not exactly. The same curly white hair, the same wrinkled forehead. But the features were fleshier and less sharp and the shoulders and chest less defined. In all, a softer version of his twin. This was the real Randall, while his brother Morgan sat in jail in Virginia awaiting trial.
Amanda broke the silence. “Harmless or not, what are you doing here?”
“I came to watch the spectacle.” He was less charismatic than his twin, but his dark eyes shone with the same sharp intellect. He had more of the typical Boston accent, unlike the Brahmin twang his brother affected.
“Why not just watch it on the evening news,” she said, motioning to the row of cameras. “It starts in just over an hour.”
“Because it’s not going to be on.” He shrugged. “At least not the ‘spectacle’ parts of it.”
“Of course it will,” Amanda challenged.
He shook his head. “No, it will not.”
“Look at all these reporters. How can you be so sure?”
Randall held up his hand and showed a gold ring with a black triangle mounted on it; inside the triangle was a gold number 33.
“What does being a 33rd Degree Freemason have to do with anything?” Cam asked.
He smiled, showing a row of even, gray-tinted smoker’s teeth that again reminded Cam of President Obama. “If you’ll let me buy you a drink, I’ll explain.”
They were planning to have dinner with Georgia, but she would be busy with the press for the next hour. Cam and Amanda exchanged a quick glance—how could they not hear him out? They followed him in silence down an escalator to the lobby bar; he chose a table far from other patrons where they ordered drinks.
The Oath of Nimrod: Giants, MK-Ultra and the Smithsonian Coverup (Book #4 in Templars in America Series) Page 27
