Irrefutable Proof: Mars Origin I Series Book II

by Abby L. Vandiver

  It’s not that they were wrong, they just had things mixed up. They didn’t know about the saboteurs.

  Saboteurs another term I’d coined. I had discovered that when man made his trek from Mars to Earth, they had decided only to seed the planet with one race of people. “Difference breeds hatred.” One of the first things I learned was in the AHM Manuscripts. I also learned that that plan had backfired and other races came too.

  My belief was that the original people sent here, the Indians, were who we call hunter-gatherers. They were the ones that didn’t know about fire, or farming, or city life because they had been regressed. But the saboteurs came and ruined the idyllic little world planned. Still having the advanced knowledge, but not equipped with anything but the crude materials they found here they created the ancient mysteries we have today. They built Göbekli Tepe. The Saboteurs. They are the ones who taught the hunter-gatherers to farm. They are the answer to the how ancient man could do all the things we wonder about. Basically, the saboteurs screwed up the government’s whole plan of and brought their knowledge to Earth. And in doing so they left us ruins, like the Nazca Plains, and the step pyramids in South and Central America, and hundreds of other things prehistoric man couldn’t have possibly accomplished. Or so we’ve been led to believe.

  To add to that, scholars were coming to the realization that people in places like Egypt and the ancient city of Sumer didn’t experience a learning curve. The advanced skills they exhibited in architect, mathematics and science didn’t grow gradually by trial and error. Unlike how we saw man advancing from the Stone Age to the Bronze Age, learning to go from stone arrowheads to melting down metal. The first evidence of their prowess - the ability to build a pyramid, to calculate pi, and to perform brain surgery, seemingly appeared all at once. So, with the questions piling up, we’re left wondering: How did they get it right on the first try?

  Scientists can’t answer these questions and for the most part, are turning a blind eye to them. When people theorize that perhaps there may have been an era of human civilization that was capable of advance technology, scientists scoff at the idea and call the people who suggest it fanatics, charlatans and crackpots.

  “But listen,” Mr. Crackpot might say to Mr. Scientist, trying to argue his point. “Say 100,000 years ago, a time when supposedly the most advanced being was the Neanderthal, there really did exist beings more capable than those here on Earth. Wouldn’t that answer all the questions that are puzzling you?”

  “No way,” says Mr. Scientist.

  What do I say, scientist that I am? I’d say, “I’m on your side Mr. Crackpot. Because you are absolutely right.”

  But as a “scientist” how do I reconcile that? Aliens? C’mon.

  That’s why I had to wait on one more thing before I could tell the world, sort of speak. One more thing I needed to get first.

  Proof.

  Proof that it was possible to travel among the stars, to cure all diseases, to create the molecules of life, and for man to leave his home on Mars and come to Earth to start anew. That’s what I needed.

  Irrefutable proof.

  Chapter Five

  Baltimore, Maryland

  July 15, 2011

  “A book by Abby Vandiver? Hold on, let me check for you.”

  Addie Hughes winced at the woman’s squeaky voice. She put down her coffee mug to try and calm her shaky hand, and held her breath in anticipation of what the woman would come back and say. Her book club had just read In the Beginning, and she had loved it. The story of mankind’s migration to planet Earth. The answer to Indians populating the planet when Europeans had yet to set foot on what they thought was uninhabited land. The truth about what happened to the dinosaurs. But it was what was at the end of the book that got her. The Epilogue. It made her believe.

  Calling the publisher of that book was her last resort. She had diligently searched the Internet and found nothing new about the book, the author, or any cult followings, which she was sure would have happened. The book had been written more than ten years ago, and there was nothing since then. Then she had searched the Internet about what was in the book. She now knew, without a doubt, that the entire book was true. Oh sure, the names had been changed to, as they say, ‘protect the innocent,’ but the basis of it, just like the author had written, was real.

  The Internet was full of people that could corroborate her findings. They may not have been scientific people, but they seemed to know the truth.

  She looked down at Zeus, her white, short-haired Maltese, who sat on his hind legs and looked up at her. “Cross your fingers, Zeus.” She raised up her crossed fingers so he could see them. “Let’s hope they have something.”

  “Now you wanted to know about the sequel?” Squeaky voice came back on the phone.

  “Yes.” Addie closed her eyes and thought, please, please, please, say there’s a sequel.

  “Yes, there is a sequel.” Addie, made a fist and yanked it down. Zeus cocked his head to one side. “Yes,” Addie mouthed to her dog. “They have it.”

  “But she won’t be using the name Abby Vandiver for this one.” Squeaky was still talking.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “For the sequel she won’t use the pseudonym Abby Vandiver.

  “Abby Vandiver’s a pen name?”

  “Yes, it was. Now, you wanted to know about pre-release copies?”

  No wonder I couldn’t find anything about her, she thought. “Yes,” Addie said trying to stay focused.

  “Well, if you could hold on for me just one more time. I’ll get you to the right person. That’ll be Kate Gianopoulos. I’ll try Kate. If she doesn’t pick up you can leave her a message, and she’ll get back with you.”

  Now to get that book, Addie thought.

  “I need to talk to someone.” Addie said out loud to the music playing while she was on hold. Zeus barked, seemingly wanting to know what was going on. “Shh!” she told him. “I’m waiting. Hopefully I’ll speak to a real person. Not a voicemail, because I can’t convince a voicemail to send me books. And no one will send me anything if you’re in the background barking.”

  “Kate Gianopoulos. How may I help you?”

  “Ms. Gianopoulos?”

  “Yes. How may I help you?”

  “Uhm, I was wondering if - - Oh, sorry. My name is Addison Hughes and I’m calling from Baltimore Maryland.”

  “Yes, Ms. Hughes?”

  “I, well my book club and I, were wondering if we could get pre-release copies of Ms. Vandiver’s - well, uhm, I guess she’s not using that name now. But copies of the sequel to In the Beginning by Abby L. Vandiver.”

  “Oh. J. E. Dickerson.”

  “I’m sorry J. E.?”

  “She’s using the name J.E. Dickerson for this book.”

  “Oh. Another pen name?”

  “No. That’s her real name. Justin Elizabeth Dickerson. Could you hold on for a second?”

  She clicked off before Addie could answer. With Kate off the phone, Addie starting hopping up down and pacing the floor, Zeus at her heels.

  I’m telling Zeus to calm down, she thought. Look at me. She backed up to the living room wall and took in a deep breath. “Stop stumbling over your words. What kind of sense does that make? You’re just asking for a book. Calm. Down.”

  Addie heard the phone click. “Ms. Hughes. Are you still there?

  “Yes, I’m here. I - ”

  “Yes. You want pre-release copies of The Dead Sea Fish, right?”

  “By J.E. Dickerson?”

  “Yes. The sequel. Isn’t that what you’re calling about?”

  “Yes. Uhm, I didn’t know the name of it.”

  “The Dead Sea Fish,” Kate repeated. Okay. Sure. We can get you some advanced released copies. What we usually do is send them out to our reviewers or to book clubs so we can get reviews before the release date, which in this case will be sometime in November. Are you willing to write a review for the book?”


  “Uhm. Yes. We can do that.”

  “Good. We’ll email you. It’ll be an information sheet for your book club to complete, and the places to post the reviews. Let me get your email address. I have to grab a pen, here. Hold on . . . Okay, I’m ready. Go ahead.”

  “It’s the Westbury End Book Club. And my email address is bookie.a.hughes@gmail.com.”

  “Okay. We’ll get that form right over to you. And, once we get it back, we’ll get you the books. How many in your book club?”

  “Eight.”

  “Eight,” Kate repeated. “Okay, Addie, eight it is.”

  “Thank you so much. We really appreciate it,” Addie said.

  “No. Thank you. We’re happy you’ll help us out. We’d like to get all the publicity we can before we release. Helps build up sales.”

  Addie hung up the phone, reached down and kissed Zeus on his nose. “Now,” she told him, rubbing his head. “We’ll know for sure everything that happened to those men that came from Mars.

  Chapter Six

  Cleveland, Ohio

  By the fall of 2000, Hannah Abelson had been able to secure a job in the United States, and buy a house. When she’d bought that house, and hung her diplomas on the wall, she also knew that her new employer would sponsor her visa for permanent residence. Cleveland would be her home until the day she died.

  Or the day that Justin Dickerson died.

  Hannah had traveled to Cleveland after disposing of Ghazi. Contacting friends she had in the U.S., everyone had been eager to help her. The first day she had stook in her new faculty office, Hannah had checked off on her list “Position yourself close to J.D.” She was only a stone’s throw from ‘J.D’s’ home and job.

  Taking care of Justin was next on her list.

  After she had had time to contemplate, she thought that perhaps she did act, rather, react, to finding Ghazi with Dr. Sabir’s notebook too hastily. She had felt just a tinge of remorse for not fully investigating what Ghazi knew before putting the poison in his botz. In her country there had always been so much conflict, people not understanding the reasons that others acted. The violence resulting from that conflict too often touched her personally.

  Her father had wanted her to learn diplomacy; to practice it. To be strong and independent. He wished for her to be educated and help her country. At first she balked at it, she wanted to marry. Be normal. Like the women in American movies. But growing up in a country that was in a constant struggle had taught her a lot. And then after a while, her father thought she wasn’t capable of any of those things, and gave up on her. Perhaps, in contrast to what her father had thought, she had learned some diplomacy after all. And proving her father wrong pleased her.

  So, she had decided, she would give this Dr. Dickerson a reprieve – for the moment. Until she found out fully what she knew.

  That only meant, she reasoned, that it would take a little longer to cross her off the list.

  Case Western Reserve University had hired Hannah Abelson as a Professor Emeritus in Semitic. Her credentials were impeccable. She was fluent in Aramaic, Arabic and Hebrew. She was a linguist and cryptologist. And she had written several scholarly articles on the digs around Jerusalem. Case had even put Hannah on the board that awarded grant money to individuals for work in anthropology and archaeology.

  They certainly kept her busy when she first arrived. Nonetheless, during that time, Hannah had found time to investigate Dr. Justin Dickerson. She had found where she worked, where she lived, and what kind of car she drove. On more than a few occasions Hannah had sat outside both the museum where Justin worked back then and her home for hours, just waiting and watching. And on some of those days, once Justin emerged, she had followed her around for the rest of the day. She learned all she could about her routines, her habits, even her husband. But she hadn’t been able to befriend her, so she hadn’t found out exactly what Justin was doing. Or, how much she knew about the manuscripts.

  She needed help.

  Perhaps someone that worked with Justin would make a good choice. Or, maybe someone she could bribe. She would have a lot of clout with her new position. That person could watch from the inside. She would watch from the outside until she could wiggle her way into Justin’s life.

  And she did find someone who had worked out beautifully. He was able to find out intimate details of her work and kept Hannah abreast of it all. And she helped him as well.

  After a few years, Dr. Dickerson came to Case to teach. Hannah took every opportunity to spy on her after that. As Justin Dickerson made friends, and got on committees, Hannah would make the same friends and get on the same committees, and surreptitiously question others that knew her. She followed Justin around, staring at her, assessing her. No longer from behind the scenes. Out in the open. She had to know Justin. And, she thought, it had paid off.

  Hannah read all the articles Justin wrote, found out all about the classes she taught. And, Hannah determined after much contemplation, that as far as she could tell, Justin never did anything with the information from Dr. Sabir’s notebook. Perhaps, Justin didn’t know anything about it.

  But Hannah didn’t waver in her mission.

  She would do nothing for now. She would watch Justin, just in case, and she would wait.

  No matter how long it took.

  Chapter Seven

  Cleveland Heights, Ohio

  May 23, 2011

  Cool, dark dirt invaded my senses. I could smell it as I let it filter through my stretched out fingers. I had taken off one of my flowered garden gloves and sat on the cobblestone path that edged my flowerbed. I was planting a row of deep pink New Guinea impatiens and sat down to ease the pain in my knees. Mase came out through the French doors of my study and sat on one of the two steps that led to my flower garden.

  “Hi.” I smiled at him.

  “Hey, babe.” He smiled back. “You got a letter from your publisher.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I leaned back on my hands and looked up at the sky. Not too much daylight left. Probably wouldn’t get all my plants in the ground today.

  “I sat it on your desk.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Is it about the new book? ‘The sequel?’”

  I laughed. He just wasn’t letting up. “Yeah. ‘The sequel.’” I closed my eyes and let the sun’s warmth cover my face.

  Opening one eye, I looked over at Mase. There was no peace for me, as long as those AHM manuscripts were holding on to more secrets.

  He must have read my thoughts. “So, what are you calling the new book?”

  “The Dead Sea Fish.” I grabbed my gardening gloves, put them on, and picked up another flower. I pushed it down into the last hole I had dug.

  “The Dead Sea Fish?” He turned up his nose. “Are you serious?

  I nodded my head.

  “How did you come up with that?”

  “Brigitt came up with it.”

  “Your cousin, Brigitt?”

  “Yep.”

  “That lives in North Carolina?”

  How many cousins named Brigitt do I have?

  “Yes, my cousin Brigitt that lives in North Carolina.” I glanced over at him.

  “How does she know about the book?” he asked.

  “I told her.”

  He made a face. “Thought you weren’t telling anyone about that book?”

  I pursed my lips and shook my head. I was doing a lot of things with those manuscripts that I didn’t think I would do.

  He looked at me questioningly.

  “I told her.” I held up my hands as if to surrender. “Yes, I told her I wrote it. Then whenever we talked she would tease me, calling it, The Dead Sea Fish.”

  “What did you tell her it was about?”

  “Aliens.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  I laughed. “I may as well have said aliens. She thought the story sounded crazy.”

  “Did you tell her it was true?”

  “No.”

 
“Hahaha. That’s funny.” He put his elbows on the step behind him and leaned back, shaking his head.

  “I don’t see anything funny about it,” I said and smiled.

  “Did she read it?” he asked.

  “No. She only reads black authors - ”

  “You’re black.”

  I rolled my eyes up in my head. “Oh yeah. I forgot I’m black. And, oh my gosh! You’re black, too!” I sat back on my legs and tugged at the fingers of my gloves, pulling them off. “What I was going to say before I was interrupted, Mase, is she likes black authors who write novels that are filled with love and drama. She doesn’t do sci-fi.”

  “Love and drama.” He chuckled.

  “Yep. Just like her. Full of drama.”

  Mase laughed. “Lucky for you, huh?”

  I smiled because although I did tell her that I wrote it, for the longest time I didn’t want her, or anyone else, to read it. I was too afraid of what might happen.

  “So, you decided to name the next book The Dead Sea Fish?”

  “Yep.” I pulled my legs around and sat, Indian style, and fiddled with my gardening glove.

  “That’s like getting a title from your sister, Claire.”

  “I like it.”

  “What does it mean? Are there any fish in the Dead Sea?”

  “No. And, there aren’t any men on Mars.”

  “What?”

  “Millions of years ago, there were fish in the Dead Sea. It wasn’t as salty and could sustain life. Just like Mars.”

  “I don't get it.”

  “We’re the Dead Sea Fish.”

  “Babe, are you starting to feel depressed again?”

  I didn’t say anything to him. I put my gardening gloves back on and grabbed another impatiens out of the slat. After he saw he wasn’t getting an answer, he got up and headed back in the house.

  “Don’t forget to look at the letter I put on your desk,” he said over his shoulder.

  I dug another hole.

  “No need putting this off,” I said out loud.

  I stuck the trowel down in the dirt, pulled off my gloves, and threw them down next to it. I may as well get to it.