He asks Ningal, “Will you consider sharing your technology with us?”
“No,” she says flatly. “We would pay a terrible price for that.”
Borman doesn’t know what she means, but he isn’t about to cede his position of influence so easily. “Dr Menzel already has so much off-world technology at his fingertips. If you didn’t give it to him, who did?”
“There are those among us who choose to… ignore the rules.”
“Whose rules? Your rules?”
“Some of our kind live permanently on Earth in exile. It is through them these secrets were revealed.”
“Sounds to me like we’ll find out eventually, either way. So why not share openly?”
“Are you ready to reveal our presence to the world?”
“I, uh… I guess that’s not my decision to make.”
“Dr Menzel has been following a trail of crumbs. None of the knowledge and science possessed by Bermuda and the Verus Foundation comes close to what is inside this ship.”
While it doesn’t seem to Borman as if he has been gone for any time at all, he is greeted with awestruck expressions upon their return. Trick Stamford walks out to meet them on the tarmac. He smiles at Borman, eyebrows raised expectantly. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, buddy.” Borman says nothing, just keeps walking. “Come on Frank, throw me a bone.”
Borman ignores him. In truth, he doesn’t know what he’s going to tell them. Inside the tent, Menzel, Fallon and Hillenkoetter are clearly bursting with questions, although nobody says a word. Utu is still seated on his dais, like a world-weary king marooned in the company of morons. Borman checks his watch. It’s only been fifteen minutes since he left. If feels like they’ve had a tense time waiting for his return.
Ningal takes a seat at her brother’s side. “Frank Borman will join us in flight,” she announces. There is a general murmur of shock. Utu’s face darkens in contempt at the suggestion, but Ningal is merely amused by her brother’s response — like it is no more than she expected. She whispers something in his ear. He looks at her sharply and finally nods.
Menzel asks, “Where do you propose to take him?”
“This I shall not say.”
Perhaps because she hasn’t yet decided, although in his bones Borman feels certain none of this is accidental.
“Can I just ask that you don’t take him to the Moon?” Menzel suggests coyly. “All this money we’re spending on the space program — I’d never hear the end of it.”
Fallon grunts in agreement.
“The first human to walk on the Moon shall not do so at the hands of the Ryl,” says Ningal. “This is an achievement for you alone, and we would not wish to intervene.”
Menzel grins. “This is very good news. Thank you. Thank you.” He glances in Borman’s direction. “I guess that’s a green light for Apollo 11 then.”
“Yeah. I guess it is,” Borman agrees.
Ningal says, “I will return to you on this day, after the passage of one lunar month, at a landing site of my choosing. Be ready for me, Frank Borman. And be sure to bring a space suit.”
She helps her brother to his feet. Utu appears reluctant to accept her assistance, but is finally forced to take her arm. Without doubt, she is the older and stronger of the pair. They step slowly in unison toward their ship in a ritualistic procession and enter without looking back. There is no wave, no kind word of farewell. Perhaps this is because the visit has been taxing, but Borman suspects it’s because their visitors see no point in wasting courtesy on mere mortals. To a man, the human assembly maintains silence. It’s like everyone is in a trance watching the final moments of the event unfold.
The Ryl ship disappears as instantly and unexpectedly as it arrived. There is a muffled thud under their feet and then all is quiet. One moment it is there, the next it’s as if they imagined the whole thing.
32
March 2
Donald Menzel has called this special meeting of Bermuda, but he clearly doesn’t want to be here. Borman sees it in his eyes. Hears the ever so subtle hesitation when he speaks, the way he chooses each word like his life might depend on it. The sense of power and authority radiating from the obscured faces around this table is so palpable it’s enough to make anyone’s toes tingle — like they’re all standing on a cliff edge and these people have the power to decide whether you fall or fly.
Even if they offered to introduce themselves, Borman would be hard-pressed remembering names. But nobody here cares about social niceties. Indeed, everyone other than Garrick Stamford appears happy to remain silent and anonymous, happy to let the old man do the talking. For his part, Stamford appears determined to put Menzel and Borman off their guard, like this is his own personal board of inquiry. He stares at Borman now with cold, dead eyes, every word calculated to offend.
“It seems unbelievably convenient, wouldn’t you say Colonel Borman, that you would have no memory whatsoever of events that took place inside the Anunnaki vehicle?”
Menzel touches Borman lightly on the arm to indicate he wants to be the one doing the talking. “Do you think I called this meeting merely so we could lie to your face, Mr Stamford?”
Back at you, pal.
Garrick Stamford smiles wryly and glances momentarily at Trick Stamford, who is moving about uncomfortably in the seat beside his father. “I know all of your tells, Donald. You could never lie to me and hope to get away with it. And I think you know that. But the Colonel here, he’s someone else entirely. I think it’s possible, for instance, that Colonel Borman has decided to take it upon himself to lock his thoughts in a vault in the misbegotten name of national security — failing to understand those of us sitting at this table are the people on the front line.”
Try telling that to the boys on the ground in South Vietnam. Borman is tired. His head is still ringing from the night before and he hasn’t had much sleep; he can’t help himself. “Whatever war it is you think you’re waging inside that fat head of yours, it’s one the Ryl want no part of.” Damn it if Trick Stamford isn’t forced to swallow a laugh. The old man reacts like he’s been poked in the eye. Everyone else stops breathing. But Borman isn’t finished. “You’re damn right, Stamford. If I did know something, you’re the last person I’d tell. But I wouldn’t sit here and deny that I knew it. I’d tell you to mind your own damn business.”
Nobody talks to Garrick Stamford like this. But having quickly overcome his initial surprise, the old man now seems pleased. This is the reaction he’d been hoping to provoke all along. “You’re saying you do know something.”
“No! I’m saying what I saw in there is a total blank. She erased it. I don’t know how she did it, but my memories have gone. Like they were never there. As for your other implication… that I’ve handed over the secrets to the Verus Foundation…”
“To whom you gave your famous photograph,” replies Stamford, “—yes, we know all about that little escapade.”
“The image I captured aboard Apollo 8 is the only thing I have handed over to Dr Menzel. And unless I’m mistaken, you’ve seen that photograph. If, as you suggest, I’ve handed over secret knowledge of the Ryl to Verus, then Dr Menzel here would know all about it. The man who, according to you sir, can’t lie to you convincingly. Well if you think he’s bad at lying… as God is my witness I haven’t told a lie since the age of five. The report in front of you is the unabridged, unembellished truth of what happened that night.”
Garrick Stamford laughs derisively. “Never told a lie, huh? Does your wife know where you are today? Have you handed this report of yours over to NASA? Sent a copy to your pal Nixon?”