Skip, hardly breathing, could tell this was no perverse joke: Bitan was telling the truth, or at least his recollection of it.
“My memory becomes hazy after this point. I was examined, and they communicated with me. What they said had a profound and life-changing effect.”
Again he paused. Night had fallen, and a limitless dome of stars had begun to appear over their heads like so much glowing dust.
“What they told me was this: that they belonged to a galaxy-wide civilization of immense technological advancement, peace, prosperity, compassion, and happiness. The problems we face here, they had all solved. And one day, we would be invited to join them—if we could cure ourselves of war, racism, inequality, and the other social ills of our time.
“I asked them: Why me? And they answered, You will eventually understand. You are part of the plan. And then I felt like I was falling again and found myself on the Einot Si’on ridge. Dawn was creeping up in the eastern sky. A few hours later, my patrol came into view, coming up the ridge looking for me.
“I then did a foolish thing. As soon as I had the opportunity, I took the patrol leader aside—he was a lieutenant in the IDF—and told him what had happened. He was aghast. He immediately assumed I was psychotic and said he was obliged to report me for my own safety and the safety of my fellow soldiers. It was only with extreme difficulty that I was able to quickly backpedal, retract it all, claim it was a dream, and talk him out of reporting it. If he had, I would have been cashiered. It would have gone on my record that I was mentally unfit, and my life would have been ruined. It was a lesson learned. For those reasons I never spoke of it again—save to my son.”
His voice had fallen to a hush. Skip had to lean close to hear him.
“It did, however, encourage me to pursue a path in life, the one you’re familiar with from my books and research. But I kept that encounter to myself, because if it ever got out, it would all be over for me. Even here and now, perhaps even among these open-minded scientists, I would be thought a crank.”
“Yes, of course. I understand.”
“You must tell no one, not even your sister. This is between you and me.” Then he smiled and glanced at the dog. “And Mitty.”
“I promise.”
“For me, this project is more than just a scientific effort. It has spiritual significance. This discovery will draw us closer to the day when humanity can cast aside its evil ways and eventually join the galactic civilization.”
Skip felt a shiver of exultation. This was an incredible revelation, and Bitan, the famous scientist, had chosen to make it to him—and him alone.
“Thank you,” Skip said, into a long silence. “Thank you for your trust and confidence in me.”
“I had a purpose in telling you.”
“What is that?” Skip said eagerly.
Bitan laughed out loud, grabbed Skip by the shoulder, and gave him a friendly squeeze. “All in good time. And now, let’s go find out what our friend Antonetti has on this evening’s menu.”
21
HALE MORWOOD PULLED himself out of the driver’s seat of his black Cadillac XT6, waited for a moment to catch his breath in the night air, took out the box with the dial-a-yield, then locked the SUV’s door with his key fob. He began walking from the employee lot toward the entrance to the FBI building. It was a few minutes before midnight, and the night was dark and moonless, reducing the buildings in the nearby business park to low rectangles of light.
He wasn’t a big fan of Cadillacs, or American-made cars in general, but he’d chosen the Caddy for the same reasons he’d picked an obnoxious decaled pickup for his work vehicle. It didn’t look 5-O; it offered good protection in the case of a collision; and—perhaps most important—it took little effort to slip in and out of.
Morwood approached the front of the three-story central structure and went in through the main entrance. He signed in, exchanged brief pleasantries with the night guard, then walked with measured cadence to the elevator bank. The doors opened, he stepped in, and—instead of heading up to his second-floor office—he pushed the button marked B and waited for the lift to take its usual sweet time.
At least the slow ride to the basement restored his normal respiration—such as it was. It was quiet down here—no surprise, given the hour. He turned left down the hallway, dimly lit since half the overhead lights automatically shut off after ten, and started for the lab. Twenty paces—the distance, long memorized, rose to his mind whether he wanted it to or not.