Irrefutable Proof: Mars Origin "I" Series Book II (27 page)

Chapter
Fifty-Six

Talk about hiding something in an obvious place.

The Bilderberg Group.

Everyone looked at me when I came back outside.

“Well?” Addie said.

“I think that it just might be the Bilderberg
Group.”

“What is that?” Greg asked.

“Nikhil Chandra wrote the group’s name on the back
of his business card.”

“Why’d he do that?” Claire asked.

“I don’t know.”

So, we looked up the group on the Internet.
Not
so secretive
, I thought,
they have a website
.

Not an ancient society, Addie noticed. Not even a hundred
year old society. Not an underground group of fanatics.

I started reading the information from the web out
loud.

“The group was f
ounded in
1954 and had the elite of the day in its membership.

“A hundred twenty to a hundred fifty members,
meeting every year at their annual conference where, so it’s reported,” I read.
“Members ‘foster dialogue between Europe and North America’ through discussions
that are informal, and purportedly, off-the-record.”

I looked up at everyone, their eyes locked on me. “Get
this,” I said. “The topics that they discuss? Megatrends and major issues
facing the world.”

I felt a chill go up my spine.

“You guys,” I said. “This could be the Saboteurs
all together in one place every year.”

They looked at me. I don’t think they were really
buying that idea. I even had to laugh at that one. It seemed so far-fetched.

Not that my idea of them being in the jungle was
any more logical.

But right in Chicago? Or Switzerland? I didn’t
think I would find any of the Ancients there. Well, at least the descendants of
the Ancients. Although, look at Nikhil, he was quite civilized, other than the
stalking part of him.

The Ancients had one government. One world order.
So I learned from the manuscripts. A government that couldn’t, or didn’t, I
don’t know which one, stop mass destruction of their planet by some sort of
nuclear holocaust.

And now, maybe those that knew were gathering
every year. An elite group. Governments around the world coming together as
one. That’s what it sounded like to me.

I voiced that opinion out loud.

“I think that could be right,” Addie said.

“The website,” I continued to read, “said that the
‘participants are not bound by the conventions of office or by pre-agreed
positions. As such, they can take time to listen, reflect and gather insights .
. .’”

Then a thought hit me. “Maybe they could read the
Voynich Manuscript,” I said. “Or know someone who can?”

“If they could, then why haven’t they made
themselves known?” Mase asked.

“That’s a good question,” I said. “I don’t know.
But it’s worth a try. Don’t you think?”

“We should try everything,” Addie said. “So what
now?”

I eyed everyone with a devilsh look on my face.
“Well, of course, now the only thing left to do is to try to find a way to get
in and talk to the Martians.”

“Here we go again.” Greg leaned back in his lawn chair and
covered his eyes with his hand.

Chapter
Fifty-Seven

We needed to contact the Bilderberg Group. The website didn’t
have a “Contact” tab, but it did list the names of current and past
chairpersons and steering committee members under the “Governance” tab. We
decided to each contact a different member from the list. We were also able to
find a couple of people that weren’t members but had been invited to previous
meetings. We needed to find a way in. To get an invitation to come to a
meeting, to get a phone call set up with someone, or something.

Mase wrote to two people from the media. Both had been invited
to previous meetings. I called around to a few people in the world of academia and
got a few leads. I sent out about four emails, all to people that had been
members. I sent an email to an astrophysicist here in the United
States, one to a paleontologist in Amsterdam, and one to an anthropologist in Germany.
I thought myself pretty clever because I wrote to the anthropologist in German.
Hopefully, the recipient would feel some kind of kinship – science and language
and all. Then I sent an email to Bruce Cook, the current Chair of the
Bilderberg Group. He was also a U.S. Senator.

Martians at the Capital
. Sounds like it could’ve been a Tim Burton
movie.

Greg made several phone calls and had Anne, the secretary at
the law firm follow up with letters on his letterhead. He wrote to several
politicians that were members. And Claire wrote to two research scientists, a
geneticist at Johns Hopkins and a neurologist in the UK.

And then we waited to see what would happen.

Greg got an answer back first. It read:

Mr. Vandiver,

In the early 1950s a number of people on both sides of the Atlantic
wanted to bring together like minded citizens that were the pillars of society,
both in and out of government. The purpose would be to informally discuss the
problems facing the world. Such meetings, they believed, would create a platform
to understand the forces and trends affecting the countries around our globe.

The first meeting that took place was at the Bilderberg Hotel
in Oosterbeek, Holland, from 29 May to 31 May 1954, hence, they have been
called the Bilderberg Meetings. That first meeting was chaired by H.R.H. Prince
Bernhard of the Netherlands, as he did for a numbers of years after that.

There are no “members” of Bilderberg, other than those on the
steering committee. In its stead, each year an invitation list is compiled by
the international steering committee. Individuals are chosen in the light of
their knowledge, occupation and standing in our global society, representing
finance, science, industry, labor, education and journalism. This is to ensure
many points of view are included in our discussions. Of the 80 to 100
participants, approximately one-third are from government and politics. However,
each participant attends representing personal viewpoints and does not attend
or comment in an official capacity.

From the beginning participants have come from North America
and Western Europe, and from various international organizations. Since then,
the meetings have opened up to participants from more than one hundred
countries. However, the official languages are still English and French.

The meetings take place in a different country each year.  The
discussion at each meeting is centered upon topics of current concern in
foreign policy, world economy, and scientific technology. Contemporary issues
are often discussed as well. We encourage freedom of speech and opinion. Thus,
the meetings are closed and off the record. At no time in the past have
participants proposed any resolutions, taken votes to enact a mandate, or issued
policy statements during or after the meetings. We intend to continue the
meetings in that vein in the future.

Essentially, Bilderberg is a high-ranking and flexible
international forum. We stimulate and support opposing viewpoints that will, in
our opinion, further closer and mutual understanding among the countries in the
world.

Whatever that meant. It was signed by some nondescript person.
I got the next response. It was the one I sent to the anthropologist in Germany.
He wrote back in English. The letter said:

Dr. Dickerson,

In the early 1950s a number of people on both sides of the Atlantic wanted to bring together like minded citizens that were the pillars of society,
both in and out of government . . .

Every letter that we got, and all were answered, said the same
exact thing.  

So much for getting information straight from the horse’s
mouth.

Chapter
Fifty-Eight

Two
men showed up at my front door. I was home by myself, sitting in my study
staring at the pages of the Voynich Manuscript as I had taken to doing lately.
I peeked out of one of the windows by the door and was met by a man in a black
suit with a badge that he flashed on the other side of the glass. The other one
was clad in Air Force dress blues and a red beret. He stood about a foot behind
the one with the suit and the badge.

I
pulled the door open slightly, just enough that they could see half of me, and
one of my eyes that I gave an intimidating look out of.

“Good
morning, ma’am. We’re looking for Dr. Justin Dickerson.” Mr. Suit said.

 “Who
are you?” I asked, wondering what had I done now.

“I’m
from the NRO . . .” Mr. Suit said, then paused, apparently thinking he should
explain those initials. “National Reconnaissance Office, ma’am. My name is
Jeffrey Rice.” I nodded like I knew who that was. He said his name like I
should. Without trying to give away how clueless I was or my complete lack of
interest in who they were, I looked over at the other man.

“Morning,
ma’am.” The guy with the red beret nodded. “I’m United States Air Force. Lt.
William Zuick.”

I
could see that, but then he said, “Blue Light Division.”

‘Blue
Light Division?’
I wasn’t
sure I should believe that.
Aren’t their berets supposed to match the name
of the group they’re in?

“What
can I do for you?”  I asked

“Are
you Dr. Dickerson?” Mr. Suit spoke.

Before
I could answer, Nikhil Chandra came up the walkway to my house. Dressed in full
priestly regalia.

What?
Does he just hang around my house and office?

“Hi,
Justin,” he said, and stood there with his hands folded in front of him.

“Hi,
Nikhil,” I said.

Nikhil
nodded at the two guys. No one said anything, until Nikhil spoke again, “Let’s
all go in, shall we?” He squeezed past me and the two men and walked into my
house.

Oh,
well.

I
opened up the door all the way and swept my arm toward the interior of the
house.

“Come
in,” I said.

I
pointed toward the living room, and said, “You’ll have to excuse me for a
minute, I left something cooking in the kitchen,” I lied. “Have a seat. Nikhil,
you’ll see to our guests won’t you? And I’ll be right back.” I turned and
walked – initially, out of the living room until I had rounded the corner into
the hallway, then I ran to my study. Bending over the desktop I Googled ‘USAF
Blue Lights’. The very first entry caused me to sit down and swallow hard.
Oh
my God
. Who had I let in my house?

It
was a Wikipedia file that was only a couple of paragraphs long. It said that
the Blue Lights were a Special Forces unit in 1980s but hadn’t existed since
then.

Well,
they existed somewhere because one of them was sitting in my living room. I
looked over toward the door to make sure they hadn’t followed me.

It
said that they were involved in counterterrorism . . .

Oh
my goodness.

The
article compared them to the Delta Force. I didn’t know what that was. But it
didn’t sound good. The article didn’t say much more. I clicked the back button.

Scanning
the rest of the page from my initial search, I saw a couple entries down a link
that said,
The Secret Shadow Government.
“Oh shoot,” I said out loud.
“Secret government? What the heck!” Without opening the link, I saw underneath
it the words “USAF Blue Lights” all in bold. Making circles over the link with
my mouse, I debated on whether to open it or not. I chose ‘not’.

I
didn’t want to know what it said.

For
some reason, all of a sudden, I felt better that Nikhil was there.

Then
I typed N-R-O in the search box. I was thinking that I would have to type the
full name in, but it came up on the first try. Once on the website, I had to
click on the “About” link to find out anything. It read,
“When the United States needs eyes and ears in critical places where no human can reach – be it over
the most rugged terrain or through the most hostile territory – it turns to the
National Reconnaissance Office (NRO). The NRO is the U.S. Government agency in
charge of designing, building, launching, and maintaining America’s intelligence satellites . . .”

Intelligence
satellites?

Now
I was really confused. What could they want with me?

I
took a deep breath and pushed myself up from the desk. Only one way to find
out. I headed back to the living room, then I remembered I was supposed to have
been in the kitchen. So, I turned around ran into the kitchen and banged some
pots around and opened and shut a drawer. That didn’t help because they were
auto close draws. So I opened a cabinet and shut it hard, and ran back down the
hallway.

Getting
to the living room, I slowed down and caught my breath, rounding into the room,
I saw they had made themselves comfortable. Mr. Suit was on my couch, and Mr.
Wrong Color Beret in a chair. Nikhil was peering out the front window. He was
standing somewhat to the side of it, and peeking out like he didn’t want
someone out there to see him. Before I could say anything, Mr. Suit started
talking.

“I’m
sure you must be wondering why we’re here, Dr. Dickerson.”

I
sat down on the opposite end of the couch. “What’s your name, again,” I asked.

“Jeff
Rice. Here’s my card,” he said, leaning over and handing it to me. “I
apologize. I should have given you that right off.”

“No
problem,” I said, looking down at the card. Looking back up, I noticed Nikhil
still fiddling over at the window. “Nikhil, would you like to have a seat?”

“No.”
He smiled. “I’m fine.”

Mr.
Suit looked at me. “We just have a few quick questions for you. If you don’t
mind?”

“No.
Go ahead.”

“We
understand that you are an archaeologist and are currently teaching over at
Case Western Reserve.”

“Mm-hmm.”
I nodded my head. That really wasn’t a question. “That’s right,” I said,
answering just the same.

“A
biblical archaeologist?”

“Yes.”

“Any
experience in geology?”

“No.”

“Astrophysics?”

“No.”
I pursed my lips, and furrowed my brow.

“Have
you any knowledge of nuclear fission?”

I
raised my eyebrow and shook my head.

What
was this all about?

“Have
you come by any information on nuclear activity that took place at any time that
could have, let’s say, destroyed lands or peoples?”

Oh.
Now I see.

 “No,”
I lied.

Nikhil
turned from the window for the first time and looked at me.

“Are
you the author of
In the Beginning
,” Jeff Rice asked.

“Yes,”
I said. “A work of fiction.”

“Just
fiction?” he asked with a smirk.

“Just
fiction,” I said.

Suit
nodded to Wrong Color Beret and they both stood up as if they were ready to
leave. Why two of them came, I don’t know because, Mr. Wrong Color Beret never
said a word.

“Is
that all?” I asked.

“If
we need to speak to you about anything else, would it be okay to contact you
again?”

“I’m
not sure what you needed or wanted this time,” I said.

Mr.
Suite gave me another one of his smirks and walked toward the front door. I
followed him. I guess they were finished with me. Nikhil still stood sentinel
at the front window.

“Have
you deciphered the Voynich Manuscript?” Nikhil said to me after I came back from
seeing the two government men out.

“Uhm.
No.” I said.

Glancing
over at me, he said, “You’ve been doing some traveling, Justin.”

That
didn’t sound like a question to me, either, so I didn’t answer him. Was he now taking
his questioning methods from Mr. Suit?

“Still
looking?” he asked.

“Still
looking?”

“For
answers. Are you still looking for answers?”

“Yeah,”
I said to Nikhil. “I’m still looking for answers. I’m just trying to cover all my
bases.”

“You
need to cover your bases a little better. I told you,” he said, sitting down in
the chair. “I couldn’t keep you safe, but it looks like I might have to find
someone who can.”

 “What
are you talking about?”

“For
one, that dark blue Taurus that was parked out in front of your house. Did you ever
find out who that was?”

Was
I supposed to find out who he was? I thought I was just supposed to avoid him,
so he couldn’t kill me.

I
went and peeked out the window. “I don’t see a car out there.”

“That’s
because they took off after your visitors left. Perhaps they know each other.”
He looked at me sternly. “So, was talking to those two guys also a part of this
‘covering all your bases’ plan that you have?”

“I
haven’t the faintest idea who those guys were,” I said, and looked him directly
in his eyes. “But part of my plan may have something to do with
you
. Are
you a part of the Bilderberg Group?”

“No.
Quite the opposite.”

“What
is that supposed to mean?” Before he could answer, I thought of another
question. “Then why was it on the back of your card?”

He
smiled. “I’m glad you saw that. I hoped you would. But still not as quickly as
I would have thought.”

I
raised an eyebrow.

“I’m
sure you noticed it was
hand-written
on the card.”

“Yeah.”

“Certainly,
if I were a member of the group, I wouldn’t have written that in. Especially on
the back.”

“Why
did you write it?”

“So
you could check them out. Perhaps that would motivate you.” He tugged at his
collar.

“Check
them out?” I didn’t understand him or his cryptic messages. “Well, it doesn’t
matter anyway,” I said. “They ruled themselves out of the equation. I can’t get
a straight answer from them, a phone conversation, or get in to meet with
them.”

“I
think you did just have a meeting with them,” Nikhil said, giving me the same
smirk as Mr. Suit had.