Irrefutable Proof: Mars Origin I Series Book II Page 9

  But that all ended when we got in the car.

  She turned to me and pounced on me like a hound dog from hell. She grilled me about my book. Sitting next to me in the passenger seat, she threw out questions, seemingly accusing me of I don’t know what.

  Who was the publisher? What was the name of the first book? Why didn’t Case’s library have a copy of it? Am I ashamed of it? And what kind of manuscripts could I have found in Jerusalem that I needed to write a secret book about?

  “It’s not really a secret, Professor Abelson.” I tried to answer her questions.

  “Well, then what is it about?”

  “Uhm, just about my trip to the Fifty Year Jubilee for the finding of the Dead Sea Scrolls. You know the seminar they had.”

  “No. I don’t know.” She looked at me out the corner of her eye. “I thought you said it was about some manuscripts you found?”

  “It is.” I felt like my mother was chewing me out for coming home past my curfew.

  “You found manuscripts at a seminar? What kind of archaeologist are you?”

  I could hear Claire in the back seat try, unsuccessfully, to stifle a laugh.

  “I didn’t find them at the seminar.”

  “Well, if it was something to do with the Dead Sea Scrolls, I would think that would be a pretty important book. At times, Justin, you can be quite daft.”

  Me, daft? I thought. She’s the one with the invisible husband.

  “Why don’t I know about your book?” Professor Abelson seemed to want to continue her tirade.

  “I don’t know. I just didn’t do much marketing on it.”

  “Sounds like you’re ashamed of it to me.” She was such a tiny little woman, with this big heavy cast on, someone to have pity on and want to help. But she had this look on her face that said she could kill a three hundred pound man and then eat him up. She was scaring me.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Claire, and raised my eyebrows. What could I say?

  I told her I wasn’t ashamed of my book. That I was going to Jerusalem to do more research on it. Why did I say that? Oh, boy, I thought she was going to hit me with that cast she got so mad. And it brought on another slew of questions.

  What was I looking for? When was I going? Why am I going back now? Did I find something new out?

  When I told her I wasn’t sure when I was leaving, her whole demeanor changed. In a flash she went from the wicked stepmother to Snow White. She got sickeningly sweet and said to please let her know exactly when because Samuel was going to be away and she might need help.

  “But of course if he’s home, he can take care of me,” she said. “But you won’t know if you don’t call me, now will you?” She looked over and smiled at me. I really got scared then.

  She is just a little old lady, I thought. She can’t really do any harm to me, and I just can’t be mean to her. So I promised I would call her and let her know when I was leaving and how she could reach me.

  “You know I was born and raised in Israel,” she said to me.

  “I know,” I said.

  “And I knew the Editor-in-Chief of the original translation committee for the Dead Sea Scrolls.”

  My eyes got big. I looked back at Claire. I did all I could not to scream.

  “Really?” I said.

  “Yes. Bet you didn’t know I knew such important people, did you?”

  I wasn’t going there with her. She was not going to get me talking about that lunatic, Dr. Samuel Yeoman. He had practically destroyed the AHM manuscripts. I was so glad we were pulling up in her driveway.

  Me and Claire went in to make sure she was comfortable, and to see if she needed me to help her get something to eat, or into bed. But after we got inside, she started ignoring me, again, wrinkling her nose in disgust every time she looked my way. And, she only wanted Claire to help her.

  Fine. With. Me.

  “What is this Professor Abelson?” I asked. She and Claire were coming out of the kitchen with a tray of food she had Claire make.

  The living room and dining room were filled with books and papers scattered everywhere. And tons of notes with what appeared to be attempts at a translation. There were plastic covered sheets of writings. Something I’d never seen before, looked like gibberish, probably some made up language written on the pages.

  “Claire,” Professor Abelson pretending, I guess, that I was incapable of understanding her. “Your sister doesn’t even know about the Voynich Manuscript. Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

  I looked over at Claire and hunched my shoulders. I give up.

  “Claire,” I said, “Could you ask Professor Abelson what language this is written in?” I figured why not just go through Claire to find out what I needed to know.

  “The language hasn’t ever been deciphered,” she said.

  Okay, I think she was talking to me. This time speaking directly to me, answering my question. So, I tried another one.

  “Are you working on a translation?”

  “Claire,” she said, tucking her arm into the bend of Claire’s elbow, and leading her toward the back of the house. “Did you know that I’m a linguist and code breaker? I can figure out almost anything.”

  Well, I guess that answered my question.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Alexander City, Alabama

  Sitting on his back porch, Robert Kevron lifted the soft brown and white fur at the belly of the rabbit he’d killed that morning and made a horizontal incision. He stated to pull the skin away, careful not to take a piece of the stomach. His hand stopped in mid-air when he heard a car pulling up his driveway.

  A late model, black Chevy Tahoe stopped right behind his rusted-out brown pick-up. He heard the engine ticking after the ignition had been turned off. Without taking his eye off the SUV, or his left hand off the rabbit, he laid down his grandfather’s old farm knife, and grabbed his rifle that was leaning on the steps next to him. Picking it up by the barrel, he tossed it up and caught it, wrapping his hand around the trigger guard. Lowering the gun and squinting one eye, he looked through the sight, focusing on the area where a head might pop up out of the truck. He wasn’t taking any chances.

  Nearly thirty years as a counterintelligence officer, Kevron had a head full of top secret information that only a handful of people knew. And still, nearly a decade after retirement, he was resigned to the fact that one day somebody might show up and try to stop him from ever being able to share that information. Not that he planned to. An unexpected black SUV visiting him more than likely meant a government man and possibly trouble.

  Kevron recognized Major Jack Hughes when he walked to the front of the vehicle. Jack looked at Kevron sitting on the step.

  “Mr. Kevron,” Jack said, and nodded.

  “Major.” Kevron nodded back.

  “Good to see you,” Jack said.

  Kevron noticed the Major wasn’t dressed in uniform. Maybe this wasn’t official business.

  Nonetheless, he didn’t like one bit him just dropping by. He flipped the rifle upright and let it slide through his hand. Catching the barrel, and easing it to the ground, he said, “Pull up in my driveway again without telling me you’re coming,” he leaned the rifle up against the edge of the steps, “and you won’t ever be seeing anything or anybody else, good or bad.”

  “You mind if I come over and speak with you,” Jack asked.

  Kevron gestured with his head for him to come on over and went back to skinning his rabbit.

  “What are you doing?” Jack asked, shutting the car door and heading over toward Kevron.

  “Getting ready for supper. Wanna stay and have some? Thinking about cookin’ up a stew.”

  Without commenting on a supper of rabbit stew, or bothering to find a step to sit on amid a hatchet, the rabbit’s head, feet and blood, Jack stood in front of Kevron. “You remember, back a few years before you retired, speaking to a Dr. Phillips?” Jack asked.

  “No. I don’t.” Really he wasn’t in the mood for this Top Secret
crap. Not that he ever did care. He had just done his job.

  “Dr. Phillips. From NASA?” Jack raised an eyebrow.

  “Nope. Can’t say I recall.” He knew that Jack knew better. He had always had a keen and cunning mind. Keeping up with everything had been the only way to keep up on his job. But he wasn’t volunteering any information. He wasn’t going to be the one to open up the door to any trouble.

  “Mind if I refresh your memory?” Jack asked.

  “Is that what you came here for?”

  “Yep.” Jack nodded. He spread his legs and put his hands behind his back as if ordered to stand at ease.

  “Then tell me,” Kevron said as he pulled fur off the rabbit’s flesh. “Wouldn’t want you to have wasted a trip.”

  “Dr. Phillips, a scientist over at NASA, told us that they had found nuclear activity on Mars.” Pausing, he looked at Kevron.

  Kevron’s didn’t let his face show that he remembered, or was even interested.

  “He told us that the soil was radioactive,” Jack brought his hands in front of him. “And that couldn’t have happened naturally. You remember that?” Jack asked.

  “Can’t say that I do.” He popped the rabbit’s legs through the skin.

  “I’ve got wind of this archaeologist,” Jack said, “who, back in 1997, may have found some manuscripts that give a reason for the radioactive material up there.”

  “Is the Pentagon on this?” Kevron looked up at Jack for the first time.

  “I hadn’t mentioned it to them yet. No. Thought I’d run it past you first. I remember you saying that you didn’t believe any of it and it’s what people want. Alien craze and all. Was wondering if I could get your opinion on the information this lady – the archaeologist – has. Her name’s Justin Dickerson. Think she lives in up in Ohio. We didn’t know about her book when we made an assessment on the information that Dr. Phillips gave us. Do you think you would have done anything differently if you had? Is there anything that we should look into now that we have the information?”

  “You said she found out about it in 1997?”

  “Yeah. She found some manuscripts with the Dead Sea Scrolls. These manuscripts, according to her books, no longer exist. They were destroyed, or are missing, or something. But she wrote about them and published her findings. But she may have access to a notebook that’s contains an untranslated copy.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “I’ve got some information -” Jack started to hand Kevron a manila folder.

  Kevron pushed the folder back toward Jack, dismissing it. “What I’m saying is that I’ve never heard of it. Understand? Never heard of it and it seems you’re just getting wind of it now. It hasn’t caused a problem up til now, so I’m thinking we’re good on people fretting about men from Mars and their nuclear power.”

  “She has more information that she’s going to be putting out soon. More facts -”

  “Facts?” Kevron cocked his head and stared up at Jack. “She’s got facts?”

  “Other than the manuscripts . . .” he began to talk slower as he realized what he was saying. “Yeah, manuscripts that are no longer around. No. Nothing else. Not that I know of.”

  Jack waited for a response from Kevron. He didn’t get one. He studied Kevron and after an uncomfortable pause asked, “You think I should do something about it?”

  “You haven’t done anything yet?” Kevron asked. “You know, other than come and see me.”

  “Wasn’t sure if I should,” Jack answered. “You know, the position you held wasn’t filled after you left. It got kind of absorbed into other positions. I didn’t want to bring this to anyone’s attention unless it had some merit to it because it’s a small part of their job. Now I’m thinking that it’s not that important. Thirteen years – no one knows anything. I’m thinking I’ll just let it go.”

  “Hmm,” Kevron pushed out the seemingly uninterested response, took in a breath through his nostrils and nodded his head.

  “What do you think about it?” Jack asked.

  “I think that it’s not my job anymore.” Kevron hunched his shoulder, and straightened out his leg as if he was going to push off and stand up. He remained sitting.

  “Want me to leave you the information? Maybe look it over and get back to me?”

  “No thank you. Don’t have much time for reading these days.”

  “Skinning rabbits keeping you busy?”

  “More than you know.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  After the Major left, Kevron put down the rabbit so he could clean up a bit. He wiped the wet blood off his hands on the towel he had on the step next to him and walked around the side of the house. Turning on the water spigot, he rinsed away the dried blood.

  Heading into the house, he threw the rabbit into the kitchen sink and took the stairs two at a time up to his bedroom. At the top of his closet, in a corner underneath two shoeboxes, he found the case that housed his Glock 30 .45 and pulled it down off the shelf. Down on the floor he found the old cigar box where he kept ammunition, brushes and Rem Oil.

  They hadn’t filled his position over there at the Pentagon, he thought, because now they had formed a more elite group of special ops to deal with people who may have information that they shouldn’t have. And although it might be a different, more specialized group of agents, the end result was the same. Neutralize the threat.

  Jack Hughes had never known the lengths that he’d gone through to keep the government’s secrets secret.

  Placing a white towel over his mint green chenille bedspread, he took the Glock out of the box, and grasped the rough plastic finger grooves of the handle. He needed to fieldstrip it, clean it and make sure it was ready to go. He dropped the single stacked magazine, catching it as it bounced onto the bed. Laying it flat, he then checked to see if there was a round in the chamber. Making sure the gun wasn’t cocked. He pushed the tabs on either side of the gun down, pulled the slide off the frame, popped out the recoil spring and pushed the barrel out, spreading the pieces on the towel.

  Going through the motions to ready his weapon, he went over his next steps.

  He’d drive where he needed to go, he decided, then there’d be no records of him flying anywhere, no records of renting a car. He’d fill up his dark blue Ford Taurus with cash. He’d had just got a tune up for it, and new tires. It would take him wherever he needed to go. He kept a stash of money just in case someone ever came after him. No ATM or credit cards. He still had one contact in the Pentagon that he could trust if he needed more information, or something more.

  “Major Hughes seemed clueless,” he said out loud, taking out a small wire brush from the other box. “Hmpf. He may not know what to do, but I know what needs to be done. And, I’m thinking I might just have to take care of it myself.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jerusalem, Israel

  October, 1949

  She was young, pretty, outspoken. Too outspoken for her father’s taste. Hannah Abelson. Sixteen years old. Full of life, and curiosity.

  Her father was very protective of her, which she couldn’t understand. Since her mother had died, she had become quite independent. Growing up without a mother, she had learned to cook and clean, even taking care of her father, helping out at his practice. Yet, her father still wanted to rule her. Treat her like she was a child.

  “I’m not a child,” she had told him.

  And announced she was going to get married. But he told her no, he would not have it. She was too young and, he said, she would go to the Hebrew University in the fall. To become a teacher. There was more to life than marriage.

  But she didn’t care for school, and told him so. She wanted to get married. Ah, there is enough time for that, he told her. She could wait. And no matter how much she pleaded, he refused to see things her way. By all that is Holy, he had said between clenched teeth and with finality, he would see to it that she would do just as he said.

  Fine, she told him, she could wait,
stomping out of the room she thought, Wait until he was dead. Grinning she mumbled under her breath which, just might not turn out to be too long of a wait. He wouldn’t be able to tell her what to do then. For now, she would do as her father said. And then in short order, she would marry.

  She already knew who it would be. Benjamin.

  He worked at a nearby market on Khabad. And she had fallen in love with him. And he with her, she was sure. They were meant to be together. She knew it from the first time she saw him. And she could see in his brown - no gray eyes - that he felt the same way about her. Soon, she would be a happily married woman. She’d have a house to take care of, and children. Yes, of course, she thought. I’ll have lots of children. And no father to tell her what she could or could not do.

  Benjamin. She smiled when she let the name quietly tumble from her lips. She wasn’t sure of his last name. She would have to find out. Letting out a sigh, she thought about what she did know. He was quite good looking. He looked like the American actor James Stewart, tall and slim, with a boyish charm, especially when he smiled. And, the way he laughed when he met with his friends at the market where he worked. He was the perfect boy for her. Any girl’s dream. They would be so happy together. She closed her eyes and hugged herself. Yes, she would go to the University and then she would marry Benjamin.

  Every day she would go by the market where he worked. One Thursday when she stopped at the market to see Ben, as she had decided to call him – so much more mature sounding – he wasn’t there. Where could he be? It was their usual time. She walked around the store and then stood out in front of it, looking up and down the street.

  “May I help you, Miss?” The owner asked, stepping out on the sidewalk, where he had crates of produce lined up for sale.

  “Oh, no. I mean, yes. I was just looking at the oranges.” She picked one up. “How much?”

  Why is he so late? she wondered, peeling the orange she had been forced to buy. She looked at her watch. She’d be late for school if he took much longer. Thinking better of lingering in front of the market – that fool owner would just keep bothering her, Hannah walked across the street to the dress shop. She could look in the windows at the displays, and no one would notice her. There were more people out now, thank goodness. She wouldn’t look so obvious standing around. She brushed hair back off her face, and leaned her back up against the wall of the shop.