10:15 P.M. September 16, 1957 — Washington, D.C.

  The schedule sat on Senator Jonah Merrin’s desk in his study.

  Confidential — Committee Use Only

  UNITED STATES SENATE

  LEGISLATIVE CALENDAR — MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 1957

  Prepared by the Office of the Secretary of the Senate

  Morning Session – Senate Chamber

  10:00 A.M. – Opening Prayer & Roll Call

  10:15 A.M. – General Remarks (Floor speeches)

  11:00 A.M. – Continued debate on the 1957 Civil Rights Act(Cloture pending)

  Minority Whip expected to propose procedural amendment regarding federal oversight

  12:30 P.M.– Recess for Party Caucus Meetings

  Afternoon Session – Senate Chamber

  2:00 P.M. – Committee on Foreign Retions: briefing summary from Sec. Dulles

  Senator Jenner scheduled to introduce floor resolution re: Communist influence in the arts

  3:30 P.M. – Motion to recommit S. 3292 (Reconstruction Finance Extension)

  Open floor for debate; cloture vote postponed to Tuesday

  Select Committees – Closed & Open Hearings — Subcommittee on Inhuman Activities (Sen. J. P. Merrin, Chair)

  Room SH-216, Hart Senate Office Building

  Scheduled: 9:00 A.M. – 3:30 P.M. (Tuesday, 17 Sept 1957)

  Subject: Testimony of Dr. Thomas Larsen

  “Investigation into Unregistered Biological Research and Threats to National Security”

  Witness under subpoena

  Session will be filmed for official government record

  Closed session possible at chair’s discretion

  Printed for: SENATOR JONAH P. MERRIN

  Do not duplicate without authorization.

  Across the second page—the important page that spelled out how he’d be spending most of tomorrow—were a collection of notes written in Jonah Merrin’s disheveled handwriting.

  Larsen 0900 – must review questions tonight.

  Push back on Dick Marburger’s questions – deny or dey.

  Do not allow hearing to drift into ethics (i. e. Marburger) — stay on security.

  Remind press: no quotes before clearance.

  Brief VP re: optics post-hearing.

  Senator Richard Marburger, Republican from California, was already proving to be a thorn in his side. His public comments on the floor of the Senate earlier today were already getting too much news coverage.

  “When one is aiming at rats, it is especially important to make sure that one does not shoot someone who is also aiming at rats. Or one’s neighbor’s dog.”

  Jonah Merrin didn’t dislike the man. He was usually a reliable vote for the GOP. But he couldn’t quite trust anyone who used one so frequently. The man’s private comments to him had been more direct.

  “You can’t set the entire country on fire just because a few trees are infested with Bark Beetles, Jonah. The only thing you’re scorched earth approach will leave behind is a wastend.”

  It seemed that even when talking about the threat that inhumans posed to national security Dick Marburger couldn’t shake his northern California roots.

  Select Committees Hearings on Inhuman Activities. Or, as Democrats referred to it—The Salem Witch Trials.

  “Eleven months of hearings, or badgering witnesses, of twisting testimony and skewing fact, of spreading fear, and Senator Merrin hasn’t uncovered one shred of actual evidence that...I won’t dignify the pejorative he prefers by uttering it here...that persons with special abilities even exist.”

  Donald Kennedy, Democrat, junior Senator from Massachusetts, had a voice, accent and inflection that acted on Jonah’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. It was just one more thing he’d have to prepare himself for. Come tomorrow he’d hear that irksome voice far too often.

  What’s wrong with these men? Jonah wondered. Don’t they see what I see? Don’t they recognize the threat we’re facing?

  If the watchman sees the sword coming and does not blow the trumpet to warn the people… I will hold the watchman accountable.

  He’d quoted Ezekiel on the first day of hearings. He’d asked the Senate chapin to insert it into his morning prayer on several occasions without success. That was fine. Jonah Merrin was nothing if not persistent. The Almighty Lord put him in a pce of authority for a reason, and he would do his sacred duty or die trying.

  “Why are you working so te?” Ruth Merrin asked from the doorway. He sometimes thought she was part cat, she moved so silently, and so gracefully.

  He simply held up the schedule, turned to the second page, the neat block letters graffitied with red ink scrawlings. She'd seen it already, despite the red stamp marking it CONFIDENTIAL.

  His head still rested on his hand when he put the schedule down. He continued to look at it. “Just getting ready.”

  Ruth stood in the doorway and leaned against the frame. Her arms were folded, and the stone from her engagement ring reflected the mp light towards him, accompanied by the fragrance of her perfume.

  “You don’t think you’re ready?” she asked. He heard the skepticism in her voice. She didn’t understand.

  “There’s a storm coming, and we’re not ready. Not me. Not the country. Our leadership is weak. Blind. I feel like I’m the only one with 20/20 vision. Like Jeremiah must have felt.”

  “There’s always another storm on the horizon,” Ruth said philosophically. “When we see it, we just close the shutters and wait for it to pass.”

  Jonah shook his head. “We can’t hide from what’s coming. We have to go out and meet it or it’ll destroy us.”

  “Is that what you’re afraid of? That whatever is coming will destroy us?”

  His eyes left the printed page and gazed at his wife. “You think I’m afraid?”

  She nodded. “I know you are. I see it in your face. You had that same look when we thought I would lose the baby.”

  Just the mention of it—more than twenty years in the past—made his heart pound.

  June, 1936 — Marshall Isnds, South Seas Mandate

  Jonah found it impossible to sleep. He felt the mosquito netting around their bed was suffocating him. But in truth, it was the total ck of air flow that was to bme. Not total—otherwise, how could he detect the fragrance of burning coconuts? Or the smell of frangipani and wet pandanus leaves?

  He was sweltering. Miserable. He had no idea how Ruth could stand it—six months pregnant, and a difficult pregnancy at that. Barely able to keep anything down. Jonah turned gently to look at her perspiring face. She’d finally drifted off—to the accompaniment of the chirping tree frogs, the hypnotic pulse of cicadas and crickets, and the regur zzzzzzz of mosquitoes hunting for their liquid dinner. Even the sound of rain falling on palm fronds and distant thunder didn’t disturb her.

  Thank God for small favors, Jonah thought.

  They had been married less than a year—still technically newlyweds. She’d been there less than a month when he finally arrived in ’33. He’d felt the Lord’s hand guiding him to this forlorn corner of the globe to do His work. He never expected that hand to introduce him to the woman who would—at first gnce—take his breath away. And then steal his heart.

  Now that woman slept beside him, bathed in sweat as he was, but for the moment, peaceful.

  “If she keeps on like this, her dehydration will only get worse,” Dr. Matthias Vogt had said quietly to Jonah earlier in the day.

  “Isn’t there anything you can do for her, Doctor?”

  “If we had a better-equipped clinic, I would start an IV of saline or glucose. I could try subcutaneous fluids if she gets worse,” the German physician had answered. “For now, keep her as cool as possible. I’ll make her a little broth.”

  “I can’t lose her, Doctor. Not her, not the baby. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  The elderly man had smiled and patted his arm.

  “Your wife is strong. So is your child. Put your faith in God, son. Put your faith in God.”

  I have put my faith in God, Jonah had nearly shouted back. And look where that got us.

  He didn’t dare risk waking Ruth by getting out of bed to kneel. Even reaching for his Bible on the side table felt like too much. So Jonah y back on his damp pillow, closed his eyes, and csped his hands together.

  All-powerful, just, and merciful Lord. I ask nothing for myself. I am not worthy of Your attention. I ask for the woman who lies next to me, whom I know You love, whose work You smile upon. I am not worth one hair on her head. I ask You to intercede on her behalf—and for the life she carries within her. If a life must be taken, take mine. Spare her. Spare our child.

  He finished his prayer. Soon after, the sound of the falling rain lulled him to sleep.

  Jonah stood in the middle of the rain forest. The rain had stopped, though he couldn’t remember when. The moon—hidden for over a week—now shone down on the small clearing in which he stood. He turned a full circle but could see no glimmer of firelight, nor the smell of smoke, or the sound of voices. Nothing to tell him which direction would lead him back to their missionary camp.

  Then his eyes fell upon a stone, pced in the damp earth. It stood perhaps eighteen or twenty inches high, with a rounded top. As he approached, his eyes made out the faint traces of lettering, and he knew what it was.

  A tombstone.

  His heart lurched with such force that he staggered backward and fell. When he regained his senses, the stone was mere inches from him, and he could not bring himself to look at it. He feared what he’d see: Ruth’s name. And the name of their unborn child.

  He bowed his head before the stone and wept bitterly.

  “Why are you crying?” a voice asked him gently.

  He hadn’t heard anyone approach. When he looked around the clearing, he was alone.

  “Who are you?” he shouted to the rain forest.

  “I am that I am. You called to me. You asked me to spare your woman and your child.

  You offered yourself in their pce. A life for a life.

  So I ask you—whose name shall be carved on the stone?”

  “Mine!” Jonah cried, beating his chest as he realized, finally, whose voice he was hearing.

  “Take my life! Spare theirs!”

  There was a long silence, and Jonah began to fear that Ehyeh-Asher-Ehyeh had turned away from him.

  “I will do as you ask. Your life is now Mine. I will make you an instrument to do My work.”

  Jonah bowed low to the ground and answered. “I am the Lord’s instrument. I am putty in His hands. He may shape me as He wishes.”

  Suddenly the wind rose in the clearing—primal and wild. The trees filed like drowning men, and a sound filled Jonah’s ears like the roar of a passing locomotive.

  He woke with a gasp, but did not move.

  The mosquito netting billowed under the touch of a cool breeze. The sweat on his face had begun to dry. He turned his head and looked at Ruth. Her breathing was easier now. Her face, for the first time in days, was free of perspiration.

  He closed his eyes again and csped his hands near his heart.

  I am putty in Your hands. Shape me as You wish.

  Ruth’s voice brought his attention back to the present.

  “You were like that until she turned one. Treating her like she was made of gss. Every time she coughed, or cried, it looked like someone was stabbing you in the heart.”

  He forced his tears back and fought against the knot in his throat. He’d never told her about the dream—the bargain he’d made with the Almighty.

  It had all seemed simple back then. Serve the Lord, and Ruth and Sarah would be safe. He had thrown himself into that life, and that work, happily. Wholeheartedly.

  Ruth remembered the man he’d been in those early days—young, devout, joyful. But then the war came. And its aftermath. A world torn asunder, with too much of it in the hands of godless men. The world had changed.

  And Jonah had changed with it.

  What had turned her pious husband—the peaceful instrument of the Lord—into His weapon?

  War. Pain. Fear.

  He’d boarded the USS Brandywine as a junior intelligence officer—still filled with hope and compassion, but just as dedicated as any man his age to defending his country, and their way of life. But the attacks during the Battle of Okinawa that had put carrier CV-48 out of commission for six weeks had scarred Jonah almost as much. Burns. Shrapnel. Smoke inhation. Hearing loss. Nightmares. And a much changed view of the godless nations of the Earth.

  His youthful humility was gone, repced by a zealous belief that he’d been spared for a reason—and not a peaceful one. She looked at him now as he sat at his desk, waiting for him to answer her question.

  “I was afraid God would take her away. That He’d punish me for... not being strong enough.”

  Ruth walked quietly to her husband and kissed the top of his head.

  “God doesn’t work like that. And strong enough for what?”

  He hesitated. She waited.

  “Strong enough to protect His kingdom.”

  She was silent for a moment. Then, gently:

  “It’s God’s pce to protect His kingdom, dear. Not yours.”

  She rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not the only one who came home different. Not the only man whose body and spirit were damaged by what they went through and what they saw. Especially those who fought in the South Pacific. It also damaged your soul, I think, your faith in the Divine. It was never about race for you—not like it was for some. For you it was something deeper. Something older.

  You started out wanting to serve. To heal. To build something better. You were a plowshare once, Jonah. But somewhere along the way, you let the world turn you into a sword.”

  Jonah stared off into space. “Because I saw where being a plowshare led to. Matthias Vogt, dead of typhus in a Japanese internment camp. He stayed. He put his faith in God, like he told me to. He stayed, treating other internees, and he died. We left. I left. And I lived.”

  Ruth shook her head again. “Barely. Three kamikaze attacks, Jonah. Plus a handful of others. You lived. But over one-hundred men died. Your ship almost sank.”

  “I know. I was there. I’m still there when the nightmares come back.”

  They rarely talked about the war. Ruth knew it was a sensitive topic for her husband and avoided it when she could. But not tonight. “And we lost more than Dr. Vogt. Our whole mission was sughtered. Then reduced to ash. He was the one who convinced us to leave. He saved our lives. He continued to save lives, right up until the end.

  We both owe him our lives—and Sarah’s. You lived to fight for your country, and to help free the world from tyranny. I believe you were spared for a reason.

  But power corrupts, Jonah. You have to be careful. Humble. Or you’ll start to see God’s enemies around every corner—in every face, every person who doesn’t look—doesn’t act—the way you think they should.

  For a moment, she thought she saw him again: the eager young man with uncalloused hands and a quick smile who had nded in their midst—and then in her heart—all those years ago. But the glimpse faded, and she feared what his answer would be.

  When he said it aloud, it broke her heart.

  “The Lord has given me power to wield in His name, against His enemies wherever I may find them. And I intend to use it.”

  4:35 P.M. September 17, 1957 — Room SH-216, Hart Senate Office Building,Washington, D.C.

  Irving “Irv” Metzger checked the gate on Camera B before rewinding Reel 34—the st, and most important, of the day.

  He’d been embedded with the First Division when those brave men hit the beaches at Normandy. If you’d asked him yesterday what the most important thing he’d ever witnessed—ever recorded—was, he’d have said that.

  That was before today.

  He removed the reel from the Auricon Pro-600 Special single-system sound-on-film camera and sealed the film in its can, hands steady despite the adrenaline still in his veins. Then, grabbing a strip of masking tape, he scrawled a quick note in bold bck ink and spped it just beneath the official bel.

  Date: Sept 17, 1957 Location: SH-216 Reel 34 of 34.

  HIGHLY SENSITIVE! PROCESS FIRST!

  Nearby, Billy Martin fumbled with the equipment for Camera A. His hands still shook, and his eyes, which had already been wide at his first experience working as part of a film crew documenting the workings of the US Congress, seemed to have expanded to twice their size. Irv Metzger pulled a cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket. He removed a Zippo lighter from his pocket. It was smooth, shiny. The man who’d handed it to him just after both of them had cleared Omaha beach had been killed a split second ter. The insignia on it was almost worn away, but Irv didn’t need it to remind him. Every detail of that day was burned into his brain forever.

  He was certain that he’d carry the images from today just as long.

  The noise of dropping equipment brought him back to the present. He took a long pull on his cigarette before exhaling smoke from his nose.

  “Easy does it, kid. Anything you break they’ll take out of your pay.”

  Eighteen year old William Martin smiled at his forty-two year old mentor and stammered out a reminder.

  “I’m not getting paid, remember? I’m an intern.”

  Irv step forward and put his hand on the young man’s shoulder, forcing him to stop, and probably saving the equipment from damage. “Then they’ll take it out of my pay—which is worse. Take a second. It was a lot to go through on your first day. On any day, really. You did well. You stayed at your post. You did your job. A lot of men would have run.”

  Irv could see the rge sweat stains on the boy’s shirt, running down from his armpits almost to his waist. Irv thought he probably had a pair to match.

  Billy was no longer scared shitless, but he still hadn’t recovered. He was still sweating, still tasting metal in his mouth, and blood—he’d bitten his tongue. His throat felt like someone was trying to strangle him. He couldn’t get enough air, and had to focus just to make his lips produce something more than a raspy, incoherent mumble.

  “I wanted to run. As soon as everybody started to panic, and then head for the exits, I wanted to join them.”

  Irv nodded. He knew the feeling. Had fought against it, just like young William had. But he’d had practice. He’d been thirty at Normandy—almost twice his assistant’s age. Even older in Korea.

  “But you stood your ground. Did your job. And you avoided getting trampled like some of those poor suits. I’m proud of you. I’m going to request that you be put on the payroll. That is, if you not already thinking about a change of careers.”

  “Can I think about it?” William Martin asked half joking.

  “Sure. You can have until we’re done hauling all of the stuff back.

  Billy smiled before getting back to breaking down Camera B and preparing to haul everything out. A thought occurred to him which caused him to look around.

  “Where’s the courier from GPO who’s supposed to take custody of the film?” He’d been stopping by every hour before signing for the next six canisters of film—eleven minutes of footage each—and taking them back for processing. But the man—Ted something—had not appeared.

  “I think we might have to go look for him. He probably took one look at a crowd of people running for their lives and decided to call in sick.”

  Billy ughed again. Still nervous ughter, Irv could tell, but he was finding his footing again. Irv hoped the boy would say he was going to stick with it. After all, it wasn’t like they were going to be filming a man suddenly transform into a winged creature made of blue fire every day.

  At least Irving Metzger hoped not.

  5:42 P.M. September 17, 1957 — U.S. Government Publishing Office, Washington, D. C.

  The courier had arrived te and Harold Colfax took one look at his face and asked him if the Russians had unched an attack on the capital. Hal knew the guy was somebody’s nephew but he couldn’t remember who.

  The man—Ted, Hal recalled—shook his head. “Something happened in the hearing. There was a stampede getting out. People got hurt. Took me a while before I could get anywhere near the pce. I met Irv on the steps as he and his assistant were coming out.”

  Hal signed for the final cans of film as his mind raced. The first thirty reels had been dull as dishwater. ‘Any idea what happened?’”

  Ted pointed to the can with the extra piece of tape, and the words written on it

  HIGHLY SENSITIVE! PROCESS FIRST!

  “It probably has something to do with that.”

  Hal picked up the sealed can of Kodak 16mm Tri-X Reversal Film as if it was the holy grail. He held it in his hands as he looked at Ted. “OK. Let’s get started.” He turned and walked towards the Morse G-3 16mm Rewind Processing Tank. Ted, whose st name Hal still couldn’t remember, picked up reel 33 and followed him.

  Hal had tickets for the tonight’s game at Griffith Stadium. Section 8, Row G, Seat 12. Senators versus Kansas City. It took a bit less than an hour for him to realize that he wasn’t going to make the game.

  “Jesus,” Ted and Hal said at exactly the same time.

  The footage had started much like the ones before it. The senator—Merrin, Republican from Wisconsin—reminded Ted of his old preacher growing up in Tennessee. The guy love the sound of his own voice, and never seemed to run out of air. Usually that voice had been friendly, often animated as he warned against sin, or idle hands, or whatever soap box he’d climbed on that particur Sunday. But this guy—Senator Jonah Merrin, Chairman of the Senate Subcommittee on Inhuman Activities—had a mean streak that Preacher Isaac never had.

  “This guy’s a real jerk,” Ted said as Senator Merrin continued to badger the witness—Dr. Thomas Larsen, formerly of Northke Institute of Technology.

  “Yeah, he’s got it in for this guy. He’s been like this in all the other reels. Up until now Larsen hasn’t taken the bait, but it looks like he’s had just about enough.”

  “Merrin’s hell bent for leather on a confrontation, but for the life of me I don’t understand why. Larsen seems like an OK guy. What’d he do to deserve this?”

  “He’s a geneticist. Merrin keeps asking about human experimentation. And something called inhuman activity.”

  “Unhuman activity? What’s that mean?”

  “Inhuman activity. Like not human.”

  “The guy’s not a fish. He puts his pants on one leg at a time like the rest of us. I still don’t get it.”

  Merrin’s voice was rising. He pointed his finger at the witness, stabbing the air as he spoke. “You’ll sit in that chair and answer my questions until HELL FREEZES OVER Larsen! I know what you are, and soon the whole world will know!”

  A burst of static on the film made everything in the room seem to jump just as a voice began to reverberate through the hearing room.

  “You want to know what I am?” the voice that sounded simir to Thomas Laren’s boomed in the confined space. It wasn’t a shout. In many ways it was just as calm as it had been for five hours. But everything that wasn’t fastened down in the room rattled and vibrated.

  His voice ended in static just as the screaming began. The camera operator turned his lens a caught the image of a man, or at least the shape of a man, but made from translucent energy. Large wings had sprouted from his back and what was once—possibly still was—Thomas Larsen hovered midway between floor and ceiling. The image soon saturated the camera and all the two men could see was a bright white light. The camera turned back to the chair that had only moments before held Senator Jonah Merrin, but was now empty as the senator cowered behind and underneath the table. Papers were scattered everywhere, and the sights and sounds of people running were caught on film. In a moment the senator stood up clutching his briefcase to his chest and joined the panicked exodus.

  “He made this happen!” Ted said as he pointed to the projection screen. The image now only showed an empty room, but it was clear to Hal who the man bmed. “He wanted this to happen!”

  Hal continued to look at the projection screen, but his mind was elsewhere. “He wanted something to happen, but I don’t think it was this. But you’re right. You didn’t see the other reels. He spent five hours badgering that poor guy, trying to get him to fold, to beg for mercy, or name names. Larsen was like a woman tied to a stake, with men piling wood around her, while some version of Merrin from three hundred years ago ordered her to confess. But Larsen wouldn’t do what Merrin wanted, and he just pushed harder.”

  Ted was angry and it showed. His fists were clenched as tightly as his jaw. “Well, this witch trial actually caught a witch, and he showed them who had the real power. Merrin looked like he soiled himself.”

  Hal smiled at the thought of the pompous politician shitting his pants as his hearing went off the rails. “But what did Larsen really do, besides put on a light show? Did he hurt anyone? Break anything?”

  Ted shook his head. “Not that I heard. The stampede out of the building caused some injuries, but the camera crew was still filming when it ended.” He looked at his watch. “They filmed for four minutes after everyone else had run off.”

  The reel ran out and Hal retrieved it from the projector. He held it in his hands for a few seconds. Thinking.

  “So what do we do now?” he asked the room. He was just thinking out loud, but Ted replied.

  “The Senator wants the film delivered to his house once it’s developed.”

  Hal nodded. “Want to y odds that no one but the senator ever sees what’s on this reel?”

  Ted shook his head. “No way. But we can tip those odds in our favor if we act fast.”

  Hal looked at the man.

  I really need to remember his st name, Hal thought before speaking again.

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” He asked, reel 34 still in his hands.

  Ted picked up reel 33 and the men walked together towards the Bell & Howell 16mm contact printer.