The Marisol Deception - Part 2
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
- The Marisol Deception - Part 1
The world is reeling from the results of a cataclysmic event, and all eyes are on the United States President Aaron Dickinson to restore order.
From Part 1
In the opening episode, we found President Dickinson, and his aide, Kerry Wexford on an urgent trip to Area 51 to find answers for the disappearance of millions of people worldwide. They have just boarded Air Force One and are on their way. Let's pick it up from there.
Wexford wiped his brow. He knew this was going to be an extremely long trip. "Okay. Okay. I get it Mr. President. First of all, the American people will never know your exact location. They will be told via a press release that you are searching out answers to what happened, but because of the sensitive nature of the search, that is all of the information that can be released at this time. And Mr. President, you will be working on finding the answer.
"We'll be landing soon. Things will begin to make sense when we touch down, but this is a very secret mission. You will be meeting some very influential people with a lot of political power. Mr. President, this is your time to shine."
"Who planned this anyway, Wexford? I don't have time to hobnob with the rich and famous. I need answers. And why is it you seem to be heading this mission. You didn't even go through the proper protocol. I smell a rat, Wexford."
"Mr. President, I can understand your thinking, your surprise by all that has happened. The world has been changed overnight. There's pressure on you to come through. As I said, this is a very secret mission. The protocol had to be ignored because of the urgency of which you speak. You won't be hobnobbing so you can breathe easy. We are going to Area 51 for one reason and one reason only."
"Wexford, we need answers . . ."
"Mr. President, Area 51 is the answer."
Air Force One taxied to a stop on Groom Lake. The dry lake, a salt flat, made a perfect runway. The presidential plane touched down flawlessly as several secret service vehicles rushed to surround it. In its protective circle, Dickinson was hurried into one of the many look-alike vehicles. Wexford was close at the president's side.
The line of government vehicles came to a stop at the checkpoint. They were given permission to proceed to the first facility on the right. While the vehicles were being parked in a large lot behind the building, the president and the rest of his entourage were ushered down a long hall within the facility.
At the end of the hall, a man waited, papers in hand, to address the president.
"It is my extreme pleasure to meet you, Mr. President. And my pleasure to act as your guide during the rest of your stay here. My name is Jeffrey Harding. Should you have any questions, please ask.
"Now, before we continue, I will need you to add your signature to each of these three forms. The triplicate forms will assure the secrecy of this mission. One will be kept on file here. You will retain one. And the third will be held by one you have yet to meet but will soon."
The president signed the forms and Harding turned abruptly to face an elevator behind the group. He held the door while all entered then pressed the down button.
The nearly four-and-a-half-minute ride took them to a complex a full two miles below the earth's surface. A shuttle was waiting. Several of the Secret Service had been here before, so they knew what to expect. They knew this was the end of the line for them until the president returned. Harding would explain that anyway.
"Men, you will need to wait here. Only the president and his aide will make the rest of the trip by shuttle. We shall return in roughly three hours. The president will be able to contact you at any time, and you likewise will be able to contact him in the case of an emergency. But frankly men, I don't believe there is any greater emergency than what just took place. Millions are missing and we need to find out why. Our mission is to aid the president as he works through this catastrophe on behalf of the American people."
With that Harding opened the shuttle's door and the three men disappeared inside. President Dickinson nervously checked the time on his watch. Even though it was only 10:43 a.m., the underground appeared as night lit with many street lights. The bus drove on for at least the next ten minutes.
Along the way, Harding pointed out points of interest. Small talk was made, but nothing of any real substance was spoken. Finally, the shuttle made a u-turn and parked by the curb in front of a rather large and impressive building. The three exited the bus and made their way toward the double doors of polished glass. Another checkpoint released the men to continue. They stopped in front of what appeared to be another elevator.
In an instant, Harding punched in a code, and the door opened into a large room. IDs were exchanged at the desk and the men traveled on to the back of the room. They made their way to the last door on the left. A guard waited outside. Harding stated their business. The door was opened. The men stepped inside.
Turning to the president, Harding said, "Mr. President, I would like you to meet Marisol."
Harding made the usual introductions. Then Marisol spoke. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Dickinson." He thought it strange she referred to him as Mr. Dickinson. He was used to the title Mr. President or President Dickinson, but Mr. Dickinson felt and sounded awkward to him. He chose to let it pass.
She continued, "You no doubt are wondering why we have called this special meeting. It is our desire to help the United States government deal with the crisis you are facing."
Marisol looked the part of the typical, powerful businesswoman. Slightly taller than average, well-dressed in black and red, shoulder-length dark brown hair. Nothing unusual, but the thought passed Dickinson's mind, "She speaks perfect American English. She looks perfectly American. Why did she use the term " . . . you are facing' rather than " . . . we are facing." He continued to keep his thoughts to himself.
One thing he did notice was that Marisol had an unusually high forehead. She unconsciously brushed the hair from the side of her face, and it was obvious that her ears were set slightly below her eyes, a rather strange configuration, She glanced to her left and Dickinson noticed her clear brown eyes seemed to reflect the scene.
Marisol continued. "Mr. Dickinson, we have before . . ."
Dickinson cut in. "I am the president of the United States and I will be addressed as such."
Marisol rose from her seat in anger. "Mr. Dickinson, you've not let me explain. You're not my president. You are a simple human earth being. My home is on a planet 32 lightyears from your earth. I left my home to help you earthlings over one-hundred years ago . . . "
Dickinson mused, "Oh, really. You don't look a day over forty-two."
Marisol interrupted, "Aaron." She paused to let it sink in. "We're on a first-name basis from here on out. At this point, you have no idea what's going on. Let me get you up to speed.
"Your government has been watched over and protected by my people for centuries. Our desire is that planet earth will develop into a self-sufficient planet of peace in the near future. We have worked behind the scenes until 1947. Nobody even knew we were here. But in 1947 one of our ships crashed in Roswell, New Mexico and we were discovered.
"At that time, your government investigated the crash which led them to me. In the best interest of everyone involved, your government has kept us a secret in exchange for our help in developing new technology for the United States."
Dickinson scratched his head. "Why must it be so secret. You've come to help us develop our technology. What's so secret about that?"
"It's not a matter of technology being the secret. The people of the world couldn't handle the truth of who we are. Our lives may be in jeopardy if we were to be found out. Curiosity seekers would constantly be interrupting our progress to help you.
"I have personally met with every president from your Eisenhower to you. My purpose is to guide and oversee the peace process of your out-of-control world. We have come to help you establish that."
Dickinson responded, "If that be true, what can you tell me about the chaos we're experiencing right now? What about all these missing people? We need to find them."
Marisol pushed in her chair and walked to a world map on the wall. "Mr. President." Dickinson rolled his eyes. Marisol continued, "Yes, Mr. President you've earned my respect. If you notice on the map, there are red areas. And if you notice, most of these red areas appear in the United States.
"These red areas represent those who have gone missing. The missing are part of a larger worldwide group that threatens world peace. They're known as Christians. They needed to be removed so that we may continue to move forward toward world peace."
"So they were removed. To where?"
"Mr. President, perhaps a better word is eliminated. They have been destroyed. But not to worry. It was done quickly and humanely."
"Wait a minute! You can't just come flying in here from lightyears away and take our people and indiscriminately destroy them."
Marisol was beginning to lose patience."We just did - and it wasn't indiscriminately. We only took the Christians. Like I said, our technology is far advanced. We have the ability to be selective."
Dickinson folded his arms on the desk and rested his head on them.
"Mr. President," Marisol continued. "You've been placed here for such a time a this. You are the one - the one to lead not only America but the world to peace. I am here to guide you through the process. But it's time. It's time to rise up and be the leader you were created to be. This is your purpose. This is your destiny - to lead the world to peace."
It took several minutes for it all to sink in. Then the weight fell on Dickinson's shoulders.
"And just how are we going to do that?"
"You mean, how are you going to do that?"
- The Marisol Deception - Part 3
Trouble is brewing for George - and for Claire.
© 2019 William Kovacic