Sands of Time Chapter 1 - 19 pdf in description

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Many years ago a powerful, mysterious man approached the author.
He had lived virtually all his life as a top director and high-level scientist
involved in the Above Top Secret “Black World” of shadow government
projects and research. He said he admired the service of the author in his
undaunted quest to bring the truth to light and began a feed of crucial inside information to be released to the public.

When certain circumstances presented themselves he wanted to get the truth out to the world, “Before it was too late”, as our planet was, he said, “In grave danger!” But he could only tell the whole story after he had “moved on” to use his exact words.

Two years ago his estate made available documents which were the basis for the book you now hold. This only being done with the agreement that this memoir change the names to protect still living family and active personnel.

So, after decades of silence, this truly incredible tale can finally be told. This story explains and clarifies practically all the mysteries researchers have struggled with for years, putting all the puzzle pieces together of dark science, Black Ops and secret government conspiracies that have baffled those seeking the truth for many years.

I hope this will shed light on these for everyone.

I also present the completed Unified Field Theory upon which much of this remarkable science is based, and on which I now have a pending US Patent and Trademark. Call it a gift to mankind from our friends in the future as a preparation for the coming shifts.

The story you are about to read is true. There are still forces out there that would literally stop at nothing to silence anyone who comes forward with what you are about to experience. But the persons, places, projects, science, history, events and experiments are all frighteningly real.

SANDS OF TIME was novelized from the original notes for your enlightenment and entertainment, and for the author’s additional protection, so “The Powers That Be” will not find it necessary to put a bullet through the author’s head, allowing you to write this all off as a quaint little “science fiction fantasy fairy tale” if you so desire. So Be It. I assure you it is not.

Part 1 Sand Down The Hour Glass

Chapter 1

It all started with my father, Doctor Theodore Humphrey, Senior, PhD, somewhere back when the sands of time in the hourglass of all of our lives was far fuller than it is today.

A strange way to begin things really, as the more I reflect on it all in the disparate dark and bright corners of my memory, it’s truly a story about me, Dr. Theodore Humphrey, PhD, Junior. Or really just “Teddy” or “Ted” which was much more common with about everyone I ever knew. One of those great names that ages well, where you’re Teddy as a kid and to your close friends all your life, Ted as an adult with your business associates and Theodore as an old man, or ‘The Beaver’ to every bully on earth if you grew up in America in the 1950s, like I did. That name alone made you tough and self-reliant as I pretty much grew up an orphan that raised himself. But I’m getting way ahead of the order of things in linear time, which, in and of itself, is a stunning illusion, as you, gentle readers, shall soon learn. Because Time, as Einstein once said, “Is just God’s way of not having everything happen all at once.”

But over all the years and in all the time that has passed through the narrowing of the hourglass, falling past me like grains of sands taken from the bleak desert where I grew up, I realized my father was the Alpha and the Omega of this allegory.

God, how I hated him in those days! I’d just started high school. I had a comfortable, riotous, fun-loving, well-established routine and the unimaginably cool lifestyle of a teenager in 1950's Los Angeles. We were the very center of the musical, fashion and entertainment universe. My jerk of a dad moved us away and out onto the planet all that was furthest from: the desert, literally and figuratively, of Barstow, California. We traded one life for…well…I thought it was the worst downhill deal any teenager had ever been dealt. But like so many things in life, also just the lot of being a kid, I didn’t have any choice or say in the matter, so I made the best of the move, the new location and the fact that nothing between my father and I ever changed for the better.

He was still obsessed with his work. I was just more aware of it, because now instead of having any friends to go to the park, or the movies, or the beach, or Pacific Ocean Park, or Marineland or anywhere any healthy teenage would go to have an actual life I was now relegated to being near him all of the time. Or at least I was always in the same general environment he was, since he spent most of his time in the small laboratory behind our house so I was either inside watching one of the two stations that came in through the jauntily bent and askew rabbit ears on the our good old Zenith TV or outside avoiding the heat. So the only acceptable alternative I found was working hard at school and playing sports. I got really good at both.

The only thing I really wanted from Ted, (that is what I called him…Ted, being my dad), since the term “dad” or “father”, never seemed to fit, was his acceptance of who I was and what I was interested in. I wanted to have a ‘dad’ like the other guys. Someone that would come to the games on Friday nights and sit up there in the stands with the other fathers and yell and raise holy hell if we got a call against us. Then be there after the game to have pizza with, talking about how we should have won. But that wasn’t the way he was. I guess he wasn’t a bad man. Just…different. Quiet. Wrapped up in his own little world. I’m sure…now…that he loved me, as much as he was capable of loving anyone I suppose. But love was an abstraction that couldn’t be put into an equation and those were the only things he truly cared about. Those endless chains of white chalk marks on the blackboard that hung in the small office
cum bedroom in our home.

We lived out of town in the desert, in a house Ted built over a six-year period. He’d built a simple but nice two-bedroom place in a canyon beyond the far end of the county road. It was made of cinder block and cement and he had painted it in a camouflage desert tan, to blend in with the environment. A secret house, to house his secret life. Blending in, never exceptional, never standing out for fear of being found out or cut back down to size.

At that time there was no bus service into town and I wasn’t old enough to drive. So there was a mixture of Ted carting me into school or to the edge of town where I would finish the journey on foot, or, many times, I would catch a ride with one of the other guy’s folks that were hauling them around. It was difficult, but we got by with the exception of game nights. When it was time for Friday night football at the high school I would just stay after class and wait around until game time. He wouldn’t come into town for just a game. I knew that, but still it would have been nice. I tried not to hold it against him, but being young and thinking that everything should revolve around you, there was a certain degree of resentment on my part.

He was lost in his world of whirling electrons, meters and oscilloscopes. I didn’t know at the time how important his work was, but in the years that followed I developed a greater appreciation for his brilliance. When you’re sixteen and trying to figure out who you are and what you need to do with your life, you want your parents to occupy the role that you prescribe for them. I just wanted him to be there for me and take part in my world, with all of its self-centered importance.

Ted worked in a little shop behind the house filled with electronics he bought in LA and trucked out to Barstow. He repaired almost all of it himself and set it up in his mad scientist “lab”. He’d spend from mid-morning until two or three at night in there, working on his “projects.” The air conditioning running hard like a wheezing old mare up a steep hill as it dripped water out the back vent onto the single plant struggling to flower next to the window of the lab. His only comfort and companions were the steady hum and throb of the electronics and his own deep, dark murky thoughts.

Mom had left just after Ted returned from Europe at the end of World War Two. He had been there since ‘42, working in England at a place called Bletchley Park. Ted didn’t talk much about what he did there and I think my mom was ashamed that he had not been in the service, but rather was a civilian employee. She'd lost two brothers in the South Pacific serving with Marines and her older brother had been permanently disabled from the Navy. Her view of anyone not being in uniform was they were a sickly weakling or, worse, a draft dodger of some kind. I was six or seven when he got back and within a year I heard them arguing one night. The next day, I found out that she had left to go up to Portland and stay with her sister who ran a dress shop downtown. We were still in Los Angeles at the time and most of what I remember was going to the desert, around Barstow, every weekend and Ted working on the house and shop. For me, well, I played with the lizards and tried to avoid the
big rattlers that slithered down the hill to drink from the hose that was always running while he mixed mortar. I would go up for a couple of weeks in the summer to see mom in Portland, but that stopped after the second year. We talked on the phone, once a month, but even that after three years became calls on birthdays and Christmas. By the time we moved out to the desert, I hardly spoke to her if ever at all.

Ted wasn’t a bad father. He never yelled at me or beat me. Hell, he just wasn’t there even when he was. I pretty much didn’t want to go out to the desert to live when he moved us out there in the summer of 1952. I was getting ready to start Santa Monica High School and then one June morning he told me he’d sold the house and that we were going to be the newest residents of Barstow. I considered moving to Portland with my mom, but after a ten minute phone call when she explained that she had gotten married again and that Jack, her new husband, a retired Army Sergeant, probably wouldn’t be inclined to take in a teenager, I got the message. So, reluctantly, I helped Ted load up the station wagon and drove out to the middle of the Devil’s own special Hell in the middle of summer, with no air conditioning. “Terrible” was the only word I had for it when we got there. He had someone move our furniture, what sparse little we had, and we had to go through boxes to find everything. It took weeks to put things away and get organized as the summer slipped away in a haze of blistering heat and a maze of boxes and clutter that slowly took shape into what would be the confines of our existence, but by then it was time to start high school. And not the cool, hip, happening scene of Santa Monica High, with surfing and beach blanket bashes and girls with blonde hair that made it seem like they were made out of pure gold, but high school in…Barstow…and all the glamour that implied.

The only interesting thing about old Barstow High, and I do mean the only one interesting thing, was the fact that most of the families from the Marine base at Twenty-Nine Palms had kids going there. So it was nothing at all, and was, in fact, the rule rather than the exception, to have a new kid show up and start school. It made it easier than I was expecting it to be. There was no jockeying for social position, or deciding which click to be in, or beating or hazing the new kid, because we were all new kids. Military brats had a special understanding that we were all orphans at the whim of mean ol’ Uncle Sam, and it was us against the world. Everyone develops that grinning thousand-yard stare that laughs through a special kind of pain and makes friends easily but is always detached and distant. Never getting too close, because you know you are going to bug out to somewhere new at a moments notice and whatever romance, or connection or friendships or security you had was all going to be ripped away and you would have to start all over again

I had a natural talent, which is what Coach Bender called it, for football. I was taller than all of my classmates and no one likes the idea of a freshman playing on the Varsity. But old blood and guts Bender was going to use me as a tailback and no one was going to change his mind. I lettered my first year and every year after that. Ted never made it to one game in four years.
He would tell me that he would try to make this one or that one, but I know his mind would get wrapped up into something he was doing and that by the time I was walking up the driveway at ten at night, he would be just looking at the old black clock on the wall and trying to figure out if it was AM or PM.

Ted did come to one of the awards dinners on a late January evening, during my senior year. It was a Friday night. I still clearly remember it, because it had such a shattering effect on my life. He walked into the room in a hounds tooth hat and a checkered sports coat that was ten years out of style and too big for his tall, lanky frame, a buttoned tweed vest, a pair of pleated pants that were three sizes too large and a spotted bow tie that looked as if it had been knotted during an epileptic seizure. He was in full mad professor mode and this was the night that I first knew something was truly different about my own father. We were there about an hour. The dinner had been served and the waitress’s were picking up plates, when one of them, a really good looking young woman by anyone’s standards, stopped and stared at Ted for almost a minute. The other guys were all looking at her and my dad and then over at me, poking each other in the ribs with their elbows as I got embarrassed and turned away.

“Doctor… Humphrey… Theodore Humphrey, isn’t it?” She put the plates down quickly on the table and wiped her hands on her small black apron.

“I am.” He replied absently, but looking right at her and cocking his head as if he were thinking or about to ask a question. My dad had a thin face, with a slightly receding hairline on both sides, a thin moustache just below his nose. He always had a pale whitish pallor from being in the lab so much, but his features were strong, striking and noble and I guess he would have been considered, by some, a very handsome man

“Ann Corbett.” The waitress stuck out her hand in a sudden thrusting gesture. Ted looked down at it for a long moment as if deciding what to do or contemplating its structure and anatomy.

“I have been wanting to speak to you for months!” Ann Corbett said, sounding relieved and hopeful, speaking in that overly loud tone women used in the America of the 1950s. “Do you think that you can spare some time for me?”

“Ah! Simon’s friend?” My dad finally took her hand and shook it, rising up to properly greet her in the process, but still looking worried and uneasy.

“Yes.” She flushed and then looked around realizing how strange this must have looked to the fifty people in the room. “I am sorry. I need to get these off the table and get back to work. It was just that I recognized you and I so wanted to meet you…” She trailed off, picked up the plates and hurried out of the room, but only after handing him a note that he quickly read and put into his vest pocket with a nod.

My dad sat back down and went off into that undiscovered country inside his head. I wasn’t sure where he was, but I knew he sure the heck wasn’t sitting next to me for the rest of the evening. I didn’t see the waitress anymore that night and we didn’t mention it on the way home as it would have seemed like bad manners to interfere in grown-up affairs, which made little sense to me anyway. When we walked into the house, I dropped my bag and letterman’s jacket onto the chair. He was still standing in jam of the open door holding his keys.

“Would you mind if I went out for a while?” I stood for a moment in shock that he was asking me for permission to do something. Like we never were apart or something. For four years I felt like he wasn’t there even when he was. “Um…yeah…No. It’s fine Dad. You should go out and have a good time.” I couldn’t figure out what was going on, but he turned to go then stopped and turned back looking at the floor and then up at me as he took a long breath.

“You know that I am…very proud of you.” He said haltingly; as if they were words he had thought about for a long time, but could only, just now, bring himself to say. “You have turned into a fine man. Any father would be pleased and proud to take the credit for the way you have turned out, but I know that you have raised yourself for the most part. My work has consumed me over the years. I don’t think it has been fair to you. But sometimes things aren’t always fair. There is a paper over on the desk.” He raised his head ever so slightly in that direction. “It is your acceptance to the University of Southern California. It’s the best college in the world.” He thought for a moment, lost again in the swirling mist of his thoughts. “Trojans. Tough.”

And that was the last thing he said. He turned, put on his hounds tooth hat and that oversized checkered coat and walked out of the house, disappearing into the night as the door closed behind him.

I walked over and looked at the envelope with the cardinal and gold logo on it from USC. I opened the letter and it said I was to be enrolled in the fall classes in Los Angeles. My tuition, room and board had been paid up for four years in advance and all I had to do was show up for the first day of class. It was a full ride, all expenses paid, and it went on to say there was even a special account set up with the USC bookstore with funds on deposit for books and supplies or anything else I needed.
I stood dumbfounded.

Normally one has to apply for entrance to a major college with grades, test scores, personality profiles, extracurricular activities, letters of recommendation from your teachers and all the falderal and pomp and circumstance that goes with all that stuff, sorting through letters of rejection and acceptance and campus visits with your family. Heck, I didn’t think I had actually been anywhere long enough to even get to know a teacher well enough for them to have any impression at all, much less have anything nice to say about me. I didn’t think I could make it into even a state college or some crummy public UC school like UCLA, let alone one of the best private universities in the world.

But apparently Ted had made all the executive decisions and applied for me. Looking back he must have pulled some hefty strings with some very heavy people along the way. I suppose I should have been mad that I didn’t get to decide for myself, but USC was fine by me. If you’ve lived in Southern California for any period of time you can’t help but become a fan of USC as I had been since I was a kid no matter where I was. The football team. The colors. The Tradition. The Horse. The Band. The Fight Song. The power of the Alumni and the Trojan family was a very real thing here.

The weight of exactly who my father was and what he had just done for me began to emboss itself upon me. I finally sat down, mostly from shock and confusion, and held the letter tight in both hands, looking at it as if it were a miraculous religious icon from the distant past, like it was about to sweat or cry tears of blood any second. I wanted to thank him, but that would have to wait until later.

Much later.

After the events of three nights ago I made a fateful decision to write down a record of the events of my life in the hope that someone, somewhere out there, would finally read it and make sense of it all.

In fact, if you are reading this now, it means that I am already dead or moved ahead to a much better place or time. The heroic men I have entrusted my story to will literally risk their lives to tell the world what I never could while I was alive, on Earth or in this timeline. But now, more than ever, everyone needs to know the true nature of the situation on the planet on which they live, because time is running out for all of you.

Someone might say, not seeing your father for a while and then bumping into him
is no big deal. The only problem with meeting him again was that I hadn’t seen him
since that night he left the house and told me to open that letter.
That was more than forty years ago.

So, with tears in my eyes, as I watched him walk out of my life again, into the thick mists of that foggy night, I thought back on all the time I had spent without him, wondering if he was dead or alive.

Someone might say, not seeing your father for a while and then bumping into him is no big deal. The only problem with meeting him again was that I hadn’t seen him since that night he left the house and told me to open that letter.
That was more than forty years ago.

So, with tears in my eyes, as I watched him walk out of my life again, into the thick mists of that foggy night, I thought back on all the time I had spent without him, wondering if he was dead or alive.

My work had led me down many different paths that few men on this Earth have ever travelled, but even that hadn’t prepared me for the events of these last three days. That part of this story I will get to, but first I need to tell you what has happened in the intervening years and all I have done, which somehow makes my father’s story and mine, almost, as Dr. Carl Jung would say, synchronistic

Chapter 2

Early Saturday morning I was up about 8:00am. Sleeping in this one day of the week, especially after a hard fought and won football game on a Friday night, was the single luxury I allowed myself and dad never seemed to mind. Usually he was already out in the lab behind the house to let me sleep in, so I wasn’t too concerned.

That was until I saw our station wagon pull into the driveway, followed by county Sheriff Phil Hampton. He’d been the sheriff for more than ten years, being reelected every four years. He was cool, low key, liked by everybody and a hometown hero football star. His attitude about law enforcement was a measured response that was firm and fair. Sheriff Phil didn’t tolerate anyone breaking the law, but, equally, he would come down really hard on any of his men that he found abusing their power. The Sheriff had been part of the booster club at the high school for years and in the hallway up by the principal’s office was a glass case of memorabilia of past teams. There, in the 1932 through ‘34 football photographs, our team had won the divisional championships back to back, the State championship in ‘34 and Phil Hampton had been an All-American crashing right guard. He had a knee injury on the last play of the State Championship game getting our guy in for the winning touchdown that kept
him from going pro, which just added to his legend and myth. When WWII came he was deferred from service because his knee and his role as a deputy sheriff so they made him the liaison between the Marine Corp base and the county. This made him a very well known and respected person at all levels of government within our isolated little desert community. I’d met him dozens of times at rallies and meetings of the boosters. He was big, amiable and always friendly.

But not today. This morning he looked really official when he got out of his black and white Crown Victoria cruiser. I opened the door and watched as another man parked our station wagon under the carport. Phil walked up and stretched out his hand to shake mine.

“How are you?” His grip was firm and as solid as the man himself.

“Good.” I said cautiously. “What’s up and why is somebody else driving our station wagon?” I looked at the man getting out and didn’t recognize him. He was in some kind of green and tan uniform and looked like a Marine from the base.

“Well,” Sheriff Hampton said hitching up his belt. “To tell you the truth I don’t know what’s going on. I was hoping you might help me, oh, well, maybe fill in some blanks this morning.” He pointed into the house and I stepped aside as the Sheriff cautiously stepped in. I gestured to the other man to come in out of the sun as well, but he just waved me off, preferring to lean up against the police car with his arms folded across his chest.

“Well,” Sheriff Hampton said hitching up his belt. “To tell you the truth I don’t know what’s going on. I was hoping you might help me, oh, well, maybe fill in some blanks this morning.” He pointed into the house and I stepped aside as the Sheriff cautiously stepped in. I gestured to the other man to come in out of the sun as well, but he just waved me off, preferring to lean up against the police car with his arms folded across his chest.

“The military found his station wagon out on Higgins Road by the old steam plant.
It had this inside, stuck under the horn ring.” Phil handed me a menu from the restaurant that we had been at last night. I looked at it and then turned it over.
There, on the back, was a note that could only have been penned in my father’s precise handwriting:

Teddy,
I need to go away and you probably won't see me again for a very long Time. Call Uncle Bob. He will help you with everything. Sell the house and move in with him and Judy, They will take care of you until you get on your own, The profite from the house and the bank account are yours to help set you up when you graduate college. USC is all taken care of.

Make something of yourself You have what it takes
I wish I could tell you more, but I just don't have the time
I love you more than my own life
I am sorry for all that I could not be for you
We will see each other again someday. In time I promise
Dad

I stared at it, rereading it a few times and finally looked up at Sheriff Phil for answers. My face flushed and my eyes stung like I’d been slapped, still hoping this was nothing.

“This is really a bad joke, Sheriff. You know that?” I didn’t want to believe it. It couldn’t end this way, but then again, why should it be any different from the rest of my life up to this point? A life always bordering on a whole universe of the strange and bizarre. That signpost up ahead…you’re entering…The Humphrey Zone!

“I’m afraid it’s not a joke, son.” The Sheriff took off his hat and rubbed his hand through his hair. “I had half the department out scouring the desert with the help of the military. They sent over a couple of choppers and ran a search pattern out 50 miles. No tracks in the sand leading away from the car, no blood trails, no footprints no…nothing.” He threw up his hands in defeat, and then got to the point. He looked really hard at me for a long while tilting his head down to look directly into my eyes.

“Ted. Did you have anything to do with this?”

I understood the question but I couldn’t believe he was asking it.
“Wh-what?” I couldn’t imagine that anyone could even think such a thing, showing just how naive I was. “A-are you asking me if I…murdered my dad?”

“You fellas have a fight or something?” Sheriff Hampton put his hat back on and wrapped his thumbs into his belt, the palm of his right hand resting on his gun, which was not lost on me.

“Sir…Sheriff…Phil!” I sputtered. “We hardly ever talked! He spent most of his time out in his lab working on God knows what. Last night, before he left, he told me I was just accepted to USC. Then he walked out of here to…do something…or go somewhere! That’s all I know. Now, between you telling me he’s missing and grilling me like I’m Lana Turner’s kid, I don’t know what to think.” I needed to call Uncle Bob. I knew that. He could make some kind of sense out of this

“Well I think you probably should come with me down to the station. Just until we get some of this sorted out.” Sheriff Hampton opened the door and handed me my letterman jacket.

“Are you…arresting me?” I looked at him as I took the coat.

“Hell no!” I could tell he felt the frustration of the situation as well. “I just think it’s better if you’re with me, down there, than being here all alone.”
A voice boomed out, startling us both.
“I don’t think he has to go anyplace, Sheriff.”

We turned and standing in the door was Uncle Bob with his wife Judy standing
behind him. My uncle, Robert Humphrey, was a dead ringer for Marshall Matt
Dillion on Gunsmoke, or, you could say, James Arness looked like my Uncle Bob, with
maybe a little George Reeves tossed in. He had the face and body of a classic 1950s
hero, like the kind of man you would find in comic books or movie serials. He was 6’4
with wavy jet-black hair tinged slightly gold from California sunshine, piercing blue
eyes, a jutting lantern jaw and was two hundred and thirty pounds of solid, rippling
muscle. Bob was physically everything that his brother, my dad, was not. Ted was one
of the quietest men anyone could ever want to meet. Bob was out-going, loud,
abrasive and one of the best cops in the Los Angeles Police Department and he let
everyone know it

Judy had been some kind of starlet that didn’t make the big time in Hollywood, but when she got a chance to tie the knot with a guy that was always in the papers she did it in a heart beat. He was pulling out his well worn black leather ID case and with a flick of his wrist flipped open the cover to flash that huge world famous shining badge emblazoned with the magnificent ziggurat topped obelisk of the City Hall building that was the symbol of Southern California that said to everyone who saw it, “I am a cop and proud of it!”

“Detective Bob Humphrey. L.A.P.D. Homicide.” He said in a booming voice as he held it out for the local yokel to gawk at, but it had little impression on good ol’ boy Sheriff Phil.

“Little bit out of your jurisdiction, aren’t you?” He noted the badge and the identification card that went with it.

“Teddy is my nephew. Dr. Theodore Humphrey is my brother and when he called us last night at 3:07 AM, he said something like this might happen. Are you all right son?” I nodded dumbly. Bob took a sharp, crisp step aside and shot out his arm, which was Aunt Judy’s cue to come into the house and put her arm around me. She looked sad, sadder in fact than the rest of us, and I remember she smelled nice, like crushed roses and lavender scented hairspray, and that she was wearing a soft pink fuzzy cashmere sweater clipped with a small chain around her neck, a gentle touch of feminine style and civilization which you never saw much in the desert badlands of Barstow. I think shock had just opened up my awareness to all the details of what was going on around me, like it was all happening to somebody else in slow motion. The Marine that had been leaning on the car outside came into the house to see
what was going on, and maybe to offer back up for the sheriff. He stood at ease just inside as the screen door closed behind with a thump.

“Doc Humphrey called you last night?” The Sheriff asked.

“He did.” Said Bob, putting his fists on his hips as if an American flag was waiving in a stiff wind behind him. “He told me he had to leave on top secret government business and that we needed to come out here and make sure Teddy didn’t get some kind of rail job done on him.” Bob walked around and looked at the small cluttered house with his normal disapproving glances, like a detective gathering evidence for use later on.

Sheriff Phil took exception to my uncle’s demeanor almost immediately. “We don’t do rail jobs in my county.”

“Yeah, well I am here to make sure of that.” Bob said jamming his thumb toward his chest. “I received the call and will swear in a court of law under oath to what he told me. And where I come from, my oath is pretty well accepted as gospel.” Bob was really good at making friends quickly, I could tell that already.

“Now,” Bob jutted his chin up and turned his glaring heat vision down on the Marine, “what have you done to find my brother?”

“Sir,” the Marine began, visibly stiffening to attention, “we combed the desert and didn’t find a trace of him out there. We found the car and brought it back here. We…” “Did you dust it for prints?” Bob interrupted.

Bob was used to having people jump when he spoke and being here was obviously the last place he wanted to be and it was showing.

“No, we didn’t.” The Sheriff jumped in testily. “We didn’t think we had a crime scene. There’s no law against someone walking away from home. Well, at least not in this part of California there isn’t.” Phil stood his ground.

“Should have dusted it first. Any blood or anything out of the ordinary in it?” Bob stood there looking down at the man. I was relegated to the status of onlooker at this point.

“Only this menu.” Phil reached out and took it out of my hands and handed it to him.

Bob read it and sighed. “Crazy bastard!” Bob said under his breath as he shook his head. “I told him not to get mixed up with that bunch of quacks.” He handed it to Judy. She looked at it and her eyes went wide with worry and concern then handed it reverently back to me, like it was a family heirloom.

“What bunch of quacks are you talking about?” Phil said, now looking really confused.

“Oh, when he was in LA he worked for a gang of government types from back east. All super hush-hush. Security clearances, background checks, Manhattan Project level stuff. I told him to go back to academia where he was before the war, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Then four years ago he up and quits and comes out here to the middle of nowhere to…fiddle with his goddamn gadgets.” Bob was clearly a man of opinions that much was clear

“Do you think he was working on something that got him into trouble?” Phil’s interest was peaked now, as I could see the gears turning, and he was no stranger to government cloak and dagger intrigue out here in Barstow.

“No. It’s been too long. Four years is a long time out of that kind of activity. Listen,” Bob came at me suddenly, getting very close, “did he ever speak about anyone from Los Angeles, Teddy?” I could tell he was running down his list of possibilities as well.

“Last night at the awards dinner,” I said, swallowing hard from fear, “a…waitress…that I’ve never seen before, spoke to him and they seemed to know each other through some kinda mutual friend. That was the only weird thing that happened.” I didn’t think it mattered but since it had such a strange effect on dad, I thought I would mention it.

“Did she say her name?” Bob looked carefully at me. There was something in his eyes I didn’t like.

“Yessir, she did.” I stood there for a minute trying to remember what she said exactly. “She said her name was…um…Ann…and then dad asked her if she was a friend of, um…Simon…or something like that.” I tried hard to pull it back, but at the moment I had just been embarrassed by it and wasn’t really paying much attention.

“Ann…Ann…” Bob crossed his arms and stroked the razor-sharp line of his chin deep in thought for a minute and I could see the gears in his head working. “Ann...not…Ann Corbett, was it?”

“Yeah! That was it! Why? Do you know her?”
It was like all the air came out of this heroic man. Suddenly, sadness swept over him like a crashing wave and he walked over to the couch and sat down putting his hands over his face. I felt like I had just hit him in the gut with a kryptonite sledgehammer. I’d never seen my uncle look this bad.

“Do you know her?” The Sheriff asked Uncle Bob. Judy walked over and put her hand on his shoulder to raise him from his stupor.
“What?” Bob looked at Phil as though he was seeing him for the first time. Phil noted the change in my uncle as well.

“I said do you know this Ann Corbett woman?”
“No. No, I don’t. But it was just that four months ago Ted called and asked if I could check our records for a woman named Ann Corbett. He said he really needed to know anything about her that I might be able to find out.” Uncle Bob got one of those far off looks in his eyes; the same one dad would get now and then when he was thinking about something really hard.

“Did you find out anything?” Phil sat down in a chair across from him and took out his notebook and started to make some notes.

“We have the largest R and I center in the country.” Bob looked up at Judy and I. “Records and Information. Really modern. We have the very latest in punch card computers and can run through tens of thousand of them in a half hour or so and pull up all kinds of information about anyone ever involved in a police case of any kind.” He sounded like Joe Friday on Dragnet. Actually, he kind of was

Phil looked up from his notebook. “We use a similar system, just not as big as you
city boys, I’m sure.” A wry smile crossed his lips.

“Sorry Sheriff. Bad habits go with the job.” Uncle Bob actually laughed and was regaining his composure. “We didn’t find anything. I took it on myself to call a friend over at the federal building and asked him to run her through their system.” Bob sighed. “Well that was a real joy filled day, I need to tell you that. All holy hell came down from on high, with my boss chewing on my butt for even asking the feds for a favor. The guy I asked to look her up got reassigned to Bismarck, North Dakota and wouldn’t ever talk to me again. In the end”, he threw up his hands, “I still didn’t know a thing about her.” Bob sat back deflated and looked at each of us. “So when you tell me Ann Corbett shows up here disguised as a waitress and then Ted goes missing, well, two plus two still quacks like a duck to me, Sheriff.”

Phil flipped his notebook closed and stood up and Uncle Bob stood up with him.
“Sheriff, if you have no objections we’ll take Teddy back to LA with us.” Bob’s whole appearance changed to me. He looked like the quarterback that had just lost the big USC versus UCLA rivalry game of the season and it was his forward pass that had missed the receiver in the end zone

“I have no problem with that. Is there something else we can do?” Phil had caught something as well in the whole body language thing and knew there was more to this story than anyone else knew.

“No. He’s gone.” Bob said with total finality. “We will probably never see him again.” Bob got up and put an arm around me and tried to act a little more cheerful, but I could tell it was just a masquerade. He knew something and it didn’t seem like he was going to share it with anyone. “Besides, there’s no law about just walking away from everything is there, Sheriff?”

“No sir. There’s no law. There oughta be, but there isn’t.” Sheriff Phil Hampton just shook his head and handed Bob his business card with the number of the department on it and mumbled something about keeping in touch. My Uncle Bob nodded and with that nod everything in my life changed.
Everything

Chapter 3

Days became weeks, weeks became months and before I knew it, I was in my freshman year at the University of Southern California at what seemed like the center of the universe. I was majoring in physics and mathematics, as USC had no minor programs at the time, so I put in the extra class time and effort to get degrees in both. Thanks to my dad, money was not an issue whatsoever at one of the most expensive schools in the country, and I took full advantage of the situation. No matter what I wanted to do or which classes I wanted to take, mysteriously, the University paid for it all. And all I had to do was submit my schedule of the classes I wanted, and no matter how hard they were to get, or how full they were, I always got priority and they were always approved. It was like some invisible hand was guiding and protecting me every step of the way.

It had taken about three months to sell the house in Barstow and by then I was tied up in school. Uncle Bob arranged for the sorting and cleaning to be done. He had gone out there and taken care of things like selling off the laboratory equipment and getting rid of the furniture. To tell you the truth it was a blessing for me. I really never wanted to go back out there ever again, after the day they told me my dad was gone. It was like I blamed the house and that laboratory out back for somehow taking him from me. I wanted to burn the place to the ground, but obviously selling it and saving the money was what I needed to do for my future. I don’t know what it was, but I just sort of closed that whole chapter of my life and went on

Uncle Bob and I talked once about it just before I moved to the Marks Hall dorm at USC on campus. But the more I asked him questions about what my dad had been involved with, the more reluctant he became to talk to me at all. Judy knew nothing. Her life was about shopping, keeping the house in her perfect anal-retentive fashion, being pretty and constantly adding polish to her fingernails, which all made perfect sense in my universe, with Uncle Bob as the ultimate dominant Uber-Mench Alpha Male then Aunt Judy was the ultimate submissive hyper Uber-Frau Alpha Female. I was sure that she let out an epic sigh of deep relief when I moved out to go to school five months after moving in with them. She would literally follow me around with a sponge and a roll of paper towels in the anticipated horror that I would spill or dribble or drool on anything in her home. She probably spent a week with a rented steam vacuum cleaning every room I breathed in and after that had the place tented,
fumigated and finished it all off with a military Haz-Mat team.

Finally, with a month’s prior notice, on a long weekend, I went back to visit, knowing, with a certain evil satisfaction, that my Aunt would no doubt spend a week cleaning the house to prepare for my visit and another two weeks cleaning up the place after I left.

As we were talking on the couch, Uncle Bob got up, left the room and came back and handed me a stack of bound books. I could tell he was torn as to whether to give them to me or not, but in reality they were mine now, by inheritance. They were my father’s journals from the past four years of research in the desert. He told me I should probably just burn them, since he couldn’t make any sense of them at all and they were probably the insane, demented ramblings of a mad man.

I took those journals with me that day and bound them with an old thick brown leather belt, like Huck Finn coming home from school. I kept them by my bed no matter where I was, right next to my head, and did not open them for almost six years.

Time moved. I learned that being a scientist was a lot more cool, and had much more of a future, than being a jock. I gave up playing football in my second year of college to work full time on my graduate scholarship, a decision that I have never regretted to this day. By the time I was in my senior year, I already had a full scholarship for graduate school at Cal-Tech in Pasadena. A simple move up the 110 and Arroyo Secco freeways and up into the stratosphere of theoretical physics. It was the late 1950s and the space program was just starting to heat up and I wanted to be in the forefront of that race to the stars. The subjects came easy to me and the math was a breeze. I quickly moved from the didactic aspects of grad school to the practical hands-on in the laboratory stuff. This was really the meat and potatoes of the field.
Between spending long hours at a chalk board and pushing a slide rule back and forth
until I had worn out the tracks on four of them in a year, I was making progress for
myself and my mentor

Before graduating with my PhD doctorate, I had published seven papers on time compression and the uncertainty principals of Heisenberg. The equations of Maxwell Plank were my closest friends during those happy salad days. The teaching positions and job offers were pouring in by the bushel and I had my pick of places to go off to work.
That was when I met Leonard Bates.

Dr. Leonard Bates was a man in his sixties. He was small, wiry and never sat down for more than a few minutes at a time. His field was the emerging science of automated calculation machines or as some had started to call them…computers.

Bates would talk about the movement in the future from analog modalities to something called “digital”. I had heard about all of this at college, but the programs were still in their infancy and most of my professors said it would be years before anybody could make the breakthroughs necessary to create the machines that could do what we did everyday in our labs with a slide rule, a calculator and a chalk board. But Bates was insistent that I listen to his pitch about going to work for him.

He was running a new facility for the government out on the end of Long Island, New York and wanted the brightest and best to be there working with him. He wasn’t really clear about what they were working on but it had a lot to do with time envelopes and distortion of space and time in the continuum. Heady and theoretical stuff. It was exciting and mysterious and made me want to know more.

But the idea of being buried out in some facility where the mail was delivered by horse wasn’t my idea of what I should be doing with my life. Bell Laboratories was at the head of my list of private firms I wanted to look at and see if they had what I was looking for. Behind them, RCA, Radio Corporation of America was a strong second. A new agency was being formed in the government called the National Aeronautics and Space Administration that looked like it was offering some promising opportunities as well. When Bates made an appointment to see me on a July afternoon in my lab at Cal-Tech I was less than excited. My mentor and advisor for my doctorate had told me to see him and that was enough to convince me I could spend an hour with the old guy and then get on with my work and my search for a new home. I would have my doctorate in less than two months and I was ready to go out and carve a place in the
Brave New World for me to stand.

Bates came into my lab about three in the afternoon. The first thing he did without even saying hello was look at my chalkboard, spending a good five minutes going over what I was working on. I was used to stodgy old crazy professor types by now, so I leaned back in my chair with my fingers clasped behind my neck and watched while he had his fun.

He nodded at some things humming approval and then frowned at others with a shake of his head and a tch-tch of his tongue and a few ‘that-will-never-dos’. I wasn’t sure how to read him at all. Bates was adorned in the traditional dress of the old school scholar: a tweed jacket with elbow patches, striped tie and checked shirt. His shoes weren’t polished well at all and if he owned a comb, he hadn’t used it for a month.

Walking over to the place where I sat going over some notes and basking in the afternoon sunshine through the large windows, he flipped a chair backwards and sat down straddling it, leaning forward supporting himself by his forearms on the back of it. He smiled up at me and spoke through clenched teeth, an unusual habit that was annoying at first, but later became part of his…charm.

“Pretty bright.” He jerked his thumb toward the chalkboard. “Your advisor told me you’re way up there in smarts. He also told me you’re probably one of the most arrogant pricks he has ever had the honor of sponsoring.” He laughed in a short, sharp staccato

I didn’t like him. I knew that instantly. If my mentor had said that to him, it was meant as an aside between two old cronies and not intended to undermine the character or confidence I had for my advisor. I cut the time for his interview down to
thirty minutes at most.
“I do all right.” I said curtly. “I’m working on a new way of showing how uncertainty will affect atoms at the quantum level inside a rocket motor.” I’d spent months on this little beauty and was really proud of it.

“So what?” Bates’ mouth at the corner came up when he spoke and he sounded like a New York longshoreman.

“It will revolutionize the way fuel is packed into canisters to optimize usage in space.” I defended my position. I was certain of what I was doing and some creaky old has-been wasn’t going to come into my lab and downgrade my work.

“If you modify the co-efficient of your first derivative by a factor of six, you will increase your Mach number by a factor of two.” He sat there leering at me. Bates then pulled out an old briar pipe and lit it. Puffing blue smoke high into the air with his head tilted back, he added, “If you modify the second derivative by six, you will get an explosion that blows the ass off any dumb bastard that tries to fly that thing.” He chortled with that staccato, machine gun laugh of his, which was now beginning to grate me right down to my balls.

I walked over to the chalkboard and tried both changes while he puffed away grinning like some great Cheshire cat in a tree leery down at a little English girl in a blue dress. It took a good ten minutes to work through the process and I scribbled down a dozen different notes while working through it. I stood back and looked at the board.
He was right. God Damn it to Hell. He was right.

“How in the fuck did you do that?” The expletive was warranted due to my agitated mental state and I wish I could have thought up a better swear word, but I couldn’t.

“Simple.” He got up and walked over to the board. He thumbed on it with the back of his fingers and looked at me. “We built it four years ago and it killed a dumb son of a bitch who had more balls than brains. Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha!” Rat-ta-tat-tat! Grrr…!

I looked at him carefully as he stared up at me. “You…built it?” My disbelief was outrageous at this point. I was betting my whole future career on this model and no one in the country knew how far I had taken it yet.

“Do, Done, Did! For sure and for damn.” He walked over to the door and opened it. “I thought I might be interested in having you work for me. I was told you were way out in front of the pack and that you had The Right…” he paused, not wishing to invoke the unspoken idiom, but finally shook his head with disappointment.
“Kid, you’re good but I have better.”

He opened the door and started to leave. Suddenly, I felt sick to my stomach and I felt the floor slipping out from under me. I leapt over to the door covering the space in a desperate bound and grabbed it by the edge.

“Hold on!” My mind raced with my future at stake. “I thought you…wanted to talk, I mean, discuss, some openings or…about a position at your facility?”
“Yes, we were. But you think that maybe you are too good to work with a bunch of has-been’s don’t you?” He turned in the hallway and looked back at me.

“We all make mistakes, doctor!” I was shamelessly groveling now.

“Here.” He handed me his business card, and his entire tone and demeanor changed. “Call to set up an appointment, then get your ass out to Long Island. You pay for your flight, hotel, transportation and expenses. I ain’t picking up the bill for a looky-loo. You come out and make your case as to why I should hire an arrogant prick like you that doesn’t know shit from Shinola and maybe, just maybe, we can get past your ego and my nastiness.”

He turned to leave then stopped and turned on his heel.
“Your dad was an arrogant prick too when he worked for me. Walked out in the middle of our project! Did you know that?”

My jaw just hung loose. I would never have expected to hear anything like that from anyone. I just blinked in utter disbelief.

“Yup! 1952! Got up one day and told me to kiss his ass and walked out. Brightest son of a bitch I ever met in my life, I will tell you that for nothing. Where is he now?
Rich, I would imagine.” Bates stood there looking at me while I tried to regain my composure.

“He disappeared. In 1957…” I finally stammered. “Walked out into the desert. Nobody ever saw him again.” It wasn’t a story I liked to tell or even think about anymore, but there it was. I watched Bates’ mouth come up at one corner into the slightest hint of a smile

“Bright, but daffy.” Bates snorted. “He could have stayed but he wanted to go out on his own. Shame. Call me and set up an appointment. I’ll see if I can use you.”

Bates walked away and turned the corner leaving me standing in that college hallway, my knuckles turning white as I clutched his card in my hand.

Chapter 4

After Bates left, I sat on the lab bench in a fugue state, staring at the changes on the chalkboard. These were nothing less than quantum leaps. The late afternoon turned into evening as the streaming sunlight through the windows went from bright white to yellow gold, the darkness moved across the campus and the thumping normal noises of the school hallway reduced to near silence.

Sometime around 6:30 the custodian backed into the room pushing open the door with his behind and dragging a utility cart with a grey trash can and a rack armed with plastic bags, brooms of various sizes and cleaning supplies. He reached over with his free hand and flipped on the lights, and it was only then I realized I had been sitting there in the darkness. He looked up to see me with a start and the whites of eyes went large in a comical contrast against his coal dark skin.
“Sweet Lord!” He exclaimed putting his hand to his heart. “What ‘you doing’ sneaking’ up on people in the dark! Almost give an old man a heart attack!”

It barely gnawed at the edge of my consciousness how bizarre I looked sitting there in the dark staring at the chalkboard, but I didn’t flinch or even acknowledge his presence I was so caught up in my own mystery. The old man quizzically cocked his head, mumbled something about crazy white folks, and went back to rolling his cart into the center of the room.

Slowly his presence started to register as he began his cleaning routine. He was an older black man I had never seen before until he walked in. He picked up the waste paper basket and dumped it into the gray waste bin that collected the trash from each adjoining room. He had salt and pepper hair and his gray uniform only set off the contrast between his ebony skin and hair. As he pushed the dry mop across the floor and moved the dust from one spot to another he stopped by the window looking out, then turned back toward the view I had been transfixed on for hours. An old red cloth hung out of his back pocket. The keys on his side jangled musically as he wiped down the windowsills and closed most of them, locking them in succession as he moved methodically along. Finally finished, he organized all the brooms and supplies on his cart, touching each item affectionately to put them in their perfect place as if to let them know they were all loved equally. He swung open the door and pulled the cart to him from the side then blocked the door with it as he got behind it to push it out into the hallway. Then he stopped with one hand on his cart in the hall and the other on
the door. He took a deep breath, then turned and looked directly at me.

“If you move the co-sign and replace the second variable with a sub-notation of lambda, the result will override the loss encountered at the initiation of the firing sequence…Doctor!”

He stood staring at me half in and half out of the room, as if hung between dimensions. His words brought on a flicker of ignition behind my eyes. The old man stood there watching the engine in my brain turn over in the stark winter that had become my thoughts. I leaned into the equation. The co-sign…lambda…. overrides the…OH…MY…GOD!

BAM!! I stood straight up and the chair clattered to the ground behind me. What he said struck me like an electric blue flash! The missing component! I grabbed the chalk and started to replace the variable and suddenly there it was! The missing key that Bates had not provided during his few moments sniping at me in my lab. I stood back for a better view. It was truly beautiful!! A work of sheer art and genius! I was panting with excitement and exhilaration!

The old Negro smiled and winked as he pushed his cart and closed the door behind him.

“Wait!”

I lunged for the door. It took a split second, a literal twinkling of an eye to reach the handle of the door where the shank had just hit home as I slammed down on the curved handle and flung it open.

I stared into empty space.

I hurled myself into the hallway, slipping and crashing into the far wall, swiveling my head back and forth looking up and down the darkened empty corridor. Nothing. I couldn’t even see any lights in anyone else’s room. I picked myself up and ran to the end of the hall and looked at the door. It was already locked. I sprinted to the other end with the same result. The janitor’s closet was closed and locked as well. I hurried to the second floor and found the same thing. The building was seemingly deserted. But as I ran up the stairwell the third floor door was propped open and down the hall a single door stood open with the sound of trash being dumped into a bin.

AHA! GOTCHA!

I rushed into the room with an accusing finger knowing I’d cornered the prankster only to find a stooped little old white haired man with a large white moustache in his institutional gray uniform replacing the wastepaper basket on the floor. His embroidered name badge said “Scruffy”.

“I am looking for the other custodian.” I said between gasps of air.

The man looked up at me with a strange look.
“Who?”
“The older colored man…on the first floor.”

“I’m the only one here.” He looked at me for a moment and then recognition set in. He pulled the small white plug out of his ear connected to a beige wire. The latest technological advancement graced his shirt pocket in the form of a small battery operated transistor radio made in Japan. “You’re that PhD grad student fella with the lab on the first floor ain’t you?”

“Yes.” I panted, truly annoyed that these people were playing me. “Someone was just in my office talking to me! An old Negro fellow!”

“In a custodian’s uniform?” The man leaned on his broom tilting his head in thought.

“Yes!” Oh this guy was a great actor! “Just like yours!”

“No, sir! Couldn’t be. McPherson is the only Negro fella working this area and he’s over in Life Sciences. Doesn’t have a set of keys for this building. No sir! I saw your car out front so I knew you hadn’t left for the day. I just passed your office bye when I was working downstairs. Didn’t want to bother you. I’ll come down and clean it up now…” The man started to move his bin toward the door

“No! Somebody was already in my office!” I was feeling like a nut case. This would go over well at lunch when the custodial staff got together and talked about all the weirdoes that worked here.

“Couldn’t have been.” He walked out and turned off the light and went over to the elevator and pushed the button. Emerging on the first floor we walked over to my lab and opened the door. The waste paper basket was still filled with papers I had tossed in it during the day and the windows were still open. I quickly turned to the chalkboard and looked to see that the equation still had the changes on it. It did. Thank God! At least that was real!

“See, pal, no one’s been in here yet.” He walked over and picked up the trash, closed the windows and walked back out. “Have a good night, sir, but I suggest you get some fresh air. You mighta been cooped up in here just a mite too long.” He walked out leaving me standing there, looking at the board and wondering what had just happened.

Taking my journal off the desk, I opened it and copied down the equation. These changes would take months off the process to solve this problem and provide a virtually fool proof method for gaining acceleration on the new rocket engine design I had been working on. Essentially, it wrapped up my project at Cal Tech. That hit me hard. Suddenly I realized I could fly back East, take Bates’ invitation and see what he was working on. A loose-leaf piece of paper was jutting out of my journal and I pulled it out and unfolded it. In a clear and concise handwriting was a note:

“Look at your father’s notes from January to March, ‘53 before you go back East. It might help with any decision you plan to make. A friend.”

I stood and looked at it over and over again. A message from a ghost? A note from The Phantom Janitor? Whatever! I shook my head, tucked my newfound stolen brilliance in my journal, jammed the journal under my arm, turned off the lights and walked out of the lab. I found myself in the long dark empty hallway. A strong gust of the Santa Ana winds rattled the windows like lost souls begging for entry or the damned pointing accusatory spectral fingers. Two small ghostly emergency exit lights glimmered at both ends of the corridor. I stood for a frozen moment listening to my own breathing. There was something in this hallway with me, I knew it, but as I looked for movement or some sign of life, it was devoid. Suddenly, aware of my own mortality, I was terrified of the unknown and all those things science rails against. I was overcome and really, truly frightened for the first time in my life. I sprinted down the
hall busting out the doors into the crisp night air. A couple of passing students saw me as I hurtled past them into the darkness. Looking at one another, they laughed at the antics of the man running from the brink of madness as I dashed past them across campus and into a wild blue future.

Chapter 5

When I got back to my small off-campus apartment, I sat in the darkness for about an hour just shaking. I had never had an anomalous event occur in my life up to this time, with the exception of the disappearance of my father many years before. But even that had so many possible explanations. It was something he obviously prepared for with great planning and foresight. But tonight. This episode was a little too much for me to handle. Having Bates show up and make one set of corrections was one thing. He was a highly respected published physicist with multiple doctorates and degrees, but to have some old Negro custodian tell me how to finish my project, then vanish into thin air? It was simply above and beyond what my brain could manage at that age in my life and at that moment in time and space. It was like an episode of that new Rod Serling show The Twilight Zone, and somehow I had become the star.

I tried to convince myself it was a fabrication of my own muddled mind and I had figured out the problem on my own. Or I had hit my head when I fell in the hall or I was being influenced by drugs or drink, or desperation or some freshman organic chemistry experiment gone wrong had somehow seeped up through the air ducts. But I was a trained scientist who made his living off observations and recording data and telling the difference between what is real and what is not. If my senses were going then it meant the end of my career. But in the final reality, when all was stripped away, I knew better. Someone had been there! Some ONE handed me, like a cup from a cloud held by the hand of God, an answer that I would never have reached on my own.

After about an hour in the dark, knees to my chest, rocking back and forth, I snapped out of it and finally turned on the side table light next to my chair. I flipped open my notes again to the page with the new equations. Why would anyone think I still had all my father’s research? How would anyone KNOW? Dad spent all his time working in the area of time delineation. My crazy old man believed he could find a way of making ships and planes invisible to radar by wrapping them in gaussing coils and pulsing high frequency energy through them. Apparently he’d worked on a similar project during WW II and wanted to continue his research after the war, but peacetime labs were only interested in building new cars, or kitchen technology for the Home Of Tomorrow, and not interested in his nutty ideas on arcane weapons and invisible planes. After five or six years working on advanced electronics he’d had eno

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