than from undue disclosure. The government takes good care of itself.
― Daniel Schorr
Tobias Hogan, was murdered because he discovered something momentous in Egypt and the disclosure would be so shocking to the world that the truth had to be covered up.
I was close enough to the Professor to call him by his middle name, Owen. He was my mentor and the father of Charlotte Hogan, the woman I love.
And now that Charlotte has shown me her father’s research, I have some inkling of what he found but need to phone his colleague, Hugh Macgregor, in Glasgow to verify my suspicions.
Almost immediately, I was able to get Hugh on the phone, but he went into shock when he heard the news. He had been unaware of Owen’s death and was absolutely devastated.
It took several minutes to process through the significance of his colleague's death, but when he did he was livid with anger.
“I should have known those bastards would do this—they closed down our dig at Giza.”
“What’s this about Giza?”
I felt totally disoriented. I had no idea Owen had been doing field work in Egypt. I thought he was teaching courses at Browns.
Hugh went on to explain and filled in some gaps.
“It was all hush-hush. We were called in to consult by the Germans. One of their teams discovered a door at the end of a narrow 200-foot shaft that cuts across the Queen’s chamber. The door had handles were made of some unknown metal. We were going to run a fiber optic camera under it, but the government shut us down. They used the pretext that nothing of importance would be found—but I know it was because the Americans applied pressure. Bloody hell!”
“But what’s that got to do with the aerial photos I found?”
“Then you haven’t figured that part out, I take it?”
“No, I haven’t damn well figured it out. What the hell is going on, Hugh?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Finally, he answered.
“You’re not going to believe what I’m going to tell you, Richard. Why don’t you just tell me what you’ve found so far and I’ll fill in the rest.”
“All right, but it sounds crazy. At first, I thought I was looking at the Giza plateau from a satellite camera with poor resolution. But then, I began scanning though Owen’s calculations where he was using fractals to establish that the pyramids were artificial constructions. That puzzled me.”
I paused to let what I said sink in, but Hugh was eager for me to continue. “Go on, Man,” he snapped impatiently.
“Well, when Owen used the descriptor ‘Cydonia’ to refer to the region, I was confused. I had no idea what he meant until I Googled it. That’s when it hit me—he wasn’t talking about the pyramids at Giza at all—he was describing pyramids on Mars”
“Ay Richard, you’ve got it right. The media knows about them, but were told they were natural.”
“Aren’t they?” I asked quizzically.
Hugh ignored my question and continued on.
“Here’s what we know: those Martian pyramids have alignments, they're grouped, and they're non-fractal—in other words, they’re not natural features of the landscape.”
“Okay…” I hissed, “but what’s that got to do with your dig at Giza?”
“Don’t you get it, Richard? Using tetrahedral geometry to compare the pyramids, we discovered a correspondence between Giza and Cydonia that’s so exact, we had to conclude the monuments were erected by the same engineers.”
“You mean extra-terrestrials?” I croaked.
“Ay, I do mean that. We always had a problem figuring out how the Egyptians could build the structures in the 11th millennium B.C. but now we have our answer.”
It was a stunning revelation and I could barely wrap my mind around it.
“This is a stupendous discovery, Hugh. I can’t imagine why the government would go so far to suppress it.”
“Who knows, Richard? Maybe they’ve been in cahoots with these beings all along. Now wouldn’t that be earth-shattering?”
“It would, if it were true.”
“So, what are ye going to with the results, Richard? It’s Owen’s work—I just sent him the photos, but he put it all together.”
“I think that’s up to Charlotte now. Stay in touch, Hugh and I’ll update you.”
“Take care Richard, and give my condolences to Charlotte.”
We spent the rest of the evening mulling over Owen’s computer files and re-reading his calculations, but it was self-evident. And now, Charlotte wanted her revenge and I didn’t blame her one bit.
Just after ten pm, she placed a call to a friend who worked for Nightline and by midnight a news team was at our door.
I sat back in a chair, watching, feeling detached from everything—and I was. This was Charlotte’s fight.
I watched her sitting erect, straight as an arrow, facing forward as the cameras rolled.
I saw the determination in her eyes and her fiercely beautiful face.
Her father would be avenged and tomorrow the world would be a different place.
Owen would be proud.
I knew I was.