Chapter Eleven

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Blake and Michael opened the last crates, finding they were mostly filled with ceramic vessels and occasionally broken pieces of them, but always depicting the strange archaeological renditions of alien looking creatures, star symbols and the ubiquitous reoccurring wheels and disk shapes. But the final box was filled with what appeared to be reams of officially sanctioned documents in plastic sheaths. Many of the pages were photocopies but some seemed to be originals. In any case they were all titled Top Secret  or Sensitive Compartmented Information, and some specified the additional coded clearance for access, Majic Eyes Only. This interested Michael as he rifled through a handful of them, reading the ones first which were written in vintage typewriter script, obviously composed on a mechanical typewriter many decades before.

"Bingo!" Michael said, with obvious glee in in voice. "There must be hundreds of these TS-COI communiques here. Memos written for people with special clearance. . . Department of Defense . . . top government . . . the military brass."

Blake and Russel just looked on with amazement.

"Wow! Look at this one," he said, excitedly.

He spread the delicate and yellow-edged page on the box nearby. Then he read the title, just below the Classified heading in faded red text:

"Memorandum for the President, dated September 25, 1947."

"Jesus," he added. "You know what this is? This is a whole treasure trove for the Disclosure Community."

"Who are they?" Blake anxiously asked.

"The Disclosure Project?  It's a group of well-informed, serious activists trying to pressure the government and military into giving up what they know . . . and have known about alien presence since 1940's. To admit there's been a cover-up over the past seventy years. Release the truth to the American people. And the entire world."

"And you think these papers are . . ."

"Yes. The government's involvement with extraterrestrial beings since the close of the Second World War. The massive cover-up."

"But, how do you know?" Russel asked.

"This document, alone . . . and look, another . . . Minutes of Annual Meeting: Majestic Twelve, 1952 . . . that was code name MJ-12. It was a committee of men appointed by Truman . . . the War President back in 1946. When he was given word through Intelligence sources about several anomalous crash sites, even before Roswell."

"Christ, really?"

"He set up this group to decide what to do about these cases. Incidents involving unknown flying craft with superior technology. Elements which could be a threat to national security."

"So . . . who were these guys?"

"Well-known scientists and military generals, mostly. A few engineers who worked on the Manhattan project . . . yeah, the bomb . . . just a few years earlier. These guys worked right here in New Mexico. Over at White Sands testing grounds."

"And the others?"

"From all over the country. Intelligence personnel mostly. Air Force. Some DoD types."

"See after Roswell," Dan added. "Many things went underground. And they've tried to keep it that way ever since. Using threats and propaganda."

"Misinormation and a lot of psychological games with the public." Michael continued. "But a lot is leaking out now. Especially in these last years," he confirmed. "Thanks to some brave truth hunters . . . obviously people like your father. And others in the Disclosure movement working through the Internet."

"A lot of old-timers in the military and former DoD engineers are talking now," Jasper added. "Guys older than me who worked on those first investigations. They've come forward to tell what their part was years ago. Special ops people who worked on the cover up. Many on those projects have already died. But a good number still living feel the American people have a right to know. About the Star People. Things we Indians have known for thousands of years."

"Yeah," Michael added. "This is critical evidence your father collected here. Just look at these!"

He shuffled through the pile of papers in his hands again.

"Here's . . . a classified Air Force report to President Truman . . . and here's some top-secret orders from the Pentagon. Let's see . . . yeah. Involving the handling of a UFO crash incident in Oregon, 1980."

"It's really crazy." Blake said. "That he would have all this stuff . . . these documents."

Michael nodded slowly. "How he came across this paperwork is a big question."

"Yeah. And why?"

"Well that's simple, Blake. He was obviously building a case. One of the biggest showcases of all. To come forward with this evidence. To release it publicly. To out the government big time . . . The question is when?  When did he plan to do it?"

"Obviously he never got to."

"Yeah, my friend. And that's a sad truth."

Everyone was silent.

"After he found out about the lighting strikes . . . at that one location," Jasper wisely suggested.

"Yes, maybe." Michael responded. "There's nothing conclusive about that here." He looked around the perimeters of the room, confident they had by then investigated everything. "We must find that out ourselves."

"Look," Blake said, his voice becoming sad. "You can have all this stuff, OK? As Native Americans . . . it's all yours anyway. It was taken off your lands, for Christ's sake! I just want to leave this place knowing why . . . and who killed my father over these things. What was in it for him to expose the government? To even care about all this."

"If your father was obviously going to come out about these things, Blake. You should consider him a hero . . . a martyr for a tremendous cause. But I'm certain he didn't do this alone. Someone helped him get his hands on these documents. There's more than a lot of clues here. Your father uncovered and collected a lot of damning proof."

"But someone knew what he was doing," Jasper said softly.

Michael put the documents carefully back into the box and secured the lid.

"That's right,"  he whispered, placing his hand comfortingly on Blake's shoulder. "And  it's clear they didn't want any of this to see the light of day."

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