The Origin of F.O.R.C.E.

Corporal Richard Adams hadn’t slept well for two weeks as he pondered how far he was willing to go to violate the oath of secrecy he’d given to his government. Without that critical bit of information, most people would have attributed the purplish-blue discoloration under his dull-brown eyes and the quivering of his weak chin as a sure sign of heavy, illicit drug use. Adding to the appearance of drug use was his unshaven face, greasy hair, and the unkempt condition of the clothes he was wearing. Adams could easily have been mistaken for a bum ready to ask for a handout from every person he passed as he ambled down the sidewalk on 13th Street in Washington, D.C. Most people moved far away from him as he made his way, trying their best to avoid coming into contact since they were sure he would beg them for money.

It was dusk, and streetlights had just begun to come on, casting a wan, circular glow below them as he arrived at the concrete steps leading up to the double, oaken doors of the church known as The Exalted Fellowship of the Holy Epiphany. Looking furtively around to make sure no one was paying attention, Adams climbed the stairs and entered the building.

He found himself in a wide entry hall. Tables lined the side walls, each covered with a reddish-purple velvet table runner upon which some wide, shallow brass bowls were arranged between lit candles. Ahead were double doors of wood and frosted glass.

Adams crossed the stone floor to the double doors, pushed them open and entered the long sanctuary where wooden pews sat in silent rows before a raised Chancel. Once inside the sanctuary, Adams straightened to his full 5-foot height and strode with purpose down the aisle toward a door hidden behind the carved, wooden altar. The door was locked with two deadbolts, but he knew it would be. He knocked on the door with the code -- two raps, a pause of three seconds and then four raps. Hearing movement behind the door, it was a matter of moments before both deadbolts clicked, and the door opened.

The inner meeting room contained a rectangular wooden table and six straight-backed chairs. A dim light bulb hung by a single wire above the table, its light so weak the corners of the room remained in total darkness. A thick cloud of cigarette smoke hovered in the air where the bulb hung. Three men sat around the end of the table, staring at Adams. Hearing a shuffle behind him and two clicks as the deadbolts were relocked, Adams looked back, but whoever had been there moved out of the light and was hidden in the darkness of one of the corners.

The man at the head of the table spoke first, his voice low and gravelly from smoking too many cigarettes for too many years. “Sit down, Brother Adams.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Adams replied as he took the chair at the end of the table. Sitting in complete silence, Adams waited to be addressed. He knew the protocol.

The man at the head of the table took a long drag from the cigarette stub in his fingers and blew the smoke upwards. Snuffing the remnant into an ashtray, he raised his eyes. The man addressed as Your Grace had a face bloated with fat. Everything about the man’s face screamed of obesity, even his bulbous lips. Every so often, he took a cloth and wiped away the sweat dripping in thin rivulets down his forehead and cheeks.

He wore a reddish-purple robe with a gold lame stained by his sweat. The two men seated on either side of him were also overweight but nowhere near the size of Your Grace. They wore reddish-purple robes as well but without the gold lame collar. The details of their faces were shadowed.

At last, the fat man spoke in a sonorous tone, “So tell us, Brother Adams, what’s this information you have that’s so important?”

“Your Holy Eminence,” Adams responded, “I bring you news of a blasphemy to God, the Holy Spirit and all followers of the faith.”

Waiting a moment to let his words sink in, Adams continued, “You know I’m a devoted, loyal acolyte of this Church. My vow of allegiance to The Exalted Fellowship of the Holy Epiphany is paramount to my vow of secrecy to the United States Government. I have worked for many years to gain the confidence of key men in the Pentagon and increase my security clearances giving me access to the highest levels of secrecy.”

Waiting for a compliment to his faithful devotion to the Church that never came, Adams pressed on, “The government is hiding what they call the truth about the existence of intelligent alien lifeforms alleged to have come to Earth from another planet. These aliens are not in God’s image as he created man but bear the countenance of beasts. They’re incapable of speech and yet my superiors are much afraid of them, referring to these beasts as a threat capable of killing all of mankind.”

The elephantine man settled back into his chair which creaked as he shifted his weight. Lacing his fingers across his chest, he breathed, “And why should I believe your ravings about such a fantasy. The Word of God is clear and cannot be questioned. God created the heavens and the Earth and man in his own image. Man has unquestioned dominion over all beasts.”

Adams pulled a folded photograph from his shirt pocket and passed it down the table. Unfolding the image, the man called Your Grace stared at it for several moments with narrowed eyes that almost disappeared into the fatty folds of his cheeks and eyelids. The picture was of Whatsit sitting in a wheelchair with Jim Blunt standing behind him. Blunt had his hand on Whatsit’s shoulder, and Whatsit’s hand was raised up and across his chest, covering Blunt’s hand in an obvious gesture of friendship.

Looking at Brother Adams, a deep frown trying its best to wrinkle his flaccid forehead, the head of the Exalted Fellowship handed the photo to one of the other men seated at the table and said with menace, “This cannot be. The Word of God is not to be trifled with by nonbelievers! Where is this blasphemous lizard beast? Who are its protectors in this damned-to-hell government?”

Adams smiled as he saw and heard the reaction to the photo. He’d been trying to garner the trust of the Church Elders for years, and it looked like he’d succeeded at last.

In a more confident voice, he said, “My superior officer, Major General Matt Collier, is the man in charge of the operation, but a Major Jim Blunt provides personal protection for the beast. That is Major Blunt in the photo. I have access to their daily schedules and arrange all their travel plans.”

Wiping his sweaty brow again with the soaked cloth, Your Grace tapped a new cigarette from its pack and held it to his lips. Without warning, the figure of a man stepped from the darkness out of a back corner of the room. The figure was dressed in black and his presence in the dark corner had been hidden from view. Adams saw the black leather of a shoulder holster across the man’s chest and the unmistakable glint of a black, pistol butt. Flicking a gold-tinted lighter, the man in black held the flame to the end of the cigarette until the fat man nodded his head and puffed out a cloud of smoke. Only then did the man in black move back into the corner and fade from view, silent as a ghost.

The quivering of his weak chin was a clear sign Adams fathomed the dangers hidden in the dark recesses. The purplish-blue color under his sleep deprived eyes deepened, and a shiver of dread tightened his spine as he remembered the person who had opened the locked door still lurked somewhere behind him.

Your Grace seemed to enjoy Adam’s discomfort. A wicked grin curled the corners of his lips, and a guttural chuckle rose from his throat followed by a wet, mucous-clogged cough. The horrible cough continued for several seconds, and when the spell faded, he used the sweaty cloth to wipe away the spittle retched from his mouth.

Settled again in his chair, he gazed at Adams as if deep in thought. Lacing his fingers once more across his chest, he said, “Brother Richard Adams, you are hereby charged with a Holy mission of the Church.”

Pausing a dramatic moment to let his pronouncement sink in, he continued, “The very next time you arrange travel for this Major Blunt and the beast, you shall contact Deacon Bandulog and advise him of the details. Deacon Bandulog shall administer the wrath of God upon the blasphemers, cleansing their impiety and bringing them redemption in the eyes of the Lord. Amen!”

“Amen,” the other men seated at the table repeated in unison.

His dull-brown eyes beginning to brighten and his lips curving into a thin, self-righteous smile, Adams responded, “Your Grace, I humbly accept your blessed Edict and shall fulfill my Holy task with faithful obedience to the Will of God. Amen!”

Unclasping his fingers and dropping his hands to the arms of his chair, Your Grace leaned forward as much as his bulk would permit, his chair once again creaking as he shifted his weight. Raising his eyebrows as far as they could arch, he issued a warning, “God does not tolerate a lying tongue or a prideful smile. If you fail in your Holy mission, Deacon Bandulog shall administer the Wrath of God upon thee.”

The smile on Adams’ face faded. “There will be no failure in my sacred duty to God or to The Exalted Fellowship of the Holy Epiphany. With your permission, I’ll take my leave and ponder the great responsibility you have bestowed upon me.”

With a nod from the church leader, Adams backed toward the door leading to the Chancel. He sensed movement behind him, heard the two clicks of the deadbolts being unlocked and the whoosh of air as the heavy door opened. Once he was out of the room and headed back through the sanctuary, his pace quickened until as he went through the outer doors to the stairs leading down to the street, he was running in his haste to get away from the church of The Exalted Fellowship of the Holy Epiphany.

Back in the meeting room, Your Grace watched as the door closed and two deadbolt snicks confirmed it was secured. Taking another drag on the cigarette, he blew the smoke up into the cloud hovering over the table.

Without looking right or left, he said, “Deacon Bandulog, after you dispense the Wrath of God on the blasphemers, you are charged with the Holy Duty of sending Brother Adams to his just reward. Understood?”

A viperous voice whispered, “With pleasure, Your Grace.”

***

Whatsit was beginning to enjoy his Human companions. Although his loyalties, hardwired into the psyche of his species by thousands of years of evolution, were to his Master Blunt, who had bested him in combat and permitted him to live; Whatsit found great comfort from his close association with the female Humans, Diane Hoffman and especially, Lucy Smith.

Thinking back to the day in the land crawler where he’d fled from the violation of his mind by the devil Human, LaRene, Whatsit felt the Human equivalent of a warm and fuzzy memory of the gentle touch of Lucy Smith as she comforted him and soothed his mental anguish. Even more astounding were the straightforward mental pictures he’d read from the open minds of the Human females. They genuinely liked him and didn’t feel the least bit afraid of him.

His exposure to the wonderful Human named Tenzin, who had the ability to mentally talk with him like a native Chrysallaman, had been of tremendous value. The experience gave him some strong hints about how to better communicate with Master Blunt.

The nightmare encounter with the devil, LaRene, had forced him to recognize he had telepathic receptors in his brain he’d never realized existed. While he couldn’t block the receptors allowing LaRene to flood his mind with false realities, he now knew they existed, what they felt like and that they permitted him to receive non-Chrysallaman thoughts from a Human. He was tired of being limited to communication via projected mental images and wanted to talk to his Humans with words rather than pictures. It was time to experiment.

The sound of the door to his chamber being opened jerked him from his reverie. Jim walked in followed by Diane. Today, instead of her usual red lipstick and fingernails, she’d chosen a darker pink shade which complemented her chocolate-brown dress.

“Good morning, Whatsit,” Blunt said with a smile as he projected a thought picture he had learned was a warm, friendly greeting.

Gathering himself mentally, Whatsit cocked his head to one side and telepathically threw a series of words he hoped would be understood. “Good early day, Master.”

Both Jim and Diane stopped dead in their tracks, eyes glued on the only thing in the room that could possibly have spoken inside their heads.

“What the hell?” Jim exclaimed as his eyes shifted first from Whatsit, over to Diane and then back to Whatsit.

Diane opened her mouth as if to say something and then closed her lips, a frown creasing her forehead.

Trying again, Whatsit projected, “Good early day, Master.”

Diane was quicker on the uptake than Jim and concentrated on directing her thoughts at Whatsit. “Good early day to you, Whatsit.”

Whatsit stared at Diane. Then he walked over and hugged her. Projecting another thought at her, Whatsit said, “Thank you, female Human, you are warm.”

Diane couldn’t keep herself from laughing out loud.

Over her shoulder, Jim quipped with a sly smile, “Warm, huh. Interesting choice of words.”

Looking back at him with a coy smile as she returned Whatsit’s hug, Diane replied, “Now, Major Blunt, jealousy doesn’t become you.”

Needless to say, Jim was struck speechless.

***

Being able to carry on a telepathic conversation with Whatsit had its ups and downs. Both Jim and Diane suffered annoying headaches for days as they learned to project and receive mental communications. The need to concentrate on projecting clear words to an alien brain was taxing. Jim discovered he was most successful projecting his words when he imagined a phone cord stretched between his forehead and the head of Whatsit. He would imagine his words flowing from his brain along the cord into Whatsit’s brain. Diane suffered similar difficulties. She found herself taking aspirin on a regular basis to ease her pain.

Reception of words from Whatsit was easier, but only if his thoughts were transmitted in a quiet room with no outside noise distractions. Humans hear their inner self or conscience giving advice or warnings all the time, but those conversations are confined within the brain. Hearing a third party speak inside your head is a different experience. Human evolution had concentrated on the development of the ear to hear physical sounds from the surrounding environment. The versatility of the Human tongue and voice box for communication made evolution’s choice of ear development reasonable and logical. As a result, the average Human’s brain had no natural ability to perceive thoughts projected by third parties. Sentences projected by Whatsit came across at best as muted whispers. Any physical noise in the surrounding environment flipped an override switch in the brain forcing concentration to the ear. Jim and Diane discovered the scuff of a shoe on carpet, even the chirp of a bird, would break their thought connection with Whatsit.

Their greatest relief came from the revelation there was no language barrier to mental communication with the alien. Their brains translated Whatsit’s thought words to English. The major problem they encountered was conveying words in a way Whatsit understood the intended meaning.

Jim and Diane had to be extremely literal when they communicated with the lizard. Jim discovered he was the worst at using colloquialisms and slang when he talked. One day he was complaining about the weather and told Whatsit it was raining cats and dogs. The poor lizard had run to the window to observe the phenomenon. Another time Jim had referred to a project as dead as a doornail. It had taken him an hour to explain what a doornail was and convince Whatsit inanimate objects are not alive. Diane thought the exasperation Jim suffered in working through the explanations to Whatsit was both hilarious and charming.

Their training sessions were interrupted just before lunch on Monday, May 3, 1948, by Captain Thomas LeBlanc. Rapping twice on the door of the small conference room deep in the maze known as the Pentagon where the three were practicing their mental gymnastics, LeBlanc strode into the room and stopped short. There sat Jim, Diane and Whatsit around a small table holding hands and staring at one another.

“So you’re resorting to seances now?” LeBlanc asked, his boyish face looking a little more tanned than the last time they had seen him in the Pentagon conference room.

“You’d be surprised,” Diane replied with a smile. “What’s going on?”

LeBlanc walked to the table, twirled an empty chair around backwards and sat down. “Well, I’ve been reviewing the progress of Dr. Heinbaum’s efforts to analyze the Chrysallaman technology. With some help from Lieutenant McPherson, the Doc seems to be making headway.”

Without elaborating further, he continued, “I’ve located John Tripman, the guy with the bat ears. He lives in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, with his brother, Eli. As luck would have it, Sergeant George Sanger is training a squad of sharpshooters at the Carlisle Military Base nearby. I’ve arranged a joint meeting with them at the Carlisle YMCA.”

“Isn’t the YMCA a little public for a meeting like this?” Blunt replied. “We can’t risk revealing the existence of Whatsit.”

LeBlanc smiled and his Clark Gable mustache glistened in the light. “Not to worry. I’ve arranged the use of the facility through a friend of a friend who knows the Director of the Y. The Director is an old military vet who used to work in security. We’ll have afterhours access to the Y’s pool area with full privacy. We won’t be interrupted.”

Diane was excited. These two men were on her primary list of unique individuals, and she was anxious to meet them. She asked, “When’s the meeting?”

“General Collier’s aide, Corporal Adams, is making the arrangements. I’ll know the details later today.”

***

Adams left his office at 1715 hours on Monday, May 3, 1948, trying his best to maintain the appearance of routine. Tucked into his jacket pocket were his notations about the specifics of the trip he’d arranged for Major Blunt, Dr. Hoffman and the alien lizard to Carlisle, Pennsylvania.

If he followed his normal routine, he would take the Metro bus from the Pentagon, cross the Potomac River via the Francis Scott Key Bridge and continue to his apartment in the Shepherd Park area near Silver Spring, Maryland. However, today he was going to exit the bus in the Georgetown University area. There was a bank of payphones near the intersection of 35th and M Streets. The sidewalks in the area would be filled with students, shoppers and businessmen. Adams felt he could blend in with the scenery; just another faceless person making a call on a payphone.

Handing his security identification badge to the MP guarding the exit door from the Pentagon, Adams looked for a sign the guard noticed anything out of the ordinary. As Adams initialed the sign-out sheet and jotted down the time he was leaving, he watched the guard, from the corner of his eye, absently take his badge and toss it into a drawer in his desk. So far so good. Everything routine.

Exiting the Metro bus when it reached the stop at 35th and M Streets, Adams shuffled and sidestepped through the people crowding the sidewalk and made his way to the series of payphones along the brick wall of a nearby Italian restaurant. He chose the last phone in the line, dropped a nickel in its slot and dialed the number for the church known as The Exalted Fellowship of the Holy Epiphany.

Four rings later, a male voice answered, “You have reached the church offices of The Exalted Fellowship of the Holy Epiphany. How may I provide assistance?”

Holding his hand over his mouth to muffle his words from the prying ears of any person nearby, Adams responded, “I need to speak with Deacon Bandulog. I have some information he requires.” As he talked into the receiver, Adams dull-brown eyes darted around at the closest people, looking for any indication of untoward interest in his conversation.

There was a hesitation in the response from the man at the church. It was only seconds, but the delay seemed odd.

Finally, the man spoke, “Deacon Bandulog does not provide counsel over the telephone. He is busy with business of the church. What is your name?”

“I’m Brother Richard Adams.”

Then continuing in a more haughty tone, he said, “I was personally given a vital mission by the Most Holy Your Grace in furtherance of the doctrines of The Exalted Fellowship of the Holy Epiphany. My explicit instructions were to report directly to Deacon Bandulog.”

When there was no immediate response, Adams blustered, “And if you value your continued association with the Blessed Fellowship, you will connect me with Deacon Bandulog without further delay!”

There was a longer hesitation, and a distinct, uneasy feeling began to creep down Adams’ spine. He was on the verge of hanging up when the man said, “Hold please.”

The hold seemed to last an eternity. As seconds turned into minutes, Adams’ nerves became frayed. He felt like a cockroach trying to hide under a discarded piece of trash. The casual glances some people gave him as they passed by began to frighten him. What if someone recognized him? Although the afternoon temperature was cool, greasy sweat broke out on his forehead, under his arms and across his back. Wet stains soaked his khaki shirt under his armpits, and he considered taking off his jacket but decided against it because he was afraid the wet stains would attract more unwanted attention.

At last a quiet voice answered the telephone in a whisper so low Adams had to cover his ear to muffle the street sounds and press the receiver tight to his other ear to hear what was said. “Brother Adams, may the grace of the Almighty be upon you. This is Deacon Bandulog.”

Adams felt emotional relief so profound his knees almost buckled. Gathering himself and taking a deep breath, he said, “I have specific information regarding the blasphemers. I wish to report as ordered by the Exalted One.”

The only response was a whispered, “Tell me your news, Brother Adams, that the wrath of the Lord may be unleashed upon the heretics.”

Pulling the notepaper from his jacket pocket, Adams consulted it and responded, “On Thursday, May 6, Major James Blunt, Dr. Diane Hoffman, Captain Thomas LeBlanc and the alien creature will be at the YMCA Building in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. They’ll fly into the Carlisle Base by cargo plane and take an Army vehicle from there to the YMCA. The sole purpose of the meeting is to interview an Army sergeant and a civilian blind man. The blind man will be escorted by his brother. The meeting is to take place inside the swimming pool facility at 1900 hours. At that time, the facility is closed so no one else should be there to interfere.”

After a brief pause, the whispery voice said, “I have the information. Your service to The Exalted Fellowship of the Holy Epiphany is recognized and shall be entered upon the Sacred Scrolls of the Church. Once the blasphemers have repented and been cleansed of their sins, you will be sanctified by the Church.”

With those words, there was a click and the phone line went dead. Adams replaced the receiver on its hook and walked toward the bus stop. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was unappreciated. As far as he was concerned, he hadn’t been glorified sufficiently for his loyalty to the Church.

“What good will it do me for my loyalty and sacrifices to be entered upon some Sacred Scroll?” he thought.

Coming to a resolution, Adams decided that once the blasphemers were cleansed, he was going to have a heart-to-heart talk with Your Grace about adequate, sanctified compensation. Smiling at his decision, Adams boarded the bus and headed toward his apartment.

***

Deacon Braggu Bandulog glided down one of the hallways deep within the heart of the building housing The Exalted Fellowship of the Holy Epiphany toward his ready room. His specially designed crepe rubber shoe soles made no noise on the wooden floor.

He wore solid black, from his shoes to his form-hugging coverall made from the finest silk money could buy. Years of combat experience had taught him silk was an exceedingly strong, flexible material, lightweight and capable of withstanding extremes of heat and cold. He appeared to be six feet, 5 inches tall, but it was difficult to get a true picture of his size because the darkness in the hallway coupled with the black of his clothing rendered him almost invisible.

His hair was black and cut short. His most prominent facial feature was a large nose that curved like a hawk’s bill. If it’s true that eyes are the windows to the soul, then Bandulog had no soul. His eyes were dark and lifeless. No person who’d ever spent any time with the man had ever seen his eyes change expression. They never showed emotion. Not surprise, not pleasure or pain, not avarice or greed, certainly not fear and definitely never love. Nothing. Lifeless, soulless eyes. Bandulog always wore a black-leather shoulder holster with crisscrossing back straps strong enough to support the weight of the solid black, Colt 45 pistol he carried.

Two men sat playing cards as Bandulog entered his ready room. Neither man bothered to look up.

Wasting no time or words, Bandulog announced. “We have a mission.”

Still not taking his eyes off the cards in his hand, Delmar Nicosta asked, “Is it sanctioned or rogue?”

“Sanctioned by the fat man, himself,” Bandulog replied.

The second man named Aamad Rasput glanced up and asked, “Are the Targets soft or hard?”

“Three Army soldiers, a woman, a blind man and some kind of big pet lizard.”

“Doesn’t sound difficult, but seriously, a big pet lizard? What’s that all about?” queried Nicosta.

Delmar Nicosta was a street thug with some military training. He stood over six feet, 7 inches tall and was heavily muscled. He wasn’t necessarily an imbecile, but brain cells had plenty of room to bounce around inside his skull. He kept his brown hair long enough to be styled in a pompadour which he thought made him look handsome.

Nicosta grew up in the New York slums and over the years graduated from getting beatings to giving beatings. He suffered his first broken nose when neighborhood bullies jumped him and beat him because of his name, Delmar. Two years later, after gaining 22 pounds of hard bone and muscle, Nicosta had beaten all those same bullies to within an inch of their lives, putting a couple of them in the hospital.

After that, no one ever again made fun of his name until his drill sergeant during basic training. Six weeks after basic training ended, the drill sergeant was found dead behind his favorite bar, his head bashed in by a large rock. His attacker was never found.

Braggu Bandulog had seen the photo of the big lizard sitting in the wheelchair when Richard Adams passed it over to Your Grace. The tale Adams had told about aliens from outer space was simply bizarre. He didn’t buy it. He’d seen pictures in magazines and tabloid newspapers of giant lizards roaming South Seas islands. He was not about to have his men question his mental faculties by telling them some cockeyed story about space aliens.

Bandulog responded with the story he decided was believable, “One of the Army guys brought back a great big iguana from some island in South Asia. Treats the damn thing like a pampered pet. Sits it in a wheelchair to move it around. Claims it’s intelligent enough to learn commands. Upset his Holy Fatness so much he issued a kill sanction. Something about man has dominion over all the beasts of the earth.”

Aamad Rasput intoned, “Genesis, Chapter 1, Verse 26: And let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over the livestock and over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth.”

Rasput was a black man from Oxford, Mississippi, with a knack for quoting Bible verses. He left his home when he was 16 years old, lied about his age and joined the Army to fight Nazis. He excelled in close combat and was an expert knife thrower. In fact, he preferred to use a knife over a gun because he enjoyed the feeling of gripping a dying body after he had plunged his knife into the heart, reveling as his victim weakened and then slumped over in death.

Ignoring Rasput, Bandulog issued orders, “Be ready to leave in one hour. I want plenty of time for on-site surveillance in and around the kill zone.”