Wrong Secrets

by Ernest Bywater

Tags: Mystery,

Desc: Action/Adventure Story: Old chapels. alien bases, protected ancient secrets - fiction, fantasy, myth, or legend? An ethical investigator travels to Scotland to research if a secret alien base is beneath a curiously decorated chapel. He uncovers centuries old hidden mysteries, and signs a contract not to tell about them, but publishes his findings, anyway.

Table of Contents
The Contract
Investigation Starts
On Target
A New Investigation
Clean Up


I've never been to Scotland, the UK, or Europe. That's easy to prove because there are no airline tickets or accommodation bookings in my name anywhere outside of Australia. I've never been issued a passport by the Australian Passport Office, contact them, they can confirm that.

Despite his memory of events my cousin George is wrong, he couldn't have seen me on a QANTAS flight to the UK, my name isn't on the passenger list. He checked after landing, because he was very angry when he thought I'd ignored him, since he's a very touchy person.

The two electronic transfer deposits of US$100,000 into my bank account from two Swiss banks in late 2005 relate to some general contracting work I did, nothing else.


I'm very slow to wake up and in extreme discomfort because my head hurts and I'm very cold. I'm sitting upright and tied to a rough wooden chair in a dank stone walled room with a very bright battery lantern shining in my face. A male voice says, "He's awake."

There's movement in the room. I can hear shoes scuffle, clothing rustle, and the clink of metal on metal. I can't see a thing beyond the light, and it hurts my eyes to have it shining directly into them.

A very deep voice says, in anger, "What are you, a thief, relic hunter, government agent, papist spy?" I laugh. I can't help it, the situation is so melodramatic and bloody ridiculous; right out of a vintage film. A figure steps forward and slaps my face, hard. I laugh harder. He slaps me again, much harder. I continue to laugh.

Don't get me wrong, the slaps hurt and I'm no masochist. But I can't help laughing. The silly old bugger is in medieval clothing; a Knight Templar in armour, no less. The whole situation is seriously ridiculous.

A third male voice says, "The fool is hysterical, out of the way." I get hit in the face with a bucket full of icy cold water. I stop laughing to start choking on the water that went down my throat. Several minutes later I'm settled down and calm.

A fourth male voice says, in a commanding tone, "Who are you?" I tell him my legal name. He continues, "The author of 'Living Ethically' and 'Hire the Right Investigator'?"

I acknowledge my claims to limited fame. He asks, "Why does the ID you're carrying say Jack Campbell of Australia, born in Glasgow, Scotland?"

I'm very calm when I reply, "It's a cover identity set up by my client so I won't be recognised and asked about why I'm here."

They talk to each other while they all turn and leave the room, I can hear them walk into another room nearby. I sit there shivering and thinking about how I got into this mess. My mind goes back to a day four months ago.

The Contract

On a quiet Tuesday morning in March 2005 I receive an e-mail with directions and codes to make a reverse charges international call to the USA. A rich man I've heard of wants me to call him; well, it's his dime. I take the time to make the call, despite the early hour local time.

He has a strange tale to tell. He's a dedicated ufologist (believes in all things UFO and alien) and has recently come across a lot of material about an alien base hidden under an old church in Scotland. His best friend is some what sceptical and they had a very heated discussion on the matter.

They have a bet going on. Does the base exist or not? The main problem is there are many existing investigations that were done by ufologists or their detractors. In each case the people investigating had a pre-set mind about what they would find, and each found exactly what they expected to find. They need an investigator they both can agree on and they both feel will not be prejudiced one way or the other. I'm the first one they can both agree on.

Both know me by reputation, my books, and have had good reports from friends of friends. They want me to do the investigation and report back to them. They'll split the operating costs and whoever is wrong will pay me and the winner US$100,000 each. They know I believe in aliens, but don't believe any of the unproven claims about abductions, bases, etc. Both feel they can trust me to 'tell it as it is, ' regardless of what 'it' is, and I'll stick to the proven evidence. Despite none of us knowing how we'll go about it.

Over the following two weeks we have numerous phone calls and e-mails about the matter, and a contract is worked out. Arrangements are made for a local solicitor to represent them. I go to her office to read and sign the finished contract. The following is a simple summary of the contract because the original is much longer and very complex.

Parties of the first and second parts promise to:

1. Share all operating expenses and provide the party of the third part with reasonable funding for miscellaneous expenses, to be accounted for after the event.
2. Organise an agent in Glasgow to provide the party of the third part with all equipment, personnel, and help as needed by the party of the third part.

3. Organise cover identity and documents for the party of the third part.

4. Organise all the travel arrangements for the project personnel.

5. Provide party of the third part with copies of reports on all investigations previously made that they know of.

6. Pay the party of the third part US$100,000 per question when the party of the third part can provide a definitive answer Yes or No with supporting evidence to each of these questions:

(i) Is there a secret alien base concealed under the church in question?

(ii) If yes to the above, what happens there?

7. Party of the third part to have total operational control of the project.

8. Party of the third part is to provide a full written report to the parties of the first and second part within twelve months of signing the contract.

I sign as party of the third part, witnessed by their solicitor and a Justice of the Peace I'd brought along. It's already signed by the other parties so I take my copy, A$20,000 initial funds, and a large packet of documents.

Leaving the solicitors I take my friend (the Justice of the Peace) to a nearby restaurant where we have lunch at my expense.

Later that day I send an email setting out the initial equipment list I want available in Scotland, and the number of helpers I want. I'll adjust these as I feel the need to after reading the files they sent me.

Investigation Starts

On the Way

While we wait for our lunch to be served I open the packet the solicitor gave me. Inside is a bio on Jack Campbell, a bookkeeper born in Glasgow on the same day I was born. Migrated to Australia at ten months of age, grew up in Sydney, and became an Australian citizen soon after his twenty-first birthday. This is all very good, same date of birth, same place of childhood and youth growing up, nothing to memorise. There's also an Australian passport and a British passport in Jack Campbell's name, both with my photo and details. An open date return QANTAS flight to the UK, and an open date Regional Express ticket Wagga Wagga to Sydney. Instructions on how to contact their Glasgow agent, and a large detailed packet on the prior investigations.

After lunch I go shopping, stocking up on long shelf-life foods for my son and cat.

Take that home and put it away while I explain to my son I'll be going away for some time. The next day I arrange for a few friends to keep an eye on my eighteen year old son, to see he has all he needs because he's on a disability pension. I pay the rent, phone, and electricity for six months in advance. I contact the travel agent for my employer and make arrangements to fly out on Monday.

I wake up on the Monday morning a few days later, have a bath, and dress to be comfortable on a long trip; nice warm tracksuit pants, t-shirt with collar, and a long warm coat. I look like an overage student on a back packing holiday. Leaving the house at 7:10 a.m. I'm at the road in time to catch the 7:30 a.m. bus into Wagga Wagga. Take the taxi to the airport and the mid-morning flight to Sydney. I only have the one bag, and it qualifies as 'carry on' luggage. A couple of hours later, in Sydney, I get lunch at one of the airport restaurants and take my time travelling across from the domestic terminal to the international terminal. Buying a book, some chewing gum, and some jelly beans along the way.

At the QANTAS desk I book in and ask for a window seat. They issue me with a boarding pass and tell me the gate I need to use. I've a two hour wait for the plane to board, and decide to wait at the gate. Heading to the gate I clear customs. At the gate I show the staff my ticket and ask them to wake me when it's time to board. Moving off to the side, I sit in the corner and lean back on my pack while I go to sleep.

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Story tagged with:
Mystery /