Armand Ptolemy and the Golden Aleph

Two: "Expect Us"

“Expect Us”

“For we are opposed around the world by a monolithic and ruthless conspiracy that relies primarily on covert means for expanding its sphere of influence … It is a system which has conscripted vast human and material resources into the building of a tightly knit, highly efficient machine that combines military, diplomatic, intelligence, economic, scientific and political operations …

“Its preparations are concealed, not published. Its mistakes are buried, not headlined. Its dissenters are silenced, not praised. No expenditure is questioned, no rumor is printed, no secret is revealed …

“The very word "secrecy" is repugnant in a free and open society; and we are as a people inherently and historically opposed to secret societies, to secret oaths and secret proceedings. We decided long ago that the dangers of excessive and unwarranted concealment of pertinent facts far outweighed the dangers which are cited to justify it …”

 — President John F. Kennedy

“I have two great enemies, the Southern Army in front of me and the bankers in the rear. Of the two, the one at my rear is my greatest foe.”

  — President Abraham Lincoln

THE FARM was located deep in the sunny, leafy country of upstate New York, nestled amongst rolling hills.  Ptolemy felt great relief when he finally turned up the dirt road that led up to the main house, and he couldn’t help but smile at memories of the place.

He knocked; the door swung open and a scrawny woman wearing a Guy Fawkes mask appeared at the rusty screen door.

“That’s not very damned funny,” Ptolemy quipped, glancing around nervously.  “Take that stupid thing off before somebody sees you.”

“But it’s my Mask of Anonymity,” the woman protested.

“You’re not anonymous on your own damn farm.”

The woman — whose name was Lucy Bloom — removed the mask and grinned widely.  She was in her 70’s, but still in decent shape.  “Hello gramps,” the old woman said to Ptolemy.  “How are ya?”

“I’m good, little girl.” Ptolemy replied. “Long drive from the city.”

Lucy nodded.  “It was worth it, it was worth it, I promise.  Come on in.  I have some raw milk waiting, just how you like it.”

Raw milk, Ptolemy smiled.  Natural, unspoiled.  Even Louis Pasteur himself had been horrified by how they’d used his process to kill milk: he’d only ever intended it for wine. 

Ptolemy entered eagerly.

“Let me introduce you to Hess,” the old woman said, gesturing to an old man sitting in the kitchen.  He waved goofily and smiled such a huge grin that Ptolemy was afraid for a second that the man would smile his head in half.  

“Hi Hess,” Ptolemy said.  Then he turned to Lucy and whispered, “New boyfriend?”

Lucy nodded with a conspiratorial wink.  “Yep.  Widower recently.  Her bad luck, my good luck.”  Then she raised her voice.  “Hess!  Come with Ptolemy and me, we’re going to do some hacking!”

“Oh, goodie!” Hess said, clapping his hands.  He turned to Ptolemy.  “I love it when she gets all … technical.”

“Say, we can trust him … right?” Ptolemy whispered to Lucy.  “Right?”

Lucy waved her hand.  “Ooooh, of course we can!  Hess here’s not with the Illumi-naughty!  He’s just a regular people-person.  Like us.”  He paused.  “Well, like me anyway.  Point is:  Yes.  And if you can’t trust him, well neither of us are going to be round much longer anyhoo so it don’t much matter none.  C’mon.  Bring your damn milk!”