The year was 1962, Kennedy was president, and the Cubin Missile Crisis was just around the corner. Deep within the darkest corner of the CIA’s science and technology division, The Prathra Project was in full swing.
Deputy Director Klemm was about to cut the project from the budget and end it entirely when he saw something that rocked him to the very core.
Enter File 02365
On the frigid morning of 3 February, 1962, Klemm received an emergency call regarding the Prathra Project.
He felt a sense of annoyance as he headed down the stairwell that would take him into the basement level of redacted. He had always kept a wary eye on wild, conspiracy-theory ridden experiments like this one.
So long as the higher ups insisted on studying ridiculous notions like telepathy, alternate dimensions, and alien life, Klemm had no choice but to keep the projects running—unless, of course, there was a sudden need to reallocate funds elsewhere.
He walked along the narrow hallway, his dress shoes echoing off the hard floor like raindrops on a tin roof. Klemm stopped at the last door on the left, punched in the code, and opened the door.
The hum of electrical equipment warmed the room. A scientist in a white lab coat ushered him through another door, hardly giving him a chance to inspect the instruments and calculations scrawled on the blackboard to his left.
The next chamber felt Spartan and oddly so, for the only piece of furniture there was a metal chair. A man sat in it, pressing an ice bag against the left side of his face. A silver necklace swayed in his other hand.
“It’s real,” the man rasped. “There are other worlds.” Klemm held his breath and waited for the crazy half-witted explanation. Was this really worth skipping breakfast for?
“I saw it. I know I recognized him. He served with me in Korea. I’d know John’s face anywhere.” The man lowered the ice pack and stared into Klemm’s eyes. The necklace slipped from his pale fingertips, landing to the barren floor with a soft clink. “You-you were there too.”
“Is he on anything?” Klemm sighed, shooting the scientist a scowl.
“No sir. We-we have proof.” His lab coat whipped behind him as he scurried out of the room. Klemm folded his arms across his chest.
“I’ve been there three times,” the man in the chair whispered. A grotesque bruise along his jaw glared at him through the dim lighting of the room. “This is the first time I saw him…and you.” He shuddered and placed the ice against his face again.
Klemm began to pace. “And who am I in this other world of yours?”
“You’re-we lost the war.”
“It was a stalemate.”
“No. Not that war.” He shook his head. “World War Two. We lost.” Klemm drew a deep breath and continued pacing.
“John is alive in it. He’s an Obergruppenführer of the SS.”
“That’s not what I asked you,” Klemm muttered. Not that it mattered. There were dozens of pulp magazines with trashy Nazi stories out there right now. It was the latest fad. As far as he was concerned, this guy had been injected with something and was suffering from delusions.
“You are an SS Major.”
Klemm snorted.
“We have photos of Smith,” the scientist appeared in the doorway, holding a film canister in one hand and an SS officer’s cap in the other. “But most importantly, we’ve managed to film it.”
“I want everything there is to know about this John Smith.” He strode across the room and took the canister from the man’s outstretched hand. “I want fingerprints.”
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Take a peak at the closeups of Klemm’s memorandum and John’s file! Click on them to view full size.
