The Giza Death Star Revisited: A Novel Based on the Work of Joseph P. Farrell
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Chapter 16
“What the Hell was that?” huffed Frank back at the house?
“Looks like someone found out about that hole.”
“Well, that’s obvious!” he railed. “I mean that thing with your hand.” Frank imitated the gesture poorly.
Faro shrugged his shoulders. “You pick these things up.”
Melissa chuckled ironically. “Where can I get one?”
“I have to keep his Rolodex locked up in a safe,” Georgeann chimed in. “The Doc ‘knows people.’ It goes with the territory.”
“I wish you’d teach us that.”
“Officially, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Unofficially, it got you two and half million dollars instead. I suggest we make haste.”
“Yeah, I suppose we should thank you for that,” Melissa stated sincerely.
“Thank me for what? Your property is gone. Your work is ruined. You’ll never get all of your belongings out of here in time, and you’ll have to start completely new lives. You might as well thank a rattlesnake for biting.”
“Yes,” said Melissa thoughtfully, “but we still have almost 12 hours. I suggest instead of rushing, we look carefully at what we have and take the most important items.”
“But let’s not get too sentimental,” added Frank. “We need to be practical above all else.”
“I agree. You’ll never get back to the control room though. It was inside the cordon. Focus on what’s in the house.”
“Fortunately we brought the trailer back from the hole, so we don’t have to be too stingy about what we take.”
The four friends spent the next several hours packing, rummaging through old boxes and closets, combing the basement and the attic for the most important items of personal and practical importance, and making last minute phone calls.
The sun was just coming up as the loaded vehicle and trailer rolled through the gate for the last time.
“Our first stop should be Las Vegas where we can cash that check. And I mean cash it. That’s something you don’t want to take any chances with.”
“Right.”
“Georgeann, you can make arrangements with my usual guy to handle the Shortleys’ new financial windfall. I’ve got some other arrangements to make for them.”
In fact, Dr. Faro was not a wealthy man, he thought having too much money would make him soft, so any lump sums that came in were immediately poured into his research, his students’ research, carving out a fiefdom in the university that was free from the usual academic bullshit, and, of course, his favorite charities. However, he did have connections. You’d be amazed at the array of wealthy financiers, industrialists, and kooks wanting to invest in the professor’s unique abilities. Elon Musk? Richard Branson? Pshaw! Child’s play.
“We need a place to stay and a trip to plan. We can’t get home and we have to get crackin’ on our relocation.”
“Nonsense!” interjected Dr. Faro. “I’ve already got a place for you to stay; you’re not moving to Australia.”
“Yeah, but the colonel said…”
“Look. You’ve got 2.5 million dollars to work with. Don’t you think we can arrange a work around? I know a brilliant, and believe it or not, honest, lawyer named Farkell in Anchorage. We'll arrange a perfectly legal and legitimate name change through him. Meanwhile you go where I’ve arranged. When you emerge you’ll be new people. Quite literally.”
“But first Las Vegas,” Georgeann reminded him.
“Yes. You think we can catch Crazy Girls at the Riv?”
