Prologue
The Pentagon, Sublevel 8
March 15, 1943
J. Edgar Hoover descended to the eighth sublevel of the Pentagon, a level that wasn’t supposed to exist. As far as anyone else was concerned—even the president—it didn’t.
Despite his labored breaths, his steps quickened, driven by eagerness to get behind the massive steel door. There were no elevators to this section of the building. He made a mental note to remedy that. He’d be spending a lot of time here, after all. That is, if the device did what he needed it to do.
Two FBI agents shadowed Hoover, struggling to keep up with his accelerated pace. When he reached the unmarked door, he raised his hand to the crude entry panel, waiting for the whirring and soft click that would admit him to the cavernous space.
When he walked through the door, he stopped for a few moments and admired the magnificent sight in front of him: the magnetic amplifiers extracting information faster than any human brain could process. His sudden pause made his shadows draw up short to avoid colliding with him, the only crack in their composure. High above, the space was lit by rows and rows of fluorescent tube lights as far as the eye could see.
Hearing the door open, Dr. Patrick Whelan looked up from his workstation, the light from the screen reflected in his thick glasses. He had been Hoover’s most trusted scientist since the Arlington discovery and was the only person who understood what they’d built. He stood up slowly as Hoover approached.
“Is it ready?” Hoover said impatiently.
Dr. Whelan nodded nervously and moved aside, gesturing to the seat he’d just vacated. After Hoover hefted himself into the empty chair, Dr. Whelan busied himself connecting copper wires and odd-looking attachments to Hoover’s head.
“What would you like to see, sir?” Dr. Whelan asked.
“Roosevelt,” Hoover answered without hesitation.
“Teddy Roosevelt, sir?” Dr. Whelan reached over to shove the bulky screen his way. “Anything in particular? I’m sure we can find several—”
“No,” Hoover said, his voice clipped. “FDR.”
Whelan paused in his movements, visibly swallowing hard. “You want to view the memories of the sitting president?”
Hoover turned toward him, a look on his face that brooked no argument. Whelan’s mouth snapped shut, and he swallowed hard again.
“Show me his first day in this building,” Hoover ordered. “I want to know what Franklin Delano Roosevelt thinks of this place.”
Whelan stared at him, weighing his options, before realizing he didn’t have any. He had grave reservations about what they were about to do, but no one went against Hoover, not even FDR himself.
He turned back to his workstation. “Initiating the sequence,” Dr. Whelan said quietly.
Between one second and the next, the room dissolved.
* * *
Hoover stood in the Oval Office watching FDR seated at the presidential desk. Across from him was Secretary of War Henry Stimson.
“So, Henry, I just came from that pentagonal building across the river. This ‘temporary warehouse’ of yours seems to have grown a bit in scale… and sprouted a couple of extra floors.”
Stimson sat very straight in his seat, one hand settled on his cane. “Mr. President, the original planning did contemplate a temporary structure. As the war expanded, it became evident that a permanent building would better serve the department and the nation.”
Roosevelt turned his words over for a few seconds before responding. “You asked for a war plant, not a monument to the War Department. Who exactly decided we’d be paying for this palace? At what point did you know this structure wouldn’t be coming down after the war? Were you planning to tell me, or let Congress discover it when the roofline could be seen all the way from the Capitol building?”
Stimson’s jaw stiffened slightly. “Sir, if there has been a failure, it lies in our not apprising you of the change in circumstances. That responsibility is mine.”
FDR tapped the desk, raising his voice with his next words. “The country was told this was temporary, Henry. That building will outlast me, will outlast the war. It does the one thing I didn’t want: turn this country into a war power first and a republic second.” He shook his head in disappointment. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”
* * *
The scene faded, and Hoover was back in the colossal space with his new machine. The machine that worked like a charm.
“Perfect,” Hoover said as he stood from the chair. “And I can operate the system independently?”
“Yes, sir. Exactly as you specified. The controls are intuitive, and I’ve left detailed instructions for the five maintainers you selected.”
“Good,” Hoover said curtly. “And you’ve told no one what this system actually does?”
Dr. Whelan shook his head emphatically. “Not a soul, sir. As far as anyone else knows, this is just advanced computing research for the war effort.”
Hoover turned away from Whelan. A small, secretive smile crossed his face for just a second before it was replaced with his usual gruff expression. At last, he could do what all the wiretaps and tails couldn’t do. He’d always been the best at gathering information, but he could never discern how people truly felt, what they truly thought when they believed no one was watching.
Now, no human alive would be beyond his reach.
Dr. Whelan stood beside the control panel, his face flushed with excitement. “Sir, the applications are limitless. We could—”
Whelan abruptly stopped speaking as Hoover raised a single finger, then looked in the direction of the two agents who had remained motionless by the door the entire time. A barely perceptible nod from Hoover was all it took for the agents to step forward.
Dr. Whelan flinched, looking up at the men surrounding him. “I don’t understand,” he said as he looked back at Hoover. “You said I could lead the research team. Where are you taking me?”
The last words were shouted over his shoulder as the two agents led him away, deeper into the facility. Hoover didn’t even glance that way, already thinking over the implications of what was lying in front of him.
He already had FDR by the balls. Now he needed to focus on Communist sympathizers. He knew there had to be some left in Congress he hadn’t yet sniffed out. He’d get to work on that immediately.
Settling back down in the chair, he fiddled with the head attachment the way he’d seen Dr. Whelan do, allowing himself a moment of glee. He had sole access to the most classified technology in human history, and the only person who knew what it did was being led away. The amount of power this device would give him almost made him dizzy.
He sat alone with his machine, looking around at it again, at the sheer size of it. But of course, it had to be. After all, it was the keeper of every secret since the beginning of man.
And no one else would ever know.