“Make yourselves comfortable,” their escort said. “Interviews start tomorrow. You’re free to move around inside, but you are not to leave the building.”
Vance nodded and did not ask questions. The interviews began the next morning. They really were interviews, not interrogations.
The same gray-haired consultant in glasses conducted them. The interview room was small: a table, three chairs, and a pitcher of water. No stenographer. No formal transcript. Just questions.
The consultant asked them methodically, without rushing. He wanted every detail. Exactly how the candles burned, what color the flames were, how the wax behaved underwater.
He asked about the figures: their faces, their clothes, the way they moved. He asked about the sound: tone, rhythm, whether any words could be made out. He asked about the book: the binding, the pages, the exact wording.
Vance answered in detail, recalling everything he could. The consultant listened closely and took occasional notes. The interview lasted three hours.
When it was over, the consultant leaned back in his chair. “Are you a materialist?” he asked. Vance paused, then answered, “Yes. By training and by conviction.”
“And how does a materialist explain what you saw?” “He doesn’t.” “No working theories at all?”
“A few. None of them hold up.” The consultant nodded and asked for examples. “Shared hallucination,” Vance said first.
“But the three of us saw the same thing, and hallucinations don’t line up that neatly.” “What else?” “Preservation of bodies due to unusual environmental conditions: cold water, low oxygen.”
“But that doesn’t explain the movement. Or the candles. Flame underwater is physically impossible.” “Anything else?”
Vance paused again. “Residual consciousness,” he said quietly. “Something that continues after physical death.”
“That would contradict materialism.” The consultant gave a faint smile. “Materialism is a comfortable philosophy right up until it runs into facts that don’t fit.”
“And you? Are you not a materialist?” “I’m a scientist. A scientist is obliged to accept facts, even when they contradict the prevailing theory.” “And what facts do you accept here?”
The consultant poured himself water, drank it slowly, and set the glass down. “Fact one,” he said. “The church was submerged six months ago.”
“Fact two: bodies were found inside in a condition inconsistent with ordinary drowning victims. Fact three: phenomena were documented that contradict known physical law. Flame underwater. Movement in dead bodies. Sound without a visible source.”
“And all of it was documented. We have motion picture film and sound recording. We also have statements from three independent witnesses.”
“So what conclusion follows from that?” “Only one for now. We are dealing with a phenomenon whose mechanism we do not understand.”
“It may be some new branch of physics, or it may be something else entirely. But denying the facts would be foolish.” “What happens next?”
“We study it carefully, and quietly.” “Why quietly?” The consultant looked at him directly.
“Because the public is not prepared for this. Imagine a scientific paper tomorrow morning: functioning church discovered on river bottom with active dead parishioners.”
“You know what happens next. Panic. Rumors. Religious frenzy. The government will not allow that.”
“So this remains completely quiet. Completely. Do you understand?” Vance nodded.
“You and your men will sign nondisclosure papers. Standard procedure. There will be no theatrics about it.”
“You simply keep silent for the rest of your lives. Can you do that?”
