Lady Justice and the Quirky Arlo Quimby Page 3

  After watching the video, all Kevin could say was, “Jesus!”

  While the video was convincing, I remembered a trip Maggie and I took to St. Louis. About halfway there, we spotted a billboard saying that the Elvis Restaurant was just a few miles ahead. We decided that would be a good spot to stop for lunch.

  It was really a cool place with lots of Elvis photos and memorabilia. At each booth was a TV screen that continually played a video supposedly proving that Elvis was still alive. By the time we finished our burger and fries, I was ready to believe my idol was still breathing and somewhere in hiding.

  I shared my experience with Kevin.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he admitted, “but some of that stuff ---.”

  His reply was cut short by the return of Quimby and Prentis.

  “Well, what are you’re thoughts now?” Prentis asked.

  “Very interesting,” I replied. “We’ll certainly give all this some thought.”

  “I know it’s a bit overwhelming the first time,” Prentis said. “If you have any questions, please give me a call.”

  As we were about to leave, Arlo pulled us aside. “What did your brother say? You called him, didn’t you?”

  “I did,” I replied, “and he was quite interested. He’s running your photos through their facial recognition program.”

  Quimby almost jumped with excitement. “I knew it! What should we do now?”

  “Mark gave us very explicit instructions. Stand down! We don’t want to spook the guy. But if he comes back into the restaurant with a different guest, get another photo. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Absolutely! You’ll tell me when you hear back from him, won’t you.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  When we stepped out of the church and headed to my car, I couldn’t believe my eyes. My car had been splattered with eggs and ‘IDIOT’ had been spray painted on the door panel. I also found, to my dismay, that the driver’s side window had been smashed.

  I heard moaning, and noticed other attendees were surveying the damage to their vehicles.

  “I’m so sorry about this!” Prentis said, joining us at the curb. “It’s the trolls again.”

  “Trolls?” Kevin asked, obviously confused. “What the hell are trolls?”

  “As you can imagine, our beliefs are not very popular in some circles, particularly the government.”

  “No surprise there,” Kevin observed, “You’re trying to convince people that the government has been fooling us for the past sixty years.”

  “Exactly, and these trolls are shills who have been hired by the government to harass us and discourage us from sharing our beliefs. You should go on the Internet and see the vulgar things they post on our websites.”

  “So much for free speech,” Kevin quipped.

  I brushed the glass off of my seat as best as I could and we headed home.

  As we pulled away from the curb, Kevin decided to add insult to injury.

  “I’m sure glad you decided to drive tonight.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Needless to say, Maggie was fuming with righteous indignation.

  “See what happens when you lay down with dogs! You get up with fleas!”

  While I wasn’t happy about her characterizing Quimby and Prentis as dogs, I could see her point.

  “Our car insurance has a five-hundred-dollar deductible,” she continued, “so your little soirée with the lunatic fringe cost us a bundle.”

  “They’re not lunatics,” I replied, defensively. “They’re just ordinary people.”

  “Oh sure. How many ordinary people do you know who believe the earth is flat?”

  I was about to make some regrettable rebuttal when the phone rang.

  It was Mark. He got right to the point.

  “I just got out of a meeting with my superiors. We’ve determined that there is indeed a credible threat. The man who registered as Lawrence Lewis is really Martin Fletcher, an international gun-for-hire. The Asian man was Yong-Sun Kim, a North Korean national with ties to terrorist organizations. Not a good combination. A team is being put together at our office in Kansas City. I’ll be catching the first flight out.”

  “What do you want us to do?”

  “Nothing! You’re out of it. Homeland Security will take it from here.”

  “But ---.”

  “No buts. We appreciate the information that you, Kevin, and that Quimby character gave us, but this is a highly sensitive operation that impacts our national security. It has to be handled professionally. I’m sure you understand.”

  I understood all right, but based on what I’d seen of his organization, it was anything but professional.

  As soon as I hung up from Mark, I dialled Arlo. I promised I’d keep him in the loop.

  “Arlo, this is Walt. I just had a conversation with my brother. Homeland Security identified the men in your photos and they’re definitely bad eggs. They’re putting together a team and Mark is on his way to Kansas City. We’re out of it. They’re taking over.”

  “Well, good luck with that,” Arlo replied. “Lewis, or whatever his name is, left during the middle of the night. He’s gone!”

  Bad news for Mark. At least two men were planning an attack on a munitions plant, and our only lead was in the wind.

  I hung up from Arlo, wishing there was something I could do, but I knew there wasn’t. Then my mind went back to the previous evening. All the stuff I heard at the flat earth meeting had been rattling around in my head. Some of it made sense, but most of it seemed to be way out in left field. I knew there had to be another side to the story, and I figured the place to start was with the Professor.

  Professor Leopold Skinner lives in one of my first-floor apartments. I met him at the University of Missouri-Kansas City when I was a student. He became my mentor. When he retired, I talked him into renting an apartment in my building. The Professor seems to know a little about everything and a lot about some things. If he doesn’t have an answer, he can send you to someone who does. It was the Professor who first turned me on to the government’s chemtrail conspiracy.

  “Walt, what brings you by today?”

  I was almost embarrassed to answer the question.

  “What do you know about the flat earth theory?”

  That elicited a big grin.

  “Based on your inquiry, I’d say you have been proselytized by one of the true believers.”

  “You might say that. Is there any truth to their story or should I just forget the whole thing?”

  “You’re asking me for a definitive answer. Yes, it’s true, or no. it’s not. Surely you know that I’ve never fancied myself as the arbiter of truth. On the other hand, I would never try to put the kibosh on any soul seeking enlightenment.

  “The way I see it, you’ve been given one side of a story and you’re looking for a rebuttal. I think I might know of someone vastly more qualified than me to present an alternate theory, Dr. Damien Perkins. He’s a professor of physics at the university. I’ll give him a call if you’d like.”

  “Absolutely! I appreciate your honesty.”

  I had trouble finding Dr. Perkins’ office. The UMKC campus had changed a lot since I was a student there in the 1970’s. Finally, with a little help, I found it.

  Dr. Perkins was sitting at his desk.

  “Come in! Come in!” he said. “You must be Mr. Williams. Professor Skinner said you might be dropping by.”

  “Thank you for seeing me, and please call me Walt.”

  “Certainly. I understand you’ve encountered some apostles from the flat earth persuasion.”

  “I have. I actually attended one of their meetings. Of course, I’m sceptical, but they have some interesting points.”

  “They do indeed. Which ones seem the most convincing to you?”

  “Well, Samuel Rowbotham’s experiment on the six-mile canal for starters. That seemed pretty straightforward.”

  “Here's the thing about Row
botham's experiment,” Perkins replied. “He did it wrong. Or at the very least, he didn't quite understand what he was looking at.

  “In 1890 John Hampden, an ardent supporter of Rowbotham's theory, put forth a standing public wager that he could prove that the earth was flat. Anyone who could disprove his and Rowbotham's beliefs would be awarded 500 pounds. Alfred Russel Wallace, a legitimate geographer and surveyor graciously accepted the offer and began to recreate the Bedford Level experiment.

  “In addition to relying on more than a telescope and his eyes to prove his point, Wallace included the crucial step of setting a sight line 13 feet above the water's surface so as to counter the distorting effects of atmospheric refraction. You see, as sunlight travels to the earth's surface, it's refracted by the planet's atmosphere, which causes the bulk of light moving horizontally to bend downward at an angle matching the exact curvature of the earth. This phenomenon can cause one to perceive the earth as being flat. In the end, the bet's referee judged that Wallace had won. Hampden insisted that Wallace cheated and the two became embroiled in a very ugly, very public court battle. Nevertheless, Wallace’s recreation proved that Rowbotham’s claims were false. What else were you told?”

  “How about ship’s captains being able to see a skyline in a telescope over a hundred miles away? On a curved earth, the skyline should be below the horizon.”

  “Again, the flat-earthers are not taking into account the distorting effects of atmospheric refraction. Since you’ve brought up the sea, consider this. There is another simple optical test that even the most non-scientifically minded person can conduct. When you stand on land and watch a boat go out to sea, not only is the boat ‘shrinking’ because it's getting farther away, at some point you can also observe the object to be ‘sinking’ as it moves along with the curvature of the Earth. This wouldn't happen on a flat planet. Sailors notice that the sails of approaching ships appear before the hulls of the ships become visible because the surface of the sea is slightly curved, like the surface of an enormous ball. When you sail toward a ship, island, or lighthouse, their tallest points are the first thing to peek up over the curve of the horizon.

  “What else?”

  “They showed time lapse photos of the stars going in perfect circles with Polaris at the central point. They say that couldn’t be possible if the earth was spinning and rotating around the sun.”

  “That may seem to be true, but here are the facts. Astronomers have determined that Polaris is 433.8 light years from earth. This extreme distance has two important effects: First, it is the reason why the star seems to be stationary, directly above the north pole all year around despite the earth's annual orbit around the sun. Second, light rays from Polaris are virtually parallel when the reach the earth. This means that all light from Polaris meets the earth at the same angle, 90° with respect to the earth's equatorial plane.

  “The vast distance of Polaris is not an arbitrary assumption. It has to be very far away in order to produce the angles at which it is observed from earth. Nonetheless, flat-earthers simply lack understanding of the geometry of the heliocentric model. The distance the earth travels during its annual orbit is minuscule compared to the distance of Polaris.

  “Think about this. The diameter of the earth’s orbit is about 186 million miles. The distance to Polaris is about 2.4 quadrillion miles. To put that into perspective, imagine you are staring straight ahead at a distant mountain located 100 kilometers away. Now take a step eight millimeters to the left. Obviously you are still staring straight at the mountain. If you are the earth and the mountain is Polaris, that 8 mm distance is the equivalent of the change in earth's relative position after six months of orbit. Now do you see why their argument is full of holes?”

  “I suppose so,” I replied. Actually, what he had said was way over my head.

  “Anything else?”

  “What about their claim that the moon landing was staged?”

  Perkins smiled. “Since the dawn of the Space Age, flat-earthers have believed that the space program is a scientific plot to hoodwink the public. If flat-earthers are correct about the shape of the earth, it would follow that a conspiracy must exist to falsify evidence of moon landings and images of the earth from space.

  “However, this claim of a world-wide conspiracy suffers from the same serious flaws as other similar grand conspiracy narratives, such as the ‘chemtrails’ conspiracy theory that aircraft contrails are actually part of a secret global spraying program designed to poison the earth. First, there is no evidence that any such conspiracy exists. Second, it is implausible to suppose that a conspiracy could exist at that scale for decades without any of the countless thousands of conspirators ever leaking the truth. Third, if a conspiracy was so powerful as to hide itself successfully forever, it would surely also be able stop flat-earthers from constantly blabbing about it on the Internet, newspapers, and television. Finally, it is unclear what could possibly motivate the sustained world-wide effort and expense necessary to conceal the shape of the earth.”

  Perkins had me until he started poo-pooing the existence of chemtrails. I knew this conspiracy was real because I had the proof locked in my safe at home. Frankly, my head was swimming with all the information Perkins had thrown at me.

  “Thank you for your time, Dr. Perkins. You’ve been a big help.”

  “Not at all. I’m always happy to debunk the nonsense the flat-earthers are spreading.”

  I was in the hall heading to my car when I heard someone say, “Excuse me.”

  I was approached by a man about my age.

  “My name is Earl Simpson. I teach geography here at the university. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I overheard part of your conversation with Dr. Perkins. I think there’s more you should know.”

  “About what?”

  “The shape of the earth.”

  “Are you a flat-earther?”

  “Not really. Please come with me.”

  I followed him into his office.

  “I want to show you some maps.”

  He spread out the first one.

  “This is called the Mercator Map. Do you see any inconsistencies?”

  At first glance, I didn’t.

  “Look at Greenland and Africa,” he said. “They appear to be relatively the same size, but Africa is actually fourteen times the size of Greenland. Alaska appears larger than Mexico, but in reality, Mexico is larger by one million square miles. I could show you more, but I think you get the picture.”

  “I --- I don’t understand. Who would use a map this out of proportion?”

  “It’s been in use since 1569, mostly for navigation. Now let me show you another map.”

  “This is the Peter’s Projection map. On it, all areas have the correct size relative to each other.”

  “Okay,” I replied, somewhat confused. “What does all this have to do with my conversation with Dr. Perkins?”

  “The Peter’s Projection map is most like the one depicted by the flat earth people. Let me show you why this is important.”

  He produced another map.

  “Typically, on flights from South Africa to Australia, there is a stop-over in Dubai. When you see that route on a conventional map, the Dubai stop makes no sense at all. But if you look at the flight on a flat earth map, it makes perfect sense.”

  “Okay,” I said. “You’re a geologist. What about the claim that Antarctica is a huge wall of ice on the perimeter of a flat earth?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “All I can tell you is that when you go south from any continent, Africa, South America, or Australia, you run into the ice wall. Who’s to say whether you’re actually going south or out to the edge? I’ll tell you one thing. Pretty much everything that’s written about Antarctica is conjecture. Nobody really knows for sure what’s in that vast wasteland of ice.”

  I thanked Simpson for his information and headed to my car. I realized on my way home, I was more confused than ever, and wished I’d never heard a word
about a flat earth.

  CHAPTER 6

  First thing the next morning, I called Mark. I reached him just as he was getting off the plane.

  “Mark, Walt here. I’m afraid I have some bad news. Arlo Quimby called. It seems Martin Fletcher left the hotel in the middle of the night.”

  “Damn! Fletcher was our best lead. I still need to go to the hotel. Can you and Quimby meet me there?”

  “I thought you wanted us to stand down.”

  “I do, but it seems this Quimby is the only one who has actually seen Fletcher. I need to have a chat with him. Since he knows you, I thought it might be best if you introduced us.”

  “Sure. I’ll call Arlo. How about ten o’clock?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Oh, yes,” I said, hesitantly, “there’s one more thing I should tell you. It may not come up, but Arlo has some quirks.”

  “What kind of quirks?”

  “Well, he belongs to a group that thinks the earth is flat.”

  A long pause. “Jesus, Walt! I came all this way based on information from some kind of kook?”

  “Hey, I saw the information, too.”

  “I rest my case.”

  At ten o’clock, the three of us met in the hotel lobby.

  After introductions, Mark began quizzing Quimby.

  “How did you know Fletcher had moved out?”

  “Well, as you know, I work here. I have friends at the front desk. I might have said something about letting me know about his coming and going. Lucinda told me Mr. Lewis --- uhhh, I mean Fletcher --- called the front desk just after midnight requesting a final bill. She said he left around one in the morning.”

  “That was yesterday,” Mark replied, obviously disappointed. “I would liked to have gotten into his room. It’s probably been cleaned by now.”

  “Actually, it hasn’t,” Arlo replied. “Like I told Walt, I’m dating one of the girls in housekeeping. I asked them not to disturb the room until you’d seen it. It’s not too busy right now, so it wasn’t a problem.”