Dear Matty,
We’ve never met, and to my great sadness, we never will. Alas and alack, as my Gran used to say. I suppose this is my one chance to sound like a grandmother.
My apologies for the pen. It’s terrible, but I don’t want to ask the nurse for another.
I regret that I know only a little about you. I’ve been told that you’re quite the brain, that you work hard, and have a good heart. I also know that you’re my daughter’s son, and as such have been raised by a brilliant, caring, fiercely protective person who can be hell to live with. I hope she wasn’t too hard on you. If my own mother could tell when I was lying I never would have escaped to meet your grandfather.
I’ve also been told that you’ve recently experienced something that I know a bit about. If you’re worried about where your gifts might take you, don’t be afraid. But I do have one piece of advice.
First, can I tell you a secret? I’ve only told it to one other person, your grandfather. But you deserve to know.
I worked for the government from 1962 to 1963, then again this past year (1974). I was a “remote viewer,” though that title’s not accurate. I wasn’t remote at all. I flew. In the skies, deep in the earth, below the oceans. There wasn’t anywhere I couldn’t go. My job was to find out all the secrets of our enemies. I loved the flying. Do you? You must.
All of that is technically “Top Secret” but it’s not the secret I want to tell you, which is this: I almost immediately came in contact with the other side. My Soviet counterpart, and fellow psychic, is named Vassili Godunov. He is—was?—a good man who loved his country as much as I loved mine. We realized that together we could pinpoint every missile silo in both of our countries, find every submarine, track every bomber. We also realized that if we gave our governments this information, they might destroy the world. I know this sounds melodramatic, but it’s true. Neither superpower can ever be too confident. Neither can ever think they can strike first and wipe out the arsenal of the other. (Look up “Mutually Assured Destruction.” Are the Encyclopaedia Brittanicas I bought still in the house?)
So, we lied. I lied to Destin Smalls, the man I worked for. Vassili lied to his superiors. We reported trivial sightings with great specificity, to keep them impressed with our abilities. But for any high-value target, the details we reported were too vague to act upon. (I learned that trick from your grandfather.) We kept the world safe by keeping it ignorant.
I tell you this not to scare you, but because you deserve to know the stakes, and I’m the only one to bring the news. My advice is this: don’t let the bastards use you. If later you want to use them, go right ahead. Teddy would approve. Your only duty now is to take care of yourself and your family, and to let them take care of you.
I have to sign off. I’m tired and scrawling this with a cheap Bic from an uncomfortable bed, and I have one more letter to write before I drift off.
Safe travels,
