September 1947 - The White House, Situation Room President Harry S. Truman sat at the head of the table, his expression grave. Around him sat the most powerful men in American intelligence and military: Secretary of Defense James Forrestal, newly appointed Director of Central Intelligence Roscoe Hillenkoetter, FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover, and General Hoyt Vandenberg, who had just handed over the Director of Central Intelligence position to Hillenkoetter. There was no Director of National Intelligence yet—that position wouldn't be created for another fifty-eight years. For now, Truman was coordinating the intelligence community himself, and he'd called this meeting for one very specific, very unusual reason. "Gentlemen," Truman began, his Missouri accent still strong despite years in Washington, "what I'm about to discuss does not leave this room. This conversation is not to be recorded, transcribed, or mentioned in any official capacity. Is that understood?" A chorus of "Yes, Mr. President" went around the table. Truman opened a folder in front of him. "During the war, we had an operative who provided exceptional service. Intelligence gathering, behind-the-lines operations, direct action missions. This individual participated in D-Day, the liberation of Paris, the Battle of the Bulge, and numerous classified operations I can't discuss even in this room. General Eisenhower personally recommended him for the Medal of Honor. Twice." "Why wasn't he awarded it?" Hoover asked, his bulldog face showing curiosity. "Because," Truman said slowly, "this individual requested that we not draw attention to him. No medals ceremonies, no public recognition, no photographs in newspapers. He said it would 'complicate things.'" "Complicate things how?" Director Hillenkoetter asked. He was new to the job—the CIA had only been officially established two months ago—and still learning the intricacies of the intelligence world. Truman looked at Secretary Forrestal. "Jim, you've met him. You want to explain?" Forrestal, a former Navy Secretary who'd been elevated to the newly created position of Secretary of Defense just months ago, leaned forward. "Gentlemen, the operative President Truman is referring to is named Perseus Jackson. I met him in 1944 when I was still with the Navy. He was consulting on Pacific theater operations. Remarkable man— spoke fluent Japanese, understood their military culture better than our best analysts, provided intelligence that saved countless American lives." "So why are we here?" Hoover asked impatiently. "Sounds like a valuable asset. Give him a job with one of our agencies and be done with it." "It's not that simple, Edgar," Truman said. "Perseus Jackson can't be employed by the government in any official capacity. Because Perseus Jackson is not like other men." He pulled out a photograph and slid it across the table. It showed a man in his thirties, unremarkable except for his eyes. "That photograph was taken in 1944," Truman continued. "This one was taken in 1918." He slid another photograph across. The same man, same face, same eyes, wearing a WWI uniform. "This one is from 1865." Another photograph, now showing the same man in a Union Army uniform. "This one is from 1776." A daguerreotype now, faded but clear enough—the same face in a Continental Army uniform. The room fell silent. "Mr. President," Hillenkoetter said carefully, "are you suggesting this is the same person?" "I'm not suggesting it. I'm telling you it's fact. Perseus Jackson fought in the Revolutionary War. He fought at Gettysburg. He fought in France in 1918. And he fought across Europe in 1944. He is, by our best estimation, at least three hundred years old." Hoover's expression had gone from impatient to incredulous. "That's impossible." "I thought so too," Truman said. "But I've spoken with him personally. Multiple times. He knows things—historical details, personal conversations with figures like Washington and Lincoln—that no one could know unless they were there. He speaks languages that haven't been spoken in centuries. And he has documentation going back to the 1500s." "Documentation can be forged," Hoover said, but his voice had lost its certainty. "Not like this," Secretary Forrestal said. "I had our people verify it. Church records from England in the 1580s. Land deeds from colonial America. Military service records from a dozen different wars. Either this man is who he says he is, or there's been a conspiracy spanning three centuries to create a false identity, which seems far less plausible." General Vandenberg spoke for the first time. "I've met him too. Twice. Once in 1918 when I was a young officer, and again last year. He hasn't aged a day. Same face, same voice. Either he's some kind of medical miracle, or..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. "Or he's something we don't understand," Truman finished. "Which brings us to why we're here. Perseus Jackson has been invaluable to this country. He's saved American lives in every major conflict we've had. He's provided intelligence, conducted operations, and asked for nothing in return except to be left alone. No salary, no recognition, no official position. He just... helps. When it suits him." "Why?" Hillenkoetter asked. "What does he get out of it?" "According to him, he fights for causes he believes in. He was at Agincourt in 1415, fighting for the English. He was in the Thirty Years' War. He fought in the English Civil War. He's been a soldier, a spy, a diplomat. He says he's seen enough of human cruelty and tyranny that he's devoted his life—his very long life—to fighting against it." "Sounds noble," Hoover said skeptically. "Or insane." "Maybe both," Truman agreed. "But here's our problem, gentlemen. Perseus Jackson is the single most valuable intelligence asset in human history. He has firsthand knowledge of events going back centuries. He speaks a dozen languages. He has contacts and networks built over lifetimes. He can go anywhere, do anything, and he's nearly impossible to kill." "Nearly?" Forrestal asked. "He says he can be killed. He's been wounded multiple times—I've seen the scars. He heals faster than normal men, but he's not invincible. A bullet to the head would kill him, he claims. He's just very good at not getting shot in the head." "So what's the problem?" Vandenberg asked. "If he's on our side, use him." Truman's expression darkened. "The problem is that three weeks ago, the FBI arrested him." Every head turned to Hoover, whose face had gone pale. "Explain," Truman said quietly, his tone dangerous. Hoover shifted uncomfortably. "We were investigating a series of murders in New York. Organized crime figures, all killed execution-style. Our agents identified Perseus Jackson as a person of interest. He was brought in for questioning." "And?" "And he made one phone call—to the War Department. Within an hour, we had the Secretary of War, the Joint Chiefs, and half the damn military leadership demanding his immediate release. We let him go, obviously, but my agents were confused and angry. They thought we were interfering with an investigation for political reasons." "You were," Truman said bluntly. "Because Perseus Jackson is more important than your murder investigation. But here's the thing, Edgar—your agents didn't know that. They were just doing their jobs. And that's going to keep happening unless we create a system." He looked around the table. "Gentlemen, we are creating a new intelligence apparatus. The CIA is brand new. The FBI is expanding. Military intelligence is reorganizing. We're going to have thousands of agents, analysts, and officers working across the country and around the world. Eventually, one of them is going to investigate Perseus Jackson. Maybe they'll think he's a spy. Maybe they'll connect him to some operation that went sideways. Maybe they'll just think it's suspicious that a man who looks thirty-five has been around since the Revolutionary War." "When that happens," Forrestal continued, "we need a protocol in place. Something that protects both Perseus Jackson and our agencies from making a catastrophic mistake." "What kind of protocol?" Hillenkoetter asked. Truman pulled out a document. "This is what I'm proposing. It's called the Echelon Protocol, named after the tiered approach to classification. Here's how it works: Perseus Jackson is never to be detained, arrested, or held by any federal agency under any circumstances. His name will be flagged in whatever systems we develop for tracking suspects and persons of interest. If any agent attempts to investigate or detain him, they are to be immediately stopped by their superiors." "And if they're not stopped?" Hoover asked. "If an agent arrests him before anyone realizes?" "Then Perseus Jackson has authorization to activate an emergency protocol. He makes one phone call—to a number that will be manned twenty-four hours a day—and says a specific code phrase. That triggers an immediate response." "What kind of response?" Vandenberg asked, though his tone suggested he already knew he wouldn't like the answer. "Military extraction," Forrestal said. "We'd assemble a specialized unit—the best special operations personnel we have. Their sole mission would be to respond to Echelon activations. They'd go to wherever Perseus is being held and extract him by whatever means necessary." The room erupted. "You want to deploy military forces against our own agencies?" Hoover was on his feet, his face red. "That's insane!" "It's necessary," Truman said, his voice cutting through the noise. "Sit down, Edgar." Hoover sat, but he was seething. "Listen to me, all of you," Truman continued. "Perseus Jackson has saved this country more times than we can count. During the war, he provided intelligence that prevented Nazi assassination attempts on Churchill and Stalin. He personally killed a German general who was planning a chemical weapons attack on London. He saved the lives of an entire battalion at the Battle of the Bulge. And that's just what I can tell you about—there are operations so classified that even in this room, I can't discuss them." He let that sink in before continuing. "This man is a national treasure. He's also terrifying. He has four hundred years of combat experience. He knows things about warfare, espionage, and violence that we're only beginning to understand. If we alienate him, if we arrest him or try to control him, we could lose him forever. Or worse, he could become an enemy. Do you want Perseus Jackson working against us?" "No, Mr. President," came the quiet chorus. "Then we protect him. We create this protocol, we make it ironclad, and we make sure that every director of every agency understands that Perseus Jackson is untouchable." "What about accountability?" Hillenkoetter asked. "If he commits a crime, do we just look the other way?" Truman exchanged glances with Forrestal. "Perseus Jackson operates by his own moral code. From what I've seen, it's a good code—he goes after bad people, people who deserve what they get. Those organized crime figures your agents were investigating, Edgar? They were trafficking children. Perseus put a stop to it permanently." "Vigilante justice," Hoover muttered. "Better than no justice at all," Truman shot back. "I'm not happy about it either, but I'm practical. We can either work with Perseus Jackson and accept that sometimes he's going to do things outside the law, or we can try to stop him and lose the most valuable asset we've ever had. I choose the former." "What if other countries try to arrest him?" Vandenberg asked. "This protocol only covers US agencies." "We'll extend it to our closest allies," Forrestal said. "The British already know about him— MI6 has worked with him for decades. We'll coordinate with them, the Canadians, anyone else who needs to know. The protocol will state clearly: if any allied intelligence service detains Perseus Jackson, we will respond." "Even against allies?" Hillenkoetter looked shocked. "Even against allies. This is non-negotiable." Truman's tone was absolute. "Perseus Jackson has earned this protection a thousand times over. We will not fail him." There was a long silence. Finally, Hoover spoke. "What happens when he dies? This protocol can't be permanent." "It stays in effect as long as he lives," Truman said. "When he dies—if he dies—we'll deactivate it. But until then, it's active. Permanent. Unbreakable." "Who knows about this?" Hillenkoetter asked. "Outside this room?" "Selected military leadership," Forrestal said. "The Joint Chiefs are aware. A handful of senior officers who've worked with Perseus directly. And it'll be passed down to future presidents and directors. This information is classified at a level beyond anything else we have. I'm proposing we call it Omega clearance." "Omega," Vandenberg repeated. "The last letter. The end." "Exactly. The final level. The information that almost no one gets to know." Forrestal looked around the table. "Everyone in this room has Omega clearance as of now. You will brief your successors when the time comes. No one else gets this information unless they absolutely need it." Truman stood, and the others stood with him. "Gentlemen, I'm signing this order today. The Echelon Protocol is now active. Perseus Jackson is under the protection of the United States government at the highest level. If any agency attempts to detain him, they will face immediate military response. Is that understood?" "Yes, Mr. President." "Good. Now, there's one more thing." Truman's expression softened slightly. "Perseus Jackson doesn't know we're doing this." That caught everyone off guard. "He doesn't know?" Hillenkoetter asked. "He knows we're working on something, but he doesn't know the details. He specifically asked us not to make a big deal out of protecting him. He values his independence. But after the FBI incident, I decided we needed this protocol whether he wants it or not. So here's how we're going to handle it: we tell him the protocol exists, we give him the emergency phone number and code phrase, but we don't make a ceremony of it. We treat it as a practical matter, not a tribute. Understood?" "Yes, Mr. President." "Jim, you'll handle telling him. You've got the best relationship with him." "I'll take care of it, Mr. President." "Alright then. This meeting is adjourned. Remember—nothing we discussed leaves this room. Not now, not ever. This is Omega."

One Week Later - A Quiet Café in Georgetown Secretary Forrestal sat across from Perseus Jackson, two cups of coffee between them. Perseus looked exactly as he had in 1944, 1918, 1865, and every other time Forrestal had seen photographs of him. The same young face with ancient eyes. "You said you needed to discuss something important," Perseus said, his voice carrying the slight accent of someone who'd learned English centuries ago. "The President has signed an order," Forrestal said. "It's called the Echelon Protocol. It's designed to protect you from situations like the one with the FBI." Perseus raised an eyebrow. "Protect me? Jim, I don't need protection from federal agents. I can handle—" "I know you can handle yourself. That's not the point. The point is that as our intelligence apparatus grows, as we add more agencies and more agents, the chances of someone trying to arrest you increase exponentially. We need a system to prevent that." "What kind of system?" Forrestal explained the protocol—the flagging system, the emergency phone number, the code phrase, the military extraction team. Perseus listened in silence, his expression unreadable. When Forrestal finished, he was quiet for a long moment. "You're deploying military forces against your own people if they arrest me?" "If necessary, yes." "That's extreme, Jim." "You're an extreme asset. We're taking extreme measures to protect you." Perseus picked up his coffee, took a sip, set it down. "I never asked for this." "I know. But we're doing it anyway. The President was very clear—you've earned this protection many times over. We're not going to risk losing you because some agent doesn't understand who you are." "And if I don't want it? If I tell you to cancel this protocol?" Forrestal met his eyes. "Then I'll take your concerns back to the President. But Perseus, think about it practically. You've been doing this for four hundred years. You're going to keep doing it for who knows how many more centuries. This protocol makes your life easier. It keeps you from having to explain yourself to every agent who gets suspicious. It protects you so you can keep doing what you do." Perseus was quiet again, flipping that ancient coin between his fingers. Forrestal had learned not to interrupt when Perseus was thinking—the man was processing four centuries of experience to make a decision. Finally, Perseus spoke. "I don't want special treatment. I don't want ceremonies or tributes or recognition." "This isn't about recognition. It's about practicality. We need you operational, not sitting in FBI holding cells explaining your life story." A slight smile crossed Perseus's face. "That was annoying, I'll admit." "So you'll accept the protocol?" "Do I have a choice?" "Not really. The President already signed the order." Perseus laughed—a genuine laugh that made him look even younger. "Truman's a stubborn man." "Takes one to know one," Forrestal said, smiling. "Fair point." Perseus pocketed his coin. "Alright. I'll play along with your Echelon Protocol. But Jim, you need to understand something." "What's that?" "I'm not your asset. I'm not controlled, not owned, not employed. I help because I choose to help. Sometimes our interests align, sometimes they don't. This protocol doesn't change that." "I know. The President knows. That's why the protocol is structured the way it is—it protects you, but it doesn't claim you." "Good." Perseus stood, and Forrestal stood with him. "Tell Truman thank you. I know his heart's in the right place." "I will." Perseus turned to leave, then paused. "One more thing. Your people—the extraction team. Make sure they're good. If I ever have to activate this protocol, I want professionals responding, not cowboys." "They'll be the best we have. I promise you that." "Good. Because Jim, if I activate Echelon, it means something has gone very wrong. I don't want the situation made worse by incompetent operators." "Understood." Perseus walked out of the café, disappearing into the Georgetown crowds. Forrestal sat back down, finishing his coffee. The Echelon Protocol was active. The most unusual protection order in American history was now operational. He just hoped they'd never have to use it. But knowing Perseus Jackson's luck—and his tendency to find trouble—Forrestal suspected they would. Eventually. He just hoped it wouldn't be for a very long time.

Back at the White House Forrestal reported back to President Truman later that day. "How did he take it?" Truman asked. "Better than expected. He accepted it, though he made it clear he's not our employee." "I wouldn't expect him to be. Man's been independent for four centuries—we're not going to change that now." Truman signed some paperwork on his desk. "This protocol stays active, Jim. For as long as Perseus Jackson lives. We pass it down to every president, every director, every person who needs to know. Clear?" "Crystal clear, Mr. President." "Good. Now let's hope we never have to use it." They wouldn't know it then, but the Echelon Protocol would be activated fifteen times over the next seventy-eight years. Each time would cause chaos, interdepartmental conflicts, and near-international incidents. But it would work. Perseus Jackson would remain free, remain operational, and remain one of America's most valuable and unusual assets. All because Harry Truman, in 1947, had the wisdom to protect a man who didn't ask for protection. And the foresight to create a protocol that would last nearly a century. The Echelon Protocol. Omega clearance. The secret that almost no one would ever know.