I was in a large office, full of light, outside the window on the east was the morning sun, the window to the west showed the sea, to the north was a bright full moon, sparkling stars, and a great night-view city-scape in the distance, with a spring-laden orchard in view to the south.
I could hear the sound of furious activity coming in from a hallway somewhere, leather soles drumming rapidly on marble floors, phones ringing like mad.
In front of me there were three men seated at a conference table, sipping coffee, or water, occasionally making notes.
Young men and women were coming in and out of the room often, bringing papers and dashing back out again with memos or other tasks.
There's an old-fashion paper desk calendar there, and in the surreal way that only dreams seem to have, an assistant casually tears off a blood-stained page that reads "June 1968", leaving the crisp new one that reads "June 2008.
Slowly I begin to get the identity of the three men...