‘That man is an ESP-trained soldier tuning into the US-Canadian flying saucer we just saw taking off from the White Sands Proving Ground. As that building, also, is in the White Sands Proving Ground, he obviously can’t transmit that far yet and is practicing on reasonable local subjects. The woman from Portland, Maine, is obviously a psychic who tuned in accidentally to him, just as our cyborg tuned into her thoughts, confusing the US-Canadian saucer for the one he was tracking – namely, our own.’
‘The accident doesn’t matter,’ Tugarinov said. ‘What matters is that the Americans, like my Russian friends in the Parapsychology Laboratory in the University of Leningrad, are now experimenting with ESP.’
‘Correct,’ Wilson said. ‘They thought they could keep it secret, but there are no secrets any more. I think my American friends might need another hard lesson, so keep monitoring that woman from Portland, Maine.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Tugarinov said.
Wilson glanced briefly at the hideous, surgically mutated head of the former Marlon Clarke, then nodded approvingly at Dr Tugarinov and left the laboratory.
Chapter Twenty-Nine For the first six months of 1959 Dwight commuted on a regular basis between Dayton, Ohio, and Washington DC, investigating UFO sightings in the former and personally delivering his reports to Dr Frederick Epstein’s Aerial Phenomena Investigations Institute in the latter. As Beth had anticipated, the frequent trips to the Capital were a welcome break from the previous monotony of his life in Dayton and rendered even more appealing because they offered him frequent contact with Bob and Thelma Jackson, both resident in Greenbelt, Maryland, where Bob had gone to work after leaving the Air Force and before joining the APII. When not at the APII, Dwight had many a good lunch or evening with Bob and Thelma, who had lost neither their good humour nor their warmth.
Returning to the investigation of UFO sightings in Dayton was indeed an experience for Dwight, not only because of his ongoing fascination with the subject and the many people he was meeting again, but even more so because of his shock at the lack of co-operation he found amongst his old friends at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. Not that there were, in truth, many old friends left there, since most had been transferred out of the ATIC even before his departure. Nevertheless, the few still working there were singularly unhelpful, claiming that the Air Force no longer had any interest in the matter and viewed civilian investigators as a nuisance.
Apart from those who worked for Dr Epstein’s APII, the other reliable civilian investigators came from the many different UFO organisations now scattered widely across the whole country. The most notable of these was the National Investigations Committee on Aerial Phenomena (NICAP), founded in 1956, headed by former Marine Corps Major Donald Keyhoe, and also located in Washington DC. Though these two major Washington DC organisations frequently were in competition with one another, it was from the NICAP that Dwight had gained a lot of the mainly young, sometimes eccentric, but always lively UFO investigators who had made his life more interesting during the past six months.
They had a language all their own, being fond of the use of acronyms such as CE1 (Close Encounters of the First Kind), phenomena that cause a transient effect on the witness, such as time loss or radio interference; CE2 (Close Encounters of the Second Kind), phenomena that cause effects that are semi-permanent and observable by those who did not share the experience; CE3 (Close Encounters of the Third Kind), phenomena that include animate entities such as extraterrestrials or robotic crew members; and CE4 (Close Encounters of the Fourth Kind), events that cause the witness, or witnesses, to have unnatural or seemingly impossible experiences, such as psychic interaction, levitation and paralysis, or which affect the witness, mentally or physically, for a long time after the event occurs.
Spouting such scientific-sounding phrases and armed with survey maps, binoculars, theodolites, tape recorders, cameras, notebooks, drawing pads, pencils and pens, these enthusiasts swarmed across the country, most to desolate wastelands such as those in New Mexico and Arizona, to visit the site of a UFO sighting and take measurements and photos; interview witnesses, cajoling written statements and sketches from them; contact weather centres to check for temperature inversions or other atmospheric phenomena that could be misinterpreted as UFOs; check local civilian and military airports for information regarding general air traffic and weather balloon launches; and approach local police stations for facts regarding related sightings or witnesses not already interviewed. Considered by many, especially those in positions of authority, to be a great nuisance, they did in fact turn many a UFO (Unidentified Flying Object) into an IFO (Identified Flying Object) while also supplying invaluable written and visual material to the major civilian UFO organisations.
Apart from their contribution to the APII, Dwight enjoyed meeting them because so many of them were young, optimistic and enthusiastic in a manner that was both contagious and encouraging. He needed the encouragement because Beth had told him about her inexplicable blackout and CE1 experience on the road opposite the garage where Dwight had once worked – and where the new owner, Frank Bancroft, had experienced something so terrifying that it had caused him to die of a heart attack. Beth’s story had only reinforced Dwight’s belief that he – and perhaps other UFOlogists – were being watched and were also, almost certainly, in constant danger.
While Dwight’s brief with the APII was restricted solely to an investigation of UFO sightings as potential extraterrestrial visitations, he was also secretly keeping his eyes and ears open for any further information on the possibility that they, or other UFOs, were man-made.
This possibility had obsessed him ever since his old friend, US Air Force Captain Andrew ‘Andy’ Boyle, had told him about spherical-or-disc-shaped experimental aircraft, notably the Avrocar constructed at the A. V. Roe Aircraft Company in Malton, Ontario. Though reportedly this man-made ‘flying saucer’ had failed to fly with any great degree of efficiency, the fact that its existence had been officially denied until it was photographed on the ground by a press photographer lent some credibility to the notion that the same project, or similar projects, but of a much more advanced kind, were still being undertaken, either in Canada or in the top-secret military research establishments of the White Sands Proving Ground, New Mexico.
As long as he lived, Dwight would not forget his experience with the men in black in that motel on the outskirts of Albuquerque in 1954, five years ago – the event that had finally made him decide to leave the Air Force for good. The description given by Andy Boyle of the dome-shaped ‘aircraft’ he had seen landing outside a secret hangar at Cannon Air Force Base was also an indelible memory for Dwight, since the ‘aircraft’ as described by Andy was almost certainly a flying saucer: its fuselage formed by two plates, one placed upside down on the other, with a raised Perspex dome in the middle – obviously the pilot’s cabin – and circular, gyroscopically balanced plates revolving around it. Whether extraterrestrial or man-made, that flying saucer had undoubtedly been kept for an indeterminate period in that heavily guarded hangar at Cannon AFB.
Later, after his terrifying experience with what may have been a flying saucer hovering outside his motel window, followed by a frightening encounter with a group of men dressed all in black, who had threatened him and stolen Andy’s invaluable UFO photo, Dwight had tried to contact Andy again to find out if he’d had a similar experience. First he learnt that Andy had been transferred to Alaska with hardly any notice at all. A week later, he learnt that Andy had died in an unexplained helicopter crash over Mt McKinley. Neither his body nor that of the pilot had been found.
From that moment on, Dwight had been haunted by Andy’s contention that the flying saucers could indeed be man-made. It was not a hypothesis he had dared to raise so far with Dr Frederick Epstein at the APII, since he had not come across any supportive evidence for what Andy had told him before his untimely death. He had, nevertheless, asked one of his NICAP researchers, Tony Scaduto, to bring him anything he happened
to find along those lines. Now, he was on his way to meet Scaduto in a bar in Georgetown, to hear what he had sworn on the phone was a fascinating story relating to man-made flying saucers.
Dwight and Scaduto met in an Irish pub in Connecticut Avenue. Downstairs the bar was packed with drunken marines from Quantico; upstairs, where Dwight and Scaduto met, it was even more packed, but with a mixed crowd joining in the songs being played by a four-piece Irish band - autoharp, fiddle, flatpick guitar, mandolin – while turning red-faced from Guinness stout, Harp on tap, and dangerously large whiskey chasers. Tony was a twenty-five-year-old Brooklyn boy, still single, who loved rock ‘n’ roll music and dressed like Marlon Brando in The Wild One. A goodnatured, fun-loving young man, he was also bright, if potentially self-destructive when it came to drinking, smoking and women.
‘This is a good place to meet for a talk,’ Dwight informed him, glancing at the energetic, noisy Irish band. ‘I can hardly hear myself speak.’
‘They go off in a minute,’ Scaduto said. ‘Then we can have a proper talk. Meanwhile, what’s your poison?’
‘I haven’t been in an Irish pub for years, so make it a pint of Guinness. Anyway,’ he added, after Scaduto had ordered his drink and another for himself, ‘I thought you were a rock ‘n’ roll fan – not a fan of this kind of music.’
‘This is the year the music died,’ Tony replied laconically. ‘Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper and Richie Valens – all killed in a plane crash. Meanwhile, Elvis, sans sideburns, is serving out his time with the goddamned US Army in West Germany, leaving us with Pat Boone, Frankie Avalon, Bobby Rydell and all the other pukemaking mother’s boys. No wonder I’m listening to Irish music! It’s all we’ve got left.’
Eventually, just as the barman brought them two more pint glasses of Guinness, the band on the stage took a break to enthusiastic applause.
‘They’ll be off-stage for about half-an-hour,’ Scaduto told Dwight. ‘That should be enough time for our discussion.’
‘So what’s this fascinating story you have for me?’
‘Pretty bizarre, to put it mildly,’ Scaduto replied, ‘so I couldn’t resist it.’
‘Stop teasing,’ Dwight told him.
Scaduto grinned, sipped some Guinness, then wiped foam from his lips with the back of his band. ‘I picked this story up from one of my informants: a civilian secretary at the Office of Naval Intelligence.’
‘Sounds well placed,’ Dwight said.
‘She’s often well placed in my bed,’ Scaduto said, grinning. ‘Anyway, according to my lady friend – a great lay, incidentally – a woman psychic in Portland, Maine, recently informed the CIA that she’d had telepathic contact with extraterrestrials in what she thought was a space-ship.’
‘A crank,’ Dwight said, unable to hide his disappointment.
‘Not necessarily – though that’s exactly what the CIA thought at first. Since to them it seemed like a classic scam – a woman, a supposed psychic, using automatic handwriting for communication with extraterrestrials – the CIA gave it a miss. However, the Canadian government got their hands on the CIA report and, instead of dismissing it, which seemed the logical thing to do, they sent their leading UFOlogist, accompanied by a government-trained hypnotist, to interview her where she lived in Portland. According to the UFOlogist, the woman, in a hypnotic trance, correctly answered highly complex questions about space flight, about which she had formerly known dip-shit.’
Scaduto had another sip of his Guinness and glanced at the women scattered around the bar as he licked the foam from his lips.
‘Not surprisingly,’ he continued eventually, ‘when the US Navy learned about this, they sent two intelligence officers to talk to the same woman. During the subsequent interrogation, one of the Navy intelligence officers, who had, please note, been trained in ESP, tried to tune in to the woman’s contactee. When this experiment failed, he and his colleague returned to Washington DC and informed the CIA at Langley, Virginia.’
Though the Irish band had stopped playing, a few of the older patrons of this generally youth-orientated pub, their faces flushed with drink, began rocking from side to side while tearfully singing, ‘I’ll take you home again, Kathleen.’
‘Someone should take them home,’ Scaduto said as he glanced at them and then turned back to Dwight. ‘So, where was I?’
‘When the ESP-trained Navy intelligence officer failed to make contact with the woman’s contactee, he and his friend returned to report their failure to the CIA at Langley. So how did the CIA react?’
‘Well, instead of expressing their disappointment, the CIA – possibly impressed because Navy intelligence had gone to so much trouble for a case that they, the CIA, had ignored – displayed more interest than before, In fact, they arranged for the ESPtrained intelligence officer to try making contact from CIA headquarters, right there at Langley Field, Virginia. Six witnesses – two of them CIA employees, one of whom was agent Jack Fuller, the others from the Office of Naval Intelligence - got together in the office in Langley to observe the results of the experiment.’
Trying to ignore the tuneless singing of the maudlin drunkards nearby, Dwight, becoming intrigued despite his initial scepticism, leaned closer to Scaduto and asked, ‘Well?’
‘This time, when the ESP-trained intelligence officer went into his hypnotic trance, he made contact with someone.’
‘Was the identity and whereabouts of that someone made known?’
‘Not at first. When the intelligence officer, in his trance condition, was asked if he was in contact with ordinary men, spirit beings or extraterrestrials, he said it was the latter. When one of the men in the room then demanded some kind of proof for this assertion, the intelligence officer, still in his hypnotic trance, said that if they looked out the window they would see a flying saucer high in the sky over the Capitol building. When the men went to the window and looked out, that’s just what they saw: a large flying saucer hovering silently in the sky, approximately over Capitol Hill.’
‘Did they have the sense to try for confirmation of their sighting?’
‘Surprisingly, they did. A quick phone call from one of the CIA officers – almost certainly Fuller – to Washington National Airport, established that at that very moment the radar centre there was reporting that its radar returns were being blacked out in the direction of the sighting over Capitol Hill.’
Dwight gave a low whistle. ‘So what happened then?’
‘The operator at Washington National Airport had no sooner finished complaining about his blacked-out radar returns when the flying saucer shot up vertically and disappeared – reportedly as quickly as a light bulb blinking out.’
‘What was the saucer like?’
Scaduto shrugged, sipped some more Guinness, then placed his glass back on the counter. ‘That’s the problem,’ he said. ‘No description of the flying saucer was released. A lid was slammed on the whole thing.’
Dwight shook his head in despair. ‘Damn!’ he exclaimed, lowering his head. Then he looked up again. ‘So how did your friend, the great lay, come to hear the story?’
‘Good one.’ Scaduto grinned from ear to ear. ‘Major Robert J. Friend, present head of the increasingly impotent Project Blue Book, was informed of the events of that day by the CIA and promptly arranged for Duke University’s parapsychology lab to investigate both the psychic from Maine and the ESP-trained intelligence officer. That investigation led to the mistaken declassification of the original reports – and those reports eventually passed through the Office of Naval Intelligence, thus through my friend’s hands.’
‘Then on to you.’
‘Right. When we were sharing her warm bed.’
‘She didn’t give you the original reports?’
‘No, of course not!’ Scaduto pretended to be affronted, before grinning again. ‘She just lovingly whispered the info into my ear.’
‘Before sticking her tongue in it, no doubt.’
‘A gentleman never tells.’
Dwight grinned and nodded. ‘So what were the results of the Duke University investigations?’
‘God knows. Their report never materialised, Project Blue Book released no analysis of the sighting report, the government did nothing about the unexplained Washington DC radar blackout, and the origin of the flying saucer seen over Capitol Hill remains a secret to this day. As for the men present at the hypnotic trance session in that room in Langley, the CIA took punitive action against them by transferring them to other positions – with the single exception of CIA agent Jack Fuller.’
‘So why didn’t you ask Fuller what happened?’
Scaduto grinned and tapped the side of his nose with his index finger. ‘I did. He denied any involvement in such a matter, then laughed and cut me off.’
‘He’s a sharp bastard, that Fuller. Sharp and hard.’
‘He is that, sure enough,’ Scaduto said, automatically influenced by the pub and sounding rather Irish.
Dwight had another sip of his drink, licked his lips, then gazed down thoughtfully at his glass. ‘A nice little story,’ he said, ‘but it seems too far-fetched to be true.’
‘It may seem that way to you,’ Scaduto responded without pause, ‘but the incident
– or something very like it – must have taken place, because Major Friend later wrote about the whole business in an official Memorandum for the Record. That Memorandum has since been filed in the Air Force Archives at Maxwell AFB, Montgomery, Alabama – but it wasn’t filed until a copy found its way into the hands of a few UFOlogists. The Memorandum is genuine – either that, or Major Friend, the present head of Project Blue Book, is submitting fiction in his official reports.’
Dwight nodded affirmatively, acknowledging this undeniable truth. ‘So just what are you trying to tell me, Tony?’
‘You want another Guinness?’
‘No. I’m catching a plane back to Dayton when I leave here. Home sober when greeted by wife and daughter, then sit down, respectably sober, to dinner.’
PHOENIX: (Projekt Saucer series) Page 33
