The Disclosure Paradox

He often looked back at his divorce with remorse, the guilt of knowing he could have given more time to his wife and kids. He was especially sad about having to live away from his two children. Driven by a quest for truth, fueled by an energy beyond his control, he felt his life was on some sort of pre-determined course going into a direction he did not anticipate.

His unique, eye-opening experience occurred at Wright–Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton, Ohio, his third duty station as an Air Force officer. There, he was assigned to the Aeronautical Systems Division as a construction manager. One of his duties involved overseeing work by contractors at the Foreign Technology Division (FTD) building, then located in Area A.

FTD’s mission was to research weapons systems from other countries, evaluate threats and weaknesses, and then relay that information to Aeronautical Systems Division in Area B. Area B was across the main highway, where existing programs were either improved upon, or new programs were devised to counter those threats or take advantage of the weaknesses of foreign weapon systems. FTD was housed in a large warehouse-type two-story metal building surrounded by motion detectors on its lawn. Access, regardless of the visitor’s security clearance, was through a manned entry control point. The need-to-know concept was the prime system of operational security in this building.

One day while carrying out inspections, Captain Louis Silvani went to the second floor in FTD’s building. He entered a vestibule that opened into a small utilitarian ante-lobby, devoid of aesthetics and comfort, where he reported to a junior NCO manning the security desk. Louis stated his reason for the visit, signed his name on the visitors’ roster, and received a badge indicating in bold red uppercase lettering, “ESCORT REQUIRED.” His escort, a young senior airman assigned to the security police squadron, led Louis through the electrically operated double doors into an extra-wide corridor. “So, this is FTD. It looks like a scene from a James Bond movie,” Louis remarked. Maintaining discipline and only offering necessary information, the airman gave no response.

Louis noticed the floors, walls, ceiling, doors, and door frames were all clean and white or off-white. He saw no directory for the huge, windowless, warehouse-sized facility. Doors were marked by a cypher lock. There were neither numbers nor room names. The offices and their occupants were compartmentalized. The occupants of one office did not have access to the office next door. The escort stopped at a door to an enclosed stairway and entered the code to unlock it. Louis followed up the wide, austere, and faintly lit stairway. The muffled tapping sound of their footsteps on the bare concrete treads echoed in the stair well.

He determined that one of the most extraordinary events related to UFO contact in modern history took place in Antarctica in late February through early March of 1947. Operation Paperclip was the code name for the systematic process in which the Soviet Union and the United States took custody of top-secret Nazi weapons technology. Its objective was to gain information on rocket propulsion and guidance systems. Much was learned about Operation Paperclip through KGB files released after the break-up of the Soviet Union.

After World War II, interviews with the German scientists and engineers who had worked for the Third Reich, combined with confiscated documents, led US intelligence organizations to postulate that the Nazis had established a secret naval base in Antarctica. Adding to the suspicion, Hitler’s Navy Commander, Grand Admiral Donitz, was quoted in 1943 saying, “The German submarine fleet is proud of having built for the Führer, in another part of the world, a Shangri-La land, an impregnable fortress.” Louis, along with other researchers and authors, believed this particular quote, combined with information from Operation Paperclip, was the real reason the Navy organized a task force of fifteen ships designated “Operation Highjump” to investigate Queen Maud Land, south of Africa.

Rear Admiral Richard H. Cruzen commanded the flotilla, while Admiral Richard E. Byrd Jr. led the reconnaissance mission. As with any incident involving sensitive information, there were sanctioned, official descriptions of the operation and other descriptions that researchers, including former Soviet officials, insisted were closer to the truth. Articles and documentaries described it as an operation to map out the coastline of the continent. According to the official records, the task force separated into five smaller groups: the western, central, eastern, carrier, and base groups. Admiral Byrd headed the carrier group.

Those suspecting censorship believed that a quote by Admiral Byrd, in the Mercurio, a Chilean newspaper, provided a hint of what may have happened during the expedition: “In the case of a new war, the continental United States would be attacked by flying objects which could fly pole to pole at incredible speeds.” Nonconformists pointed out that the comment referred to an attack on the flotilla by high-speed aircraft.

Accounts of damaged ships were just as suspect, discrediting researchers claiming suppression of truth. For example, conspiracy theorist sites and articles parroted that a destroyer named the Murdoch sank and the aircraft carrier Casablanca sustained heavy damage. Official Navy records indicate, however, that the Casablanca was decommissioned a few years before Operation Highjump, and that the Navy never had a destroyer named Murdoch in its inventory.

Burdened with his laptop case hanging by a strap over his right shoulder, he held a paper cup with coffee in his left hand. At the welcome table, he was greeted by a cheerful man who spoke with a Scandinavian accent as he held out his hand. The laptop case strap slipped off Louis’s shoulder as he extended to shake hands. Temporarily delaying the gesture of goodwill, Louis placed the case on the floor beside him, this time completing a successful handshake.

“Allo, Olav Whitouse at your service! Welcome to the annual Pennsylvania Conference. What is your name, please?”

Louis gave his name and told him he was the first presenter, the warmup act. The greeter gave him a customized badge and program, then directed him to an aide whose job was to assist presenters. Louis thanked the greeter and left, but not without noticing what Olav and the other two greeters were wearing, a green tee shirt printed with the recycling logo and the word “Karma” in the center. Another greeter wore a purple “Make America Disclose” hat, and the other wore a black t-shirt with the image of a grey alien head in white and the words, “I Believe.” He exchanged smiles with them.

Thirty minutes before the start of the conference, Louis noticed people coming in to form lines. He was led to the auditorium that held a capacity of 420, according to the posted sign by the local Fire Marshall. An ideal size for such a conference. The aide, a young collegiate woman, did not know who Louis was. “Did you write a book?” she inquired while leading him to the podium.

“No . . . not yet,” he said sheepishly. She seemed disappointed.

She showed Louis the podium and offered to help connect the laptop to the system’s projector. “I should have looked at the program,” she apologized. “What is your presentation about?”

“Interterrestrials,” he replied enthusiastically.

“Interterrestrials? You mean beings that live on Earth with humans?” she asked.

“Exactly!” Louis smiled, raising his right index finger.

“Interesting. . . .” The thought amused the aide. She quickly connected the laptop to the auditorium’s system and tested it.

“You are good to go, Mr. Sivani. Good luck and here’s a bottle of water,” she said, leaving the room.

“It’s Silvani!” he yelled as she disappeared through the doors.

Gradually, images began to appear. He saw a brief flash of thin, colored, neon-like bands forming a tunnel and appearing in sequence like he was traveling at a high rate of speed. His heart raced. The only sign of movement was the perception of passing swiftly through those colored bands, his hands and arms vibrating. This is amazing! What an incredible rush! he thought. A brief lack of concentration caused the vision to end abruptly. Louis opened his eyes. His heart rate was normal. What the heck was that? he wondered. He reasoned it was his first out-of-body experience, and it seemed like he was going through a wormhole. He had no idea how long the experience lasted, but it seemed to be less than fifteen seconds. Unforgettable to be sure, no matter how long or short.

During Lent, the entire student population assembled in a windowless long hallway to hear the Stations. It was cramped and stuffy. Young legs struggled to fight fatigue as Louis and the others were forced to stand shoulder to shoulder, straining to hear the weak voice of an elderly nun describe the violent sequence of the Stations of the Cross. Since he was one of the shortest in his class, Louis’s view was often obstructed by rows of taller children, submissive and silent in their uniforms. He struggled to accept the graphic descriptions depicting the suffering and abuse of Jesus as he carried his own cross toward his death. Louis felt a deep sincere sorrow when the Stations were recited. Grimacing, he all too clearly envisioned Roman soldiers sadistically fashion branches with long thorns into a head piece then forcing it down on his scalp: the thorns cut into the flesh to cause blood to stream down. His fragile mind was invaded by graphic images of men holding down Jesus’s already bruised and battered body against the coarse wood, then positioning an iron spike in the soft palm. He anguished from listening to the horror of words describing the piercing of the skin with the first hard blow of a crude mallet: more blood, more suffering. Each reading appeared to him more vividly than the previous one.

Louis often experienced lucid dreams. One recurring theme was levitation. He also fought off dreams that made him wonder about the mind. In one dream, he recalled being surrounded by people speaking Chinese. Amazingly, he understood what they were saying. It made him wonder if there might be data in our brains only accessible in a subconscious state. He wondered if humans held more knowledge than exhibited. Sleep usually came easily, without the need for chemicals. He trained himself to fall asleep at will in the service, participating in week-long exercises that would require continuous hours without it. This night would be no different.

Louis had another unique dream. He envisioned floating or lingering in the clouds above Earth. As he looked down, the clouds dispersed, and he made out the image of a large medieval fortress built in the form of two equal squares on center, transposed forty-five degrees. The fortress was surrounded by a large grassy field. In the background he heard a chant like that of a Tibetan monk he had recorded for meditation years ago. As gradually as it had appeared, the fortress faded and disappeared, ending the dream.

Louis easily found the Aurora address near the city center. He parked his car on the crumbling concrete drive plagued by crabgrass and weeds. The drive ran alongside the vacant-looking house. Like the discarded veteran pan-handling across the street, it appeared empty, lacking vitality. Stepping out of the car, Louis’s conscience made his head turn to face the panhandler. Cars stopped at the intersection, but no one acknowledged the man with his card board sign that read, “HOMELESS IRAQ WAR VET. PLEASE HELP. GOD BLESS.” Louis negotiated the crosswalk and stopped. The panhandler looked Louis up and down, his stoic expression unchanged.

Louis spoke to him.

“I’m a veteran too. Air Force.”

“Army.”

Before Louis asked the next question, the panhandler interjected.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here asking for money.”

“No. I know why you are here.”

“Oh, So, you know what happened to me in Iraq? You know what I saw? What I lived with every day? What finally broke me?”

“No. That’s not what I mean. You’re here because of our failed society.”

Louis bent down to the panhandler’s level, next to him. “Thanking you for your service, but being ignored when you need help is an empty gesture.”

The panhandler put down his sign and turned to Louis. “So, are you going to help me?”

“What are you trying to do?”

“Man, I’m just surviving day by day.”

“Have you tried to get help at the VA?”

“Hines? Man—Maywood was OK for John Prine, not me. I’m staying away from the VA. It’s depressing, and there’s too many people like me and not enough good people that could help. And don’t want to get on no drugs. That treatment will get you hooked and killed.”

“You like the Mailman?”

“I got to know his music from our platoon leader. You know that song about old people?”

“‘Hello in There’?”

“Yeah. That’s what I see when I go the VA. It’s not right, man. Not right.”

“You want to change that? Go and be a volunteer. They deserve it. You’ll feel better about yourself.”

Louis reached for his wallet, took out a twenty-dollar bill, and handed it to the man.

“Here. This should help a bit. Right now, your best chance is the VA. Consider it another challenge.”

The man took the money.

“Thanks,” he said, looking straight into Louis’s eyes. Then he nodded.

Louis held his hand out, and the man reached and held it.

“It’s been a while since a stranger shook my hand,” he said still holding on.

“Go volunteer and you could shake more friendly hands. I hope you get the care you deserve.”

The man released the grip. Without adding a word, he followed Louis with his eyes as Louis walked back to cross the street.

“There are things happening to me, Mary Ellen, things that are quite unusual, escaping my understanding. Saturday, in Pennsylvania, as I meditated, I had a thrilling experience like I went through a wormhole. It was . . . amazing!”

“You experienced an out-of-body event where your spirit left and you held consciousness of its travel. There are people who have meditated for years and have never been able to get to that level. The Watchers informed me they would give you tests as you progressed on your spiritual journey. I am certain that your out-of-body experience was such a test.”

Louis sensed he was beginning to understand what was going on. “Oh, so now this is a spiritual journey?”

“Everyone is on some kind of spiritual journey, Mr. Silvani. Some are just along for the ride, while others are more participatory. You have always had some sort of awareness of this aspect of yourself; only now, it is a bigger part of your life.”

“There was another event,” Louis said, compelled to offer more information in the hope he could fish for more as well. “Saturday night I dreamt of a crop circle in England with the chants of what sounded like a Tibetan Monk in the background. The next morning, while going through social media, I discovered that exact image posted by a woman who had sent me a friend request the previous night.”

Mary Ellen nodded. “That is synchronicity. It is your spirit telling you that you are on the right path.”

“That’s it? There’s no other significant meaning?”

“That’s it. Just stay the course.”

“Stay the course . . .” Louis shook his head, recalling how George Herbert Walker Bush used it as a repeated response during a presidential debate against Michael Dukakis in 1988. “Can you offer any more information about your plan?”

“As I mentioned, the information you are seeking will gradually be revealed to both of us as we continue the trip.”

Mary Ellen looked at her friends and motioned them to follow. She entered the small stuffy room. Kaja’s favorite chair was a single hammock, suspended from the ceiling. It was styled from a large laundry sack, dark gray, with a thick, soft teal cushion. Its sides tapered to a point above her head, giving her the much-needed feeling of being sheltered. She placed her hat under the chair and pressed herself deep into the cocoon, her head against the back. She would have closed it up if she could. Mary Ellen entered the room and sat closest to her, on a large dark brown cloth bean bag. Deborah and Louis followed suit and knelt on the thick cushions on the floor. Mary Ellen introduced the two strange faces. Kaja looked briefly at them, not saying a word. Louis and Deborah tried to act casually and cordially. Both felt uncomfortable. There was awkward silence.

Although she had already told her traveling companions about Kaja, Mary Ellen spoke about Kaja’s background.

“Roswell?!” Louis asked enthusiastically.

“YES! IT IS THE PLACE YOU CALL ROSWELL. I COULD REMEMBER IT LIKE IT WAS YESTERDAY. WE WERE SCIENTISTS. WE MEANT NO HARM. YOUR PEOPLE WERE WORKING WITH ATOMIC REACTIONS. WHEN YOUR PEOPLE DETONATED THE TWO BOMBS IT WAS LIKE AN ALARM THROUGHOUT THE UNIVERSAL COMMUNITY. YOUR SCIENTISTS DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE DAMAGE THOSE DETONATIONS HAVE DONE TO OTHER DIMENSIONS! THE RELEASE OF ENERGY IS SO GREAT, THE COMMUNITY WAS CONCERNED AND DISPATCHED SCIENTISTS TO LEARN MORE ABOUT YOUR PEOPLE. YOUR PEOPLE SHOULD NOT HAVE TECHNOLOGY THAT THEY DO NOT COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND.”

The Japanese Internment Camp was just southwest of town. Only one of the original buildings remained. The camp covered about 10,000 acres. It opened in August 1942 and had as many as 7,300 people. It closed in October 1945. Almost all of its occupants had been from California. Since it was a weekday during the school year, students were being led around the desolate site, their yellow buses idling in the parking lot. Evidence of the structures’ ominous existence was represented by exposed weathered concrete foundations framed by six equal square blocks with straight and narrow dirt roads, which looked like a giant tic-tac-toe design branded on the land. Knee-high dry shrubs dotted the landscape. The common appearance of dead fallen trees littering the site, combined with the aged and decayed foundations, made the place feel like a graveyard. The three visitors walked slowly among the building footprints, which evoked permanent chalk-line silhouettes at a crime scene.

The school children headed back to the buses, walking in the opposite direction of the three visitors. As the children’s voices became more distant, the visitors heard only the sound of the fall wind along the high plain. Browned brush dotting the barren soil contributed to the site’s harshness. Mary Ellen looked across the landscape and felt its emptiness. Mary Ellen sat down on a concrete foundation and closed her eyes. Gradually, images of cruel winters and oppressive summers came to her, framed in faces of detainees bereft with sorrow, not pain. She shared the sorrow and the sense of betrayal, wondering if the unjust treatment of the Japanese-Americans had been based on the risk of sabotage by sympathizers to the Empire of the Rising Sun. She then reasoned it had been predicated on something more sinister and less logical. She often wondered the same about how her people had been treated.

“I can do that.” Katrina stopped visualizing. “Bobby, take notes.”

Katrina rubbed her eyes, and returned to full concentration and awareness on the room and the others in it. She took a few moments to collect her thoughts, to make sure what she said next came out right the first time and wouldn’t need a lot of further explanation.

She cleared her throat. “It’s actually two entirely different facilities. The human side has a small footprint while the reptilian side is bigger, mostly corridors,” she began. “Both have seven levels. The human side is made of concrete. The ET side is excavated, like a rabbit warren. There are no straight lines inside. There are no stairs as we would build them, because their feet are too large, plus they use ramped tunnels that are too steep for humans. The reptilian lab is on the sixth level down on the north end. The team should enter a hatch closest to the reptilian side and go down to the lab. Once the fire alarms are activated or disarmed, airlocks separating the two facilities will open and stay open. Find the airlock on the sixth level to get to the lab. The lab rooms are arranged around the core that supplies power, communications, water, and ventilation. The human side is powered by one reactor located on the side closest to the river on the seventh level, which is at water level. The reptilians use Tesla technology with rods driven into the earth. They don’t use the wiring systems for power distribution; they use electromagnetic wireless power, which is not as vulnerable as conventional distribution systems. I am not going to work on the reactor. It’s too risky. If there is a leak, your team will be poisoned.”

Her adoptive parents had good intentions in showing her place of birth. Being strangers to the Native Americans, the town didn’t give them a warm welcome when they first arrived. They stopped at the reservation’s center: an old, rundown, single-story school building with a gym. The parents introduced themselves to the receptionist. They explained Mary Ellen was adopted years ago while the mother was in her teens and were curious about the mother and the father. They mentioned the mother’s last name was Velarde. Most of the Native American people on the reservation behaved as a tight group and preferred to keep things to themselves, away from outsiders. Another aspect of life on the reservation was clans, where many people were related to each other. The receptionist knew of the Velarde woman. She died in a highway accident when a logger heading the opposite direction crossed the centerline. Ironically, the father had been working jobs around the state in the timber industry. A drinking problem landed him in and out of jail. He was not living in Dulce, though she had many natural cousins, aunts, and uncles there. Upon understanding the situation, the receptionist made a few calls, enabling Mr. and Mrs. Grimes and Mary Ellen to visit relatives. She learned more about her family and the tribe’s history from her occasional visits. Gradually, she was accepted as one of them.

Meanwhile, Chief Martin and the NRO agents descended the stairwell. Martin was still sore from the injection. The second agent sensed that his feelings were an indication of getting close to one of the intruders. He advised Martin and the lead agent to continue down the stairs. They reached the sixth level, where they were taken by surprise by the smells of the smoke and fire coming from the opposite side of the facility. The second NRO agent took the lead, using his feelings to guide him. His pace quickened as he drew closer. With every step, he sensed a stronger feeling of togetherness. The lead agent followed, unaware of these feelings, trusting his partner. Chief Martin had no idea what was happening; he had no choice but to follow. They came to the airlock—and stopped.

“We are leaving our side, and we are about to go into the side of the Dracos! This is not allowed,” warned the lead agent.

“They are in there! I feel it!” replied the partner eagerly.

Martin stood silent. He had heard a word that he’d never heard before. “What’s going on? Who are the Dracos?”

“A race of reptilians that have made this part of Earth their home away from their home planet. The Organization has had a treaty with them for over 60 years.” The agent quickly changed the subject. “You feel it?” The lead NRO agent was indoctrinated to not allow feelings that would interfere with work.

“I can’t explain it. You have to trust me,” replied the partner. The three proceeded to enter the reptilian side of the base.

The airman continued in a drug-induced monotone voice. “I am assigned to test radar equipment here. We boarded a bus at Nellis, and we were dropped off here. The bus had the windows blackened so we couldn’t tell where we were going. It was about a two-hour ride and we were not allowed to talk to anyone in the bus. The people that monitored us seem to take pleasure in threatening us. The blond man there was one of the guards on the bus. Once the bus stopped, they blindfolded us and took us to our job sites. There, they took the blindfold off, and we checked the radar equipment while they monitored flying machines that have speed and maneuverability far beyond the capabilities of our best fighters. When our job was done for the day, they separated us. Each of us was blindfolded again. I don’t know what happened to the rest of the radar specialists. I got led into this underground building and they tortured me. I don’t know what they were going to do with me next.”

The exterior electric shop vehicles, which were diverted away from the substation, were positioned so the lights above the cab shone onto the shed. As the crew walked to inspect the building for damage, they smelled burning metal. One of the NCOs went back to the truck to retrieve an extinguisher and called the shop to report what they had found. Since there were no visible flames, there was no need for a fire unit. Another sergeant took out his ring of keys and, upon finding the right one, unlocked it. The smell was stronger, but there was no evident source of heat in the shed. Nor was there was a sign of an explosion or arcing. Opening the transformer cover, they were astonished to see the buss bars had melted and deformed. Nothing they were aware of, with all their training, would have caused that. The entire transformer would have to be replaced. In the meantime, repair workers would tow in a portable generator from the supply yard and install it up the line. Eventually, it would be connected to the transformer to restore power to the lights and the ECP.