Undisclosed

“Today’s lesson is on consciousness. Mr. Sutterfield, are you listening?”

Michael Andrew Sutterfield glanced at his new instructor. He estimated Joseph Williams to be in his early thirties. Half black, half Irish, bald and heavy-set, Michael found the man and his habit of posing questions he already knew the answers to be quite annoying. He wondered if the system had generated the character just to agitate him.

“You know I’m listening. It’s just you and me in this pod.”

“What was I speaking about?”

“Consciousness, what else?”

“The topic annoys you?”

“When will I be ready for CE-5 training?”

“An understanding of consciousness is a prerequisite for CE-5 training. Consciousness goes hand-in-hand when communicating with our ET delegates.”

Michael sat up. “Okay, teach me.”

The interior of the GVP-5000 transformed into a two-man vessel, Michael’s instructor strapped in next to him. One moment they were looking up at a brilliant blue sky, the next they were hurtling into a black velvet tapestry sparkling with a billion stars.

“Sweet!”

“I’m guessing this is your first simulated flight into space?”

“If you know it’s my first simulation, why ask?”

“Perhaps I am attempting to simulate conversation?”

They continued soaring out into space until the Earth was centered in the forward view screen.

“The universe is not only teeming with a multiplicity of intelligent life both in the physical and spiritual realm, Mr. Sutterfield, but the universe itself is a living, intelligent entity. One of the great fears the religious community had about disclosing the existence of other intelligent non-human species is that it would challenge the established religious dogmas. In fact we’ve learned that there is a unified singularity that runs through all existence — a pure cosmic consciousness that confirms God is absolutely part of the equation and we are all bound to it and to one another. And yet there is also separation, good and evil, the physical universe and the spiritual.

“To 21st century humans, the existence of non-human species that are far older and far more advanced than us was initially made frightening by the taboos the covert government had assigned to extraterrestrial vehicle sightings. While some of these civilizations may be tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands of years older than ours, there are also those that are millions of years more advanced. These species have evolved to exist outside of the physical realm, their appearances conjuring labels of angels and avatars.”

“But why Earth? What made them come here?”

“They were concerned. Among intelligent biologics, there is a natural progression that determines whether a maturing Type-Zero civilization will survive. Energy is the key to equality, and equality is what ultimately transforms a Type-Zero civilization into a Type-1 civilization. It is at this point that the dangers of splitting the atom are replaced by zero-point-energy. Type-2 civilizations terraform other worlds within their solar system while Type-3 civilizations — the highest level attainable for third dimension physical beings — have mastered transdimensional, faster-than-light travel, uniting them with the community of intelligent beings within their galaxy.”

Michael nodded. Screw humans. I want to know what the aliens know… I want to live how they live.

“Man had discovered zero-point-energy as far back as the early 1900s, only the technology was purposely stymied. From the 1950s on, a cabal composed of oil oligarchs, bankers, and defense contractors secretly black-shelved all ZPE breakthroughs, as well as all clean energy and anti-gravitic technologies. Greed not only caused billions of people to suffer needlessly, but the forced extension of the fossil fuel age was poisoning our planet.”

The view of Earth disappeared, becoming a river reflecting a clear blue sky. Brown-skinned children were playing along a grass-covered shoreline, elder men fishing from a modern pier.

“Do you recognize this city, Mr. Sutterfield?”

“I don’t know… somewhere in India maybe?”

“Correct. This is the Yamuna River in New Delhi… the way it looks today thanks to a robust economy ushered in by zero-point-energy. Over a hundred state-of-the-art sewage and water treatment plants were opened in the last fifteen years. New clean energy industries have taken root, employing what was once a destitute and dying lower class. Now observe the same scene twenty years ago.”

The image changed, the river darkening into brown sludge, its putrid surface specked by islands of garbage. Piles of refuse lined the shore. The pier was gone, replaced by a wrought-iron bridge, its belly bleeding rust into the waterway. Naked children bathed and drank in the shallows while adults unabashedly squatted into the cesspool, emptying their bowels.

“That’s disgusting. Don’t they have toilets?”

“The toilets are backed up with raw sewage, and there are no sources of clean water. And it wasn’t just the Yamuna. Eighty percent of India’s human waste ended up in its rivers, which could no longer support life. Dysentery and disease swept through the country, the death toll in the millions. But water pollution was not their only problem. Air pollution, caused by vehicles and coal-fired plants had created dark cloud banks of smog which covered much of India and China, blotting out the sunlight needed to grow crops while altering weather patterns in North America.”

The scene changed again, this time to an African village where half-naked dark skinned natives were running in fear from dark-skinned soldiers firing assault rifles. Several women carrying young children were chased into a white stucco church.

The teen found the violence enticing. “Where is this place?”

“At the time, the nation was known as South Sudan. The country remained divided by a civil war between multiple tribes that raged for decades. The men assaulting those women were members of the White Army, a heavily armed Nuer civilian youth brigade. Invading a Dinka village, they would steal their livestock and then rape and mutilate the women, butchering the men and enslaving their children. Unable to farm, the people were systematically starving to death. Things got so bad that two million Africans actually abandoned their homes to live in refugee camps. One of the poorest countries in the world, South Sudan and its people had no future… until a new energy technology was introduced in Africa.

“This is New South Sudan today.”

As Michael watched, the image of the burning straw thatched huts faded into a modern rural community of brick and mortar. An agriculture center sat adjacent to miles of corn fields, the crops supplied with water from feeder pipes linked to high-tech industrial wells powered by small hockey-puck-sized devices — the zero-point-energy unit humming with power.

The view changed. Rising silently in the sky, Michael looked down upon a new network of tarmac roads connecting African village to African village. Soaring higher, he passed over a gleaming metropolis before heading west over the Sahara.

What was once tens of thousands of square miles of empty desert had been transformed into farmland communities, the crops, orchards, and grasslands drawing water from man-made reservoirs. Above-ground pipes connected these enormous caches to city-size filtration plants situated along the Atlantic Ocean.

Michael knew about these giant desalination factories; each was powered by a zero-point-energy device no larger than the pod he was now sitting in. The Sahara Project was not only feeding the African and Asian continents with pesticide-free food, but the artificial lakes and reservoirs — each built with retractable roofs — had been strategically placed to disrupt the intense dry summer heat rising over North Africa’s desert — the cause of Atlantic Ocean-bound hurricanes. As a result, man could now diffuse one of the deadliest and most costly weather systems on the planet.

With free, clean and abundant energy, anything was possible.

His instructor continued the tour, contrasting the problems of the past with the solutions of the present. They traversed the Persian Gulf where oil refineries and rigs had been replaced by modern neighborhoods; then flew over the California coast where desalination plants similar to the ones used in the Sahara. They ensured the harsh droughts, which had threatened to extend the desert all the way to the Pacific coastline, would never return.

After a few more stops, Michael found himself back in space, staring once more at the Earth.

“We are now observing our planet as it appeared twenty years ago.”

“It looks about the same to me.”

“The extinction threat cannot be seen by the naked eye.”

As Michael watched, a lime-green haze appeared to bloom over North America. “What is that?”

“Methane. It is a greenhouse gas thirty-five times stronger than carbon dioxide. For decades methane had been escaping from underground coal seams and at natural gas rigs. The oceans absorbed much of this methane, along with CO2 from coal plants and carbon monoxide from cars. Then a new technique known as fracking was introduced.

“Fracking released intolerable levels of methane gas, but because the gas was invisible and the fracking generated vast amounts of wealth, humanity was slow to act. Then, in 2017, the Trump Administration removed virtually every environmental safeguard, and within two years, our planet experienced a runaway greenhouse effect.

“Over three hundred million people died of cancer and respiratory illnesses related to methane poisoning from 2019 through 2021; their deaths kept hidden from the public. Another two billion starved when the planet’s ecosystem shut down because of banks of smog clouds which blanketed parts of Earth’s atmosphere, cutting off the amount of sunlight needed to grow food.

Only the planet-wide shut down of fossil fuels, coupled with the advent of zero-point-energy and new technologies which eventually reversed greenhouse gases, prevented Earth from ending up like Mars—

— a dead world.”

12

The late night TV host sat behind his studio desk, allowing his wife, Claire, to powder the shine on his forehead.

Richard Gatenby was born and raised in Portsmouth, a city in the south of England. He had dropped out of school at sixteen, was married by nineteen, and spent most of his free time playing football (rugby) where his “win or die” persona could be properly directed. When a brutal tackle by two rivals sidelined him with a broken leg and a ruptured thigh muscle, the weekend brawler channeled his gregarious personality into a satirical talk show called “Let’s Get Randy with Dickie.” Uploaded onto YouTube, the videos quickly went viral where he was discovered by a program director for a local FOX affiliate in Dallas, Texas… and another talk show phenomenon was born.

Gatenby chased his wife back behind the curtain as his producer signaled that they were coming out of commercial. Locating the teleprompter, he waited for his D.J. and co-host, Kyle Knori, to finish playing Abracadabra by the Steve Miller Band.

“Thank you, K.K. My next guest is a retired United States Army Colonel who has written a book about aliens… and not the ones we’re building a wall to keep out… let’s give a big Dickie welcome to Colonel Alexander Johnston!”

The white-haired man in his seventies waved at the studio audience as he strode across the stage to occupy the vacant couch next to the tattooed Brit.

Dickie held up the hard cover book that was lying on his desk. “The book is called, UFOs and Extraterrestrials: All You Need to Know. Personally, I need to know a lot. But before we talk about the book, let’s get a bit randy, shall we? You’ve had an interesting career, Colonel. Back in ’Nam, you commanded Special Forces ‘A’ Teams.”

“That’s correct.”

“Ever kill anyone?”

“Suffice it to say, I’ve seen my share of death.”

“You’ve not only seen your share of it… I understand you earned a degree in it?”

“Thanatology. It’s the study of death and dying and the psychological mechanisms of dealing with them.”

“Seems like a strange major. For the final, did you have to go out and kill someone?”

The colonel grimaced through the sustained applause and laughter.

“The subject of thanatology deals with the thoughts and reactions of the dying, something that varies from culture to culture. How an oncologist or priest prepares a terminal patient for death in America is far different than what a shaman in the jungles of Thailand will do. I was most interested in the multitude of reactions of the dying.”

“Is that how you earned the nickname, ‘Dr. Death?’ ”

The colonel forced a smile. “That was more of an academic nickname.”

“After ’Nam, you returned to the states where you went to work at the Los Alamos National Laboratory. This is a place normally associated with a whole lot of death and destruction, yes?”

“True. Los Alamos is where the U.S. government conducted its top-secret nuclear weapons programs.”

“But that’s not what you did?”

“No. My focus was on developing non-lethal warfare programs.”

“Is that because of all the death you witnessed in Vietnam?”

“I just felt that there were more efficient methods of subduing an enemy than scorching the earth with napalm.”

“For instance?”

“Well, let’s say your village was being threatened by a hostile air force. Instead of shooting them down, you could direct an electromagnetic pulse that would scramble their controls and have them dropping out of the sky.”

The colonel smiled at the applause.

“Speaking of things dropping out of the sky… UFOs. Are they real, or is this all nonsense?”

“Before I answer that, Dickie, let’s be clear here — I am not your average Joe. I’ve spent most of my adult life in the military and as a government liaison. Having spoken to hundreds of pilots and radar personnel, my view on UFOs is that, of the tens of thousands of sightings on record, approximately 5 % remain unexplained. Having investigated both the military’s and the government’s responses to these unexplained sightings, I am convinced there is definitely something to these encounters. However, I can also state unequivocally that there is no government or military cover-up, no conspiracy.”

“What about Roswell?”

“As I’ve detailed in my book, the Roswell crash was nothing more than a top secret military program called Project Mogul. It was essentially a weather balloon experiment that a bunch of yokels turned into an episode of War of the Worlds. Unfortunately, the American public, God bless ’em, can get a little riled up.”

Boos rose from the studio audience.

The colonel responded with a smirk. “Settle down. I didn’t say I don’t believe in UFOs. I was simply telling you the truth about Roswell.”

“Dr. Death, have you ever heard of Steven Greer? We had him on the show two weeks ago talking about his new book, UNACKNOWLEDGED: An Exposé of the World’s Greatest Secret, and I think he might disagree with you about Roswell.”

“Dr. Greer is a charlatan.”

More boos.

“Now, hear me out. Greer makes a lot of money taking groups out to the desert and other remote areas to talk to the aliens. It’s a bunch of nonsense, and it’s one of the reasons I wrote my book — to protect the unsuspecting public from being ripped off.”

The host held up his hands, attempting to calm his audience. “Easy now. The man has a right to his opinion, just as you have a right not to buy his book.”

The boos changed to applause.

“I don’t think they like you, Dr. Death.”

The colonel’s face flushed pink.

“Colonel, I understand you were part of a group of researchers and scientists who investigated reports of cattle mutilations and other strange alien occurrences. Was that our Mexican aliens sneaking over the border, or were these actual ETs?”

“It’s hard to say, Dickie.”

“Whoa… fella. This is public TV. You can’t say ‘Dickie’ and ‘it’s hard’ together.”

Laughter.

“Hey Al, I just realized… we’ve got a Dickie and a Johnson sharing the same stage. This interview just turned into a sausage party!”

More laughter, followed by wild applause — prodded by the producer.

“Actually, it’s Johnston… Colonel Alexander Johnston.”

“Do aliens have penises? You never hear about that, only the anal probes. Wish we could talk more about aliens and alien sex but that’s all the time we have for this segment. The book is called, UFOs and Extraterrestrials: All You Need to Know. The author, Colonel Death… I mean Johnson. We’ll be right back with Theresa Ritter and her flock of sheep dogs.”

Before the colonel could correct the annoying Brit again, he was cut off by the Steve Miller Band’s Abracadabra.

“Thanks for being a good sport, Colonel.”

The white-haired military man’s eyes seemed to burn through the back of Richard Gatenby’s skull.

“You will not sleep well tonight.”

The vault was located underground, two miles beneath the Dugway Proving Grounds near Provo, Utah. The man who had personally trained the “Army grunts” operating the EMS unit stood just outside the tunnel entrance to the facility, awaiting instructions from his commanding officer.

Scott Muse swallowed the bile rising in his esophagus. He chased it back down with a sip of bottled water, then dug inside the pocket of his lab coat and fished out the roll of antacids. Peeling back the foil, he popped two of the chewable tablets into his mouth, hoping to settle the acid reflux. He had stronger stuff at home — prescription meds. But much like his job, they carried the threat of long-term side-effects.

Seven and a half more months and you can retire… assuming the colonel lets me walk.

What if I got my gastro guy to write up a report saying that I have cancer of the esophagus? He’d have to let me go then.

Or what if it really is cancer and the bastard gave it to me…

Four decades had passed since the engineer had been recruited straight out of the University of Cincinnati by NASA on the recommendation of Wernher von Braun, the German rocket scientist who had practically founded the U.S. space program. The year was 1975 and Muse — then a doctoral candidate — had published his second paper on anti-gravitics. Von Braun recognized a budding genius and set out to recruit him before health issues forced his own retirement. Interviews were conducted, an offer made — and then another recruiter came calling.

Major General Sebastian J. Appleton identified himself as the Director of U.S. Army Intelligence. A project under his command had run into technical challenges and he wanted Scott to join their team. An interview was arranged, the candidate flown first-class into Salt Lake City, where a limousine drove him south to the city of Provo.

A generic tour of the military base led to dinner at Scott’s hotel where Appleton made the engineer a lucrative offer. It was far more money than what NASA had on the table, but there were also red flags. Scott and his wife would have to move to Utah, and the project was strictly top-secret — no doubt funded by the Pentagon. In the end, the choice came down to science versus the military, and Muse passed.

But Appleton had one more card to play.

At four in the morning, Scott was awakened in his hotel room by two MPs who loaded him into the backseat of an awaiting car. After being forced at gunpoint to sign a national security oath, he was blindfolded and driven to an unknown destination. Forty minutes later, he found himself standing besides the Major General on a barren plateau beneath a pre-dawn gray sky.

Towering before them, floating ten feet off the ground was a flying saucer.

“This is what we call an ARV, an Alien Reproduction Vehicle. We built it by reverse-engineering the extraterrestrial crafts that were downed over the last three decades by our scalar weapon system. Although the ARV is not nearly as advanced as the real thing, it’s fully capable of accessing any star system in the Milky Way. As you can see, it uses anti-gravitics, similar to what you wrote about.

“Join us, and you’ll find yourself working on cutting-edge technologies you never dreamed of.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you’re free to go. Of course, if you ever discuss any of this we’ll bring you back and let you pick out a burial plot.”

Forty years…

Appleton was not exaggerating, the projects involving ET technologies were so far above the latest developments in physics they essentially reduced his degrees to toilet paper. But while the work was exhilarating, MJ-12’s autocratic rules and the paranoia their military force instilled on a daily basis took its toll on his nerves.

And why couldn’t they share these incredible technologies with the rest of the world? Zero-point-energy alone could eliminate hunger and poverty, not to mention the benefits to the environment that would come from replacing fossil fuels.

Dr. Muse knew he wasn’t the only one who felt this way. As the years passed, he grew bolder, openly discussing the matter with colleagues as he attempted to push the envelope of tolerance.

Appleton responded by transferring him into another USAP — a covert intelligence program overseen by the man known and feared within the subterranean communities as “Dr. Death.”

Colonel Alexander Johnston had developed a psychotronic device which used scalar waves to alter a subject’s consciousness, behavior, and decisions. Add some stage craft, and suddenly the “evil aliens” were abducting good-hearted, blue-collared suburban folk whose stories held up to lie-detector tests.

Set high enough, a scalar wave could literally separate the spark of consciousness that was the soul from the physical body, killing the subject.

It was the ultimate mind-control device, free of any congressional oversight, and as Scott Muse soon learned, the subjects were not always random civilians.

The engineer’s first VIP was the brother of a Crown Prince whose family ran a powerful banking empire in Europe. Coordinates to the man’s sleep chamber inside his castle were provided by members of a covert paramilitary group operating in conjunction with the CIA.

Using a reverse-engineered Alien Reproduction Vehicle and man-made extraterrestrials cloned in a lab, the brother of Prince Hans-Adams of Liechtenstein awoke in bed, only to find his body paralyzed as it was atomized and whisked on board a flying saucer. For the next several hours, four-foot gray-skinned extraterrestrials probed and prodded the terrified human, all the while communicating through mental telepathy that aliens were responsible for every conflict on Earth since man first fell from the trees.

Their final message before he was released dealt with a plan to enslave humankind.

Scott Muse later learned why the man had been targeted. An ally of Dr. Steven Greer, the prince was contemplating funding his project for disclosure. Following his brother’s abduction, the Prince changed his mind, donating a large amount of money instead to fund a black budget weapons program designed to thwart an alien invasion.

Scott Muse answered his iPhone on the first ring. “Yes, Colonel?”

“Has the subject’s coordinates been obtained?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then let’s put the fear of the Almighty in him.”

Muse entered the vault where two of his crew were seated at their electronic surveillance stations. “Is he asleep?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take him.”

Having locked onto the subject using his iPhone, the EMS operator powered up the scalar device.

Richard “Dickie” Gatenby awoke to discover his voice box was frozen, his body completely paralyzed. To his utter horror, he was no longer in his bedroom — instead, he was lying naked on a cold metal table, staring up at strange floating colored lights.

He choked on his breath — his airway constricting as the extraterrestrial leaned over him, revealing bulging lidless black eyes, its skin gray and hairless. Using a probe, the four-foot biped pried open his mouth and set to work on his upper gum line.

The throttle of noise coming out of Gatenby’s throat was more of a high-pitched grunt than a scream — he had not felt the sharp stab, only a slight pressure and the momentary sensation of warm blood drizzling down his chin.

A second Grey appeared, its four-digit hand cold and clammy as it probed Gatenby’s lifeless right arm. A pinch was followed by the sensation of more blood being drawn.

The talk show host passed out.

He awoke to feel himself floating. A wave of pins and needles passed through him and suddenly he was outside, staring at a cloudy night sky until his atomized body passed through his home’s second story window, his astral mind returning to his physical body with an electrical zap!

“Ahh! Ahhh!”

“Dickie? Dickie, wake up!”

He felt Claire’s hands on his shoulders, her grip shaking the paralysis from his body. Sitting up, he rolled out of bed and staggered to the window, his fingers separating the slats of the Venetian blinds so he could see outside.

Gone…

“Dickie, what is it?”

Staggering into the bathroom, he fumbled with the light switch as he examined his upper gums in the mirror.

Nothing there… wait!

Feeling a tender spot with his tongue, he pulled back his upper lip—

— revealing a white mouth sore.

“Dickie, are you all right? You look as pale as a ghost. And you’re trembling.”

“That bloody colonel… he did something.”

“It was just a bad dream.”

“No, Claire… this was real!”

“What was real?”

The English talk show host contemplated a response. He knew what he had experienced was real; he also realized how it would sound to his wife.

You’ll lose her. She’ll insist on having me see a psychiatrist and when I stick to my story and insist I’m right, she’ll assume I took too many shots to the head playing rugby and she’ll leave me… right after she has me committed.

“Sorry, Claire. What I meant was it seemed real. Just a bad dream…”

“Come back to bed.”

Bed? Hell, no… I’ll not be sleeping anytime soon.

“You go on, hon. I’m just going to fix a cup of tea.”

Scott Muse gazed at the subject’s vital signs coming across the EMS monitors in real time. Fear, anxiety, confusion, depression — he had seen it all before. And yet the engineer knew that the target had gotten off lucky.

Colonel Johnston was not a man you’d want to provoke. Wearing the calm mask of a sociopath, it was the thanatologist’s presence among MAJI’s Council that kept the more progressive members in check.

Yet even they had stood up to Dr. Death a decade ago when he had used the EMS weapon to remotely deliver malignant cancer cells via scalar waves to a congressman and two civilians who had become a thorn in MJ-12’s side.

Two had died — the politician and a woman. The lone survivor was the man who had been responsible for briefing high-ranking members of the Pentagon about UFOs and the ET’s technology—

— Dr. Steven M. Greer.

13

Adam Shariak handed his ticket to security. Placing his coffee on the desk, he held up his arms to allow a second guard to pass a hand-held metal detector over his body, the device squealing as it moved over his left pant leg.

“It’s a prosthesis.”

“I’ll have to pat you down.”

“Knock yourself out.”

Adam waited while the man ran his palms up and down his pant leg and stump, a chore he was forced to endure whenever he entered a Federal building or made his way through airport security.

“Thank you, sir. Enjoy the presentation.”

He limped inside Ballroom-C, surprised at the size of the crowd. Twelve hundred folding chairs faced the small stage and lectern and almost every spot was occupied. He managed to locate a vacant seat in the middle of the tenth row but had to squeeze his way past an obstacle course of unyielding feet and purses in order to reach it.

Settling in, he noticed a familiar face working security. Tech Sergeant Hershel Eugene Evans, United States Air Force… Been a while, amigo.

Adam turned back to the stage as a tall, muscular Caucasian man in his late fifties strode toward the podium to enthusiastic applause.

“Good morning. My name is Dr. Steven M. Greer and I am the founder of the Disclosure Project and CSETI, the Center for the Study of Extraterrestrial Intelligence, as well as the Orion Project. I would like to welcome all of you to this presentation on the secret government and the UFO cover-up. You’re going to learn things that have been kept from every sitting U.S. president since John F. Kennedy, representatives in congress, heads of state, and members of the Joint Chiefs. I know this, because in many cases, I was the one who briefed them.

“What I speak of now will sound like Conspiracy Theory 101, and yet it is absolutely true, and we have thousands of classified documents and hundreds of eyewitnesses with top security clearances to prove it. Whether you accept anything I say this morning is up to you, but what I say now is absolutely true: There are two U.S. governments… the government of We The People represented by our elected officials, and a shadow government made up of mid-level functionaries whose roots trace back to a black budget organization launched in 1956 by President Dwight D. Eisenhower. This group, which was known back then as Majestic-12, was tasked with overseeing and keeping from the public the most astounding discovery in the history of the world — the existence of extraterrestrial life. It is this secret regime which covertly runs the USAPs — the Unacknowledged Special Access Projects — which are presently being funded to the tune of $80 billion a year in taxpayer money, without the knowledge of the American people, nor the oversight of congress or the president. When it comes to these two governments, the right hand does not know what the left hand is doing, and in many cases, they don’t want to know. Innocent people have been murdered, including members of my team, close friends, military personnel, intelligence directors, and scientists. They were not murdered because they witnessed UFOs — millions of people share these close encounters. They were killed because they were perceived as a threat to bring out advanced energy technologies that would change the lives of the seven billion people living on this planet.”

Adam felt the blood rush from his face.

“How did this all come about? Let’s get that out of the way first since it is the easiest part to explain. UFOs are real; they are of extraterrestrial origin and they have been around for decades, if not centuries.”

All eyes looked up as a large overhead screen came to life. The first video footage was taken using a night telescope, the heavens appearing emerald green. Moving rapidly within a visual sphere across a brilliant tapestry of stars was a triangular object, its underside appearing as three points of light.

The scene changed to a day shot. What began as an iPhone selfie on a crowded street in London, turned to the skies high above the city where several white saucer-shaped objects darted in and out of the clouds at incredible speeds, only to come to a complete stop before taking off again.

The next video was filmed by a passenger from their window seat inside a South Korean commercial jet. Several thousand feet below the aircraft, a white disk-shaped object suddenly darted above a cityscape, moving incredibly fast. This was followed by a dusk shot taken in Mexico City of two circular craft soaring majestically overhead.

The next scene was a night shot overlooking the city of Jerusalem. Hovering above the Dome of the Rock was a dazzling, spinning drone-like speck of light. It remained steady for a good thirty seconds before suddenly launching straight up and disappearing into the heavens in a split second.

The final footage was taken of the moon using a high-powered telescope. Leaping off the lunar surface, like sparks from a flame, were dozens of white specks — fast-moving craft scattering into space.

Greer continued, “Watching these videos, the mind still struggles to accept that any of this is real, and yet instinctively, we know that it is. The conflict is that, all our lives, we’ve been told by the government and the official ‘gatekeepers of the truth’ that UFOs aren’t real, and that anyone who believes in ETs is crazy. In a sense, the UFO provides its own best cover; for to believe in it and discuss a sighting is to welcome ridicule.

“To be honest, my own first reaction to what you just saw and are about to hear was, ‘Yeah, right.’ Understand, I am not a NASA scientist nor a member of any covert organization. I am an emergency room physician and the former chairman of the Department of Emergency Medicine at Caldwell Memorial Hospital. But then confirmation after confirmation, and independent corroboration after independent corroboration, convinced me the information I was being made privy to was real, and by then I was saying, ‘Oh God…’

“The information I am about to reveal comes from private meetings and long discussions I have had with very senior and relevant military, intelligence, political, and private corporate sources. The search for truth regarding these secret projects has brought me to heads of state, royalty, CIA officials, NSA operatives, U.S. and foreign military leaders, politicians, and high-tech corporate contractors.

“The process began in earnest in July of 1993 when a small group of military and civilian personnel involved with the UFO matter met, at my request, to discuss how my group could best liaison with the government. In the previous year, CSETI had facilitated two near-landing events of ET spacecraft in England and Mexico and we wanted to be sure, given these incredible developments, that we could proceed with our mission with a measure of safety for both our team and for the extraterrestrial visitors, whom we regarded as our guests. We wanted a senior point of contact within the chain of command who knew what we were doing. We wanted to be clear that our actions should be regarded as a citizen’s diplomacy effort — that a stand-down order was in place that protected us from any military intervention in the U.S. or abroad.

“Over the next several months that followed, members of our team participated in discussions and briefings with government, military, intelligence, political, international and private leaders from around the world. What we learned seemed surreal, unimaginable and bizarre. Beginning as early as World War II, officials in the U.S. government knew we were not alone, that there were advanced machines flying around in certain regions of the European conflict which neither belonged to the Allies nor to the Germans. Referred to as ‘foo-fighters,’ these vehicles, whether solid or harbored in an energy field which enabled them to pass through solid objects, were clearly extraterrestrial in nature.

“It quickly became apparent from the many sightings of UFOs at our nuclear installations, that our Interstellar visitors were quite concerned with the testing of atomic weapons used on Nagasaki and Hiroshima, as well as the development and testing of the far more lethal hydrogen bomb that followed World War II. The downing and retrieval of ET spacecraft in 1947 in the Roswell, New Mexico vicinity, and in 1948 in Kingman, Arizona forced the Oval Office and military into action.

“How did these interstellar propulsion systems work? Were there weapons on board? In the wake of World War II and the burgeoning Cold War, there was a real concern about falling behind the Soviets. What if these new technologies were leaked out? To say we were facing a quantum leap in technological capability is an understatement, and of course, we wanted it for ourselves. National security demanded that this entire matter be kept quiet at all costs. And no cost was spared in doing so.

“But there was one very large and busy fly in this ointment: The ETs were flying over the skies of America, sometimes in formation, and before thousands of witnesses. How do you hide that?

“The answer is — the mind hides it. In an Orwellian twist, it was found from past psychological warfare efforts that if you told a lie often enough, and the lie is repeated by ‘respected’ figures in authority, the public will accept it as fact. One of the masters of psychological warfare during World War II was put in charge of this diversionary tactic in the late 1940s. General Walter Bedell Smith helped coordinate the psychological warfare components of this ET problem and helped launch the big lie: UFOs, even though millions had reported seeing them, did not exist.

“For every sighting which made its way into the public eye, there would be an official denial, and worse, public ridicule of the observers themselves. Harvard Astronomer Donald Menzel was trotted out to tell the world that it was all hysteria; that UFOs were not real; that it was all embarrassing nonsense. The CIA upped the ante by staging alien abductions, relegating future ET or UFO encounters to shlock newspapers, leading any respectable journalist and scientist to avoid the subject like the plague.

“In the mid-1950s, a new model for covert projects evolved. By then, the entire UFO matter had been largely privatized and ran ten levels deep in the black ops community. It was also operating outside the constitutional chain of command of the United States or any other government. First hand witnesses have told us that President Eisenhower was furious. This was a former five-star general who had seen the ET spacecraft and bodies for himself, and yet suddenly, he was being kept out of the loop? Is it any wonder that this conservative Republican president made it a point to warn the American public about the ‘military industrial complex’ in his last address to the nation? Clearly, President Eisenhower realized he had lost control of his Frankenstein’s monster.

“Fast forward to June of 1963: President Kennedy is flying to Berlin to deliver his famous speech proclaiming ‘I am a Berliner.’ On board Air Force One is a military man who relates the following: ‘On the long flight to Germany, Kennedy began discussing the UFO matter with me. He admitted that he knew the UFOs were real — he had seen the evidence — but stated the whole matter was out of his hands and he didn’t know why. Kennedy said that he wanted the truth to come out, but that he couldn’t do it. And this was the President of the United States, the Commander in Chief of the armed forces!’

“But there was someone who JFK had been sharing this information with who did want to talk… and it got her killed.”

Greer placed a document onto the overhead projector. Dated 3 August 1962, the wire-tap report was typed on CIA letterhead and stamped TOP-SECRET. Worn with age, certain sections were difficult to read, but the subject’s identity was quite clear: Marilyn Monroe.

“This document, which has been authenticated by experts, describes how Marilyn Monroe — who had been recently jilted by the Kennedy brothers — was upset and hurt, and called Robert Kennedy and a socialite in New York — an art dealer friend of hers. According to this transcript, Ms. Monroe states her intention to set up a press conference and inform the public about what Jack Kennedy had told her regarding objects from outer space that had crashed and been retrieved in New Mexico in the 1940s. President Kennedy had apparently confided to her during pillow talk that he had seen the ET craft and debris from the UFO crash. This still top-secret document is dated the day before the night they found Marilyn Monroe dead. Since being presented with this document, I’ve located someone who was with the Los Angeles Police Department intelligence unit who helped facilitate the wiretapping and monitoring of Miss Monroe up to the time of her death, and actually knew how they killed her. There is no doubt that she was murdered by agents of the United States intelligence community, her death made to look like an overdose. As you can see, this document was signed by James Jesus Angleton III, the legendary fanatical mole hunter and leak stopper within the CIA. This document, in my opinion, was a death warrant for Marilyn Monroe because it summarized what she was intending to do rather imminently. I don’t think she knew what she had stumbled onto, in terms of the kind of blowback her intentions were going to generate. When I showed this document to the actor, Burl Ives, a friend of the late actress, he said, ‘Marilyn Monroe and I knew each other very well and I can tell you this: All of us who knew her were sure she had been murdered, but it wasn’t until seeing this document that I knew why.’

“Some of the people that Burl knew were good friends with Ronald Reagan. He was able to confirm an exchange that I had heard from other sources that had been with the president during the screening of Close Encounters of the Third Kind. This movie was more of a docudrama than sci-fi. The storyline was inspired by secret Air Force files Steven Spielberg managed to gain access to while visiting Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. Ronald Reagan turned to the people who were at the White House screening and said, ‘There are only a couple people in this room who know how true this movie really is.’

“The Center for the Study of Extraterrestrial Intelligence has been engaging in what we call CE-5 or Close Encounters initiated by humans. In order to communicate with species that may be thousands to millions of years more advanced than ours required us to think outside the box. There is no question that extraterrestrial life forms have found their way to our planet, the question is… how does a biological travel across vast interstellar distances within the specie’s natural life time? Further, how does one communicate with their home world across such vast distances of space?

“Let’s begin by examining the challenges of interstellar travel just within our own galaxy. The Milky Way is approximately 100,000 to 180,000 light years in diameter — a light year being the distance a beam of light will travel in one year at a speed of 186,000 miles per second. If an extraterrestrial life form comes from a star system say, a thousand light years away — a distance considered within our own galactic neighborhood — then it would take one thousand years for the life form just to get to Earth traveling at light speed and another thousand years to get home again. That’s two thousand years. While these travelers could technically be cryogenically put to sleep for the trip, everyone they knew on their home world would have long since died, rendering this method of travel unlikely. Further, using the methods of communication available to humans — radio, microwaves, TV or any other electromagnetic signal — it would again take a thousand years for a transmission traveling at the speed of light to communicate with an ET’s home world once they arrived on Earth, and another thousand years for the ET’s planet to answer back. In either case, it’s safe to assume that any star-faring civilization must have developed technologies that allow them to skirt beyond the boundaries of linear space-time — a term we refer to as interdimensional or multidimensional shifting. That we have yet to discover the means to detect these other-worldly dimensions does not mean they do not exist. Gamma rays have always existed; yet it took a scientific breakthrough to discover them.

“What lies beyond the crossing point of light? What does one experience when you exceed the speed of light? What exists beyond this third dimensional barrier?

“It may surprise you to learn that humans are quite capable of accessing these higher plains of existence. As a teen, I studied Sanskrit and read the Vedas, the ancient sacred literature of India. I learned about meditation and the concept of transcendence, which fit quite comfortably into my psyche. When I could find free time, I’d take long bike trips out into the countryside. Seeking a connection with nature, I’d lie in a field and practice meditation. At times I’d find my consciousness leaving my body to observe other parts of Charlotte, or to visit other areas of the world. During several out-of-body experiences, I even ventured into space.”

Adam choked on a laugh, following it up with a cough.

“When I was seventeen I injured my left thigh. A horrible infection developed in my leg and spread throughout my body. I became septic, which means my bloodstream was infected, and I broke out in a very high fever. I was spiraling toward death, not fully understanding the severity of my condition. It brought me to a near-death experience where I found myself suddenly released from my body. I was carried out into the depths of space — a place where I already felt at home. Then I experienced what I now understand to be God consciousness, where my individuality became faint as it merged with the unbounded pure infinite Mind… there was no duality. This lasted for what seemed to be an eternity because a normal sense of time disappears in that state of being. I could see all of creation, the vastness of the cosmos, and it was beautiful beyond words. From our limited third-dimensional perspective I had died, and yet there was nothing frightening about it — only infinite awareness, joy, and the perception of an endless perfect creation.

“Eventually, two brilliant and scintillating lights approached out of the stars. I now understand them to have been Avatars — manifestations of God. They appeared as brilliant points of light… pure, conscious energy. As the Avatars came near, I entered a state of oneness with them. It was incredibly beautiful. Communication existed, only non-verbally. Imagine instead of saying the word ‘apple,’ the actual image of the apple is received. And within that conscious image is the pure idea form of the apple itself — its essence. That is how information was being transmitted to me, and I am convinced it is how ET civilizations communicate instantaneously over great distances.

“I have no sense of how long this union lasted. I was affected by the beauty of it all, yet felt very overwhelmed at the same time. Eventually the episode moved into more of a linear style of communication. One of the Avatars said, ‘You may come with us or return to Earth.’ I had the presence of mind to ask, ‘Well, what is your will?’ And the being replied, ‘It is our desire that you go back to Earth to do other things.’ I became depressed, having no interest at that point in coming back to the physical world. But I somehow knew the highest response of human will is acceptance of the Divine will, and I agreed to return. I lost consciousness and fell back into my body with a sort of whoosh.

“I was back in my body, but I must have been out long enough to lose conscious connection with all of my neural centers. My sensory input was working; I remember seeing the maple tree outside the little apartment, its branches moving in the wind against a street light. But I couldn’t move. I thought I had been so damaged from this severe infection that I’d been paralyzed from a stroke. Fortunately, that turned out to be a temporary phenomenon; we now know that in the case of prolonged near-death experiences, it takes time for the person to be reconnected to their physical body.

“Then I felt a being in the room with me; it was sent there to test my will to live. It was a frightening but perhaps a necessary, experience which forced me to use my willpower to remain here. This force was trying to pull my soul back out of my body. I had to exercise volition to remain in the physical and keep my astral body of light and my consciousness integrated with it. And after about half a dozen tries, I nailed it and remained here. It was only then that I regained full use of my motor skills.

“This near-death experience not only altered my life, it prepared me for the challenges still to come. I now know from direct experience that God does exist, as do His messengers. I learned that death is not to be feared, that in fact, there is no death — only an interdimensional transformation from one state into another… a state that is accessible to our extraterrestrial visitors.

“This was confirmed to me many years later by a gentleman who had worked in the Air Force and also with Kelly Johnson at Lockheed Skunkworks. His excuse for contacting me was to offer to be one of the CSETI military witnesses to UFO events, but what he really wanted was to get my feedback on an experience which he’d had in the mid-1960s. At that time he was studying a tradition which helped people to experience out-of-body or astral projections. One day his teacher told him that he was ready to have such an experience fairly soon, and in fact that evening, he indeed had his first OBE. But what happened shocked him. As soon as he left his physical body, he shot straight up through the ceiling and out of his house into space — only to slam into the side of an extraterrestrial spacecraft hovering over Earth in a higher dimension. His spirit literally rocked the spacecraft and he popped inside the vessel whereupon he saw some ETs at a console. He said, ‘Steven, they looked over, saw me, and their expression seemed to say, ‘My God, man, why don’t you watch where you are going!’ ”

Dr. Greer paused as members of the audience laughed and applauded.

“I have no doubt that this man was telling me the absolute truth about what he experienced — that the form of energy of his astral projection or lucid dream matched that of an extraterrestrial craft hovering in interdimensional space. This makes perfect sense, for it is within this state of consciousness that human to ET communication takes place.

“I have taught members of our team how to remote view our location to any passing ETs, and we use this technique to vector them to our location. We also use musical tones and high-powered lasers. With these tools and techniques, we have succeeded in initiating contact with extraterrestrials that are biological beings which rely on spacecraft, as well as advanced species that are non-physical yet sentient and perfectly capable of communicating with humans.

“These ET civilizations are all capable of interstellar travel and they operate on the other side of the light/matter barrier as easily as we use radio signals and fly on jets. They communicate instantaneously using thought energy. This is their reality; their cell phone and automobile. This is their existence technologically, theoretically and everyday practicality. But it looks like magic to us.

“I’m sure it looked like magic to those scientists who were assigned to reverse-engineer those downed spacecraft, but within ten years, they had learned enough to reverse gravitational fields and access zero-point-energy. And there’s the rub… there’s the crime against humanity. Because we’ve had the means to eliminate poverty, pollution, climate change and disease for six decades, and yet those few individuals running the secret government have chosen to deny the rest of the world. And that’s why I’m here with you today — not to convince you that UFOs exist, but to mount a campaign among the uninformed masses that forces the secret government to turn over the technologies that can change our world.”

Adam followed the exiting crowd out of Ballroom-C. He found the security guard he was seeking standing by an unmarked door.

“Tech Sergeant Evans?”

The North Carolina native’s dour expression broke into a smile. “Captain Shariak?”

“In the flesh… and titanium. How are you, Gene?”

“Good… you know. Did my two tours, then spent five years at Andrews securing communications for VIP aircraft.”

“How long have you been working private security?”

“About six months. Not much money, but it has its perks. I did a Taylor Swift concert a few weeks ago; that was cool. God, it’s good to see you. The last time I saw you…”

“Was the day before my chopper went down.”

“Yeah. So, what have you been up to?”

Shariak fished out a business card from his wallet and handed it to Evans. “My new job.”

“Under Secretary of Defense? Damn… Hey, if you hear of any openings, I’m available.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Dr. Greer is really something.”

“He’s definitely out there.”

“Think you can score me some private face time? I had a few questions for him that I’d prefer to ask him alone.”

“Wait here.” Eugene Evans knocked twice on the door and entered.

He returned three minutes later. “Sorry, Captain. Dr. Greer’s really busy. He said he’d try to reach out to you later in the week.”

“Thanks. Listen, it was good seeing you… you look great. And good luck with the new job.”

“Thanks, Captain. You take care.”

Adam followed the exit signs down the carpeted corridor, unaware another pair of eyes were watching him as he passed by.

14

The geology of the tunnel glistened like polished obsidian — an effect caused by the nuclear powered boring machine which had been used to scorch through the earth more than fifty years earlier, just as Matthew DeVictor had described to her two years before.

Jessica Marulli felt the MP’s eyes on her as she ran her palm across the smooth surface. Her suitcases had been brought out to the underground station, the subterranean train set to arrive any minute to whisk her to another location where she would spend the next six to eight weeks—

— unless Council had voted against her bump in clearance and she was to be killed.

Too nervous to sit on the bench, she focused on the glass-like geology, her trembling fingers a result of overwrought nerves and extreme fatigue. She had not slept in two days — the last thirty-seven hours courtesy of Council’s security measures.

Dr. Elizabeth Hull had introduced herself as a psychiatrist. Fit and in her early forties, the native of Mickleover, a suburb of Derby, England, talked endlessly during her four shifts with Jessica while the two of them were locked up together in an eight-by-ten-foot concrete cell, brightly lit by fluorescent lights.

“We find sleep deprivation to be a far more effective tool to determine a candidate’s potential security risk than, say, water-boarding. I’m not saying we’d ever water-board a member of our team — we’d never harm anyone… unless, of course, their actions warranted it.”

There was only one chair in the room and it was always occupied by one of her two keepers, the other being a bearded Ivy Leaguer named Jack Stack, who gazed at her with predatory eyes but refused to say a word. The “Odd Couple” rotated places on random shifts, adding to Jessica’s disorientation.

Jessica bounced her back against the cell wall, using the pain to keep herself awake and to block out the woman’s grating voice.

“I’ve had many a candidate refer to me as Lizzie Borden. Have you ever heard of Lizzie Borden, Dr. Marulli?”

“She was an axe murderer who killed her parents.”

“That she was. Let’s see… how did that poem go?”

Jessica chanted as she bounced. “Lizzie Borden… took an axe… and gave her mother forty whacks. When she saw… what she had done… she gave her father forty-one.”

The Englishwoman nodded, making notes. Subject’s cognitive skills are still functioning after 28 hours without sleep… a tough egg to crack. “Did you know the rhyme was all wrong? It was created by a reporter in order to sell newspapers. Lizzie actually gave her stepmom eighteen whacks and her father eleven.”

“Who gives a shit about Lizzie Borden?”

“I imagine her father and stepmom when she came at them swinging that axe. Did you know she was acquitted? There’s a lesson here — no dear, don’t shut your eyes. If you lean against the wall and shut your eyes, Jack Stack will return with an electrical collar and you don’t want that. We have a rhyme about Mr. Stack… would you like to hear it?”

“No.”

“Jack Stack will take no flack when his subjects want to lean. Close your eyes and your neck will fry because he is so mean.”

“How much longer?”

“We agreed any inquiries about the time would add an additional fifteen minutes. You now owe us forty-five more minutes. Now what was I saying?”

Jessica struck the wall harder.

“Cooperate and I can subtract time as well. Dr. Marulli? Hello?”

“Lizzie Borden… some kind of lesson.”

“Right. What I was going to say is that it doesn’t really matter if it took Lizzie one whack with the axe or forty-one. What’s important here is that something caused her to snap and kill her parents. You’d never kill your parents, would you Jessica?”

“No.”

“And yet, that’s exactly what you’d be doing if you disclosed the things you’ve seen and are about to see. That act would initiate a TWEP. Do you know what a TWEP order is?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Terminate With Extreme Prejudice. You’d be killed, but since your mum has Cosmic Clearance, she’ll know why you were killed and blame some of the members of Council. Which means they’d have to kill her too, as a preventive measure… yer dad as well. It’s not fair I know, but you can see Council’s logic. The oath your parents took long ago would take a back seat to seeking revenge for their daughter’s death, forcing—”

She had gone after the woman, exhaustion and rage pushing her over the edge — which she later realized had been the purpose of the exercise.

Before she could wrap her fingers around Elizabeth Hull’s slender throat, the electrical circuits woven into her jumpsuit engaged, unleashing a ten second, 40,000 volt burst.

When Jessica opened her eyes, she was stretched out on the floor.

Elizabeth Hull leaned over her. “Council needs your help, Dr. Marulli, but there remains a few members among those in the inner circle who are a bit paranoid about allowing you access. It’s not just the threat of dealing with your mother; there’s also your fiancé.”

“I’ve never said a word about my work to Adam.”

“True. But now you’re engaged to be married.”

“You don’t need to worry about me anymore… I quit.”

“That option no longer exists. Anyway, in a few days your new clearance will give you access to hidden knowledge reserved only for a privileged few, and I promise, you’ll be over the moon. Not to mention a salary that more than compensates for respecting our code of silence.”

“Money doesn’t compensate me for this torture.”

“Oh please, don’t be so dramatic. So we kept you awake for awhile and hit you with the equivalent of a taser. Navy SEAL candidates endure far more for far less. Consider this a valuable conditioning exercise… an ounce of protection that ensures a pound of loyalty — and with it, your family’s safety.”

She heard no telltale rumble. One moment the tracks were clear, the next the Maglev train had simply appeared, the windowless seventy-foot steel bullet’s chassis riding above the tracks on a magnetic cushion.

A side panel slid open. Jessica entered a plush cabin lined with rows of reclining bucket seats. The MP set her bags inside and left — she was the only person on board.

A message flashed on a wrap-around LED screen:

She sat down in the nearest seat and snapped the belt in place—

— the Maglev pulling two Gs as it accelerated effortlessly on a velvet cloud, its lone human passenger slipping into unconsciousness.

“Jess? Jessica, wake up dear.”

She opened her eyes. The Maglev had stopped, its side panel open. Disoriented, she was not sure if she had slept ten minutes or ten hours.

The dark-haired, blue-eyed woman seated next to her was in her mid-fifties, her face very familiar.

“I know you.”

“Actually, your mom knows me. Lydia Gagnon. I was one of Council’s inner circle of twelve who interviewed you.”

“Where am I?”

“Let’s call it Oz.”

“I suppose that makes me Dorothy. Are you Glynda, the good witch?”

“I like that… Glynda.”

“Are there any wicked witches down here I should know about?”

“Just one. And she’s married to the Colonel. We’ll discuss him later.”

“Seriously, Lydia, where am I?”

“Jess, you’ve been granted Cosmic Clearance, but it’s conditional.”

“In other words, I’ll be working in an underground complex for the next six weeks with no concept of where I am.”

“It’s not so bad. Up until now you’ve lived in a black and white world. I’m here to show you the colors of the universe.”

15

Adam followed Interstate 64 west through Virginia, the rolling hills of the Blue Ridge Mountains accompanying him as he made his way through Rockfish Gap. Rising along the steep elevation, he was greeted by a breathtaking view which enticed cars to pull over (illegally) along the shoulder of the road to snap photos with their iPhones.

A road sign at the highway’s crest confirmed he was heading in the right direction: Charlottesville–12 miles.

He had received the message on his cell phone during his Friday morning staff meeting. The call was from Steven Greer.

“Mr. Under Secretary, my bodyguard tells me you’d like a private get together. I can meet you at three p.m. on Friday; after that I’m busy for the next few months.”

Adam already had plans; Randy had seats behind home plate for the night’s Nationals vs. Giants game. For nearly an hour, he debated the pros and cons of meeting with Greer before cancelling with his brother.

Adam exited the highway in Charlottesville. He got lost twice on country backroads before locating the entrance to the Greer’s sixty-five acre farm. After being buzzed in at the gate, he followed a gravel road up to the two-story, five-bedroom house.

He was greeted at the front door by the warm smile of a gray-haired woman in her early sixties. “Hi, I’m Adam Shariak. I’m here to see Dr. Greer.”

“I’m Emily, Steve’s wife. Come in. I’m so glad you made it in before the fog; the driving can be treacherous. Steve’s in his study, getting everything ready for our group. Fortunately, most of them arrived at the hotel earlier this afternoon. Do you think you’ll be joining us?”

Before he could answer, Dr. Greer emerged from the study, extending his hand. “Mr. Under Secretary, thanks for driving all the way out here on short notice. Why don’t we talk in my study. Em, can you get me at five? I need to meditate before our guests arrive.”

Adam followed him into the twenty-by-thirty-foot room — part library, part office. Furnishings had been moved to the periphery to accommodate fifteen folding chairs which were set up in a circle around a Persian rug, the leather high-backed office chair reserved for Dr. Greer.

“Are you comfortable in that folding chair, Mr. Under Secretary?”

“Fine.”

“So then, what can I do for you?”

“I’m not sure exactly. To be honest, I feel a little bit like one of King Arthur’s knights, sent on an impossible quest to find the Holy Grail.”

“The Holy Grail being…?”

“A zero-point-energy device.”

“Interesting. And who put you on this quest?”

“Bill Clinton.”

Dr. Greer threw his head back and laughed. “I’m sorry, but there’s a delicious irony to all this.”

Adam told Dr. Greer about the changing of the suite door numbers and the invisible ink and flashcards.

“Clinton really did that? With his access, you’d think he’d have used something from this century.”

“The guy seemed pretty determined to deliver the message.”

“The guy was president for eight years. If he really wanted to deliver the disclosure message to the masses, all he had to do was go off-script during a live State of the Union address, and the genie would have been out of its bottle. Like I said during my talk, presidents have become place holders. The real power is held by a secret cabal made up of high-ranking members of the Federal Reserve, four private banking cartels — who also happen to own four of the largest oil companies in the world — and defense contractors.”

“Technically, that includes me… at least it did. I was managing director at Kemp Aerospace before they nominated me to be Under Secretary.”

“No offense, but you’re a peon. We’re talking about guys like Dick Cheney — there’s your poster boy for the secret government; lots of blood on his hands. These guys don’t care, Shariak… they don’t care because they don’t feel. Caring about other living creatures is not in their algorithm; they’re immune to emotion. You think these ghouls want clean, free energy? They’re all about war and population control; they don’t give a damn about anyone but themselves.”

“In your talk a few days ago… you said you briefed Clinton.”

“I said I prepared his briefing. Laurance Rockefeller delivered it. Laurance supported our efforts, but like Clinton, he felt it was too dangerous for him to personally pursue disclosure.”

“Be honest; am I wasting my time?”

“Probably. Don’t feel bad; it’s a question I’ve asked myself a million times.”

“How do you even know these zero-point-energy devices are real? What if it’s all—”

“They’re real. I have a close friend who is the third highest ranking official at the Naval Research Lab; he told me he’s been inside the NRL’s secret vault and saw papers dated October 1954 that confirmed and referenced mastering gravity control through a bubble in space time generated by zero-point-energy We also have government and military witnesses who have testified about the existence of Alien Reproduction Vehicles which incorporate both anti-gravity and zero-point-energy technologies. Hundreds, if not thousands, of witnesses have seen them accelerating at thousands of miles an hour, only to stop on a dime and reverse directions. Then you have the occasional scientist who doesn’t need the reverse-engineering instruction manual; he’s made a breakthrough on his own. He knows if he tries for a patent, the Federal Government will confiscate his work. So he attempts to sell the device in secret, only the contacts he’s speaking with are all MAJI or CIA, or DIA, and he still ends up dead. Sadly, I’ve seen that happen several times.

“But you yourself have never personally seen one?”

“No, Mr. Shariak. The closest I came was when Bill Colby, the former CIA Director, had made arrangements to deliver one to me, along with $50 million in seed money… they killed him before that happened.”

“No disrespect, but how do you know—”

“According to investigators, Colby suddenly, and for no apparent reason, decided to go canoeing on the Potomac River at 8:30 at night. Nine days later the police found his body at a spot where they had already searched — nine days being enough time to hide the real cause of death from a coroner.”

“If they killed Colby, why haven’t they gone after you?”

“Oh, they have. The first time happened while I was staying at the St. Moritz Hotel in New York City. I was in town to meet with several VIPs about the Disclosure Project. At four in the morning, I suddenly started convulsing from a seizure brought on by a directional psychotronic weapons system.”

“What exactly is a psychotronic weapon?”

“It’s a high-end electronic beam which falls under the military’s Orwellian ‘mind fuck’ term of ‘Non-Lethal Weapons Systems.’ The head of this secret program is another sociopath named Colonel Alexander Johnston, also known by his nickname: Dr. Death. Using this faster-than-light EM pulse, Johnston attempted to forcibly extricate my soul from my physicality — it literally felt as if I was being microwaved from the inside out. Had they succeeded with the astral extraction, it would have killed me. Fortunately I knew how to fight back, having experienced something similar during my near-death experience as a teen, but it was still quite terrifying.

“These EMP attacks continued every night for a week. One of the worst experiences actually took place during a congressional briefing… this was in April of 1997. The colonel decided that he needed to be at this meeting. When I refused he said, ‘Oh, I’ll be there anyway, Dr. Greer.’ He wasn’t there physically, but during the briefing I was struck by a pulsed electromagnetic energy wave which hit me so hard it nearly knocked me out.

“Six months after these attacks, Congressman Steve Schiff of New Mexico and I both contracted skin cancer, and my assistant, Shari was diagnosed with breast cancer. Congressman Schiff had been trying to get the Roswell information out. All three of our cancers metastasized. Metastatic means that the cancer originated from a primary tumor somewhere else. And yet in all three cases, our oncologists could find no primary tumors anywhere.”

“What do you suspect happened?”

“I can’t prove it, but I’m convinced our cancers were induced electronically. At a subtle level of electromagnetism, you can transmute elements and transfer something from one place to another, infecting someone electronically. Dr. Death has apparently mastered this technique.”

Dr. Greer cleared the emotion in his throat. “Shari and the congressman both died. My survival was a fluke. Our family had a golden retriever named Yami; the dog always stayed close to me when I was home. We must have both been hit at the same time; our veterinarian found a malignant sarcoma on the dog’s left triceps muscle and had to remove his leg. To this day, I’m convinced Yami absorbed enough of the intensity from the EM weapon to save my life.”

“And they haven’t gone after you since?”

“I’ve become a very public figure, plus I’ve created a ‘Dead-Man’s Trigger.’ If something happens to me, there will be hell to pay.”

“This cabal sounds like something straight out of a James Bond movie.”

“MAJI’s not all bad; in fact a silent majority among the cabal’s younger generation now believes zero-point-energy should be released. Unfortunately, it’s the hardliners — like the colonel and a certain former Vice President — who maintain order in the ranks by terminating people like Bill Colby. Fear goes a long way, Mr. Shariak.”

“I know; I have my share. What I’d like to know is why Bill Clinton chose me.”

“Clinton was just the messenger… a figurehead whose ‘personal aura’ forced you to take this quest seriously. I really don’t know why you were chosen. You’re not exactly someone who carries an impressive resume, plus you only have a Q clearance. Hell, my mailman has a Q clearance. You need Zebra or higher just to access the subterranean bases where these reverse-engineered technologies are being kept.”

“The guy I met with before you — he said these energy devices are game-changers. No more poverty… no more pollution—”

“Correct. Zero-point-energy essentially replaces jet engines, steam ships, internal combustion engines, gasoline, oil, public utilities, rockets, and paved roads. In the aggregate, you’re talking about several hundred trillion dollars of world activity; by comparison the entire U.S. budget is a mere three to four trillion dollars. But this isn’t just about money, Mr. Shariak, it’s about control. Free energy is a tide that raises every country’s boat. No more haves and have-nots; every nation on equal footing. Do you think the United States or Britain want that? How about Trump’s pal, Putin? Do you think he wants to lose control over his neighbors to the south? Whether you believe it or not, we’ve mastered the technologies that will eradicate poverty, hunger, climate change, and disease, and we did it back in the mid-1950s. Only a bunch of rich oil oligarchs, bankers, military suppliers, and the top dogs at Goldman-Sachs don’t want the world to change; they like things just the way they are.”

Dr. Greer looked up as his wife entered the study. “Is it five o’clock already?”

“No, but I’ve been listening to the weather report. A cold front is moving in. The highway patrol has closed the Interstate because of fog. I called the hotel but they’re booked solid, mostly with our group. The B and B’s too.”

“What does that mean,” Adam asked.

Dr. Greer forced a smile. “It means, Mr. Under Secretary, that you’re our houseguest for the night.

16

Jessica followed Lydia Gagnon out of the Maglev train. She was barely able to keep her eyes open, the nine-minute catnap doing more harm than good. “I can’t do this, I need sleep!”

“That’s first on the list.” The older woman wrapped an arm around her waist, leading her across a deserted platform to seven pairs of elevator doors. “We’re going to check you in, order you a nice hot meal, then let you get a good night’s rest before we begin your orientation.”

Lydia inserted her identification card in the security slot servicing the last elevator on the right, and then stood before a twelve-inch-square section of dark glass, submitting to a retinal scan.

After twenty seconds the set of elevator doors labeled #7 opened, revealing an interior entirely different from the ones servicing the underground complex beneath Edwards Air Force Base.

Larger than a freight elevator, the compartment looked like something out of a futuristic subway train. Fifteen one-inch-in-diameter vertical poles were anchored from the floor to the ceiling. Set in three rows of five across, each held a small plastic seat which swiveled 360-degrees around its pole.

Jessica watched as Lydia mounted one of the seats so that she was facing the pole. Swiveling around to face the ‘smart-glass’ mounted on the wall to her right, she said, “Display subterranean facility.”

The voice-activated system illuminated a three-dimensional map of the complex, enveloped in a hologram. Six rectangular objects were moving through the grid like hamsters in a habitat, some traveling up or down, others racing laterally. The seventh elevator remained stationary at the bottom of the hologram at Level-9.

“That’s us,” Lydia said, pointing to the car situated on the Maglev level. “As you can see, the complex has nine levels divided into twelve zones. These elevator cars can move horizontally as well as vertically — a necessity when dealing with the upper floors, which can run for miles in any direction. Our Cosmic Clearance allows us access to any compartment inside the facility; however it’s always best to use Elevator-7, which is reserved just for us. Now, if you’ll take a seat…”

Jessica straddled the pole two rows down from Lydia and eased her weight onto the spring-loaded supporter.

The doors sealed.

She held on, her feet locating the chair’s foot rest as the elevator launched vertically straight up its shaft. Reaching Level-5, the car slowed to a steady crawl before suddenly racing east, pulling a quick Gee that sent both women spinning around their support poles.

Jess held on, the butterflies in her stomach causing her to smile. A moment later, the car zagged to the south before settling at its destination and locking down, its doors opening to what looked like a hotel lobby.

Lydia led her to a “smart desk” which was overseen by a woman about Jessica’s age, her blonde hair a shade darker.

“Dr. Gagnon, good evening. And this must be Dr. Marulli?”

Jessica gritted her teeth at the English accent. “You’re not from Mickleover, are you?”

“Derby? Lord no, I’m from Kent.”

Lydia smiled, knowing the source of Jessica’s angst. “Dr. Marulli, this is Kirsty Brunt. Kirsty sees to the needs of all us Cosmic Clearance crazies.”

“What I’m in need of is sleep.”

“Then let’s get you tucked in. We just need a retinal scan to generate your identification card.”

Jessica jumped as a panel in the smart table top slid open by her elbow, releasing a small machine that resembled an electron microscope.

“Dr. Marulli, are you wearing contacts?”

“No.”

“If you are, the machine will detect them.”

“Then why bother to ask?”

“Because it’s my job.”

Jessica leaned over the machine and pressed both eyes to the rubber sockets, opening wide — the internal flash leaving purple floaters in her vision.

By the time she could see again, Kirsty had attached a black lanyard to her new I.D. badge. “Retinal access will get you anywhere you need to go, but it’s best to wear the I.D. badge as well; sometimes the MPs get a little testy. We’re on Level-5; you’ve been assigned Suite 512. I’ve already placed your belongings inside. Your cell phone won’t work down here; all calls must go through our private Skype service available in your suite. You can place outgoing calls and receive text and voice messages through the system from an assigned number. All calls are monitored and on a seven-second delay, which takes some getting used to. If you’re ready, I’ll show you to your room.”

“Go… get some rest,” Lydia ordered, returning to the awaiting elevator. “I’ll find you when I need you.”

Kirsty came out from behind the desk, leading Jessica down a concourse that was as wide as a three lane highway and seemed to run on forever. It was divided by a centrally-located elevated pedestrian walkway composed of a spongy red material sandwiched between two uni-directional Maglev tracks.

“The Maglev is only for hoverboards. Each side runs in one direction with the speeds varying from slow to fast from the center out.”

They turned as an Asian man in a white lab coat shot past them on a three-foot-long object that resembled a small surfboard.

“Wow.”

As they watched, he cut across the concourse, his speed reducing enough to allow him to flip the board out from under him. Crossing over the pedestrian walkway to the other side of the hall and the odd numbered suites, he entered a set of double doors labeled 505.

“Your work schedule has been programmed into the VC, along with a menu of personal selections. The gym on this level is located between Suite 530 and 532; the eatery is at 590. Most of my ‘Cosmic Crazies’ prefer room service, which is 24/7. To order, just summon your VC.”

“What’s a VC?”

“Sorry, your Virtual Concierge.”

Jessica mumbled to herself, “… better not serve virtual food.”

Kirsty led her down the catwalk servicing the even-numbered suites. As they stood before the door to Suite 512, a retinal scan locked on to Jessica’s eyes, unbolting and opening the door and turning on the interior lights.

“Oh my…”

The apartment was enormous, the plush living room featuring a wraparound taupe leather sofa and black easy chair. Part of the couch faced a twelve-foot-wide by fifteen-foot-high smart-glass wall that Jessica knew would function as a home theater, the other half looked upon a dazzling floor-to-ceiling night view of the French Riviera. The doors were open, leading out to a private balcony. A warm, balmy breeze flowed over the Mediterranean Sea to enter the dwelling, the humidity immediately neutralized by the air conditioning, the hypnotic sounds of the shoreline threatening to lull her into sleep while she was still on her feet—

— Jessica having to remind herself that none of it was real.

“This is incredible, and I love the sea—”

“—but what else is on the scenery menu… everyone asks the same question the first time they gaze upon that view.” Kirsty pointed out an iPad held within a plastic sleeve anchored to the wall by the door. “There’s a complete list of balcony settings on this device, along with your schedule, a built-in GPS that will get you where you need to go, and menus from each of our eateries and restaurants. But let’s find out what the VC thinks you might enjoy.”

Turning to the wall of smart glass she said, “Concierge, select Dr. Marulli’s favorite scene.”

Instantly the Mediterranean scene morphed into a dramatic second-story view of California’s Pacific Coast, the ocean crashing violently against the rocks below, the humid warmth replaced by a northwestern chill. A fireplace ignited, the holographic flames taking the edge off the cold.

“Perfect. And it’s so real.”

“It also serves a purpose. No matter what scene you select, each reflects the time of day within our complex, helping to maintain our body clocks and with it, our mental health, which can be challenged when one lives underground for weeks or months at a time. Come on, I’ll show you the kitchen and bedroom, then I’ll let you get some rest.”

The kitchen and dining area flowed to the right, the cabinets and chairs made of oak, the appliances camouflaged in the same wood. Jessica had never seen anything like the dark granite used on the countertops and matching table, the material seemingly alive with liquid splashes of color that changed as she altered her sightline. Forcing herself to look away, she followed Kirsty down a short hall to the master bedroom.

“Nice…”

The king-size bed faced another smart wall and the same fifteen-foot-high, floor-to-ceiling view of the Pacific Coast. Gusts of wind rattled the sliding glass doors, which were closed, the flames of the virtual fireplace adjusting its heat accordingly.

Jessica joined Kirsty by the walk-in closet where someone had already unpacked her belongings.

“As you can see, I had your closet stocked with uniforms, workout clothes, silk pajamas, undergarments, shoes, sneakers… everything you could possibly need. The personal items are yours to take with you when you leave, the uniforms stay with us.”

“Thank you.”

She followed the Englishwoman into the master bath. Decorated in Italian marble, the rectangular space was divided by its centerpiece — an enormous Jacuzzi tub. Behind the marble wall that contained its built-in waterfall was a step-down drain which handled his-and-her showers. A water closet lent privacy to a toilet and bidet; a small linen closet held a variety of linens and towels.

Overwhelmed by her accommodations, Jessica struggled to triage her immediate needs.

“I know you’re exhausted, sleep as long as you want; your orientation doesn’t begin until Monday morning at ten.”

“Sorry, I can’t remember… what day is it?”

“It’s Friday evening. By the way, all holographic landscapes face west so that you won’t be disturbed by the rising sun. I suggest you order in, shower, and then sleep in; you’ve got the entire weekend to be pampered. Remember, whatever you want, simply say ‘Concierge’ and it will be taken care of.”

“Concierge… got it.”

Jessica walked Kirsty to the front door, said good night, and bolted the lock.

A cold gust of salty air rushed into the apartment. Jessica closed the French doors, surprised to hear running water coming from the bathroom.

She entered to find the tub filling with hot water and scented bath oil beads.

“The bath oils were my idea.”

She jumped, her heart racing at the Hispanic male’s voice. “Who said that?”

“I did. I’m Raul, your Virtual Concierge.”

She looked around, discovering — to her relief — the stranger speaking to her from the other side of the sink mirror.

Athletic and tan… she guessed he was about twenty-five, his wavy dark hair highlighting deep-blue eyes.

Nicely done…

“What did you say your name was?”

“Raul.”

“Well, you scared the shit out of me, Raul. Are you going to be popping in and out of mirrors whenever you feel like it?”

“Only when you summon me.”

“I didn’t summon you.”

“You were debating whether to bathe first or eat.”

“You can read my thoughts? How…? Oh wait, the retinal scan… that’s impressive. But I can’t have a strange man popping in on me, even if he is a computer-generated creation, and especially when I’m in the bathroom.”

“Perhaps you’d be more comfortable with someone from your childhood?”

Raul morphed into a stout gray-haired Swedish woman in her sixties.

“Ingrid? Oh my God, oh my God… I haven’t seen you since I was seven years old. This is freaky, this is really freaky.”

“But comforting, ja?”

“God, you sound exactly like her… of course you do, you’re pulling my memory of her straight out of the recesses of my brain.”

“Your blood sugar is low; you need to eat. I ordered you something special. How does lobster thermidor topped with lump crabmeat and a velvety sauce sound, served on garlic whipped potatoes. And for dessert… a decadent chocolate crème brûlée with a hint of Grand Marnier.”

“That sounds… incredible.”

“Would you like to dine on the terrace?”

“It’s too cold.”

“Not in Tahiti.”

She was about to respond when the doorbell rang.

“Ah, there’s dinner. Go… I’ll meet you in the living room.”

Jessica hurried out of the master bedroom, feeling as if she were in a dream.

An eight-by-ten inch video panel by the front door revealed the room service attendant waiting on the catwalk, his name and identity number — BENEDICT GUZZO, Q-766-22-1103—flashing in green.

Jessica opened the door, her stomach rumbling.

“Good evening, Dr. Marulli.”

“Benedict.”

“I understand you’ll be eating on the main balcony, is that correct?”

“Yeah… sure. God, that smells good.”

“I’ll only be a minute.”

Feeling lightheaded, she stepped aside and watched as he pushed the dinner cart to the balcony — all the while her childhood nanny observing him from the living room smart glass, a cross look on the Swedish woman’s age-weathered face.

Oblivious, the waiter methodically opened one side of the French doors and then the other. Gone was the pounding Pacific, in its place — a calm lagoon shared by several private cottages on piers, their balconies lit by torches. Jessica recalled Adam showing her travel photos of Bora Bora, each guest house set on its own private dock over the water.

She closed her eyes, listening to the computer-generated waves lapping beneath the balcony. A warm, soothing breeze entered the apartment, mixing with the intoxicating aromas of her main course which still remained concealed beneath its metal serving container.

What the hell is taking him so long?

She watched as the waiter carefully laid out a white tablecloth over the heavy outdoor table. He meticulously arranged a place setting, filled her water glass and left the pitcher, then struggled to light the dinner candle.

It was Ingrid who finally snapped, her bellow bringing with it a tide of memories. “My girl hasn’t eaten in over a day and you stand there, fumbling with a candle? Why does she need a candle? Whoever heard of a romantic interlude for one… idiot!”

The red-faced attendant pocketed his lighter and returned to the cart, quickly carrying the hot dinner plate, salad, and dessert outside, not bothering to remove the covers.

Feeling embarrassed, Jessica attempted to apologize for her computer-generated nanny’s outburst. “I’m sorry. Ingrid means well, but she’s always had a short fuse when it comes to my well-being.”

The waiter shot her a “what-the-fuck” look before pushing the empty cart toward the front door.

Ingrid would have none of it. “Guzzo — leave the cart by the door and take the attitude with you… rövhål!”

The man stopped in his tracks, staring hard at Jessica. “What did you call me?”

“Me? No, it was—”

“It was me, lard ass,” Ingrid cried out, “and I called you an asshole! Since my English is sometimes not so good, I will spell it out for you. A-s-s…”

Benedict Guzzo exited the apartment, slamming the door.

“Ingrid, that was very rude of you. It’s only my first day and already someone dislikes me.”

“He was jealous; I could see it in his eyes. Just like those girls in middle school. Go and eat; I will put on some music that will soothe you.”

Jessica stepped out on to the balcony, attacking her meal. Within minutes she had devoured the main course, using chunks of warm garlic bread to mop up the remains of lump crabmeat and sauce. She was about to start in on the chocolate crème brûlée when she realized why the waiter had taken an attitude with her.

There is no Ingrid. Everything she says is an extension of my thoughts.

She looked back at the living room smart glass. The image of her nanny was nodding at her.

“Virtual concierge, remove Ingrid!”

The dark smart glass went blank.

“No more images of people unless I verbally command it. Acknowledge command by shooting three fireworks over the lagoon.”

A lone rose-red flame arced into the dark heavens, igniting into a pink, green, and blue blast of color over the water.

Nice.

“Leave the Tahiti setting; it might be nice to wake up to. Oh, and have Raul finish drawing me a hot bath… with the oil beads.”

She smiled. “Dress him in something… revealing.”

17

“Welcome to our meditation circle… does everyone have their circle buddy?”

Adam sat shivering in a folding chair, seeking warmth from an old wool sweater and a tattered baseball cap he had borrowed from Dr. Greer. They were situated in a six-acre clearing surrounded by woods, a good two hundred yards from the house. Wrapping his legs in a wool blanket, the Under Secretary of Defense now realized what the other twenty-two paying guests already knew — that there was a big difference in dressing for the weather and dressing for prolonged exposure to the weather.

Emily Greer had attempted to warn him. “I realize it’s August, but it gets very cold out there. If you’re going to join the group then we’ll need to dress you in something warmer. Let me see if I can find you an old pair of Steven’s long johns and—”

“—That won’t be necessary. I Googled tonight’s local forecast; it’ll be a balmy 62-degrees Fahrenheit. I doubt we’ll see any UFOs with all this fog, but weather-wise I’ll be fine.”

“The skies will clear around ten when the temperatures drop. Unless the group goes on break, you’ll be stuck out there, and Steven gets very perturbed when his meditation circle is broken. At least bring a blanket.”

Adam glanced up at the cloud-choked heavens. As predicted, he could feel the temperature dropping, a few patches of stars slowly starting to appear. They hadn’t even begun yet and his teeth were already chattering.

Asshole. You should have listened to Greer and stayed inside to watch the damn baseball game instead of insisting on tagging along on this snipe hunt.

“Mr. Shariak, I’m your circle buddy. You okay?”

Adam glanced to his right where a woman in her mid-thirties — her name tag identifying her as Leslie Ann Mahurin from Park Hills, Missouri — was adjusting the volume on a machine emitting a rapid de-do-de-do-de-do sound.

“Missouri… the ‘Show Me’ state. What exactly is that thing?”

She smiled. “This is a laser detector. I’m running a battery test. If it starts making that sound once we begin, it means an ET craft may be vectoring in.”

“Vectoring in on what exactly?”

“The group’s consciousness. Dr. Greer will explain.”

The guests had begun arriving around six-fifteen, the CE-5 orientation meeting set to begin at eight. Plastic tags were worn on lanyards around their necks, identifying each person and their city and country of origin. The farthest trek belonged to a brother and sister team who had traveled from New Zealand. A married French couple in their thirties hailed from Paris, an older woman and her younger female companion had flown in from Munich, Germany, and he managed a short conversation with a heavyset Briton bundled in an orange parka. The others were from the States. A third of the guests had been on at least one CE-5 expedition before, Greer matching up each veteran with a pair of excited “newbies.”

Adam stuck out like a sore thumb.

Greer had warned him. “These people were vetted before their applications were accepted; those who made it put in a lot of time and effort to get here. They were given instructions and a manual to study which included a waiver that allows me to dismiss them for any action or attitude that does not fit in with CE-5 protocol.”

“What kind of attitude?”

“Anything one might describe as self-serving. We’re here to welcome our ET ambassadors, Mr. Shariak, not to exploit them. If they sense the latter, they won’t join us.”

“How often do these ETs actually show up?”

“Every CE-5 expedition is different. Ultimately, the outcome is determined by the consciousness of the group. If I sense your presence to be a disturbance, I’ll ask you to leave… and not just the circle, but my home.”

A cold wind whipped across the field, howling through the surrounding woods.

Adam looked up as their leader took center stage, the surrounding darkness pierced by sporadic blips of blue and green lights coming from an assortment of electronic devices held by guests within the circle.

“Good evening. A few basic rules before we begin. There’s no smoking and please refrain from eating or drinking when we go into our meditation sessions. We’ll take a bathroom break in a few hours, but if you have to go there are plenty of trees nearby. If you must go, please do your best not to disturb other people in the circle.

“We’re positioned in a circle so the group has eyes on every direction. If you see something, you need to alert the group by calling out its location using a direction and degree of elevation. The horizon is zero degrees, straight up in the sky is ninety, so halfway in between would be forty-five degrees. As for directions, the house is to the east, the woods to my left, therefore, are west… then north and south. We also have northeast, northwest, southeast and southwest. It’s okay to lay your head back and watch the sky, but we have a no snoring rule… if someone falls asleep and starts snoring their neighbors must wake them.”

Removing a laser pointer from his jacket pocket, he turned it on, directing its powerful emerald-green light at a patch of star-filled sky overhead. “As you can see this laser is quite powerful, with a range that extends some 200 miles into space. I’m always careful not to use it whenever planes are around. It’s not just a pointer; it is also one of our tools of communication. I remember the first night we used it. We were in the foothills of New Mexico when I flashed the laser at what I assumed was a satellite. The object flashed back at us before dematerializing into a cigar-shaped craft. It remained visible almost ten seconds before vanishing.”

Using his laser, Greer traced a circle around two stars. “You can’t quite see the entire constellation because of these clouds, but these two stars are part of the Big Dipper and they always point to Polaris, the North Star. Using our navigation points, we’d describe Polaris as what… about thirty degrees northeast. Everyone understand?

“The bright object peeking out behind this cloud is Jupiter. Over here we have a formation of stars known as the Winter Triangle. The lower star is Sirius, the upper — Procyon, and the star pointing at three o’clock is Betelgeuse, part of the Orion constellation…”

Adam closed his eyes, feeling himself nod off.

Leslie Ann shook him awake. “You were snoring.”

“Sorry.”

“I know you’re all hoping for a vessel to dematerialize out of the sky like the one I just described, but there are many other ways for us to experience a close encounter with an ET. Back in the early 1990s, I came up with the idea of using radio transmitters like this one — Leslie Ann can you hold that up? When we used the transmitter to broadcast CSETI tones into the atmosphere, within minutes an omni-directional, non-local anomalous tone came back to us. This clearly demonstrates not only the ET’s expression of intelligence, but their desire to communicate with us.”

Adam rolled his eyes. Or maybe your next door neighbor was using his ham radio…

“This next device is a magnetometer — a magnetic field sensor. We use it to detect an ET vessel as it phase-shifts from the higher dimensions of thought energy into our own physical world.

“This object here is a thunderbolt detector. We’ve discovered that a certain race of ETs — a very evolved, physically-imposing species who are extremely protective of what we are doing — will often let us know they’re here by sending a distinct signal through this particular sensor. This isn’t unusual by the way; many extraterrestrials, as well as souls in the spiritual world, often use electronics as a means of communicating across other realms.

“Now, as far as what to look for, an incoming ET craft can appear like a meteor, only they are moving more slowly, or a second meteor may follow the same path within seconds. Besides having no tail, an ET craft may streak directly down from the apex of the sky and go into the ground with no explosion or disturbance. A CSETI team witnessed a bright teal object do this in Joshua Tree National Park in November 1996.

“Some UFOs resemble stars. They might blink off and on randomly, sometimes moving slightly between the blinks. We once observed a whole squadron of craft in Sedona that blinked off and on for ten minutes in one area of the sky. When a laser was pointed at one of the objects it glinted off the craft.

“It’s also important I mention orbs. They vary in size and can be craft or drones. They are often a uniform amber or gold, although they can appear in various colors. Orbs often will remain stationary for a period of time, though they do move about as well. These are not to be confused with flares which are often dropped by the military to confuse observers after a genuine sighting has occurred. A flare will float downwards at different rates and give off smoke.

“Orbs can also be huge. In 1998, observers in England saw a very large orange globe rise above the horizon, then dip back below, then rise again before it suddenly disappeared. This object was observed on two separate nights in two different locations. The second night, after it rose above the horizon for the second time, it ‘dissolved’ as it disappeared. Within thirty seconds, several British military jets and helicopters appeared in the area, one chopper dropping a flare in the vicinity where the object had been seen.

“There is also a phenomenon you need to be aware of known as a distorted sky. This happens when an ET craft hovering just beyond the crossing point of light causes a distortion in the star field, leaving a shimmering effect even though no object can be seen. If this occurs, and it has on numerous occasions, assume there may be ETs on the ground nearby or among the observing group. During such an event, members of the group may sense a change in atmospheric pressure which can be felt in the observer’s ears, a sudden stillness or quietness, and the hair on your head, arms, or legs may stand on end. Don’t be startled if the radar goes off.

“Interactions between ETs and individuals in a CE-5 group range from sensing a presence, to a loving personal acknowledgment, to full telepathic conversations. The sense of love is almost always present, no matter the level of the interaction, and the expression can be truly wonderful and unforgettable. The conversations are typically non-verbal. Field observers have reported shimmering-light ETs that have stood in front of them or sat on their feet for a prolonged time.

“Touch is another way an ET might engage with you. While we are meditating you may feel a gentle contact, as if something is touching you, only when you open your eyes nothing is there.

“Most important — remember our mission. We are here to ask our ET ambassadors and guests to appear to us in a form that is most safe to them. Sometimes an extraterrestrial may choose not to fully materialize, giving off sort of a sparkling light. When an ET does spin-shifts across the crossing point of light and dematerializes in our physical world, they become visible not only to us but to the military — a condition potentially dangerous to the extraterrestrial. If this happens, it’s routine for us to be buzzed by Air Force jetfighters. So again when we go into our group meditation, each of us is asking the ET to appear using the method which they feel is safest both for them… and for us.”

Dr. Greer left the center of the gathering to take his seat within the circle.

“Let us begin. CE-5 is a close encounter of the fifth kind, the fifth kind defined as humans initiating contact with ETs. We do this through meditation and a technique called remote viewing. For those of you new to remote viewing, I’m going to walk you through it. As for the meditation, I’m going to give you a simple mantra. We use the mantra to keep our thoughts from straying. I’ll repeat the mantra a few times; then you can join in with me.

Greer repeated it several times, the first syllable an upper tone, the second a full tone lower, with the last a half note in-between.

“Let’s try it together.”

Adam closed his eyes, feeling ridiculous as he chanted the mantra.

The group continued until Dr. Greer instructed them to repeat the chant only to themselves.

For several minutes it was quiet, save for the sound of the wind rustling through the surrounding forests and the occasional electronic chirp from a sensor.

In due time Dr. Greer began, speaking in a calm, melodic voice. “Now, as we become aware that we are all created by one light… one consciousness; that this cosmic mind allows each one of us to be awake and living together in peace… that we are all drops from the same ocean, the same pure being who is watching and standing with us.

“And now, desiring only to share our presence with that of another consciousness, we allow our minds to leave our bodies. Looking down, we hover over ourselves, registering the unified oneness of our meditation circle. Floating higher, we rise above the dark contours of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the traffic headlights distinguishing the highways as they curve around the Virginia landscape. We can see the lights of Washington, D.C., quickly fading as we soar above the eastern seaboard of the United States until we are high over the Atlantic. We’re entering space now, gazing down upon the curvature of our planet as we feel the infinite love of Gaia — Mother Earth — and we vow to lift the burdens humanity has placed upon her.

“And now as we move off into space we see extraterrestrial vessels orbiting the far side of the moon and massive structures erected on the lunar surface. Leaving Earth-space, we race past Mars and head for Jupiter, registering the presence of a large extraterrestrial mother ship in orbit around the massive planet. Continuing beyond Saturn, we quickly leave our own solar system to travel light years past other stars until we find ourselves gazing at the Milky Way, a spiral galaxy composed of 100 billion stars, each system possessing its own planets, many of them inhabited.

“Circling our galaxy, we invite any ETs whose path we cross to join us. We vector them to us by focusing our thoughts on our spiral galaxy and the arm of Orion. From there we head back to our star system and the nine planets revolving around our sun. We lead our ET friends to our blue world, the third planet from the sun, escorting them to the eastern seaboard of North America and back to the dark contours of the Blue Ridge Mountains, beckoning them to join our community in this clearing, inviting them into our circle. We ask them to manifest in any form they feel is safe… in electronics, in sound, in physicality.

“Now I will remain silent while each of you repeats the remote viewing journey we just completed together, vectoring other civilizations to us, allowing your mind to connect with any interstellar vessels that cross your path.”

Adam attempted the mental exercise, making it as far out as the moon before he drifted off into sleep…

The woman from Wisconsin shook him awake.

“… anyone else have anything they’d like to share? Yes, Andrew?”

The heavyset Brit rose to his feet, bundled in his orange parka. “Moving off into space, I thought I sensed the color yellow flowing in a counterclockwise direction.”

Adam coughed, attempting to suppress a chuckle.

Dr. Greer was not amused. “Colors, sensations, scents — anything can remind us of something we may have remote viewed without even realizing it. What’s important, Mr. Shariak, is that you first believe something is possible in order to perceive it. If you had not first believed in aerodynamics, you could never have flown a helicopter. There is a saying, ‘as ye have faith, so shall your powers and blessings be.’ This is faith, not in the religious sense, but in an affirmative confidence that something can be, and to that extent, it will be. Knowing this helps people get out of their own way.

“Anyone else?”

It was almost three in the morning by the time Adam found himself back in the Greer’s guest room. Chilled to the bone, he thought about taking a hot shower until he sat on the queen-sized bed. Succumbing to gravity and fatigue, he managed to kick off his shoes and turn off the desk lamp before his head hit the pillow.

Moonlight violated the open slats of the Venetian blinds, casting a luminous pattern on the opposite wall. Too tired to move, Adam stared at the wall and the pattern of reflected lunar light, his mind drifting even as he realized…

There’s someone looking through the window at me.

He could not see the face peering in through the gaps in the Venetian blinds, only the long shadow of its enormous head, and the bulbous compound eyes and antennae. Instinctively he knew the extraterrestrial was a species of insect — first because the praying mantis was five feet tall; second because it had two legs and two arms, with sharp spikes protruding from the forearms.

What was really bizarre was Adam’s response. He simply continued to lie in bed, watching the being that was watching him. He had no doubt the Mantis-Man was intelligent and, like his own species, a product of evolution. The difference was simply the source material; humans having sprouted from primates, his visitor’s race from insects.

He waved at the ET.

The ET waved back.

Comforted by the being’s response, Adam rolled over and fell asleep.

“… huh?”

He opened his eyes to see Emily Greer hovering over him in her bathrobe.

“Come quickly, Steven needs you.”

Rolling out of bed, Adam methodically placed his bare right flesh foot next to the mechanical version of his left. Stand… and left… right… left—

Leaving the bedroom, he headed for the stairs, fighting the urge to hop down on his right leg to save time.

What the hell…

Amber waves of sunlight were streaming through the open front door and windows, the light so bright he could not see the front entryway.

Steven Greer was standing outside in his bathrobe and gray sweatpants, looking up at the source of light.

Adam, come out here and join me.

The Under Secretary of Defense rubbed his eyes, attempting to wake up. Greer’s words had echoed in his mind, and yet the man’s mouth had never opened.

Yes, I can hear your thoughts and I know you can hear mine. Now come outside please and let them see you.

Them? Vaguely recalling something about insects, Adam strode awkwardly out onto the front porch, grabbed Steven’s arm… and looked up.

“Whoa shit.”

The extraterrestrial vessel was enormous, its chevron-shaped undercarriage, hovering fifty feet above the roof of the Greers’ farmhouse, easily two hundred feet across. Three amber lights were aligned in the shape of an equilateral triangle, and everything within its borders appeared to shimmer.

Stay calm. They want to meet you.

As they moved away from the farmhouse, Adam registered a strange sensation — the air now still, the temperature noticeably warmer.

What’s happening?

Removing the laser pointer from his robe pocket, Dr. Greer aimed it down the driveway and pressed the power switch.

The green beam of light traveled seventy feet before dispersing into a prism of color.

My God… Greer, are we inside the vessel?

Yes, only it’s not completely phased in. I want you to meet a friend. Adam Shariak, this is Kindness.

As Adam watched, a luminous light appeared before him, materializing into the form of a woman. Her head was round and hairless, her eyes — almond-shaped, her features that of another species, yet still quite feminine. Only the lack of flaps around her ear holes identified her as something not quite human. She wore a one-piece outfit composed of a reflective silver cloth, and both the material and her pale skin seemed to shimmer.

She smiled at Adam, emanating an energy which exuded compassion.

Kindness was introduced to us through the spirit of my assistant, Shari, shortly after she died in 1998. Kindness is an ambassador to many species. While she still exists in the physical world, she shares a God-consciousness that allows her to function as an avatar in the spiritual realm. There are twenty-seven emissaries aboard this vessel, and many more that remain in orbit outside the crossing point of light.

Why are they here… oh!

For a brief, powerful moment Adam Shariak’s consciousness suddenly bloomed, allowing him to observe the Earth from the vantage of a higher dimension — and what he absorbed was as enlightening as it was frightening.

Suckling energy from the star about which it orbited, the blue world functioned as a living, breathing complex synergistic system designed to incubate, birth, and sustain life. Its heartbeat was the rock-steady spin which perpetually circulated its life-giving fluids; its lungs were the Amazon rainforest; its kidneys the oceans. Ice at the poles and heat at the equator regulated its thermostat; magma regenerated its skin.

For the last three-and-a-half billion years, the Earth had served as an incubator for life, its ever-changing atmosphere, seas, and land evolving to serve the complexities of its species.

And now one of its offspring had given it cancer.

The malignancy was everywhere. The Amazon rain forest, once lush, dense, and green was decimated and dying, its breathing capacity operating at the equivalent of half a lung. This exacerbated conditions in the atmosphere, which appeared thick with carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases.

Observing the planet, Adam could sense the effects of global warming through the attributes of his host. He could feel the deep rumbling of Antarctica’s polar ice as it melted, fragmented, and collapsed; he could taste the acidification of the oceans… the seas poisoned with mercury, the marine life dying — the cancer spreading throughout the world’s food chains.

The aftermath was a sobering, gut-punching lesson delivered by Mother Nature as terrifying images of humanity’s obituary raced across his mind’s eye.

Tens of thousands of acres of crops — America’s breadbasket — shriveled beneath a dense smoke-gray sky, the drought delivered by changing weather patterns — photosynthesis disrupted by man’s refusal to abandon fossil fuels.

The images accelerated into the very near future, mass starvation leading to riots, cities burning to the ground, the dying feeding off the dead, disease rampant…

As he bore witness to his species’ demise, the terrifying scenes gradually disappeared behind a blizzard of snow which steadily blanketed Earth’s continents.

Adam knew what had happened, he had felt the toxins blanketing the atmosphere, baking the planet and melting the polar ice.

Greenland’s ice was melting — it had been for many years, releasing a steady tsunami of fresh water that was seeping into the North Atlantic Current — a warm water conveyor belt which circulated heat across North America and Europe.

It was saline that mobilized the current, and now Greenland’s melting ice had finally and irreversibly shut it down—

— summoning an Ice Age and the extinction of man.

Adam opened his eyes as the extraterrestrial vessel silently shot straight up into the star-filled heavens and disappeared.