The Disclosure Paradox, page 4
Information related to Dulce was also provided to Louis by a woman whose mother kept information related to the base while employed with the CIA. Before her death, she gave it to her daughter, an abductee whom Louis had befriended on the social network. One evening, during a conversation about the phenomenon, the woman sent him the documents. Giving out information to the public on Dulce had proven to be high risk, with bad results for the informer. Whistleblowers claiming information on Dulce met suspicious deaths. One memorialized individual was Phil Schneider, a contractor that worked on the black ops side of Dulce. After returning from a tour on radio stations and UFO conferences around the world, he was shot and killed outside his home by local sheriff deputies who claimed he drew a weapon as they approached him.
Louis had read stories from workers who were bussed or flown to the remote construction site to work on the US side of the base. Workers were required to sign non-disclosure agreements, never to discuss the reason for their travel to Dulce with anyone. No prime contractor working on Dulce knew the entire layout; although very expensive and inefficient, contractors were brought in to work on specific portions and not allowed information beyond those areas. It was like hiring ten different contractors to work on one house: Each builder focused on one room, not knowing how the entire house would look when completed. The documents from the CIA woman’s daughter also revealed that Dulce had been a base for genetic lab experiments involving animal parts, human fetuses, and DNA manipulation. Louis still had difficulty accepting the lab information as truth and decided not to include that in his presentation.
***
The last group of slides explained possible ET activity in Alaska. On May 22, 1992, the Chinese military detonated a nuclear warhead underground. The shockwave was detected by seismologists as far away as Alaska. During their research, they discovered a geologic anomaly about sixty miles west of Mount McKinley.
Approximately six months later, an Army Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO) assigned to the Fort Richardson base in southeastern Alaska, and his friends caught a news special about an underground pyramid west of Mount McKinley. When the NCO went to the news station to request a copy of the show, he was denied by a station manager who told him that the station did not show the broadcast. This prompted the NCO to contact the highly respected reporter on edge science, Linda Moulton Howe. Howe, intrigued by the message from the NCO, asked for information from her vast listening audience on her web-based show.
She received two responses verifying the existence of the underground pyramid. One person was the son of a former Navy captain, whose father worked for Western Electric between 1959 and 1961, after his military retirement, in support of the White Alice project. White Alice was the project name for the Distant Early Warning (DEW) Line radar that would warn North Americans against a possible Soviet air strike passing over the North Pole. Engineers testing the equipment detected what they thought to be a malfunction of one of the sites. Later, they realized that a high amount of electro-magnetic interference (EMI) originated somewhere in the vicinity of Mount McKinley. Western Electric engineers were taken to the site where the EMI originated and were sent down a mine shaft where, according to the retired captain, they observed the apex of a stone pyramid approximately one hundred fifty feet below the surface with its base nine hundred feet below the surface. The engineers had determined the pyramid was producing enough energy to power all of Canada.
The second contact offered another side of the story. According to Bruce L. Pearson, his father, another former Navy officer, had confided in him a story of a trip by helicopter in the spring of 1978. After retirement, his father befriended an active-duty Air Force major who piloted a helicopter on supply missions to a remote site west of Mount McKinley. One day, the major invited the Navy veteran as a passenger on one of the missions. The major told the veteran they were flying to a “weird” place where there was an energy source underground.
“Is it a nuclear plant?” the veteran asked.
“It’s unlike anything I know,” the major replied. When they approached the landing zone, the major added, “Do not panic if the helicopter experiences instrument problems.”
On cue, the helicopter’s instruments began to malfunction, and multiple alarms and warning lights were activated. The pilot had to switch control to visual and manual flight. As the helicopter drew closer, the veteran identified a motor vehicle shed, a mining shaft structure, and a vehicle with a mounted machine gun, manned by a gunner, aiming at the helicopter.
The helicopter did not land but hovered over a pad, while heavily armed men in black uniforms without insignia approached the bird to offload what appeared to be crates with a gleaming metallic finish. All through the operation, the gunner pointed the heavy machine gun directly at the helicopter. Not a word was exchanged throughout the operation.
***
After reviewing the two accounts, Louis was satisfied that his presentation file was updated. After saving the file, he closed his computer. The radio show was ending. The host presented his credits and advised the audience what the next show would cover: an alternate theory on the Kennedy assassination.
Louis turned off the radio as the sun was about to rise over Lake Michigan. The faint light created muted silhouettes of the townhouse buildings across the street from his window. The early morning harbinger in the city was the street cleaner. It masked the sounds of birds in the trees along the walk. Louis needed to get some rest before the long journey ahead, completely unaware that this leg would be the beginning of an odyssey that would challenge his convictions of disclosure, test his spirit, expose him to amazing people, and reveal extraordinary aspects of his own existence.
4
Encounters and Transmissions
Your mind is working at its best when you’re being paranoid. You explore every avenue and possibility of your situation at high speed with total clarity. —Banksy
The drive from Chicago to the UFO conference took only about eight hours. The ephemeral beauty of fall colors enhanced Louis’s travel as he neared the Pittsburgh area. Before checking in to the Econo Lodge in Youngwood, Pennsylvania, Louis sought out the building at the Westmoreland County Community College campus, where the event would be held the next day. He had no difficulty finding Founders Hall. Satisfied with the ease of finding the conference site, Louis drove to the motel and checked in.
The next morning, he headed to the conference and stopped for breakfast and coffee. He watched the server fill his mug in a rush without a drop being spilled. Reaching for the cream, he held it over the mug in his left hand and stirred it into the coffee with the teaspoon in his right. He marveled at the creation, his own spinning galaxy. Captivated by the motion, he remained in a hypnotic state while the rotation slowed and everything around him seemed to dissolve. The server startled him as she arrived with his order.
Louis left the restaurant in time to get to the campus, park, register, and prepare his presentation. The lobby contained posters from sponsors, framed photographs of people at past events, and framed photographs of UFOs.
Burdened with his laptop case hanging by a strap over his right shoulder, he held a paper cup with coffee in his left hand. At the welcome table, he was greeted by a cheerful man who spoke with a Scandinavian accent as he held out his hand. The laptop case strap slipped off Louis’s shoulder as he extended to shake hands. Temporarily delaying the gesture of goodwill, Louis placed the case on the floor beside him, this time completing a successful handshake.
“Allo, Olav Whitouse at your service! Welcome to the annual Pennsylvania Conference. What is your name, please?”
Louis gave his name and told him he was the first presenter, the warmup act. The greeter gave him a customized badge and program, then directed him to an aide whose job was to assist presenters. Louis thanked the greeter and left, but not without noticing what Olav and the other two greeters were wearing, a green tee shirt printed with the recycling logo and the word “Karma” in the center. Another greeter wore a purple “Make America Disclose” hat, and the other wore a black t-shirt with the image of a grey alien head in white and the words, “I Believe.” He exchanged smiles with them.
Thirty minutes before the start of the conference, Louis noticed people coming in to form lines. He was led to the auditorium that held a capacity of 420, according to the posted sign by the local Fire Marshall. An ideal size for such a conference.
The aide, a young collegiate woman, did not know who Louis was. “Did you write a book?” she inquired while leading him to the podium.
“No . . . not yet,” he said sheepishly. She seemed disappointed.
She showed Louis the podium and offered to help connect the laptop to the system’s projector. “I should have looked at the program,” she apologized. “What is your presentation about?”
“Interterrestrials,” he replied enthusiastically.
“Interterrestrials? You mean beings that live on Earth with humans?” she asked.
“Exactly!” Louis smiled, raising his right index finger.
“Interesting. . . .” The thought amused the aide. She quickly connected the laptop to the auditorium’s system and tested it.
“You are good to go, Mr. Sivani. Good luck and here’s a bottle of water,” she said, leaving the room.
“It’s Silvani!” he yelled as she disappeared through the doors.
A higher-ranking official from the event sponsor approached Louis and told him there would be a thirty-minute introductory video prior to his presentation, which promoted the organization’s activities. It allowed time for latecomers to find their seats before Louis spoke. He watched the introductory video and observed people entering the auditorium. As the room filled up, he spotted all kinds of people: young, old, women, men, people of various ethnicities. The demand for disclosure was not exclusive to any particular demographic.
The introductory presentation ended with a courteous applause. The spokesperson walked confidently to the center of the stage.
“Welcome UFO enthusiasts from Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and Delaware to the Region’s annual conference. Our first speaker is making his debut in our region. He has a blog and has contributed to various publications with articles on the subject of Interterrestrials—beings that are and have been cohabitating with humans. Please read his bio in the program. He is a thorough researcher and has new ideas about the UFO phenomenon. Louis? Is there a book in the future?” She looked back at the podium.
Louis nodded yes, but not very emphatically.
“There is? Good! I’m sure it will be entertaining and thought-provoking!”
Louis grinned slightly, lowering his head. The body language betrayed his response.
“Here now to talk about Interterrestrials is Louis Silvani.”
Louis started his presentation. He was given sixty minutes. He worked through the presentation as planned, talking about Antarctica, the Rendlesham Forest incident, the base at Dulce, New Mexico, and finally, the underground pyramid in Alaska. He also pointed to UFO activity relative to the world’s major mountain ranges: the Himalayas, Cascades, Andes, and one specific mountain, Mount Shasta. After the presentation, Louis fielded all kinds of questions. The session was lively and engaging.
A forty-something man stood up, the look on his face determined. “You have nice slides and you give a good speech. Antarctica, RAF Bentwaters, those appear to be true, then you talk about Dulce, New Mexico, and Mount Shasta. How did you get your information about those places?”
Louis described the reputable whistleblowers and all the people he interviewed.
“But you have never been to any of the places you talk about, right?” the man asked.
“No, I have not had the chance to visit any of the places myself.”
The audience murmured. “Maybe you should go to those places and get back to us after you have!” shouted another person.
“A good researcher tries to visit the places he writes about,” added the man with the microphone.
“He’s right!” a third audience member yelled out.
The audience continued to murmur, the noise building with every moment until Louis had to be rescued by the spokesperson.
“Thank you, Mr. Silvani! I am sure we will get more information on this in the future and through your blog.”
His moment of prestige ended terribly. Louis was speechless and in shock as he closed his laptop and walked away. He began to second guess himself. He was bullied by audience members and his response was absent. He felt weak and defeated. He had intended to stay for the rest of the conference and to have discussions with other presenters. He had hoped to talk to the author and former Air Force missileer in charge of silos at Malmstrom AFB, Montana, during an event where UFOs shut down silos, one at a time. And there was a professor of Natural Sciences at Boston University and a contributor to the TV show Ancient Aliens. Louis had also looked forward to being on a panel at the end of the conference where there would be open discussion on just about anything, but he decided to pack his equipment and go to the men’s room before returning to Chicago. Demoralized, he approached the lobby, when he heard a woman’s voice call out for him.
“Mr. Silvani, Mr. Silvani! Wait! Please!”
Louis stopped and turned toward the auditorium entrance doors. A Native American woman, appearing to be in her early forties, ran toward him. She wore a purple tie-dyed long-sleeved shirt and faded jeans with lime green athletic shoes. Her long jet-black hair was in braids, and she wore no makeup. Her complexion, her deep brown almond eyes, dark lashes and brows, presented a stunning composition. Her nose was classical—pronounced but not oversized for her oval face. She was adorned with a turquoise and silver bracelet and silver bands on both ring fingers.
“Hello, Mr. Silvani. I am Mary Ellen Velarde. I am Jicarilla Apache and I live in Dulce, New Mexico. I can take you there, and I could take you to Mount Shasta.”
Louis did not know how to respond. It was prudent to be wary of people at these events. “I saw what happened in—” her voice trailed off.
“You and a few hundred others who seemed in agreement with the points made by the hecklers,” interrupted Louis.
“Let me finish, sir,” retorted Mary Ellen confidently. “I know what you are feeling. You don’t have anyone to help you. I have a network of people that can help you get to those places. I sense that you have a desire to go to there. I am giving you the opportunity to join me.”
“Those are bold assumptions, Ms. Velarde,” said Louis with suspicion.
“The world is full of wonderful secrets that reveal our true nature and our unknown abilities. You have them. We all have them. Do you meditate, Mr. Silvani?”
Louis was not in the mood for an interrogation after being heckled. “I have dabbled with meditation: not a huge fan,” he admitted.
She motioned Louis to a small intimate seating area in the lobby. “Will you sit with me there for a moment?”
Mary Ellen asked him to elaborate, offering an opportunity to give her a better answer.
“I know the benefits from meditation: better sleeping, clarity of thought, stress reduction,” he said, taking the moment to exhale and try to relax. “I used to meditate daily for about thirty minutes. I seem to have lost my skill. I never felt I got much out of it except rest. I would find myself falling asleep and never getting to where I could see images. I haven’t applied myself to meditate like I should.”
“I meditate daily. When you meditate, you exercise your pineal gland. Do you know about the pineal gland?” Mary Ellen asked. “It is what helps you dream.”
Louis nodded. “Yes, in fact during a visit to Rome, I saw a huge bronze sculpture of a pinecone on the path leading to the Basilica of Saint Peter at the Vatican. I understand that pinecone symbolized the gland.”
Mary Ellen responded with a smile, satisfied that she did not have to explain before continuing. “Also, when you meditate, exercising the gland allows you to be more connected with the Cosmos. Meditation opens up a gift we all have. You should consider going with me to Dulce. I know you will find it beneficial for your lectures.”
She took out a notebook and pen from her fringed leather sack and wrote her name and contact information. She ripped the page out to give to Louis. “Here is my cell phone. I am scheduled to be on a flight leaving tomorrow morning from Pittsburgh. Are you at the Econo Lodge?”
Louis nodded.
“I am staying there too. I have enough in my bags for a road trip, but you probably just packed for this trip so you will have to go back to . . .”
“Chicago. I drove here. Are you asking me to make a decision here and now?” Louis was feeling trapped.
“No,” responded Mary Ellen. “Not here and now. I could change my travel plans and get a flight to Chicago. I could stay with a friend there. You can have as much time as you need after you return home before you decide. Does that sound reasonable?”
“But why now?” asked Louis, still unsure about her.
“Why not? Our meeting was not an accident, Mr. Silvani. Those people in the audience served a purpose for you and for me. You may not know it, but you have an important role to fulfill, and I will help you through it. There is much I know about you that you still have not even begun to realize.”
Louis paused as she said those words, put down his laptop case, pursed his lips and focused his eyes on her. “You are not the first person to tell me that about myself.”
Mary Ellen smirked. “I will change my flight to go to Chicago. I expect a call tomorrow night. I paid for the entire conference, so I will stay for the rest. Have a safe trip back to Chicago, Mr. Silvani.”
She extended her hand and smiled. Her whole face smiled. Her eyes glistened. He felt a warmth from the handshake. He kept his lips tight, almost clenching his jaw muscles. She picked up her sack, stood up, and turned briskly toward the auditorium. Louis did not move. Instead, he watched her walk away toward the welcome area. Louis was disappointed in himself for perhaps being too protective or cynical. He didn’t even say thank you; he was relatively vacant of any human expression, and she was just the opposite. As she entered the doors, he thought about what she had said about him that the other psychic women had confided in him. Why is it only women that know this?
