After checking for the status of my clearances at the visitor's desk, the rent-a- cop confirmed that they hadn't arrived. The captain would have to escort me into the building. "Did you find a parking space okay?" the captain asked, making small talk as we waited for the guard to fill out the paperwork I needed to sign. "Oh yeah, no problem," I lied again, not wanting to create any more conver- sation than was necessary. I was getting more and more anxious. Why had he called me for a private meeting? That question was weighing heavily on my mind as we left the visitor's cen- ter and made our way through the turnstiles into the most formidable and secretive government agency ever to be formed; the National Security Agency. I had heard many stories about the National Security Agency, dubbed the "Puzzle Palace" by many. When I found out I was going to attend classes there I read everything I could find on the subject. I learned that the National Security Agency was originated in response to a memorandum sent by President Harry Truman on October 24, 1952 to Secretary of State Dean Acheson and Defense Secretary Robert Lovatt. This memo placed the NSA under the authority of the Secretary of Defense, and charged it with monitoring and decoding any sig- nal transmission relevant to the security of the United States. In layman's terms, the NSA eavesdropped on the world through all kinds of sources, overt- ly and covertly. I also learned that, due to security concerns, the construction of any structures surrounding the main NSA building complex was restricted to a certain pre-determined height. The rationale for this construction regulation, it explained, was to prevent any adversarial agency from taking up residence in a location that would provide them a vantage point for audio and visual surveil- lance. For obvious reasons, this would make the world's most prolific intelli- gence agency very uncomfortable. Many sources jokingly referred to it as "No Such Agency" because of the level of secrecy surrounding the organization itself. As we walked down the stark hallways, my pre-conceived ideas of how the interior of the hallowed halls of the NSA complex would look fell far short of reality. The hallways were bland expanses of raised tile floors and painted walls. I don't know exactly what I was expecting, but somehow it wasn't what I was seeing. We walked for miles, it seemed, down numerous hallways before we reached Captain White's office. The sign next to the door, in small unassuming letters, read "Captain White/DO.""This is it," he said as he swiped his card through the card reading device mounted on the wall below his name plate. He punched his personal code into the numbered keypad located on the face of the device. A green light and an audible click signaled the door had unlocked. As we stepped through the door I could see another door in front of us. The captain made sure the door behind us was secured, then turned and placed his forehead against what appeared to be a visor. I immediately recognized it as a retina scanner. My understanding was that they were still experimental, but this one appeared to work fine. After a few seconds of scan time, we heard a tone. I was already full of questions about the security measures, but I bit my tongue not wanting to sound inexperienced. I had never come across such tight securi- ty procedures to get into an office within an already tightly secured building. My mind was becoming more and more active with questions. I am a naturally curious person, so I had to actively suppress my curiosity and hold my ques- tions for a more appropriate time. We entered a room appointed with fine furnishings. The room was square, perhaps 20 feet by 20 feet. Along the right wall was a brown leather couch with a few chairs in the corner. The captain's desk stood in the middle of the room. On the left wall was a built-in sink with a miniature refrigerator set into the cabinetry. Captain White motioned for me to sit in the chair facing his desk. "Would you like something to drink, Sergeant Sherman?" he asked as I sat down. "No thank you, Sir, I'm fine." In reality I was dying of thirst, but I still wasn't comfortable accepting any of his entreaties. "Okay," he said as he sat down behind his desk. "How was your trip out here; did you get to see any of the sights on the way out or did you drive straight through?" I couldn't help but wonder why he was dragging this meeting on with small talk. The longer he waited to share with me the reason for this meeting, the more nervous I became. "I drove straight through, only stopping for gas," I answered him. "Well you must be pretty tired then. Let me get this out of the way so you can get back to the hotel and get some sleep." Yes! I could almost hear the sigh of relief escape my mouth. I was tired, and had been running on adrenaline for some time. "You've probably surmised by now that this meeting is a little unusual." "Actually, my curiosity has been piqued," I said as calmly as I could, not wanting to let him know how nervous I was. "I can imagine. I've been in the position of telling people this a few times now, and there's never been a way to put it lightly. As you know, you've been sent here to go through course EA280, but you will also be going through another school while you're here." In one quick moment, all my anxieties vanished. He just wanted to tell me about another class. But no sooner had my anxieties disappeared than they reappeared, only tenfold. "To put it bluntly, Sergeant Sherman, in the summer of 1960 your mother was visited by what the world commonly refers to as aliens." "Sir?" was the only thing I could manage to say."Random tests were being conducted on the general populace at the time to determine compatibility." I was in a state of utter disbelief when I asked in a weak, cracking voice, "Compatibility?" "Yes. Actually, it's a long story. I'll try to explain as much as I can but there's much that I don't even know. In a nutshell, you've been given an interesting ability through what we call genetic management." My mother, genetic management, compatibility, long story. My mind was reeling with all this new information. I came in here expecting to find out about a deployment for an exercise, or perhaps that I had incorrectly filled out my travel voucher, but not this! As though the captain could sense how much shock I was experiencing he said, "I know all this is going to be hard to swallow, but I can assure you it's true." All at once I became overwrought with a sense of amazement and curiosity. Captain White sat in front of me, calm and relaxed, telling me that aliens exist- ed as if he were merely sharing with me the topic of an obscure news item he read in yesterday's paper. If this was true, than all those years of boyhood wondering had just been validated, in one fell swoop. There was life elsewhere and we were not alone in this vast universe. Was I dreaming? Could this really be happening? I had heard rumors through the classified grapevine of alien craft experiments in Nevada, and the testing of new weapons based on alien technology. But this was no longer a rumor. This was reality - my reality. All these things were going through my mind as the captain continued with his remarkable revelations. "I mentioned you have a unique ability; we call it 'intuitive communications.' It's an ability to communicate through the intuitive manipulation of your mind. There have been a handful of people since this ability was perfected that have utilized this skill within the military establish- ment. There are many others throughout the general world populace that cur- rently have this ability, but until it is brought out by proper exercise methods it lays dormant." By this time, I had immersed myself into what the captain was telling me, soaking up every detail. I found myself from one moment to the next believing and then disbelieving what he was saying. How could all this be kept from the public so thoroughly? Even in the tabloids, where people routinely gave birth to three-headed aliens, you never once heard of "intuitive communicators." "I'm getting ahead of myself a little; let me show you some background on what I'm talking about." He got up to pull down a screen from the ceiling above the refrigerator. As I shook my head in amazement Captain White looked at me with a slight smile on his face and continued with his story. And what a story it was. Reality Check! Captain White spoke slowly at first, as if to gently nudge the unbelievable truth in my direction. "In 1947, the US government made contact with an alien species. Today, we commonly refer to them as ‘greys’. Because of this contact, we have learned many things. Some of the things we learned were good, andsome not-so-good. And it’s one of those not-so-good things that has ultimately brought you here, Sergeant Sherman." My mind was still swimming as I asked, "So what am I doing here, Sir?" The captain continued with the story as if he hadn’t heard me. "In 1960, an experiment was given a great deal of attention within Level 1 circles...." "Excuse me sir," I interrupted. "What is ‘Level 1’?" "I was just getting there. Level 1 is a classification category that allows us to compartmentalize any and all grey information. You’ll hear more about this at your security indoctrination later." "I see." The captain went on. "The experiment that I’m referring to was, and still is, named ‘Project Preserve Destiny.’ It started in 1960 and was fully operational by 1963. It was a genetic management project with the sole purpose of cultivat- ing human offspring so that they would have the ability to communicate with the greys. Your mother was initially abducted in 1960 for tests, then again in 1963 for the actual genetic procedure while you were in the womb." Each moment in Captain White’s office was more shocking than the last. In the seconds after each new revelation, my mind went through utter disbelief, fol- lowed by skepticism, then outright curiosity. How could this be happening to me? Aliens were the made-up fantasies of Hollywood film makers and science fiction book writers. They had no place within the concrete, tangible realm of the US military. Yet, here I sat in front of a US Air Force captain with two con- nected silver bars on each shoulder, listening to what most people would rec- ognize as a great little alien story. At some point in our conversation, I can’t remember exactly when, I became a believer. First, out of my own desire to believe, then ultimately in my inabili- ty to avoid the information being presented to me. "Your abilities are a product of Project Preserve Destiny, Sergeant Sherman." I was about to ask a question when the captain directed my attention back to the screen, as if to say, "not yet, there’s more!" I was expecting pictures of aliens and other science fiction type of stuff. Instead, I was treated to a healthy dose of facts and bullet statements. "In January of 1963, the first successfully managed embryo was produced under PPD supervision. There were only a certain number of ‘intcomm’ capa- ble personnel required, hence the genetic management phase of PPD was ter- minated in March of 1968." I accurately surmised that "intcomm" was a shortened name for intuitive communications. (I later learned that I would be referred to as an "IC".) "Because intcomm abilities really cannot be fully utilized, biologically, until the subject is approximately 25 years old or older, we have just recently begun the recruiting and training phase of PPD. Because the selection process in 1960 was based on carefully calculated statistical demographics, they were able to accurately predict that a certain percentage of those offspring would choose the military as a career." I had a million questions running through my mind by now, so I just grabbed one and spit it out. "Did my mother conceive me or was I implanted?" Even as I said the words, I couldn’t believe the conversation I was having. Several hours ago I was trying to get a non-smoking hotel room for my prolonged stay inMaryland and now I was inquiring as to whether I was naturally conceived or placed in my mother’s womb by an alien race. It was almost too much to process all at once. Captain White responded in a reassuring tone, "Everyone I’ve had to tell this to has had the same concern at some point in the conversation. Rest assured, you are 100% human. Your conception was as normal as any other person’s." I distinctly remember being greatly relieved to find out I wasn’t part alien. In retrospect, it seems a little naive but a lot was happening at once, and my mind was racing with all kinds of possible scenarios. I was slowly becoming more and more impatient as well. I wanted to know the "whys" of this project. "Why have all these people been selected for this project? What’s the ultimate purpose?" "That’s a good question. Unfortunately, I have no answer for you. Most of us only know enough to do our assigned jobs. The long term goals are only known by a handful of Level 1 personnel of which I am not one. All that we’ve been told is that your abilities will be needed in the future when all electro- magnetic communications will be rendered useless." "How will this happen?" I asked. "Again, there are things that you have no need-to-know at this point and that is one of them. To tell you the truth, I do not know either. I have my suspicions, which I’m sure you will have as time goes on as well. "I will be your PPD point of contact during your stay here in Maryland. It’s probably obvious, but I must address it anyway. You are not authorized to speak to anyone about PPD unless I direct you to do so. You will be going through a highly specialized school while you are here. This school is designed to teach you how to recognize and uncover your IC abilities. You will see another stu- dent during your classroom time as there are two of you here at present. Neither of you may speak to one another. Your transportation to and from the school will be provided. You’ll meet a blue van outside your hotel after your ELINT classes break for the day. You will be expected to be down at the van exactly 45 minutes from the time you arrive back to your room from your ELINT class. This will give you enough time to do any necessary tasks before departing for your PPD classes. Don’t worry, we’ll go over most of this again tomorrow. Do you have any other questions for me so far, Sergeant Sherman?" I had plenty of questions but all I could say was, "Not right now, Sir." Captain White went on as if reading from a manual. "I realize this has been quite a shock and you may not even believe what I’m telling you right now; but I assure you, Sergeant Sherman, this is not a dream." The captain understood exactly what I was thinking. I was grasping for some sort of explanation. Even though I knew Captain White was telling me the truth, I kept expecting this to turn out to be an elaborate joke. Perhaps they were initiating my arrival to the ELINT school. I expected some joker to jump out of a closet laughing and pointing at me as if I were the biggest fool in the world for falling for this "alien" thing. Yet I couldn’t dispute what was being told to me. Everything was too elaborate, and the captain too convincing. This was real! When you get back to your hotel all kinds of questions are going to come toyou. Please make a mental note of them. I say mental note because you are not to write anything down at all concerning this subject. We’re seeing each other again tomorrow for your school indoctrination. You will be able to ask any fol- low-up questions at that time. Until then, you understand that you are not allowed to speak about this to anyone, correct?" The military training in me stepped up to the vocal chords and announced automatically, "Yes, Sir!" "Well, I think you’ve probably earned some much needed rest. You look pretty worn out. I’ll give you a call tomorrow to set up a time to meet at the same entrance we met at today." Captain White started to rise and I followed his lead. Of course I had more questions but he appeared to have stopped tak- ing them. As I stepped out of the NSA building into the sunny but cold Maryland winter air, I realized everything that had been important to me before I stepped into this building earlier today had all of a sudden changed. I don’t remember the long walk back to my car. My mind was racing and churning over and over. There was absolutely life elsewhere. No doubt, not fiction - they actually exist- ed. I had always believed in the possibility of life elsewhere but it was difficult to comprehend. Even as I now knew, on a conscious level, that aliens existed, I still found myself resorting to rationalization. I was trying to deny the truth because it didn’t fit what I always thought was real. My previous beliefs about extraterrestrial life were always based on a distant possibility. Now that I was confronted with the reality of it head on, my mind had a hard time believing. I drove back to the hotel. During the 15 minute trip I started becoming slightly paranoid. Every car I passed or that passed me, in my overly-height- ened sense of awareness, could have been someone following me to make sure I didn’t tell anyone that aliens existed. Of course that was ludicrous! What if I did tell someone? Would I be found dead behind a country barn 50 miles from civilization? I began to wonder how they kept people who knew about this program from telling someone. I didn’t intend to find out, that was for sure! "You’ll just need to sign these forms so that the guard can issue you your restricted area badge." My clearances had arrived. I posed for a picture, signed the badge and waited for the guard to laminate it and attach a chain to it. While we waited, the captain was uncomfortably silent. I stole glances of him out of the corner of my eye. He seemed too calm for someone who knew aliens exist- ed. I wasn’t sure how you were supposed to act, but calm didn’t seem to fit. This was all so new to me and I constantly felt nervous. "Sergeant Sherman," the rent-a-cop guard called out, interrupting my thoughts about the captain. I went up to the counter to retrieve my new, fresh- ly laminated restricted area badge. "Here is your PIN, Sergeant Sherman. Just swipe your card through the card reader, enter your PIN then press the pound key. You should get a green light and hear a click from the door or turnstile." Back at the hotel, as I lay in bed, all these questions began to surface. The main one being; if there was life else- where then where did God fit into the picture? Was God a fictional entity that we humans had dreamed up in order to make sense of our lives? There had to be a mastermind that made order out of chaos. Were the aliens God? I drifted off to sleep questioning my own religious beliefs and wondering if Iwould ever get any answers. The phone rang, awakening me once again. I knew it would be Captain White so I rushed to answer it. "Hello," I said a little too excitedly, like a kid answering the phone when he knew Santa would be calling. "Good morning, Sergeant Sherman," I heard the efficient voice of Captain White quickly say. "Meet me at the same entrance at 0900 hrs." "Yes, Sir. I’ll be there. Do I need to bring anything?" "No. I’ll see you at nine." As I hung up the phone it occurred to me this wasn’t a dream. I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my eyes, as the questions I had gone to sleep thinking about came rushing back to me. I’d have to make a mental note of them like the captain said. The captain was already at the visitor’s center when I got there. He met me with a smile which set aside my fear that he was mad because I was late. This was the same system we had at my own base so I wasn’t paying much attention to the guard. My mind had too many other things to think about than to listen to the rent-a-cop. In the midst of my mental wanderings I noticed the guard had stopped talk- ing to me so I took that as my cue. "Thank you," I said, even though I hadn’t paid much attention to his instructions. "All set?" the captain asked. "I guess so," I answered. The captain led me out the visitor center’s doors. But instead of turning right to go through the building’s security turnstiles he turned left and headed for the doors that led outside. I almost questioned where he was going but consciously bit my tongue instead and continued to follow behind. Waiting for us in front of the building in a no-parking zone was a blue Air Force van. My heart began to beat faster. My internal safety mechanisms were sounding. Where were they taking me? More importantly, would I return? Those were the two immediate concerns paramount in my mind as I climbed into the van ahead of the captain. I was sitting in a van with blackout windows, traveling to an unknown loca- tion, when it hit me like a ton of bricks: my life was never going to be the same again. I was right. Intuitive Communicator The van that I would end up spending a lot of time in over the next few months was interesting. You could not see anything through the windows, either looking inside or looking out. Because the cab part of the van where the driver sat was blocked from view as well, I never once was able to get a good look at the person driving the van. This was always amusing to me and I even had a nickname for him: Casper the friendly van driver. Not that I could share my sense of humor with anyone, as I was never able to talk to the driver nor anyone else while I was there except Captain White. And after our initial meet- ings I didn’t see him too often. I asked Captain White where we were going a few minutes after we had boarded the van.