by Keith Thomas
That “something more,” according to Janet, is a linear particle accelerator. Yeah. There are many of these in use—you can look up the basic physics of how they operate, but they essentially generate X-rays and high-energy particles for research and medical treatments.
• This covert research program used a linear particle accelerator (or LINAC, as they are known) to brainwash experimental subjects. That’s what they tried. I should mention briefly who “they” are: the HED, or Human Ecology Division. As near as I can tell, the HED is a study group—associated with several universities and medical schools—that focuses on cross-cultural research and is interested in “the relationship between man and his environment and the neurological dimensions of adaptive processes.” Whatever that means. Janet claimed the HED was really a CIA-funded group running “brainwashing” (she called it “thought-reform”) experiments on unwilling participants. Mostly orphans. That part gets me too.
• According to Janet, most of the study’s subjects were taken from orphanages. Though some were actually lifted right off the street. The dates of these experiments are a bit tricky—she talks on the tapes of 1970s-set experiments but claims it began decades earlier. Regardless, the children were transported to a remote facility where they were tortured, abused, and experimented on using LINAC machines. The purpose of all this awfulness: to break their wills, erase their minds, and then plant new memories.
• Janet was one of these orphans—only she wasn’t really. She was the daughter of the lead experimenter (!!??), a particle physicist named DR. CELESTE THERIAULT. (I can find no record of a scientist by that name.) Apparently, Dr. Theriault believed that the then-burgeoning technology of particle accelerators offered deep insights into how memories were formed and stored in human DNA—the Morris hypothesis. She aimed to prove it was true and wanted to use it for the aforementioned mind-control programs they were developing.
• While they successfully used the accelerators to erase memories, rewriting them with new ones became problematic. The scientists couldn’t get the process to work, though Dr. Theriault labored tirelessly to crack the complicated mathematics. She committed suicide sometime in 1979. Leaving Janet with the HED.
• It is unclear exactly what happened next. Janet was experimented on with the rest of the remaining orphans at this clandestine facility. How Janet got out is also unclear, but she has been on the run ever since. Apparently, there is something of an underground network, shuttling various survivors around—from city to city—to hide them. Janet claims a good number of these people are in the network, but there are some who are outside of it, completely hidden (off the grid, so to speak). Further, she claims that the HED is still active—not only pursuing her but also continuing to run secret, dangerous experiments without government oversight. She supposes that their techniques have advanced significantly over the ensuing years and that they have, potentially, gone even further underground.
• Last, but most important: Janet claims there was a curious side effect in a small subset of the subjects—dubbed the “Null” by the researchers. These Null subjects were able to access latent memories of past lives that were encoded in their DNA. Some of the Null could remember back generations, through hundreds, sometimes thousands, of years. Maybe even millions?
The Null “Cohort” (note that it’s the same name as the anarchist group) have been damaged to the point that they require ongoing medication—the aforementioned cancer drug—to avoid losing their minds. Why isn’t exactly explained, but I suspect it has something to do with the past-life memories that are invading the brains of Null members. This, Janet explained, is why she was acting as though she were high—she was, in fact, overwhelmed by her “past-life memories.”
I could go on and on. I haven’t mentioned the business about the creation of AIDS using particle accelerators (apparently one was also used to cover up the murder of a promising young scientist in the mid-1960s), or the equally outlandish claim that the HED employs people known as “Night Doctors” to capture their unwitting subjects—these Night Doctors, apparently, are something of a historical boogeyman largely afflicting African American communities.
You can see why I got so wrapped up in this thing. It writes itself!
Martin Shapiro, PsyD.
40
KOJO PLACED THE PAGES on his lap and stared at the videotape in his hand.
Clearly, Ashanique’s mother had paranoid delusions. And clearly, those delusions had found their way into her daughter’s mind. It also made the madness of feeding her kid experimental cancer meds more palatable—the woman was insane. She’d been insane for years. Somehow, she’d hid it really well.
Kojo considered stopping there.
Do you really need to see this videotape? What more is there to know?
Call it a detective’s instincts, or call it morbid curiosity, but Kojo needed to see Janet say these things. He needed to hear it for himself.
Kojo pushed the videotape into the ancient TV/VCR.
Then he pressed play.
A black screen filled with “burned in” white text; identifying date, location, names, and tape details appeared first. Then, the image cut to a blurry shot of Janet, looking haggard and thin, sitting at a police table, a blank wall behind her.
Dr. Shapiro, offscreen, spoke first.
NAME: “JANET OLANDER”
ADDRESS: UNKNOWN
AGE/DOB: 36/UNKNOWN
PLACE AND DATE OF INTERVIEW: Station 302—June 12, 2005
TIME: Commenced 1323. Concluded 1451.
TAPE REFERENCE NUMBER(S): 1/1, 2/1, 3/1, & 4/1
INTERVIEWING OFFICER:
Det. Chief. Supt. 2812 ROGERS
Dr. SHAPIRO (lead)
DECLARATION: This transcription of the video recording consisting of five pages is the exhibit referred to in statement made and signed by me.
SIGNATURE of physician
——————————————————————————————————————
SIGNATURE of officer preparing record
——————————————————————————————————————
TAPE 1
00:01:15
DR. M. SHAPIRO: This interview is being videotaped and audio recorded and is being conducted in an office at the Chicago Police Station. I am Doctor Martin Shapiro of the Chicago Police Twelfth District. The woman across from me is Mrs. Janet Olander. Would you please pronounce and spell your last name for me?
J. OLANDER: O-L-A-N-N-D . . .
DR. M. SHAPIRO: Are you having difficulty focusing, Mrs. Olander? Would you like a glass of water?
J. OLANDER: I’m fine.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: Are you sure?
J. OLANDER: That I’m fine? No. I need those pills—the yellow-and-white ones you took off me. They help . . .
DR. M. SHAPIRO: You’re talking about the cancer medications? The MetroChime?
J. OLANDER: Yes.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: I’m afraid I can’t do that. Those medications were stolen and, as far as we can ascertain, you do not currently have or are in remission from cancer. Can you explain to me why you think you need the medication?
J. OLANDER: Look at me. Listen to me. I’m struggling.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: Have you taken any other drugs tonight? Either over-the-counter or illicit, or both? Anything we should know about that might help us make sense of what you told the officers who picked you up earlier this evening?
J. OLANDER: My urine is clean. You already know that. Listen, I—I’m sick, okay? That’s all. I was a police officer once, you know? I get how this works—how this whole thing is supposed to go. You need to get me those pills.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: You were an officer? Where?
J. OLANDER: San Francisco. A long time ago.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: Mrs. Olander. I can’t give you those pills. But you’re here now to tell me about tonight’s incident. Can you tell me what exactly y
ou were doing at, uh, at the residence of one Mr. Datlow, 400 South Corliss Avenue?
J. OLANDER: I was visiting.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: This address is a suspected drug lab. Do you know what was being made there?
J. OLANDER: I know you do not want to go down this rabbit hole, Dr. Shapiro. You’ll regret it.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: Why is that?
J. OLANDER: They’ll come for me. It isn’t safe here.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: Who will come?
J. OLANDER: Don’t do this, Doc . . . I don’t feel well.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: In addition to the chemical compounds and equipment associated with the suspected manufacture of drugs, there were also many weapons and bomb-manufacturing materials discovered in Mr. Tyler’s residence. When you were visiting, were you aware of these items?
J. OLANDER: I don’t think you’re listening to me, Doc.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: I believe I am. I think you’re just not willing to answer my questions. I’m not here to assess your innocence or guilt; I’m here to assess your mental status. You told the arresting officers some very concerning things. Can we talk about them now?
J. OLANDER: You think I’m a terrorist.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: I don’t make any assumptions about you. I am here, working for the Chicago Police Department, to evaluate your mental status at the time of arrest. You told the arresting officers that you were part of an experiment, is that right? That you had escaped?
J. OLANDER: I wasn’t myself then.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: Were you on drugs at the time?
J. OLANDER: Sure.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: Okay. Let’s start over. Can you tell me anything about the place you escaped from? The experiment?
J. OLANDER: It was a lab. In a remote location. Way off the grid. Military at the time. The people who ran it, they were doctors with a group called the HED.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: HED?
J. OLANDER: It stands for the Human Ecology Division.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: And what exactly do they do?
J. OLANDER: You ever heard of MK-DELTA or MK-ULTRA? The brainwashing experiments they did? How about the Lupine Papers? Or Dr. Joe Curwen at Duke University? He ran parapsychology labs that did covert research on something Curwen called the Fold. And those were just the programs that came to light. They were dinosaurs; the agency stumbling in the dark to try and tap into here— (J.O. points at her left temple.)
DR. M. SHAPIRO: Agency as in the CIA?
J. OLANDER: Yes.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: You’re suggesting it was a mind-control program? Something like brainwashing?
J. OLANDER: I’m not suggesting, Doc.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: And you were part of this program?
J. OLANDER: Not at first, I wasn’t. My mother was. But—(long pause as she closes her eyes and leans back)—um, here’s the rub, Doc, my mom, she was in charge. The whole thing was her idea. I was just along for the ride.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: This program, what was it designed to do?
J. OLANDER: Terrible— Terrible things. To children.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: Like what, Janet?
(J.O. holds her head and mumbles indistinctly.)
J. OLANDER: . . . genetics—they had an accelerator—Mom did the math, you see. It’s— It’s all about memory.
DR. M. SHAPIRO: Like memorization?
J. OLANDER: No. Like targeting glurr (sp?) proteins before—before they form ampahs (sp?) . . . They called it Clarity . . .
DR. M. SHAPIRO: Tell me what that means, Janet.
(J.O. slowly sits upright, with her face forward. Her eyes are locked on Dr. Shapiro’s eyes. She appears lucid. She leans in with her eyes still on his.)
J. OLANDER: Do you know what it’s like to hunt antelope with spears in the Carpathian Mountains? To slaughter Spanish soldiers in the surf of Melilla?
DR. M. SHAPIRO: No. I do not. Janet, you said you’re on the run. Can you tell me why they are chasing you?
J. OLANDER: We’re the ones who got away. They hunt us because if the world finds out we exist it will destroy everything they’ve been working toward. And . . . (J.O. leans forward) I know a secret. The key to a code that they want to crack so, so bad. A few years ago, if they’d got it, it would have worked, but the technology hadn’t caught up. Now that it has, my mind’s too fragmented to remember it all. Ironic, right?
00:11:45
End Tape 1
41
10:43 A.M.
NOVEMBER 15, 2018
UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO CENTER FOR INTEGRATIVE NEUROSCIENCE
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
ASHANIQUE SAT STILL as Tamiko placed an ECG cap on her head.
They were in her lab on the fifth floor, and the ECG cap resembled a shower cap, skintight, with dozens of electrodes protruding from the surface. The electrodes were connected to thin white wires. They, in turn, led to the machines that read the electrical activity in the brain.
Tamiko seemed satisfied.
Sitting on a rolling chair nearby, Matilda gave Ashanique a thumbs-up.
She swung a bar across the front of the rather ominous chair Ashanique had been placed in. It had a plastic chin rest and a rubber-coated forehead brace. Slowly, gently, Tamiko moved Ashanique’s head into position—her chin on the rest and her forehead pressed up against the brace.
“Are you comfortable?”
Ashanique said, “Not exactly.”
“But enough?”
“Yeah. Enough. How long does this test take?”
“Only a few minutes. You shouldn’t feel anything.”
Tamiko rolled a monitor on a cart up in front of Ashanique. She adjusted the height of the cart so Ashanique could look directly at the monitor without moving her head. Tamiko explained that the monitor would display a series of images and words. She wanted Ashanique to read them to herself. The ECG would register the electrical swells and dips associated with each image or word.
“This will show us exactly what parts of the hippocampus are most active. We’ll be able to target those specific neurons associated with long-term memory. The images will guide the process. Best to just ease into it, okay?”
“Okay,” Ashanique said.
Matilda gently rubbed the girl’s shoulder.
“You’ll do great,” she said. “There are no wrong answers here.”
The lights were dimmed and Ashanique felt like a guinea pig, her face pressed up against the plastic guard, her head immobile under the weight of the ECG wires. She stared at the monitor as it suddenly flickered to life. At first, she thought it would be like watching TV. Maybe she’d be shown one of the Disney Channel shows she remembered from third grade. Ashanique imagined it wouldn’t be so bad if she was just shown a funny TV show and the computers tracked the electrical output of her brain while she was laughing inside.
But Ashanique knew that wouldn’t happen.
Out of the very corner of her eye, she saw Matilda sitting with her arms crossed and looking worried. The same look Ashanique’s teachers had when her mom would come to the school for parent-teacher conferences. The teachers were always the ones on the defensive. Janice showed up armed with every assignment Ashanique had completed and an excuse for every day she missed or was late.
Ashanique understood why when the first image popped up on the monitor.
“What is this?” Ashanique asked loudly.
Tamiko said, “Just watch the images. React inside your head. Don’t speak.”
The first image on the screen was a short, looped video of soldiers running over a barricade made of loose stone and dirt. The footage was grainy and jumped. Speckled with age. Ashanique recognized this war; she’d seen it in vivid, crystal-clear color. Her pulse quickened and she heard her heart in her ears.
And just like that it ended.
Ten seconds later, a series of photos flashed across the screen. They were Polaroids of handwritten calculations. Numbers scrawled on a sheet of paper. Ashanique didn’t know what they were, but her body did. She felt eve
ry muscle tighten and started to grind her teeth. Whatever this test was meant to do, Ashanique didn’t want to participate any longer.
“Is this almost over?” Ashanique asked Tamiko.
Tamiko seemed irritated. “Please, just finish the test.”
“Maybe there’s another test we can run,” Matilda jumped in. “Something a little less invasive.”
“This is hardly invasive,” Tamiko said.
Glancing away from the screen, Ashanique could see Tamiko staring at the ECG readouts as she thumbed through them. Her expression was incredulous.
“Keep going,” Tamiko said. “It’ll be over soon.”
On the monitor, more video footage rolled. It was a shot from the hood of a car as it drove along a rutted, narrow road through a snowy forest. Ashanique knew this was the same place she’d drawn, the place she’d seen in her memories. But instead of watching the footage, Ashanique was desperate to close her eyes. She felt sick to her stomach. She felt like she was going to pass out.
“My head hurts,” Ashanique said, breathing hard. “I have to stop.”
“You can’t stop now.”
Matilda lurched from her chair. “Tamiko. Stop this.”
“My head . . . ,” Ashanique moaned.
On the monitor, the video footage of the car in the forest sped up—double time, then triple. The forest flashed by, a smear of green and white. Ashanique couldn’t tell if it was getting faster and faster on purpose or if it was just her mind losing its focus. The monitor was so close to her face. She felt as though she were about to fall into it. She could practically smell the pine aroma of the forest. She could actually hear the car’s tires grinding on the road.