by Linda Hawley
I smiled in reply.
“Let’s go over to one of the training pairs and watch, then I’ll explain after.”
We sat down near a woman in her thirties and a man about ten years older. We were close enough to observe them without interfering. The woman had long blond curly hair, very fair skin, piercing hazel eyes, and an oval face. She was tall and thin, a natural beauty. She was deeply focused on what was in front of her; it was obvious that she was a trainee. Her instructor was Hispanic, of medium build and height, and quite ordinary looking. He kept working with the woman, paying us no attention.
In his hands were numbered envelopes. The woman selected the number four envelope, then sat back in the sofa with her clipboard, pen, and paper. She was clearly calming herself with her eyes closed for about a minute. She then opened her eyes, wrote down the date and time and TARGET 4. I noticed that the number corresponded to the number on the envelope she had chosen. After a short while, she began to sketch lines and shapes. She also wrote down sensory information—some colors, textures, and tastes. It was like watching someone observe something that I could not see; it was intriguing. After about ten minutes, she wrote END at the bottom of her paper, along with the current time. She then removed her paper from the clipboard and handed it and the unopened envelope to her instructor.
The man then put the paper on the table and opened the envelope to reveal its contents. He displayed three distinct pictures: a skyscraper in the sun, a red apple, and a man with a cowboy hat. Clearly, the woman had sketched the skyscraper and the cowboy hat, and she had written down “sweet,” which must have referred to the taste of the apple.
Are they doing ESP experiments here? I wondered.
Bob stood up silently, nodding his head to the instructor and the woman, and led me away from the pair gently by my elbow. We entered a glass observation room where we could watch the pair training. Once the door was shut, he began to explain.
“You probably think it’s a type of ESP experiment, right?”
Looking sheepish, I nodded.
“Well you’re going down the right road—but what we’re doing here is called remote viewing. In remote viewing, we do use extrasensory perception, but we also use specific protocols, so our technique and environment is controlled, and the technique is learnable. A trained remote viewer can sense an object, person, or event existing anywhere, in any time—present, past, or future. Time and space is not a limitation in remote viewing. What we’re doing here is training individuals to remotely perceive intelligence targets of foreign entities.”
Wow. My mind was reeling.
“Now you can understand why you were not allowed to know anything about our project before you were granted a TS-SI clearance.”
“Yeah, I understand,” I confirmed, nodding seriously.
“The work we’re doing here uses a kind of parapsychological intelligence.” Bob paused and then asked, “Have you ever heard of astral projection?”
“You mean like Shirley MacLaine’s out-of-body experiences?”
“Yes, some people—like MacLaine—call astral projection an out-of-body experience,” he responded, seemingly irritated.
“The beginnings of remote viewing were discovered during astral projection research conducted at Stanford Research Institute in the seventies. The research we were funding at Stanford was very interesting. Let me explain the breakthrough we had there,” he said, looking to me for understanding.
I nodded.
He continued, “We realized that geographical coordinates were ultimately necessary for precognitive remote viewing. This is similar to how memory works. When you remember what you did yesterday, you think about a location, and an image forms in your mind. The same principle is used here, only in reverse. If we needed to know about something before it happened, like an enemy plot, for example, then the targeted coordinates were essential to our success. We also learned that some viewers were naturally predisposed through their genetics to be very accurate remote viewers. We could only identify this genetic predisposition when it was manifested by the individual, in the form of vivid dreams, astral projection, extrasensory perception, mental telepathy, and other natural gifts. Once we knew of the necessity to use geographic coordinates and to select gifted viewers, we began Project Stargate here at the CIA.”
“So the Stargate program uses all of those gifts?”
“Yes. We’ve learned a great deal so far. You’ll learn more as you’re trained.”
“I look forward to it.”
“You should know that other government and non-government organizations do not realize that Project Stargate is still live here. Those organizations believe that we passed this program on to other agencies. Ann, you’ll be protecting this knowledge for the rest of your life, and you can never speak of it to anyone outside our group. Now you understand what I said earlier about family,” he stated with seriousness, looking directly at me.
“I do,” I responded, although I felt unnerved by his statement.
“You might want to know that we selected you for this project because of your score on the parapsychological tests you took at Keesler. Although, the Air Force tests at your recruitment center were our first indications that you could be an asset. A portion of that test reveals the natural gifts that we’re seeking. We rarely add new personnel to our project. You are the first Air Force participant, and the youngest.”
I was humbled by his words. “I’m eager to get started.”
“Let me introduce you to our team members,” he said, standing.
I also stood, facing him.
“John O’Brien, who I’ll be handing you off to in a minute, will be your training partner. You’ll work with him every day. He’s eccentric, but I think you’ll be able to overlook some of his odd tendencies.”
What tendencies? I thought nervously.
“My door is always open. You can speak to me about anything at all. Don’t forget that.”
“Thank you for choosing me,” I replied graciously with a smile.
“Let’s go meet John,” Bob said, leading me out into the viewing room.
As we crossed the room and approached the far side, a tall man with jet-black hair and broad shoulders strode around the corner, nearly running into Bob.
“Gabh mo leiscéal!” he cried out in an Irish brogue.
Unguardedly, I let a laugh escape my lips. The man had said, “Excuse me,” but he seemed only slightly sorry.
“Oh come on, speak English, John!” Bob chastised.
“Gabh mo leiscéal! Tá brón orm!” John said, offering his apology. Then he looked over at me. “Now will you be introducing me to the young lass, Bob, or will you keep her to yourself?” he asked, meeting my eyes.
“Oh, brother. Ann Torgeson, meet John O’Brien, your trainer.”
I held out my hand and offered, “It’s nice to meet you,” looking up to the thirty-something with a smile.
“And you,” John replied, meeting my eyes while shaking my hand.
“He’s harmless, Ann,” Bob clarified. Then he pointed to John, saying, “You—behave yourself.” Then Bob left us.
Nice introduction.
John looked at me, silent.
I dove in. “I only vaguely understood what you said, but I do recognize it as Gaelic,” I said to him, trying to break the ice.
He lifted his dark brow in reply. “Now how is that, lass, with a name like Torgeson? There’s no Irish in that name.”
“It’s my grandfather. His surname was Dunseath. His mother taught him Gaelic. When I was a little girl, he would speak it to me. I never did learn much that stuck, but I can sometimes identify it as Gaelic when I hear it,” I told him.
“Well then, maybe I can be your trainer in the Gaelic too—besides remote viewing,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, I don’t know about that. It’s pretty hard for me,” I cautioned.
“Maybe we can call your Irish blood to assist you—or maybe the wee fairies
,” he offered with a smile.
I laughed out loud.
“Why is it that you don’t have much of an Irish accent except when you’re speaking Gaelic?” I asked boldly.
He shrugged with brows raised, then smiled.
I smiled in return. I could tell that we were going to get on just fine, even though he was a bit odd.
“I went to university here, in America. I guess these blokes thought they needed a gifted Irishman to round out the CIA.” He spoke in perfect English without an accent. “How would you like to meet the rest of the team?” John asked.
“Sounds great.”
John then introduced me to the remote-viewing team, which numbered nearly fifty. We then returned to the observation room, which I learned was soundproof, and John began to explain more about the process of remote viewing.
“You observed Grace during her training, right?”
“Yes.”
“What you didn’t know about her viewing is how the photos were selected. They were chosen because they were strong images—not too complex, but capable of holding the viewer's subconscious mind. The three images were also distinctly different, which helps the trainer to tell the sketches apart,” he said, looking to me for acknowledgement.
“How long has Grace been training?” I asked curiously.
“Nearly three months now.”
“Wow,” I blurted out, surprised.
“Does that seem like a long time to you?” John asked.
“No, the opposite. That doesn’t seem like a long time to learn a new skill that you’ve never used before.”
“Well, not exactly. We believe that the skill of remote viewing uses the same part of the brain used when dreaming. We think that’s the limbic region of the brain—the part of your brain that controls emotion—but that hasn’t been confirmed by scientists outside the CIA,” he clarified.
I nodded, considering the implications.
John had been looking out the glass window into the observation room as he was explaining to me, but when he finished, he looked directly at me. It was as though he expected me to say something.
“I’ve had crazy dreams as far back as I can remember,” I said softly.
“We know. The Air Force paranormal tests you took in Mississippi confirmed that. Most of the people we bring into this project are powerful dreamers. We’re seeking that out in candidates, among other natural talents.”
“Well at least someone will have the benefit of my dreams,” I told him.
“Why do you say that?” John pursued.
“I dream things that I’d never consider imagining when I’m awake. Some of those things are hard to deal with sometimes,” I confessed. I immediately became embarrassed about telling him this, and I could feel my face flush.
“You’re not the first dreamer to feel that way,” he said compassionately.
“Hmmm,” I responded, still embarrassed.
“Since we’re talking about dreaming, let’s talk about color. What’s your impression of color in the viewing room ahead of us?” he asked me, intentionally changing the subject.
“Well, it’s pleasant and has soothing color combinations.”
“We’ve learned that dreams seem to be stimulated by the brain’s limbic system—as I told you before. This system associates emotion with visual stimuli, including color. We also know that our autonomic nervous system unconsciously responds to color—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but what’s an automatic nervous system?”
“It’s autonomic nervous system,” he corrected me.
I continued blushing.
“The autonomic nervous system controls the organs of your body—it’s the automatic pilot part that runs your heart, stomach, intestines, and muscles—”
“Oh—I get it now,” I interrupted.
“You are unaware of your autonomic nervous system because it functions in an involuntary, reflexive manner. For example, we don’t realize when our blood vessels change size.”
I nodded.
“The autonomic nervous system responds to color. The color blue, for example, elicits serenity, inspiration, and communication. Green brings balance and calmness.”
“It sounds very metaphysical—very Shirley MacLaine.”
“Ann, don’t say that name around Bob,” he warned.
I swallowed nervously. Too late.
“I’m pretty sure he hates Shirley MacLaine,” John added. John laughed as he observed my reaction. “You already said that to him, didn’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”
He laughed harder.
“Well, at least I’m giving you a good laugh,” I said, slightly annoyed.
“No worries, lass. He already knows you’re young.”
“Well, now I know not to say it again.”
“We all learn that way.”
“You were telling me about how our bodies relate to color,” I offered, trying to deflect the topic away from me.
“I was. Here’s a little tidbit for you. The people who study time travel here believe that green governs it,” John said.
“Are we time traveling here too?” I said excitedly.
“No—not yet,” he chuckled in response. “That’s another project. With our project, we’ve tried to think multi-dimensionally to open all possible channels for success in remote viewing. Project Stargate is all about outside-the-box thinking, and we’ve sought out others like you, who naturally possess that way of processing information.”
“How do you know how my brain handles information?”
“The tests you took at Keesler tested your paranormal skills. Didn’t you wonder what they were for?”
“Yes,” I said, developing a thicker skin as our conversation continued. “So you’re using color in the room to tap into the brain’s limbic system?”
“Yes, exactly,” John confirmed. “You’re smart for a young lass,” he remarked in his Irish lilt.
I smiled big. He doesn’t think I’m stupid. That’s a plus.
“So I’ve learned that you’re looking for vivid dreamers and unconventional thinkers. What other qualities do you seek?”
“Intuition. Taking intuitive risks is essential for success in remote viewing. You have to trust impressions that you’re not sure of. Sometimes information will not make sense, so you’ll have to intuitively trust what’s right. An individual either has it or doesn’t. Yours is very strong. Most candidates are rejected after our psychological testing.”
“Why?”
“For example, we might have a candidate who’s a vivid dreamer and creative thinker, but we learn through our testing that he or she has some undesirable tendencies, such as grandiosity or a lack of remorse—sociopathic leanings. Or maybe they’re emotionally weak. We require very unique talents in our project, but the person must be able to obtain a security clearance and be ultimately trustworthy. That makes you, Ann, quite unique, and we are glad to have you,” he sincerely offered.
I’m glad to be here too…and glad I’m not a sociopath.
“Let’s cover some more remote-viewing basics, okay?”
“Okay.”
“The impressions you’ll get when viewing will be competing with all the background noise that constantly occupies your mind. It’s challenging to tune out these distractions, and you’ll have to work to refine that skill. We’ve learned that images that are clear, bright, and sharp are noise—it’s the opposite of what you would think. The mental images that we’re seeking in remote viewing are indistinct or vague—something that seems just out of reach. It’s similar to trying to remember the details of a dream just after you’ve woken up. As you practice, you’ll work through the differences of what is the target data and what is noise.”
“How do I learn the difference?”
“This is where sketching comes in. By sketching images you perceive, you’ll hone your viewing skills. With time and practice, you’ll find that images start to take shape, accurately depicting your target
. You’ll also start to acquire other senses, like tastes, smells, and colors.”
“Does it matter that I’m horrible at drawing?”
“No. It’s not like you’re drawing a scene to hang on your wall. Think of it as giving clues to a scene.”
“Okay. How long will my training take?”
“It depends. Every remote viewer in training has had different growth rates. It could be years. We don’t know. There doesn’t seem to be a standard here. It depends entirely upon the individual viewer.”
Years?
“It sounds like I’ll spend my whole Air Force enlistment here.”
“You will. Once we get you at the CIA, we won’t let you go.”
“Okay. When will I start my training?”
“Tomorrow.”
Cool.
“Since your psychological testing told us that you’re most creative in the early evening, your shift here will be three p.m. to midnight,” he informed me.
I grinned. “Wow, you guys didn’t miss anything. I certainly am a night person.”
“Getting the details right is what we do here.”
“Okay,” I replied sheepishly.
“Why don’t you split, and we’ll start fresh tomorrow?”
“Okay.”
“Don’t forget—you can only discuss the project here, among our team. No one outside this room has any need to know what we’re doing on this project. Even the name of our project is classified,” he reminded me.
“Why is the project name classified?”
“All classified projects have a classified name—call it CIA tradition.”
“Tradition…okay, got it,” I confirmed. “I’ll see ya tomorrow,” I offered with a smile.
“See you then,” he replied.
Holy cow, I’m in the big leagues now, I thought, returning down the hall I had come through earlier.
What will Dad think of this? I wondered, and then realized that I couldn’t tell him.
Continuing down the hall, I passed the alphabet doors and then came to the cipher door exit. Since I didn’t have to enter a code to leave, I pushed open the heavy door and felt it quickly latch closed behind me. I breezed down the hall.
* * *
The following day, I easily aced the cipher-lock challenge.