“This won’t work out for you, Ben, this I know,” Daniel concluded. “Come on, Mike, let’s go.”
Mike slammed his palm into the top of my Jetta’s hood as they walked by it.
Assholes, I thought. Fuck Byrne. I had found the truth, and I was going to let it be known.
7: UFO Hoaxes, Too
Do you ever wonder what makes some people more gullible than others? How some people choose to ignore facts contrary to what they believe?
One of my favorite electives in journalism school was a psychology class that covered why people believe what they believe. It’s not because some people are just more stupid than others; there’s far more to it than that. It has to do with how our brains are wired, and how conscious and subconscious cognitive processes, emotional states, and biases influence our decisions. Some of these processes are adaptive, meaning they’re helpful, but it is also why well-meaning people are susceptible to manipulation through misinformation and propaganda.
Knowing all of this doesn’t make me accept or justify others’ actions, but it does help me to frame how people will interpret the information I write about, and what they may or may not react to.
I had this in mind while drafting my 2000-word exposé on the Proxima Foundation, “Seeing is Believing: UFO Hoaxes, Too.” It was done in two days, and I presented it to Marcus on Wednesday morning.
Marcus clicked on the YouTube link showing the viewing event I attended, then the night vision video Brett and I filmed. He watched with interest while I waited confidently for his reaction. The reflection of the video flicked in his hipster glasses.
“I like what you did describing the meditation thing, and the videos are great. What about the financial documents form the Proxima Foundation?”
“I never received them from Nadine Byrne, and I’m not expecting them at this point,” I said. “The videos tell it all.”
“Financial documents would make this even better, but the video is good,” Marcus said.
I smiled. “Seeing is believing.”
He nodded. “What about the murdered TV journalist. Anything on that?”
“Nothing. I called the police and the news stations again this morning, and the case remains unsolved.” Brenda had crossed my mind just that morning. I hadn’t called her after Brett and I caught Daniel in the hoax, but I was wondering how she was doing. I decided I would call after my article came out.
Marcus nodded. “Very well. I’m good with this. Get it over to the web department ASAP and run it.”
By the end of the first day, the story had more than ten thousand hits. By the end of the first week, it had half a million. Reuters picked it up, and I was getting interview requests from TV stations and other press outlets across the nation and a few from overseas. The story wasn’t going to get me another Pulitzer nod, but it was a success as far as an online investigative magazine article goes.
I was also getting hundreds of comments from anonymous readers on the Hot Reports website. AliensAreReal67 wrote: “Another hoaxer bites the dust. Doesn’t mean aliens aren’t real.”
SiriusBoy88 wrote: “This story is obviously bogus. Got to be another government disinformation campaign.”
Rollergirl87 said: “Fuck you, Ben Davenport, you corporate hack piece of shit.”
This kind of vitriol didn’t bother me all that much. The same type of thing had happened when my Hanford waste story came out. It just comes with the territory.
Marcus called me into his office two days later. “Nice work on the UFO story. I’ve got another assignment for you. Looks like the Yakima Indian tribes are resisting the installation of a new cellular tower network on their land. They just filed a Federal lawsuit. Congressman Mathew Young from the 4th District has agreed to talk to us about the situation over there. He’s siding with the tribes and giving us an exclusive. Wants to meet with you on Saturday. I need you on this right away.”
“An exclusive? Why?” I hadn’t met the Congressman in person, but the Hanford Nuclear Reservation was in his Congressional district and I wondered if my fraud waste and abuse investigation had anything to do with why he gave me an exclusive.
Marcus shrugged. “Apparently, he likes your work. He asked for you specifically. Can you get out to Yakima by Friday? He wants to meet with you on Saturday.”
“Sure,” I said, “I’ll get right on it.”
“Oh, one more thing,” he said. “You’re coming up on your three-year anniversary with us. I’m giving you a raise. Congratulations.”
We shook hands.
“Thanks, Marcus, I really appreciate it.” I was riding a wave of euphoria now.
Marcus glanced at his computer screen for a moment. “I’ve never seen so many comments like this after a story. You really hit a nerve.”
“Byrne has quite a following. Some of those people mortgaged their homes to give him money and participate in his sighting retreats. They’re in denial.”
“UFO nuts,” he said.
I smiled. “Yeah, for sure.”
Just before I headed out of the office, a package arrived for me. I studied it, contemplating whether or not I should call the bomb squad. I decided to open it. It was the Proxima Foundation annual report and copies of tax returns for the last three years with a hand written note:
“Dear Ben, I regret that I couldn’t get these documents to you sooner. I read your story, ‘Seeing is Believing: UFO Hoaxes, Too’. I’d hoped that you would have put more effort into understanding what is really going on. Sometimes things are not as they appear. Apparently, this type of drivel is what the millennial generation has come to accept as adequate journalism. I wish you all the best on your journey. Nadine Byrne.”
I set the note aside, annoyed. I didn’t need to be lectured by a con-artist. I looked through the documents: no red flags in the tax docs, nor was there anything of substance requiring me to make corrections or amend my story. If Nadine had given me the documents when I asked for them, would it have changed what I wrote? It all looked pretty clean, but that didn’t matter; a hoax is a hoax, and I’d exposed it. I buried the documents and Nadine’s note in the bottom drawer of my desk.
Nadine’s comments about my “drivel” hadn’t fazed me, either. In fact, thanks to the raise and praise, I was feeling more optimism about my writing career and outlook on life than ever before, and it made me think about Jennifer and the rough spots I blamed myself for. Should I pop the question? I was thirty-one and feeling ready for the commitment.
On Friday night, I took her out to dinner. I’d gone to a jewelry store in the mall earlier in the day and purchased a three-quarter karat engagement ring, four months of my new salary. I hoped to hell she’d be satisfied with it. I reserved a table for two at an expensive restaurant in the Elliot Bay Marina. The Space Needle and city skyline were lit up and reflecting across the Sound. I insisted she sit in the seat with the best view. When the waiter came around, I ordered a hundred-dollar bottle of champagne.
Jennifer smiled at me. “I told you it was a hoax.”
I smiled back. “Yeah, you were right. It doesn’t explain everything, but it shows how easy it is to fool people.”
“No more UFOs and aliens, right?” she said.
I was still smiling. “No more UFOs and aliens.”
The waiter brought the Champagne and poured.
“Before we toast…” My throat was suddenly dry and my heart starting to race.
Jennifer looked at me.
I stood and went down on one knee in front of her, took her hand, and said, “I know a writer can be difficult at times, but I hope you forgive me. I want to be with no one else in the world but you.” I pulled the ring out of my pocket. “Will you marry me, Jennifer Martin?”
She froze, staring at the ring. Then inspecting it for a moment longer. Blood was pulsing in my face. She looked at me. I was about to panic, but then she smiled.
“Yes.”
Thank God, I thought. I slid the ring over her finger. We stood up,
embraced and kissed. Some of the people at adjacent tables applauded. I heard a few whistles.
After dinner, we went out for drinks at one of her favorite bars in Ballard. She called a few of her girlfriends and spent half the time texting and on social media while I got wasted.
That night I fought off the whiskey dick, and we had the best sex we’d had in months.
In the morning, we went out for brunch. Jennifer wanted to discuss a date for the wedding and what she wanted for our special day. My stomach churned with anxiety: it was going to cost a fortune. I reminded myself that the bride’s family pays for the wedding. Her parents had the money; they lived in Bellevue. Jennifer’s mother was a lawyer, and her father a psychiatrist. Mine were in Spokane, my mother a librarian and my stepfather a plumber. My biological father, a captain in the U.S. Navy and a physician, had died when I was eleven. Why a Navy officer was stationed in Arizona was never clear to me. As far as I knew, he had worked with a Department of Defense contractor on aerospace medicine systems.
We had just ordered our omelets when my cell phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID. It was Brenda.
“Excuse me a second,” I said, standing up.
“Who is it?” Jennifer asked, eying me suspiciously.
“It’s work related, won’t be a minute.” I headed toward the restrooms in the back. I stood against a wall answered the call, my finger in my other ear to muffle the din of the packed restaurant.
Brenda was irate. “Did you forget about me? I saw your article. So you are done with it all? What about my aunt?”
“No, I didn’t forget about you. I’ve been thinking about you actually. Are you doing okay?”
“I guess so. What the news is reporting out here is bullshit, all bullshit. The FBI were at my uncle’s a of couple days ago. They said they were investigating links to the bastard who killed her, which doesn’t make any sense to me. What would my aunt have to do with an escaped convict?”
“Did she do a story on him or something?”
“Not that I’m aware of. They took my aunt’s laptop and her notebooks, and they grilled my uncle, too, which didn’t seem right. He sent me a voicemail that my aunt Sally left him the night before she was killed. Apparently, she was out investigating lights in the sky.”
“Can you send it to me? I’d like to hear it.”
“Maybe. The file is pretty big, I’ll have to email it.”
“But what she was working on?”
“Give me a minute, I need to get onto my computer.”
I waited a minute. I glanced out into the restaurant and saw that Jennifer was glued to her phone, probably shopping for wedding dresses or on social media.
Brenda returned. “I’m sending it right now.”
Jennifer was zeroing in on me now.
“I got to go, Brenda, can I call you later?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I hung up and got back to the table. Our omelets had arrived.
Jennifer set down her phone. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. It’s just some details about the story I’m working on. No big deal. I’m going to be interviewing U.S. Congressman Young in Yakima this weekend. It’s an exclusive interview. I’ll get national coverage for sure.”
She seemed to be impressed with who I was going to be interviewing. We finished up our breakfast and when we got home I listened to the audio file Brenda sent.
“I’m on Deer Creek Road, just south of the tower. It’s 9:20pm. There are lights in the sky, two—no, three. They look like they are heading this way.” I could hear her walking through the sage. “I’m still seeing three lights. They are definitely getting closer.” Her breathing increased. “It’s going to fly over me. Our Father who art in heaven…It’s a triangle of lights, a perfect triangle. Is it an airplane? No, definitely not an airplane. I can’t see the stars in between the lights. It’s got to be a solid craft, silent, no sound. Holy Jesus.” There was a long pause, perhaps 15 seconds. “It’s gone. It flew over, accelerated, and was gone.” She giggled. “It was a UFO. Hot damn! I’m going to have to come back out here tomorrow night. Sally out.”
The recording ended. What the heck did she see? A Proxima Foundation’s hoax? Maybe, but what she described on the recording sounded a lot like what I remembered from 1997. A formation of lights flying silently overhead.
That evening, I started the shower and tried calling Brenda from the bathroom. She didn’t answer. I shot her a text. No response. I planned to call her in the morning while on the road to Yakima.
8: Dark Desert Highway
U.S. Representative Matthew Young greeted me at the door of his residence. He was fifty with dark hair and chiseled face. His thick-rimmed glasses gave him the appearance of a college professor. He was dressed in a navy blazer and tieless white dress shirt. We shook hands.
“Welcome, Ben, thanks for coming out and agreeing to do the story.”
“Thank you for meeting me, sir.”
“I hope you’re hungry,” he said. “Esmeralda, our help, has prepared a nice lunch.”
The place wasn’t as opulent as I was expecting for a second-term U.S. Congressman, but it still had hardwood floors, classic wainscoting, and tall ceilings. On the wall was a large painting of a barred owl, its wings spread, its big eyes beholding its prey. We sat at the dining table.
“My wife is out of town this week visiting family. She would like to have met you, we’ve both enjoyed your articles.” Was he buttering me up?
Within seconds Esmeralda, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile, served us a delightful dinner of roast chicken, new potatoes, roasted artichokes, and a nice Washington Sauvignon Blanc.
The U.S. Representative poured my wine. “What made you want to give us an exclusive story?” I asked innocently.
“Well, I’d read your article on the Hanford Nuclear Reservation thing, seemed fair and objective, the way journalism used to be, and you obviously care about this region and the people living here, which matters to me.” He sipped his wine.
In between mouthfuls, I began with background questions. He was born in Washington, and his family owned one of the largest apple orchards in the Northwest.
“I grew up a farmer and still am at heart. I love the land and the people out here, including the tribes. When this cellular tower thing happened, I had to get involved.”
I savored the wine. “So what is the issue?”
“The FCC approved one of the nation’s largest cellular carriers’ bids to build a major network installation in the Yakima and Tri-Cities area—part of the nationwide 5G upgrade extending wireless broadband coverage over the entire reservation area. The tribes aren’t too happy with having new towers on their land. They want to protect the natural beauty and health of the area. I agree with them. I’d like to see the company move the towers to the east. It’s a logical concession, if you ask me.”
“What’s the resistance?”
“This new shorter range 5G technology requires a lot more transmitters and it’s just easier to run them along the highway. The company has demos of how they can camouflage the towers to look like trees, but the tribes don’t care.” He took a bite of his chicken. “It just went to court this past week. I’m hoping this gets resolved and doesn’t get into a larger lawsuit. These cases can take years.”
“Can you convince the company to move the towers with your influence?”
He stared at me. “You know I can’t interfere with the courts like that. I can publicly express my opinion and show my solidarity with the tribes, but that’s all. That’s what I’ve always done, and that’s what I plan to do with this situation. I’m hoping your story on this might help build public pressure. The local newspapers covered it, but with no effect. Of course, you’ll look at both sides. Fair and honest reporting.” He glanced at me.
“Of course,” I responded, knowing now there wouldn’t be any grand controversy to unveil. He was just looking for some publicity for his future re-election campaign. N
onetheless, an exclusive interview with a Congressman made it worthwhile and guaranteed me a slam-dunk article.
We went over a few more details about the tribes and transmitters through lunch and Esmeralda’s apple pie. Stirring cream into his coffee, the Congressman switched gears, “I read your story on the Proxima Foundation. So I assume you don’t believe we’re being visited by alien beings. Is that so?”
I smiled. “I still can’t say with any certainty whether or not we’ve been visited, but I’m certainly a lot more skeptical after catching the Daniel Byrne UFO hoax.”
He got a little more serious. “You know, I saw one once myself, at an airshow in Spokane a couple of years ago. I tracked a white object moving fast across the sky, and it wasn’t a jet.” He smiled. “Nor was it a sparrow, swamp gas, or the planet Venus.”
“Do you think that whatever you saw was from another planet?”
“It was definitely something not of this world as I know it. There’s a video of the sighting on YouTube, maybe under Spokane UFO.”
“I’ll look for it. People see all kinds of things in the sky, but it doesn’t mean it’s aliens, right?” I didn’t want to come off as being disrespectful. “I don’t mean to discredit what you saw, of course.”
“To tell you the truth, Ben, I’ve had a personal interest in this topic for a number of years. To think we are alone in the universe is ridiculous. But don’t get me wrong: I’m a religious man and believe in Jesus Christ our savior, but God’s universe is a mysterious place. We don’t know for sure what may be out there. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes,” I said, biting into my second piece apple pie, the flaky crust melting in my mouth.
“Can’t rule it out.” He kept looking at me thoughtfully, watching me eat the pie. “Washington apples. Esmeralda does a great job.”
I looked up and nodded, my mouth stuffed. Having savored and swallowed, I responded, “You must have inside access to data on UFOs. Does the government know something?”
“It would really change everything, wouldn’t it?” He smiled meaningfully at me. I was beginning to see that this visit wasn’t really about the 5G towers or his career, nor was he having fun with me.
The Goldilocks Zone Page 7