Psychic Warrior (38 page)

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Authors: David Morehouse

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As I was in the midst of writing, in October 1995, the Central Intelligence Agency, in cooperation with the Defense Intelligence Agency, began a carefully planned and well-executed media blitz regarding the government's psychic research and former psychic-warfare program, Stargate, formerly Sun Streak. In newspapers, radio, and television shows across the country, research experts and people supposedly affiliated with the program came out of the woodwork to tell the American people about the program.
I laughed with Mel and others on the phone about it. None of us had ever heard of the people who appeared on television claiming to have been affiliated with the program and citing a mere 15 percent accuracy rate based upon their “long-term” research and analysis. They certainly didn't check my or Mel.'s statistics.
It is not my intent to second-guess the CIA's motives or data. I can only offer my experience. When I was a young captain I learned an invaluable lesson during a conversation with the army's deputy Chief of Staff for intelligence, the highest-ranking intelligence officer in the army. He told me and the two others present: “The CIA does nothing, says nothing, allows nothing unless its own interests are served. They are the biggest assembly of liars and thieves this
country ever put under one roof and they are an abomination.” Now those are his words, not mine, but they stuck with me. If what he said is true, then in serving its interests the CIA presents only what it thinks the average American citizen needs to hear, or what it believes will steer the public to the CIA's desired conclusions.
The CIA is in the business of manipulating the belief systems of entire nations. I doubt that they're above working in their own backyard if it suits them. The most important thing about secret programs is that they prevent not only the bad guys but also the good guys from finding out what's going on. This system gives the holder of the secrets enormous power. I don't believe that the director of the CIA or any of the top leaders at DIA or the National Security Agency or the Pentagon is behind this disinformation campaign. They have much bigger fish to fry. However, their lieutenants tell their bosses what they want those bosses to hear, and then get permission to execute whatever program they think necessary to achieve their objectives. You might ask why the boss doesn't know when he's being led into a decision. Well, most bosses in the intelligence community don't know what their subordinates are doing. If you were the director of the CIA, would you want to know the specifics of every single program under your command? No: there are just too many programs for one person to oversee. The same applies to DIA and NSA. Again, that's the result of compartmentalization in intelligence circles. Only a select few know the real story, and even they don't know when they know it.
Not only did the fall of 1995 see a classic disinformation campaign, but most of the information circulating on the Internet was also misleading. In fact, Lyn Buchanan set up a Web page to respond to all the untruths. What made this page unique was the fact that most if not all of the former Stargate/Sun Streak crowd and a host of actual remote viewers who had worked in the ether for years regularly logged on and shared their experiences. The page was gaining in popularity, with people from around the world assessing
it routinely. But one day someone hacked into the mainframe where the Web page was kept. This wasn't Lyn's computer, but that belonging to a company that posted and managed many Web pages, including Lyn's. Oddly, the hacker erased only Lyn Buchanan's files. In my opinion, someone or some group of people didn't like the fact that actual government remote viewers were on the Net countering point by point the claims of the CIA and others.
Lyn and the company providing the service worked feverishly for three days to reinstall the files and get the page back online. They succeeded—and within seventy-two hours someone hacked into the system again, only this time they destroyed the entire system and everything on it. I don't know what Lyn will do from here. I hope he rebuilds the page and gets it online again. We need some truth out there.
There are hundreds of people who claim that they're remote viewers and can train you to become one. They hold the keys to the kingdom—they say. When you see or hear one of these “experts,” ask yourself: “Where does this expert (and his or her foundation) get their research funds—privately, or from the government? Are they in line for another grant or contract?” If you want to know the truth, you can dig it out with a little work. I believe the government is continuing to fund psychic and paranormal research, whatever the CIA would have you believe. And those looking for a meal ticket will say anything the purse-string holder tells them to say in order to secure that next contract. As in any field, there are legitimate researchers and there are fly-by-nights. Some people are trying to make money, others to make a name for themselves or rescue their reputations. Some are really trying to help. Those interested in learning more about remote viewing should look very carefully at those offering training and judge carefully anything they see or hear. Until the absolute truth comes out—until the people force it to come out so that it can be used to society's benefit—the miraculous potential of the
science will remain obscured somewhere in the archives of the intelligence community.
I have one last comment on this issue: I believe that remote viewing for intelligence purposes remains now very fully funded, very hidden, and very protected—and is now very deadly. I don't think the government intends to make the same mistake it did with Stargate/Sun Streak. I know three remote viewers who are still affiliated with a government-backed remote-viewing program. Mel, Lyn, and I believe that they are now working for the CIA as part of another program that paralleled the old Sun Streak. We'd always suspected that there was another program, more secret and even more powerful than ours; I learned of it from a very reliable source who spoke of training a stoic and secretive group many years ago. He wouldn't elaborate, and I understand why he shouldn't. The word on the street is that remote influencing is all the rage in intelligence. I believe that the CIA is heavily involved in this insidious technique. If they could influence someone to kill from a distance of thousands of miles—and remote influencing has this potential—they would hold an extremely valuable weapon.
Remote viewing is not a dead issue; it hasn't gone away.
 
Just after the CIA broke its version of the remote-viewing story, I received a call from Dr. Damioli, the psychiatrist who'd first treated me at Walter Reed.
“Have you seen the papers?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Isn't it exciting? I can talk about everything now. I'd like to see you as soon as possible, if I may.”
“I can see you tomorrow, but I'd like to bring Debbie along.”
“Certainly!”
At five the next day Debbie and I knocked on the door to the doctor's office.
“Please sit down, I'd like to talk to you about all of this.” Dr. Damioli held up a copy of
The Washington Post
with the article about the CIA's involvement in psychic warfare.
Debbie and I nodded. “It exists just as we said it did, doesn't it?”
“I never doubted you for a minute. When your Stargate psychologist admitted to me that the program existed and that I should proceed carefully, I knew there was something to it all. I just couldn't do anything for you while you were with me; my hands were tied.”
“Who tied your hands? What do you mean?”
“The government, my supervisors … They ordered me to give you the drugs and they ordered me to change my diagnosis of you. They wanted me to describe you as psychotic and delusional, but I refused.” The doctor reflected for a moment. “It cost me my position with the hospital.”
“But you were the ward attending physician; you were a senior psychiatrist. How could they do anything to you? And you're a civilian, at that; you should have been Teflon-coated!” Debbie said.
“That's what makes this so unbelievable. When I refused to alter the diagnosis, they took away the position I'd worked so many years to earn. I was isolated from my colleagues and professionally destroyed. I had to hire an attorney to protect my professional record, but I was forced to resign after twelve years of government service. I lost everything—my pension, everything. I wanted you to know that I didn't abandon you. They took you away from me and sent you to Fort Bragg, where they could have absolute control over you.”
We were stunned. “I'm sorry, Doctor,” I said. “I lost only sixteen years, but you lost a lifetime. Thank you for telling us. Do you mind if we have an attorney take your deposition—for the record, I mean?”
“Not at all! I just want you to know that if you want to fight for an honorable discharge, I will be there for you every step of the way. You should have been given the medical discharge I asked for, and I would support that even more strongly today! I was even ordered to alter your
records. And remember that I gave you the smallest possible dose of antipsychotics?”
“It didn't matter,” Debbie said angrily. “Once they got him to Fort Bragg they kicked the dosage up as much as they could. David was practically a zombie.”
“It's all over, and thank God we have our lives to live,” I said. “I'm sorry you wound up as one of the casualties of my quest. But from the bottom of our hearts, we thank you for being there.”
The doctor paused. “What I want you to know, David, is this. You beat them by doing two things. You didn't kill yourself, which I think is what they really wanted you to do. And you never gave up the fight. You never stopped telling the story. You forced them to come out with this.”
I can't answer for how Debbie felt, but to hear this was a relief to me. Dr. Damioli's story confirmed that my trial had been about much more than anyone knew. But I didn't die and my family is safe. They didn't win; I did.
 
Lyn Buchanan, Mel Riley, and I arrived in Baltimore for an extraordinary reunion in the ether. Lyn drove from Mechanicsville in southern Maryland to my home in Bowie. He and I greeted each other like schoolboys, gorging ourselves on Debbie's sweet rolls and my coffee before heading to the rendezvous with Mel, who'd flown in from Wisconsin. It was the first time I'd seen them together in years. We'd gathered together to journey back in time on behalf of the Baltimore County Police Department.
Our first meeting was with Detective Lieutenant Sam Bowerman, head of the department's criminal profiling unit. Mel and I spoke of Sun Streak; because the program remained classified, Lyn would only discuss remote viewing in general terms. However, we described our capabilities as remote viewers. And we were careful to state our limits, too; we knew of several people offering “guaranteed 100 percent accurate results”—for a price—and we didn't want to align ourselves with such claims, raising false hopes to make a buck. That's not what the gift is for. On
the other hand, we knew what we could do to help the department; and we were willing to prove it.
“We want you to know what we can do, and what we can't,” I said. “This isn't magic!”
Lyn chimed in. “No, it's not. It's a discipline devoid of guesswork or speculation.”
I carefully watched the lieutenant's face for signs of skepticism, but he didn't raise an eyebrow as Lyn continued talking; he was like a sponge, taking it all in, waiting to see the evidence before passing judgment. While Lyn talked, I looked around at the bookshelves and documents. Bowerman was no slouch; he held a master's degree in psychology, and around that diploma hung a myriad of awards and decorations, department citations and unit memorabilia. He proudly displayed photographs of his children on his desk and credenza; the labels on his files indicated that he taught criminal profiling and criminology at a local university. Immaculately dressed and groomed, he had a gentle intensity about him that made you feel at ease yet completely aware that he was a serious professional law officer. I sensed very clearly that if we did what we said we could do, Bowerman would acknowledge it appropriately. However, if we failed to measure up to our claims, he would politely excuse himself and dismiss us from the project.
I wrapped up the meeting. “You see, we can't sit down and in one or two sessions give you directions to a body, for example. The information the viewers provided would supplement what you got by conventional means, and the more remote-viewing effort was made, the shorter investigations could be. The difficulty is that you need a dedicated remote-viewing team, with controlled feedback and some administrative support. Ideally, you would train and utilize a team of remote viewers right here in the department; they'd belong to you, take their assignments from you, and turn in their product to you for analysis. If you could organize something like that and keep it alive, you'd make law enforcement and investigative history.”
Lieutenant Bowerman leaned back in his chair. “Thank you for the briefing. I hope you can do all you say you can do; if so, it'll be a tremendous breakthrough for those of us in this business. I'll admit to you that this seems far-out, but I have an open mind, so let's give this a try. Do you need anything to steer you by, like a photograph or an article of clothing?”

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