The Ramifications of Truth

By the spring of 1999 the office of Viewzone had moved to Western Massachusetts, just outside Springfield. The story about Alaska had been sanitized of any names or references and was posted as a feature article. I had even obtained an interview with Dr. Bernard Eastlund and learned that he was just as disillusioned about his patents being used for war as the rest of us.

Dr. Eastlund welcomed the opportunity to speak his piece but also warned me that I was "messing with God," as he put it. He made an interesting comment to me that I had heard before, "You will not make a difference."

After about a month on Viewzone, the article got picked up by the Art Bell Radio Show, a large syndicated show that was on late at night and featured more UFO and weird science topics. This was a global syndication that obviously came to the attention of the powers "up there" and so it was inevitable that they would pay me a visit.

It happened one Monday morning, just after I arrived at the office. Two men showed up at the door asking to speak with Dan Eden. When I identified myself they asked if I would please step outside the office where they flashed NSA (National Security Agency) credentials. I was subsequently invited for coffee at the Westover Air Force Base in nearby Chicopee.

I suppose I knew what it was about but the men wore nice suits and looked very young and harmless. They said that they just wanted to show me some material and ask me some questions and that I would be safely returned to the office in a few hours or less. As they drove me to the base they made small talk and avoided talking about any "business."

Westover was an old B-52 base back in the cold war days. Since the break up of the Soviet threat it has seen lots of disrepair and much of it has been turned over for civilian use and low rent housing for the surrounding community. During the Gulf War it was partially re-activated as a stop-over and refueling station for cargo planes and reservists.

We entered the base and drove to one of the few remaining guard posts where we were waved through. The men escorted me to what looked like an old officer's living quarters that was full of old metal desks and file cabinets. We entered a locked door that was flanked by two spit-and-polished soldiers with rifles and, inside, there were two more older men waiting and watching the news on television.

When I entered they turned off the TV and asked me to sit at a large wooden table. One of the older men, wearing civilian clothes, asked me if I had written the article on the Alaskan "death ray." The way he pronounced "death ray" made it appear that he was about to ridicule the story - but I was wrong. Instead of asking about the article they were more concerned with the sources of my information.

"Whoever spoke to you violated the National Security Oath that they took and they were aware that this was illegal and subject to consequences." A different man addressed me in a harsh manner. "By revealing this information to you they have created a situation. Do you understand?"

This first older man asked me if I wanted a coffee and pushed a box of Danish pastries in front of me. "Look, Dan. We don't want to cause any trouble for you or your magazine... what's it called... Viewer, Viewzone?... we just want to know where you got the information so we can remind the sources that they have a responsibility. Do you follow me? Would you like some coffee?"

I never thought I would be using my journalistic prerogatives to protect my sources, but that's what came out of my mouth and it seemed to be effective. This upset the older man and he pounded his fist on the table, "Look. Here's the deal. They committed a serious crime and you are assisting in this crime if you don't cooperate. We can find out anyway but it won't be pleasant for anyone involved. Don't you love your country, Dan? Don't you care that this type of activity makes America vulnerable?"

"Okay. Relax." The other man picked up a Danish and started eating it. "How do you take your coffee, Dan? Here. Think about this for a minute. Take your time. These Danish are good. Here have one, and how about that coffee?"

"Look, I am not saying anything. I'll get a lawyer or something but I don't have to say anything." This really upset the older man and he left the room. The remaining men sat around the table and talked, as if I were not there. They discussed the possibility that I would cooperate if I had any more contact with the sources and suggested that, since I was now aware that this activity was a serious crime, I would of course want to do the legally correct thing. After all, I did not want to be in trouble simply because someone else had committed a crime. They asked me if that sounded fair and I said it did.

The older man then entered the room and stated the same facts in a formal way, asking if this was my understanding and whether I agreed to this. I told him I had no problem with that and I was driven back to the office by the two younger men. Before leaving the car, one of the men gave me his card and asked that I call him if I wanted to discuss anything.

When I returned to the office, some of the other staff tried to joke about the men that "took me for a ride." It must have looked humorous but, for me, it wasn't. I re-read the story on Viewzone many times to see if I had mentioned anything that would reveal the identity of Dave or Jonas. I had their phone number but I was afraid to call them. I waited two weeks before I attempted to reach them from a friend's business phone. Sure enough I did reach Dave and warned him. But what he told me in return was much more horrible. Nicki was dead.