“You know anything about the disks?”
“If you mean what they are—no.”
He motioned for me to sit down. Then he swiveled his chair around, his shoulders hunched forward, and frowned out the window.
“Have you seen the Post this week?”
I told him no. “There’s something damned queer going on. For fifteen months, Project ‘Saucer’ is buttoned up tight. Top secret. Then suddenly, Forrestal gets the Saturday Evening Post to run two articles, brushing the whole thing off. The first piece hits the stands—and then what happens?”
Purdy swung around, jabbed his finger at a document on. his desk.
“That same day, the Air Force rushes out this Project ‘Saucer’ report. It admits they haven’t identified the disks in any important cases. They say it’s still serious enough—wait a minute—“he thumbed through the stapled papers—” ‘to require constant vigilance by Project “Saucer” personnel and the civilian population.’”
“You’d think the Post would make a public kick,” I said.
“I don’t mean it’s an out-and-out denial,” said Purdy. “It doesn’t mention the Post—just contradicts it. In fact, the report contradicts itself. It looks as if they’re trying to warn people and yet they’re scared to say too much.”
I looked at the title on the report: “A Digest of Preliminary Studies by the Air Materiel Command, Wright Field, Dayton, Ohio, on ‘Flying Saucers.’”