“We’re out of copies right now,” he said. “I’ll send you one next week.”
I asked him bluntly what he thought the saucers were.
“I doubt if anybody has the full answer,” he said seriously. “There’s been some hysteria—also a few mistakes. But many reports have been made by reliable pilots, including our own. You can’t laugh those off.”
As I drove home, I thought over what I’d heard. All I had learned was that the Air Force seemed divided. But that could be a smoke screen. In less than twenty-four hours, I received my first suspicious tip. It was about ten A.M. when my phone rang.
“Mr. Keyhoe? This is John Steele,” said the voice at the other end. (Because of the peculiar role he played, then and later, I have not used his real name.) “I’m a former Air Force Intelligence officer. I was in the European theater during the war.”
I waited. He hesitated a moment.
“I heard you’re working on the flying-saucer problem,” he said quickly. “I may have some information that would interest you.”
“Mind telling me who told you I was on it?” I asked.
“No one, directly. I just happened to hear it mentioned at the Press Club. Frankly, I’ve been curious about the flying saucers ever since ’45.”
That startled me, but I didn’t tell him so. “Do you have any idea what they are?” Mr. Steele said.