We met at the Palmer House. Art Green didn’t need much prompting to talk about Project “Saucer.” After reporting a disk, seen during a West Coast Right, he had been thoroughly grilled by a Project “Saucer” team.
“They practically took me apart,” he said irritably. “They’ve got a lot of trick questions. Some of ’em are figured out to trip up anybody faking a story. The way they worked on me, you’d think I committed a murder.
“Then they tried to sell me on the idea I’d seen a balloon, or maybe a plane, with the sun shining on it when it banked. I told them to go to the devil—I knew what I saw. After seventeen years, I’ve got enough sense to tell a ship or a balloon when I see it.”
“Did they believe you?” I asked him.
“If they did, they didn’t let on. Two of ’em acted as if they thought I was nuts. The other guy-I think he was Air Force Intelligence—acted decent. He said not to get steamed up about the Aero-Medical boys; it was their job to screen out the crackpots.
“And on top of that, I found out later the F.B.I. had checked up on me to find out if I was a liar or a screwball. They went around to my boss, people in my neighborhood—even the pilots in my outfit. My outfit’s still razzing me. I wouldn’t report another saucer if one flew through my cockpit.”
Pete Farrell hadn’t encountered any Project “Saucer” teams personally, but he had some interesting angles. Some of the information had come from commercial and private pilots in the Midwest, part of it through National Guard contacts.
“I can tell you one thing,” Pete said. “Guard pilots got the same order as the Air Force. If we saw anything peculiar flying around, we were to do our damnedest to identify it.”
“What about trying to bring one down? I’ve heard that was in one order.”
Pete hesitated for a second. “Look, I told you that much because it’s been in the papers. But I’m still in the Guard. I can’t tell you the order itself. It was confidential.”