Research on Intelligent Design

To put together scientific advances from the perspective of Intelligent Design.

Friday, August 01, 2008


William (Bill) Reed

We are saddened to inform you that on July 30th William (Bill) Reed had died at his 79 years old.

"I finally found the Soviet submarines. It happened by accident. I had been hearing a “scratchy” sound for some time on various monitored circuits, but had passed it over as some kind of an anomaly, a spurious emission ... whatever. It was sort of like a burst of static ... but not quite. Then, one day, I made a sonograph-enlarged picture of a standard Soviet signal which happened to have one of these scratchy sounds almost on top of it. I spread it out and took a closer look. I’ll be damned! It had bauds! Tiny bauds, the most compressed signal that I had ever encountered ... but bauds. It was a man-made signal, and it obviously was not one of ours. Gotcha! It was a burst signal, and it had to be a Russian sub. We fired the recording directly to the National Security Agency, and they were ecstatic!"
Bill Reed.

“Bill Reed’s Rocks and Shoals …chronicles his beginnings as a dirt-poor kid saddled with an abusive step-father, yet a boy who later rose to such a prominent position with U.S. Naval Intelligence that he was given the enormously important job of briefing President John F. Kennedy during the Cuban Missile Crisis—a predicament a thousand times more dangerous than the more recently trumped-up “imminent danger” posed by Iraq.

However, thanks to a secret new defense system which could track Soviet submarines in the Caribbean (CODEWORD: BORESIGHT)—and whose efficacy Reed was able to “sell” to JFK—America managed to avoid a potential nuclear conflict without having to shed the blood of a single human being. (Anyone listening in Washington?)

Throughout a life that unreels like a fascinating novel, Reed emerges as a quintessential American, yet one sublimely aware that duty to country should always come second to loyalty to conscience.”

Alejandro Grattan, Chief Editor El Ojo del Lago, Chapala, Jalisco, Mexico.
[Broken link:]


Chapter Eleven

Crucifixion and Resurrection
p. 221-234
“…She (Joyce, then Bill’s wife) went to her bedroom. I made a pallet on the floor. I was emotionally, mentally and physically exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep. I could never seem to be able to sleep lately. Perhaps sleeping pills would help? I found some in the bathroom and took a few. Nothing. Ten minutes later I took some more, and finally become drowsy. It occurred to me that perhaps I had taken too many. Who cares? The world would probably be better off without me. I fell asleep.”

And the telephone rang. It had probably been ringing for some time. I came out of it slowly. I looked at my watch. I had been asleep only some ten minutes. I felt awful. I remember thinking, Alcohol and Guilting is a Killer! Then, Don’t Guilt while Drinking! Somehow that struck me as funny. It was the first thing that I had thought funny for a long time. I answered the phone. It was Pat Webb.

Pat said, “Hey, Man! We’ve been calling all over town trying to find you. Come on over. We need you!”
“What do you mean, you need me?”
“We’re in trouble. No money. No job. Can’t pay the rent. Lot’s of problems. I need a friend, Man. Come on over. We’ve got to talk.”
I said, “Okay, Pat. I’ll be there in half an hour. I’ll bring a bottle.”
Pat said, “Well, that sounds good, but as long as you’re going to the store, could you also bring some food? We haven’t eaten in a week!”

“…I was walking down a corridor in the NSA (National Security Agency) building thinking… everything is going to be just… and I collapsed.”

“… They took me to the NSA dispensary. The doctor examined me, and then asked, “Have you taken any medicines lately? Any pills?”
Without thinking of the consequences, I replied,
“Yes, sleeping pills.”
“How many?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t remember”
That did it. From that moment on, my fate was sealed… Attached to the doctor’s admission request was a flag “possible suicide attempt.”
“…Whether it was proven suicide attempt or not. I knew that my career in Intelligence work was over. The NSA never took chances. I would never again be trusted with a Top Secret CODEWORD security clearance. And without that, I was out of the spook business.”

“…but the question of my loyalty had to be raised: What had prompted a Golden Boy candidate like Reed, a man practically assured of achieving senior rank, to want to take his life? Guilt? Guilt over what?”
“…Could he be a double agent? Was he possibly a plant? He had volunteered for this work, remember? He hadn’t been selected at random from prior-screened candidates as was the normal route to intelligence work. Damn! We could have been set up; and this sonofabitch knows where the family jewels are stashed!”
“A full-scale investigation into my background was ordered. No stone was to be left unturned… I had completely blanked from my memory the name of the bastard who was assigned over-all responsibility for my investigation, but we have to call him something. “Jones” will do…”
“… The first thing I discovered when I returned to the B.O.Q. (Bachelor Officers Quarters) was the fact that they had entered my quarters and ransacked the place for evidence against me.”

“…Then they proceeded to interrogate everyone I had ever known or communicated with… kindergarten teacher on up. They missed surprisingly few. I began to receive calls from friends all over the world:
What’s your problem?
Are you in bad trouble?
The guy said I wasn’t to tell anyone that he had talked with me. He said the security of the nation was involved. Damn, Reed! What have you done?”
I guess they really worked over poor Olga in Norway; and every other female liaison whose address I had been foolish enough to record. They had photographed everything…”

“… I was being followed, or stalked out, 24-hours a day, day in and day out. I noticed two men parked outside the B.O.Q. entranceway every night, motor running to keep the heater going. I knew they were there to keep tabs on me. Who else? Then I began to observe tail cars on my trips between Fort Meade and Bethesda. I was still on outpatient status and required to check in several times a week to ensure that I wasn’t a backslider.
I started to tabulate the number of cars assigned to me: one, two, three, and four…
At first the changeovers were professional, made at random. But then, as I knew they would, they became conditioned, casual. After almost a month of this, they became sloppy and fell into a routine that made their job easier…”

“I was so cooperative that I went outside and talked with the agents in the night car assigned to me. They wanted no part of that at first, but I finally convinced them that my intentions were pacific… Slowly, over a period of time, I began to gain their confidence, and some sympathy for my situation. Like my day keepers, they began to relax, and view me as an easy target… They had my wife’s apartment stalked out also. She had undergone intensive interrogation, and so had my children. Agents had even followed Pamela and Billy to school, and talked with their teachers. This was too much. I wasn’t angry; I was furious. I wouldn’t be pushed any further.”

“I had given some eighteen years of my life to my country, serving in the best and most conscientious manner of which I was capable… As a reward an agency of my government was treating me as a man already found guilty of some heinous crime, and that implied guilt was rubbing off on my friends and family…”

“…I had noticed that there were a few moments after I made that sharp curve, where I usually lost sight of my tail. My speed had always remained constant, but one morning as I made the curve I speeded up, then turned abruptly in at the back entrance. As I suspected, a puzzled caravan of searchers sailed on by towards the Main Gate… I drove to an alternate out-of-the-way parking lot, took out a pre-packed bag containing extra uniforms, civilian clothing, and everything else that I would need for a week vacation… I walked a roundabout path to the main gate. I was by this time in dress-white uniform. The Marine guard saluted me smartly. I stepped to the bus stop and caught the first bus going anywhere. I just wanted to get out of sight…”

“…the harassment continued: surveillance, parked cars overnight, the tailing. Now they were even following Joyce and the children to the grocery store!”
“… I was sent to be questioned by the first team: CIA H.Q., Langley. I took the polygraph, and was transferred shortly thereafter to an unclassified desk at the Pentagon…”
“One day as I parked in the Pentagon lot, I saw a young agent get out of a tail car and follow me into the building. I waited on a stairway. As he came hurrying along I stepped out from a corner and stopped him with a hand on his chest. I said, “Okay, kid. You want to follow me? Here, take my hand and I’ll lead you to my desk.” The kid came unglued. He stuttered.
“What… who are you? Are you some kind of queer… or somethin’?...” Then he turned and ran back down the stairway. The next day I was re-admitted to Bethesda Hospital…”
“It was obvious that I had been re-admitted to Bethesda just to get me off the street. I was an embarrassment to them. Why couldn’t I slink around looking guilty and frightened like any normal suspect? …”

“…I awaited the verdict from what looked like a hung jury. Somebody (probably Mr. Jones) didn’t want to give up. I had to be guilty of something! CIA once more for polygraphs, more waiting…”
“…On the way out I was stopped by Mr. Jones. He said,
“Lieutenant, you are either the cleanest sonofabitch I’ve ever encountered or the smartest criminal. Whatever the case, I don’t want you to relax too much; I’ll be looking over your shoulder from time to time.”
I replied, “I suppose I can’t prevent that, Mr. Jones, but I will make you a promise. If you ever molest my family again, especially my children, I’m going to look you up, personally. I’ll even do better than that. I’ll take this public. Regardless of what happens to me, I will reveal things that you and your agency have done that I suspect won’t help your career at all. A competent investigator would have cleared me in two weeks, without recourse to harassment. I will embarrass you, and a great many people. Think about that. Don’t relax too much.”

p. 250-251
The Ubiquitous “Jones Boys”
“Yeah, the bastards were still at it. I was sitting in my office at the 32nd St. Naval Station one morning, when I was advised that I had two visitors from that organization (the ONI, “Office of Naval Intelligence”) who wished to speak with me in private. I recognized them as soon as they stepped through the door. Jones’ Boys – or imitations thereof from some other Spook organization. The interview, or rather interrogation, followed the usual lines…
After that interview I had little illusions as to continuing my career in the Real Navy. Nor did I wish to do so. I put in my papers.”

p. 258
“…The Jones Boys were still on my tail. Unnoticed visits to my modest beach house in Rosarito:
Have you had any relationships with “suspect” characters in your “defection” to South of the Border?
Why did you move to Mexico so suddenly?
Have you been contacted by anyone asking questions regarding your work at NSA?
I’m afraid that I wasn’t all that cooperative. I offered them frijoles, tortillas and tequila, but to every other question I simply grinned broadly and asked, “What do you think?”
This really was the last straw. I decided to move further south… bought a beefed-up Buick to pull my house trailer and headed for the “badlands” of Mexico. If the ONI spooks wanted to follow me, fine, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easy on them.”
“I simply could not believe that these idiots still suspected that I was a Soviet agent, or at least a turncoat. If I had been so, I would not be living in an old beat-up trailer in Mexico and drinking cheap tequila… Couldn’t these dumb bastards figure that one out?”

“I was furious! I decided to get as far away as possible. I needed a vacation. I took it, in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, and it has lasted some thirty-three years.”
“In closing I only want to say that the United States Navy has been good to me. Forget the NSA, CIA and the ONI; they don’t know the difference between a rope, a line, a hawser or a shoestring. And if they ever knew the words Integrity, Service and Honor, they have surely forgotten them completely.”
Bruce Ivins, another current victim of the "intelligence's stupidity"? (Manipulated by the "Shadow Government", the same one that "planted" faked evidence on 9/11, being the worst fake the TV Fakery of fake "planes" hitting WTC1 and WTC2)
"Ivins' lawyer says his client was totally innocent and that he killed himself because of the FBI's harassment. He was receiving psychotherapy in the weeks before his death and was banned from the premises of his research lab. Yesterday, a spokesperson for Ivins' lab, the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases at Fort Detrick said the agency "mourns the loss of Dr. Bruce Ivins, who served the institute for more than 35 years as a civilian microbiologist." That seems like an unusual thing to say if you believe one of your employees had something to do with an anthrax attack."
On Tuesday, August 05, 2008 the Associated Press wrote:
“In the current case, Ivins complained privately that FBI agents had offered his son, Andy, $2.5 million, plus "the sports car of his choice" late last year if he would turn over evidence implicating his father in the anthrax attacks, according to a former U.S. scientist who described himself as a friend of Ivins.”
The initial wording also includes the next:
“Army scientist Bruce Ivins told friends that government agents had stalked him and his family for months, offered his son $2.5 million to rat him out and tried to turn his hospitalized daughter against him with photographs of dead anthrax victims.
The pressure on Ivins was extreme, a high-risk strategy that has failed the FBI before.”
Then it continues:
“Ivins also said the FBI confronted Ivins' daughter, Amanda, with photographs of victims of the anthrax attacks and told her, "This is what your father did," according to the scientist, who spoke only on condition of anonymity because their conversation was confidential.
The scientist said Ivins was angered by the FBI's alleged actions, which he said included following Ivins' family on shopping trips.”
“The FBI declined to describe its investigative techniques of Ivins.
FBI official John Miller said that "what we have seen over the past few days has been a mix of improper disclosures of partial information mixed with inaccurate information and then drawn into unfounded conclusions. None of that serves the victims, their families or the public."”
“It is unclear how the FBI eliminated as suspects others in the lab who had access to the anthrax. It's not clear what, if any, evidence bolsters the theory that the attacks may have been a twisted effort to test a cure for the toxin. Investigators also can't place Ivins in Princeton, N.J., when the letters were mailed from a mailbox there.”
“Richard Schuler, attorney for anthrax victim Robert Stevens' widow, Maureen Stevens, said his client will attend Wednesday's FBI briefing with a list of questions.
"No. 1 is, 'Did Bruce Ivins mail the anthrax that killed Robert Stevens?"' Schuler said, adding, "I've got healthy skepticism."”
Another magazine (The New York Times) wrote:
"Dr. Ivins, a 62-year-old father of two, took an overdose of Tylenol with codeine."
“A lawyer who had represented Dr. Ivins since May 2007, Paul F. Kemp, insisted that Dr. Ivins was innocent and had been driven to suicide by false suspicions… Mr. Kemp said in a written statement, calling the microbiologist “a world-renowned and highly decorated scientist who served his country for over 33 years with the Department of the Army.”
“We assert his innocence in these killings and would have established that at trial,” Mr. Kemp said. “The relentless pressure of accusation and innuendo takes its toll in different ways on different people, as has already been seen in this investigation.””
“Scientists familiar with germ warfare said there was no evidence that Dr. Ivins, though a vaccine expert with easy access to the most dangerous forms of anthrax, had the skills to turn the pathogen into an inhalable powder.
“I don’t think a vaccine specialist could do it,” said Dr. Alan P. Zelicoff, a physician who aided the F.B.I. investigation when he worked at the Sandia National Laboratories in Albuquerque.
“This is aerosol physics, not biology,” Dr. Zelicoff added. “There are very few people who have their feet in both camps.””
“Representative Rush Holt, a Democrat whose district includes the Princeton, N.J., mailbox where investigators believe the letters were mailed, said the F.B.I. should provide a full briefing.
“What we learn,” Mr. Holt said, “will not change the fact that this has been a poorly handled investigation that has lasted six years and already has resulted in a trail of embarrassment and personal tragedy.””
Another Anthrax links: