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Authors: David Morehouse

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“How can you protect yourself from it?” Sandra asked. “Or can you?”
Mel replied. “You can. You create an energy ball and surround yourself with it. You give it a reflective surface, and that bounces the probes back out into the ether. The only problem is, I forget to do it sometimes and they get in. Then it's like trying to rid your basement of mice—it's a lot harder once they get in.”
“Do they stay forever?” Jim asked.
“No, they have to break it off just like we do. It's just another viewer doing it, probably working at the unit.”
Sandra and Jim told us they'd been followed by mysterious figures who had photographed them and slipped into crowds. “Well,” I said softly, “it looks as if we're all under attack in some way. You should obviously assume your phone is tapped. You shouldn't be alone anywhere, either. Try to stay with other people as much as you can, at least until the book comes out and this all blows over.”
“I don't think it's going to blow over,” Mel said. “I think they're going to try and ride us into the ground.” He looked at me. “You much more than us. There's not much they can legally do to the rest of us, but you're dog meat.”
“I'm beginning to sense that,” I said.
 
In order to fight back and to protect my family, I needed to know what my opponents were capable of. At my request, Sandra set up a meeting for me with one of her clients who had expert knowledge of the CIA and its surveillance techniques.
“You're a target,” the expert told me, “and because of
your active-duty status, you're a sitting duck; that's all there is to it.”
“What are they trying to do, just scare me? Just scare my family?”
“That's exactly what they want to do for now: scare the hell out of you. And force you into doing things you or your family wouldn't ordinarily do. You're going to have to keep your wits about you and watch your back.”
“But why my family?”
“Because your family's the only thing that matters to you. If they can undermine your family, they've got you. You need to understand, this is only the beginning. If scare tactics don't work, they'll start taking more drastic measures. And you're an easy target—a recluse, living apart from your family, traveling alone. My advice to you is, get a vest and wear it. You need to be alert, my friend, every minute of every day. Don't get drunk. Don't be anywhere alone for long.”
All I could do was swallow.
 
A few weeks later, I was called in to see my commanding officer at Fort Bragg.
The chief was standing in his doorway, his lips pressed together and his demeanor like an undertaker's. “Would you come in here, please?”
I walked into his office to find an army prosecutor.
“Major Morehouse, I have brought you here to inform you that certain serious allegations have been made against you: adultery, communicating a threat, larceny of government property, and multiple counts of conduct unbecoming an officer. You are to report to the Criminal Investigation Division tomorrow morning at 0800 hours for questioning. Do you have any questions?”
“Sir? What's this all about?”
“Do you have any questions, Major Morehouse?”
“Yes, sir. What is the meaning of this? I haven't done anything of that nature. Who is making these allegations?”
“That's none of your business!” snapped the prosecutor, brittle-faced.
As soon as I was dismissed I found myself a representative—an army defense lawyer.
“I called the prosecutor's office to see what was going on,” he said. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, looking at his notes. “Are you aware of what's happening, Major Morehouse?”
I shook my head. I found it difficult even to focus on him.
“Well, you were told what the allegations are. It appears that someone”—he named a civilian woman I knew from around the base—“has sworn a complaint against you. Do you know her?”
“Yes. What is her complaint against me, and why would she be doing this?”
“Well, I certainly don't know why, but her complaint is that you verbally threatened her with physical violence. She also claims that you were sexually involved with her for three months.”
“I knew her. In fact, you could say we had a relationship of sorts. I've spent the last four years of my life alone. Sometimes you just want to talk to another person, you know, someone who doesn't have to shave his face.”
He laughed.
“I poured my heart out to this woman. She was a good listener, too—kind and caring.” I shook my head disbelievingly. “I told her everything about what was going on with me, everything—Debbie, the kids, the nightmares. I thought I knew her. I thought I could trust her. I guess you never really know anybody, do you?”
“Okay. Do you know of any reason why she might be making these allegations?”
My eyes shot with anger. “I believe I just asked you that question.”
“What about the larceny charge? The prosecutor has alleged that you stole an army computer and gave it to this woman.”
“I gave her a computer for her work. It was an old Commodore, worthless; my wife and I decided that we didn't need it anymore, and we agreed to help her out. She's even talked to Deb on the phone. After all, we were both separated. I don't understand this at all.”
He glanced at his notes again. “Well, the computer cited in the charges is a Zenith laptop, and it has a military serial number.”
“That laptop is hand-receipted to me; I own it. I have the documentation. I did give it to her, but only so she could take it in for repair.”
“They're claiming that you gave it to her.”
“I did give her a computer—the Commodore. Her brother is a computer repairman; she agreed to take the Zenith to him for repair and then return it to me with his bill. The video card in it was burned out.”
“Well, isn't that something the Army should take care of?”
“The technicians in the training shop tried, but they didn't have the parts, and the army didn't feel it was worth the trouble of repairing. We documented all this at the shop. The soldiers under my command were told to turn it in for salvage. I figured if I could get it repaired I'd have another computer for the shop to work with. She had it for three days to make the repairs. Who's behind all this? It's ridiculous.”
“I'm trying to figure that out. Here's what's going to happen from here. Tomorrow morning you are to see CID. They will read you your rights and try to get you to make a statement. I would prefer that you not say anything to them; all you have to do is tell them that on the advice of counsel you choose to make no statement at this time. They'll fingerprint you, and then I'd like you to come back here and tell me what went on. Okay?”
I tried to speak but nothing came out of my mouth.
“Look, sir. Try to relax. If what you're telling me is true, and if I can substantiate it, then we'll hammer 'em.
Go home and get some rest and try not to think about it too much.”
I thanked him and walked out of the office into the icy November air. Then I called the office and told them I was going home for the day. I sat in my room on the foot of the bed, staring at a blank wall; like a broken record, I kept replaying my life and career. All night I sat there, never sleeping, never moving. At seven in the morning I drove to CID.
The investigators did just as the representative had said they would, and I said just what he'd told me to say. It was over in an hour.
“Jesus, sir, didn't you shave before you went over there?” my attorney said when I walked into his office.
“I guess I forgot; I didn't sleep last night. I just stood up and walked out of the house this morning.”
“You need to get a grip on yourself, sir. You can't walk around like this; don't let them know how you're feeling. Just go up there to that headquarters and play good soldier. There are people on your side in this.”
“It doesn't matter who's on my side. If they are now, they won't be soon enough. And if they stay with me, they'll go down with me, and I don't want that to happen.”
“What are you saying, sir?”
“This is bigger than you'll ever know; it's part of a plan being put together by some people who want to destroy me.”
“You're not making any sense, sir.”
“The point of this is to discredit me, to destroy me before I do what I know I have to do. When's the last time you saw an officer who was legally separated from his wife being charged with adultery?”
“Well … I haven't ever seen it.”
“The military doesn't have to worry about precedents, does it? The prosecutors can just resurrect whatever arcane law is on the books and nail anyone they need to with it. They can't prove any of this, and they don't care; what matters is the allegation. The smear!” I got myself under
control. “I'm sorry I raised my voice—you're not the enemy.”
“Sir? What are you talking about?”
“It's a long story. I'll explain when I get back. Right now I'm going home to see my family and tell them what new magic trick the intelligence community has pulled out of its hat.” I left the lawyer trying to figure out what the hell I'd just said.
 
In the weeks that followed, the government prepared a four-page list of charges against me. In my view the most serious and damaging—and insulting—was, of course, the charge of larceny. The rest were things like “dereliction of duty, for failing to sign in a visitor to the headquarters building” and “conduct unbecoming an officer, for use of threatening language.”
Every step of the way, protocols for the proper handling of an officer of my rank were violated. And every violation was a twist of the knife in my back by people I'd once trusted. I have to say that by now the pressure was getting to me. I was looking at the tarnished and absurd end of a very bright and promising military career. And as word of the charges spread, few of my former comrades would even speak to me. Some friends suggested to me that nobody really cared about the charges: “You're a marked man, and that makes people nervous. They don't want to get on them any of whatever's on you.”
CID investigators hauled in and interrogated my friends; my room was searched; my old units were contacted in an effort to dig up anything that could be used against me. They even questioned the salesman who'd sold me my car. And never mind if fifty people said I was a good guy; the fifty-first, who didn't like me, captured the spotlight.
I had to borrow $10,000 to pay for my own investigation. If I was to be court-martialed, which had not yet been determined, I needed to have evidence to counter the allegations. I didn't know what to do; my lawyer's opinion was that either this would all go away, or we would win in
court. In my next meeting with him, though, the army's position became clear:
“I am required to inform you,” he told me, “that the government is offering you a chance to resign. If you choose that option, you will have certain rights, and you will assume certain risks. This is what happens: you tender your resignation for the good of the service. All charges pending against you are dropped, and the Eighty-second recommends that the resignation be approved. It will also make a recommendation concerning the type of discharge you should receive. Those recommendations pass through the commander of PERSCOM in Alexandria, who in turn can recommend approval or disapproval of the resignation and the type of discharge. From there, the paperwork goes to the under secretary of the army; he makes the final decision.” The lawyer paused to look at me very seriously. “I have no doubt that the resignation will be approved. What I'm concerned about is what type of discharge you'll receive.”
“What's your guess?”
“There is nothing in the charges that warrants a dishonorable discharge; that would require a trial, and I don't think the government wants to try this case. I think you have some friends you didn't know you had; also, there is a new prosecutor now and he doesn't see the issue. That's good for us if we have to go to trial, but it does nothing for us if you resign. If you resign, I think you will be recommended for an ‘other than honorable' discharge. It's clear that the government wants you discredited and gone.”
“I have an impeccable record and sixteen years of service. Has the government conducted any investigation in support of me, and has that evidence been brought before the commanding general so as to inform him of the merit—or lack thereof—of the allegations? Has any of that been done?”
“Well … no. I'm working on a capital murder case; I was going to start investigating as soon as I finished with that. In the meantime I was planning to request that a CID
investigator be assigned to the case permanently, to work for us.”

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