Where Is Shelly Miscavige? — Part IIIA

Introduction to Shelly’s World and "The Hole”

My head still spins when I try to piece together everything that happened between 2001 and 2005 — the years leading up to when I finally left.

I finished Dave’s Building 50, got busted to berthing, ended up in the Hole (before it was even called The Hole), somehow became CO CMO Int for a short stint, then the Int Landlord. I was sent to San Francisco, got dragged into the infamous Musical Chairs incident, went to New York, then London, and eventually back to the Hole — where I’d be “declared” for finishing Building 50, of all things.

And through it all, I watched David Miscavige’s obsession with Tom Cruise become a feverish fixation. I watched his relationship with my then-wife, Jenny Linson, become strangely perverse. And I watched the ground fall away beneath Shelly Miscavige’s feet — until she was left with nothing and no one except her belief in Hubbard’s promised return.

The truth is, Shelly ended up like the rest of us. She knew Dave had lost his mind. And she knew — just like all of us who eventually left came to realize — there was nothing to be done about it. Staying was hopeless. Even thinking there might be another way was a waste of time.

Before diving into more detail, let me give an anecdote that’s relevant — not just to Shelly’s disappearance but to the bigger picture of Dave’s power grab up to this point.

A Talk with Norman Starkey

I had been busted for completing Building 50 on a phone call with Dave — but I’ll save the drama of my bust for another story. I’ll just say this: Dave never made good on his promise to “bounce my head off the sidewalk in front of Building 50” when he got back to the base. Instead, he chose a more painful, psychological approach — inflicting his special brand of punishment in a place where he had ultimate authority, played god, and got away with it because no one was looking from the outside in.

The berthing buildings were just down the hill, across Highway 79 from Building 50 and the Villas. Like much of the property, they were technically “new construction” — but honestly, they should have been bulldozed and rebuilt from scratch.

I still don’t know if I was assigned to the Berthing Project to keep me separated from everyone else — or to keep everyone else away from me. All I know is that I was made Berthing Project In-Charge, and my crew consisted of exactly three people: Me, Myself, and I. I was in charge, though I was in no state to manage anything.

One day, Dave returned from Clearwater and stopped by berthing just to tell me:

“No one missed you in Clearwater. No one. Not a single staff member or executive has even asked about you. And no one in the city — not the City Manager, not the City Attorney [whom I’d become friends with and had introduced Dave to during the LMP case] — none of them asked about you.”

He wanted me to feel erased. Only Lou was with him. Shelly was not.

I had no money, no cigarettes, no one, and nothing. Dave, of course, came puffing on a Camel, blowing smoke in my face, snacking on his favorite protein bar, and sipping his designer water. He seemed delighted to deliver his carefully crafted message. And he made sure I “really understood” what he meant.

Soon after, I heard Dave and his entourage had left the base again — a relief that could be felt base-wide, though no one dared say it out loud.

Then one very hot afternoon, Norman Starkey was brought down to berthing. I was lying atop a pile of sheetrock, dozing off, dreaming of how I might escape this mess. I believe it was Claire Headley that escorted him down.

When she called my name, I hoped my sleepy eyes weren’t too obvious. I tried to work up a sweat as I ran through the building and down the stairs so it looked like I had been working hard.

My orders were clear: “Put Norman on HEAVY MEST WORK.” Translation — run the old man into the ground. These were orders that came from COB.

Norman shared a pack of Camels with me. We didn’t talk much the first day or two. There wasn’t much to say — and we didn’t do a whole lot, which he seemed fine with.

I was already halfway out the door mentally. I knew I’d had enough. It was just a question of when and how I’d leave. But I wanted to test the waters — was it just me who saw what was happening? Or did anyone else see it too?

Norman and I sat on the roof of a berthing building, looking up at Building 50. It was blistering hot. The breeze somehow made it feel even hotter. My sweat evaporated faster than it formed.

With no warning, I turned to Norman and said:

“I think you and I can probably agree that 98% of the base can’t be SPs — and only Dave and his crew aren’t. Dave is the problem, not everyone else.”

I took a long drag from my Camel and waited.

There was a long, long silence. So long I thought he might not answer at all.

The look on his face said two things: he probably agreed — and he was afraid I might be setting him up.

Backstabbing to save yourself was a common survival tactic at the base — a necessary response to how Dave had designed things psychologically. Norman’s caution was justified, though in this case, misplaced.

Sensing this, I added, “Listen. I’m already halfway out the door. But I can’t understand why you, Yager, Ingber, and the others I respected allow him to do this. Why not turn against him and take over?”

Norman calmly finished his Camel, using it to light the next.

This was a man who, for decades, had been seen as a formidable leader. A real Captain. The symbol of a true Sea Org member.

I half expected him to rally. “You’re right! Let’s stand up and fight!”

Instead, he whimpered:

“He has full control. There’s nothing you or I or anyone else can do.”

I must have looked confused. Norman explained:

“Dave has wrapped it up legally. He controls everything. He personally owns everything — all the trademarks, service marks, even L. Ron Hubbard’s name and signature.”

Then, with a flicker of conviction, he added:

“All we can do now is wait. Wait for the Commodore to return. He’s the only one who can fix this now.”

And then — silence.

A day or two later, Norman was reprieved from berthing. Of course, I wondered — had he been sent down only to find out what I was truly thinking? I never found out. I’d only see him again much later, when Dave announced Norman would be the minister to marry Tom and Katie — with Dave as the “Best Man.

The relevance of all this to Shelly’s disappearance will soon become clear.

My First Introduction to What Would Become the Hole

I continued working at berthing for some weeks, slowly going insane — isolated from everyone and everything. I became more convinced I needed to leave. Would I jump the fence? Could I do it without getting cut to shreds? And where would I go?

One evening, I was walking to the Massacre Canyon Inn (MCI) for dinner. I always went after hours so I wouldn’t run into anyone — just as instructed.

Up ahead, I saw a familiar car and the silhouettes of three people: Dave, Shelly, and Lou. They were parked outside MCI, all smoking. I started jogging, hoping Dave hadn’t seen me walking.

I tried to be invisible. But Lou and Shelly spotted me and pointed me out. Dave eagerly flagged me over.

Fuck. I thought. I’ve been spotted.

Dave seemed overly — uncomfortably — pleased to see me.

“Do you know what’s going on in there?” he asked, gesturing toward MCI.

I looked and saw the entire base crew inside. Dave, putting on a disgusted face — but clearly enjoying himself — said, “They’re having a séance.” He glanced at Shelly, as if expecting a reaction to his description. She only nodded.

They were discussing the crimes they had committed against him. Against Dave.

“I just can’t live on this base,” he added. “And that’s why it’s so criminal you put so much money into Building 50 when I can’t even be here!”

Then he invited me to go inside and observe.

“Just stand at the back and listen. Then come back out and tell me what you think. You’re not really part of that group.”

Shelly looked at me wide-eyed, encouraging me to agree. I did. As far as I was concerned, I wasn’t part of that group. But I wasn’t with him either, which I am not sure Shelly understood just yet.

When I came out, Dave didn’t let me speak. Instead, he excitedly told me what he’d heard.

One staff member (I forget who) had apparently confessed to the entire group of 400-600 people that “he’d been masturbating every single day.”

Dave watched me closely, expecting me to gasp — as if this was the highest crime in the Sea Org.

Then he abruptly said, “Can you believe they think I need to hear this!?”

Side note:

Masturbation and thoughts were often the only “crimes” Dave could get his sec checkers to drum up. He’d have them dig deep. Who were they thinking about? How exactly did they do it? How many strokes? What did they ejaculate onto or into? How long did it take?

Every detail would be heard, savored by Dave, and later used against them.

Understand this: aside from Dave’s foul language — calling people “cock suckers,” “cunt lickers,” “zoophiles,” and other perverse insults — there were no real crimes.

There were no crimes to commit. No one had access to the outside. No one could steal or misuse church money. Everyone was locked up in a prison. They were tightly controlled — even their thoughts were monitored, and spouses were primed to report any misstep.

So Dave used the only thing he could — and he made it sound as perverse as possible. He relished it.

End of side note.

Dave ranted and raved a while longer, then dismissed me. I felt relieved and scurried off before he changed his mind.

A few days later, the same scene played out again. Same time. Same place.

But now Dave had separated Gold and Int. The Int crew was sent to the trailer — the double-wide that housed the CMO Int and WDC offices.

“The Int crew are way worse than Gold!” he said.

Gold still had a use: producing the annual events for LRH’s Birthday, May 9th, New Year’s, and the IAS. Plus, fluff videos about imaginary expansion and empty “Ideal Orgs” filled with extras staged to make them look bustling.

Int Management? Useless. There were no orgs to manage. No staff. No introductory courses or services to sell. Only FSO, AOLA, and the IAS were making money anyway.

So Dave didn’t care if Int rotted in that trailer — which would soon be named The Hole.

My Breaking Point

This time, I was ordered to join them in the trailer. I hadn’t eaten. I was hot, tired, and starving.

At first, I couldn’t make sense of what was going on. But I soon caught on to what were supposedly Dave’s main complaints:

• No org board.

• No stats.

• No one had a post.

• Everyone was unqualified.

• And most importantly: Dave was trying to save Scientology, and the rest of us were trying to stop him.

How hard could this be to resolve?

Behind all of this, Dave insisted, were crimes.

Most of the top International execs — Yager, Mithoff, Lesevre, Ingber — had already been declared suppressive. They were supposedly working through their A to Es.

Jenny wasn’t declared, but she was in the mix. And she was particularly nasty toward the others — sometimes more vicious than Dave himself.

We sat in that room for another 24 hours. Then another 24.

My head was splitting. I still hadn’t eaten. I didn’t belong there. I didn’t want to be part of it. I didn’t want to hear another word.

An Unexpected Visit from Shelly

In the early hours of the morning, Shelly came in alone.

She calmly explained that “all we needed to do” was propose an org board and post assignments. She admitted she didn’t know who was qualified for what anymore, and that would be a problem. But it had to be done so things could go back to normal.

She wasn’t berating anyone. She was pleading. She seemed peculiarly stressed — and, frighteningly, deeply passionate and concerned. As if it was life or death. She insisted someone step up to the plate and take control, directing her attention toward Yager and Ingber.

When she left, the fighting began again.

Who was going to be CO CMO Int? The fight was between Jenny, Marc, and Mark — all of whom had held the post at some point.

One of them had to step up and lead.

None of them wanted to.
All claimed they weren’t qualified.
All said Dave wouldn’t have them.
And all tried to pitch the others for the job.

They berated one another while simultaneously offering one another up. They were obviously as physically and mentally beaten down as I was — if not more so. It was pure insanity. Everyone else watched on and issued constant jabs, boos and hisses depending on which SP they felt was the best choice.

Neither of them wanted to step into the line of fire again. They were desperate for someone else to take the job. Desperate to lay low. Desperate as if it was a matter of life or death.

And so it went — round and round — for yet another 12 to 24 hours.

My Breaking Point

I was becoming more and more desperate. My head was spinning. I could barely stay awake. I was losing my mind — truly and actually.

I wanted out — badly. I wanted nothing to do with any of this. I stayed quiet and tried to fade into the background. My whole body ached. I was shutting down.

Marc Yager sat across the large room from me, near the head of the conference table. As far as I was concerned, he was still CO CMO Int. He was the most qualified — he had worked with Hubbard in that position.

Ingber seemed weak. Jenny seemed insane. I wondered how she’d ever been considered for the post. She had been no more than a new recruit when we first met — a full-blown Jewish American Princess. A Valley Girl at best.

Then something snapped.

Maybe it was my head hitting the table from dozing off.
Maybe it was the stench of body odor in the hot, airless trailer.
Maybe it was the sound of the same voices saying the same things for the last 72 hours.

I felt myself rise out of my chair, an anger and desperation taking over. I had no control over it. I wasn’t even myself. I went into an animal-like survival mode — and attacked.

Before I knew it, I was flying across the room. I leapt over chairs — people still sitting in them — and launched myself onto the conference table, running across it at full speed.

I dove — literally — at Yager. Tackled him in his chair and shoved him aside, sending him to the ground.

At the top of my lungs, I screamed:

“FUCK ALL OF YOU!!!”

I meant it for the three so-called leaders.

“I WILL BE CO CMO INT!!”

The words came out before I even knew what I was saying.

What I meant was:
I can’t stand this anymore. I can’t take another minute of this madness. I need to take control and change things. I need to change this situation — being locked in this room, going round and round. I was losing my fucking mind. I felt like I was standing at the threshold of death and reacting without thought or hesitation.

But what came out was a declaration I never intended:

I will take the post.

The whole room went silent except for a single squeal from somewhere in the back. I have no idea who — but someone thought this was a good idea.

Relief washed over Marc, Mark, and Jenny. T hat made my blood boil — but I accepted it for what it was.

Jenny’s Warning

Jenny grabbed my arm and insisted I come into another room. Yager and Ingber followed, though she told them not to.

“You don’t know what you’re doing. We’ve been trying to get org boards and stats put in for years — and COB won’t let us! He’s the one stopping it. He doesn’t want them to go in! He won’t let them go in!”

She was practically foaming at the mouth.

This was pure and unadulterated disaffection toward COB — and she meant every word. I could relate to her feelings and her desperation. I didn’t know what she knew, but I had my own experiences.

“You’re setting yourself up for a loss. You’ll end up in here like the rest of us. You’re no more qualified than I am!”

Yager tried to calm her down, saying none of it was true and that Jenny was just disaffected. He was saying it to protect himself. Ingber just nodded — he looked half dead.

It was eerie and uncomfortable.

Maybe the oddest thing of all: despite her warnings and disaffection, Jenny seemed happy someone else had stepped up in her place, too.

The room remained silent except for a few snores. No one could stay awake anymore.

Shelly’s Next Visit to the Hole

As if someone had run out to tell her what had happened — or she had been monitoring things — Shelly arrived again. Alone.

She snarled at Yager, Ingber, and Jenny, then pulled me into the CO CMO Int office alone.

She questioned me about what I had done and said. She looked astonished — but pleased. She also looked scared. And slightly hopeful.

“I’ll help you if I can,” she said. “I’m not sure Dave is going to agree, but maybe this is enough of a fresh start to make it happen.”

She told me to let everyone sleep for now — a welcome break, as far as I was concerned.

Shelly saw this as a potential breakthrough.
I saw it as a mental breakdown.