Trance Formation of America (26 page)

Cheney lifted his head and proudly slurred, "Now you know why they call it 'Dick'".

Back in Tennessee, my CIA-paid gynecologist, who knew I was under mind control, covered for my abusers as usual and wrote me a prescription for swelling and pain, I was still in pain and ill from my exposure to Dick Cheney and his high voltage torture and brutal sex when Houston drove me to Nashville's Stockyard Nightclub for my rendezvous with Prince Bandar Bin Sultan.

A waitress led me to the Saudi Arabian Ambassador's table where he was drinking with Mayor Fulton, Sheriff Thomas, and Metro Police Chief Joe Casey
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. I approached him and said, "If you please, Sir (Oz), I am under command to deliver a message to you from the Pentagon. There is to be no horse play (sex games). We must get down to business." There was laughter from everyone at the table. I continued. "My message is brief and I only need a moment of your time away from your dinner."

The Prince's face grew more serious and we left the table. He touched the waitress" arm and she pointed to a door across the hall that ted to an empty room. We stood just inside the room, and I quickly delivered ray Pigeon cryptic message:

"The Carrier Pigeon (Air Force airplane) will take flight… and will keep its promise (the agreed load) while all transactions (both bank and distribution) are procured through the designated diplomatic channels (Habib.) Your bonus, one crystal, three cuts await you. The President of the United States gives his word to King Fahd: …"

He told me his driver would meet me out from of the Stockyard and instructed me to put the cocaine in the back, I left the building to rejoin Houston at the car in order that the cocaine could be delivered. A white stretch limousine was pulled up in front of the Stockyard; Chief Casey's assigned Metro Police Officers guarded the area, and the cocaine was transferred into the back seat of the Prince's limo. Houston and I immediately left the area. My part in Operation Carrier Pigeon was concluded.

Sometime prior to the death of CIA Chief William Casey, I was in Washington, D.C. for a briefing on Operation Shell Game. Iran-Contra was politically explosive at this time, and U.S. Senator Allen Simpson (R.Wyoming) had a plan to set Panamanian General Manuel Noriega up to take the fall for cocaine aspects of the investigation. Noriega had become yet another source of embarrassment to the Reagan-Bush Administration. The need to convince him to he discrete about his involvement in U.S. criminal covert activities had reached alarming proportions. Noriega had been an intricate part of arming the Nicaraguan Contras for Reagan, as well as an international hub in the cocaine operations that funded the black budgets for ultra secret projects such as Project Monarch. My CIA operative handler, Alex Houston's shadowy back door drug dealings with Panama further exemplified the kind of "honor among thieves" rules that Noriega routinely and openly violated. My role, my "Contra-bution," was but a small part of the over all picture. Nevertheless, Operation Shell Game was one of the more significant and informative covert operations in which J had been forced lo participate.

My role began one cold, rainy day when Houston dropped me off at the Washington Monument where I was met by two agents, who triggered me to go with them by flashing their IDs. They escorted me 10 the large White House uffice where T had first met Cheney to «audition» for the Hands-On Mind-Control Demonstrations some years before. As usual, Cheney and Reagan were drinking, this time to excess for so early in the day. Reagan's cheeks were flushed and his voice slurred as he greeted me, "Well, hello, Kitten. Dick and I were just discussing the plight of the Contras since this Ollie North thing broke out." Cheney's alcoholic foul mood was immediately apparent. He was agitated as usual at Reagan's informality in my presence. Apparently I had come in during a serious discussion about tran-Contra as Reagan's mood was more somber than I had ever seen it. He took a drink and looked out the window. "Americans believe in their country-baseball, hot dogs, and Ollie North." Cheney snorted a laugh at what seemed to be an ongoing joke between them about "hot dogs and Ollie North". Reagan continued, "And I believe in the Contra cause and all that we have accomplished. And I'm damn proud of it! It's not 'Law and Order'. No, it's Order and then Law. Order must come first because without it, law would be ineffective. Sometimes we must rise above and beyond the law to establish that order (he glanced seriously at Cheney) — or a new (world) order. As President, that is my responsibility. Establish order through democracy by spreading democracy throughout the world. With order, there is peace. Right now in Nicaragua the people are crying out for democracy, for peace, and I cannot turn a deaf ear to them. Not even in view of Ollie North's troubles. True Americans know he is a hero. That's why we must rise above the law to establish order by fulfilling the wishes, the hopes, the dreams of those brave men fighting for freedom by doing our part in spreading democracy." Reagan was gesturing into the air, apparently lost in the poetry of his own ranting.

Cheney lost patience and jumped from his chair to sneer at me and poke his finger in my chest while he said, "Order is all that matters, and you're going to follow mine."

Reagan turned back to us. "I'm glad you brought that up, pick. Kitten, you have a role in establishing this order With the same patriotic passion that burned in your bosom for the freedom fighters of Afghanistan, you will carry out your orders for the Contras. Dick will define your role and provide you with all you need and all you need to know from the ol' Wizard's bag in the basement (Oz programming in Cheney's Pentagon office). So, you run along now and do as he commands."

Senator Allen Simpson was in Cheney's office when we arrived. Cheney flipped over the hour glass to let me know my life was on the line according to Oz programming. Cheney gestured to Simpson and began, "Operation Shell Game is Simpson's brain child, so he's master of the game and he's going to teach you the rules. The objective of the game is to see 'who's left holding the goods". Pointing to Simpson, he commanded, "Listen to 'im",

Simpson stood up and began cryptically talking. "You are going on a 'Princes' Cruise' (Noriega's Yacht). The Baby's Ear Shell is your pass key. I will provide you with yours at the appropriate time." He took the «shell» out of his wallet. It was approximately I 1/2 inches long and was translucent pink, shaped and detailed exactly like a baby's car. Simpson noticed the relief cross my face as I realized it was not a real baby's ear. He smiled. "These are but empty shells of the life they once possessed. Like you are-empty and void of life. A shell. In one ear and out the other. I have your ear now LISTEN, If they hold the pass key, you listen. When you hold the pass key, you speak. In one ear and out the other-never again to be retrieved,"

He returned the shell to his wallet and continued, "Listen. Follow orders. The Colonel (Aquino) will be there and you will follow his orders and provide a demonstration Hands On style for the General (Noriega). It will be different, yet the same, so follow the Colonel's orders closely."

Cheney roughly grabbed my hair and pulled my head back, got right in my face and said, "Or, I'll get her, my pretty, your little girl. Follow orders as though her life depends upon it because it does. Or the next baby's ear will be taken from Kelly. So listen. When you see the baby's ear, you will listen," He spun my head in the direction of the hourglass as he released my hair. He was sneering and Simpson looked as though he thought Cheney overdid it. I was relieved it would not be my job to "soothe Cheney's savage beast" sexually that day.

Cheney look me back to the White Rouse office where we had started. He and Reagan shared another drink. Reagan patted my hair back in place where Cheney had pulled it, which made me feel safe somehow since I could not comprehend that he was behind my ordeal with Cheney. Reagan switched my personality to where I no longer regarded him as "Chief," but instead as "Uncle Ronnie", He did this by reaching into his Jelly Belly jar and giving me one. Certain colors and flavors triggered certain programmed responses. Uncle Ronnie must have had other «Kittens» conditioned to the military green watermelon ones because he kept an excess amount of these in his numerous jars.

Cheney said, "How in the hell you drink cognac and eat those goddamn jelly beans is beyond me.

Reagan responded, "Well, Dick, you don't have to have a Jelly Belly if you don't want to. I was just giving one to Kitten, here."

"Damn right I don't have to have a Jelly Belly, but you're going to have a

jelly belly if you keep that shit up." Cheney finished his drink.

Reagan chuckled, "Now, you know I watch my figure.."

"Figure this," Cheney interrupted. "What are you going to do with the

Contras?" Cheney slammed down his drink and headed for the door,

"Exactly what I've been doing." Reagan turned to me, "C'mon, Kitten,

Let's take a walk, I need my evening constitutional,"

Reagan was in no mood for sex, and it was a relief to be away from Cheney, He took me outside for a walk in his "Secret Garden," where he said he goes to "think and solve the world's problems". We walked down a cement path he referred to as a "Yellow Brick Road". After sitting quietly on a cement bench for awhile, he said, "If you follow the Yellow Brick Road, it leads right to the Wizard's lair-the Oval Office, How would you like to see where Uncle Ronnie really solves the world's problems?" I felt like a little girl with her daddy going to see where he works with no real concept of the experience. The guard at the Oval Office door ensured I was returned to my escorts when Reagan was through "sneaking me in" to his office. I was then taken back to Washington Monument where Houston was waiting in the car as though T had never been gone at all.

Operation Shell Game brought me back in touch with former President Herald Ford early one misty fall morning. Ford's continued relationships with my abusers had given me cause to remain in touch with him throughout the years; particularly since he and my father were still jointly active in the Michigan organized crime drugs and pornography operation that had launched me into Project Monarch so many years before.

Ford was about to embark on a game of golf with my father on the otherwise "Closed for the Season" golf course next to my father's expensive house in affluent Grand Haven, Michigan. My brother, Mike, was with my father and me as we rendezvoused at the Club House with Ford and the Secret Service personnel assigned to him. Ford told my father he would "catch up with him and Mike at the third hole" and to "leave us to our business". I was maintained in «Silence» until Ford and I were out of range of the Secret Service men, and I recited a message from Reagan instilled prior to the Shell Game,

"If you please, Sir," I began in Oz cryptic, "I have a message for you from Uncle Ronnie. It's a 'humming telegram' (oral sex game) to see if you agree that our National Anthem should be changed to America the Beautiful," (Reagan was actually serious about changing our National Anthem.)

Ford responded, "We may have to see about that later. First, we've got some other 'holes' to attend before the sun gets up any higher,"

As he teed up his golf ball I asked, "Do you still golf a lot now that you're no longer President?"

Re said very seriously, "I golfed a lot when I was President. But now, I just keep up with events from the golf course. I've earned the privilege of monitoring the progress of America's Freedom Train at my leisure." He turned to face me, "Do you play golf yet?"

"Very well, Sir, when permitted." (Houston always ensured he won.) Ford was openly amused by my answer and handed me his club. "Give it your best shot." I outshot him the first stroke and his amusement vanished. I gave him back his golf club as ordered.

At the end of the second hole, Ford said, "I'd like to have a word with you," He took me over to some trees off the fairway and turned to me with his arms crossed over his bulging chest, raised himself up taller, and bore his sharklike eyes into mine. "Lend me your ear", I had the Baby's Ear Shell with me as ordered, took it out of my back pocket and handed it to Ford. He began talking as though I were a machine and he was dictating a message. "Take this message to Dick Cheney, Pentagon. The Mob has agreed to transfer the $2.3 million (porn profits) to the Bank of Credit and Commerce International. Let's pool our money now and we'll be swimming in it. This operation has been an enterprising success. Let's keep it that way. Cease agreement with Panama. All Mexican channels are implemented (cocaine and heroin). Hail to the Chief." He took a step away and added, "And you (he poked my chest like Cheney) lake care of my friend, Dick. Here…" he handed me the Baby's Ear. For meanness he added "over and out," and did the sign of the (satanic) horns at my eyes which deepened my trance significantly since I had been conditioned so heavily to this by Byrd.

After he hit the golf ball, he asked, "How's my friend, Allen Simpson, these days?"

"Very well, Sir." I noticed he bristled as be missed another shot. His temper was rising. When he wanted to add more to his message, he took out his frustration on me,

"Gimme that fucking shell." He wiggled his fingers at me. That wasn't the pass phrase and I did not trigger. He grew louder and more agitated, "Where's that Baby's Ear." I still could not respond. "Lend me your goddamn ear!!" he roared at me. Close enough.

"Yes, Sir," I responded meekly as I dropped it in his hand.

He proceeded. "Tell Simpson to take care of my friend Dick Thomburgh. Get back to me on it." He returned the ear. We could see my father waiting at the next hole and Ford said he might "bean him one" with his next stroke. He swung, but missed my father.

When we met up with my father at the third hole. Ford set up his ball first, of course, and waving his club at me said, "Get out of here before I get teed off," My father pointed the way with a thumb over his shoulder and let out a shrill whistle. My brother, Mike, walked me through the bushes and back to my father's house.