TRANCE-FORMATION OF AMERICA: SECTION FOUR CHAPTERS 13 ~ 16

 

CHAPTER 13:

OPERATION SHELL GAME

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 be 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 overall picture. Nevertheless, Operation Shell Game was one of the more significant and informative covert operations in which I had been forced to 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 Office where I 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 Iran-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, Dick. 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 1 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 House 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 jellybeans 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 I had never been gone at all.

Operation Shell Game brought me back in touch with former President Gerald 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 Servicemen, 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?"

He 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 out shot 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 shark-like 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 was 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.

My sister, Kelli Jo, was waiting tearfully for my return. She was MPDed and horrified of Ford. She and my little sister, Kimmy, and I had all been forced to sexually gratify Ford just prior to a special ordered porn film titled Three Little Kittens whereby his semen was filmed "anonymously".

I was aware that Ford had initiated both of my sisters the way he had me in Cedar Springs, and they, too, dreaded his brutal and degrading sexuality. I hurried past my sister to make sure my daughter, Kelly, was OK. Cheney’s threat to her life was ringing loud in my ear.

I did not see the Baby’s Ear shell spirit until Kelly and I arrived in Bradenton Beach, Florida. I drove the motor home into Florida with Houston and Kelly along, and dropped Houston off at the Tampa airport, since he did not have a role in Operation Shell Game. He "had business at Boys Town in Omaha, Nebraska" where the wayward boys were being traumatized and sexually abused in accordance with the Catholic involvement in Project Monarch.

Survivor Paul Bonacci of the infamous Franklin Cover-up case has named Alex Houston as one of his abusers there in Boys Town. Houston often went to Boys Town or other similar "vacation resorts" while I was on covert government business. Kelly and I drove on to Bradenton, where we checked into a participating campground on the bay across from "MacDill Air Force Base. It, too, was "Closed for the Season".

The recreation room of the campground was actually a harmonics programming operation, and the offices were filled with elaborate computers consistent with high-level CIA operations. The day Kelly and I met with Senator Simpson, I had been instructed by campground workers to drive to nearby Santa Maria Island where we were to collect unusual shells. Kelly and I were on the "wild side" of the island hunting sand dollars because they had "BIRDS" in them.

As we walked through the shallow water, Kelly scared up a Stingray, which sent us screaming for the shore. Simpson was on the beach laughing, looking out of place in his Cagney hat and grey suit with legs rolled up and polished shoes in hand. He seemed familiar with the beach. When we reached the shore, he struck up a conversation about shells. It wasn’t until he told us about the Baby’s Ear Shell and opened his wallet to retrieve it that I triggered and knew who he was.

As he look it out, he also flashed his ID signaling us to go with him. Considering Kelly, he had slipped a shell into the sand for her to find that looked like an eye in a spiral, He used this as a hypnotic induction to control her, comparing it to Bush’s Eye in the Sky.

Simpson showed me the shell in his hand and began,

"You. You alone will take the shuttle boat to your Princes’ cruise. It will leave the dock from your own backyard (Oz) at 7:30 pm. Dress appropriately (Houston had ensured the proper attire had been packed). You will be escorted to the conference room and on into the top deck. You will see as you approach the ship (Noriega’s yacht); the top deck is surrounded in black mirrors. Look deep into the mirror; that is where you will be. And where I will be when next we meet"

We walked a little further up the beach to where the motor home was parked and, referring to the Baby’s Ear, Simpson said,

"They’re very rare indeed. This one is the right ear. You must go to the other side of the island, out Long Boat Key, to find its match. The Colonel (Aquino) has the baby’s left ear and will meet you at the Pier at 4 pm. Stop at the little market on the corner and call. Then it’s just down the street a little ways."

I followed instructions robotically. Kelly and I watched from the pier as four big, armed (with machine guns) emotionless (programmed?) guards scanned the area as Aquino emerged from a car. Kelly said, "Mom, let’s go". I remembered Cheney’s threat and assured her I would protect her, though I could not comprehend from what.

When Aquino approached with two Dobermans on leashes, I told him Simpson had sent me there looking for the left baby’s ear. He opened his hand to reveal "all that was left-the baby’s ear-the dogs had devoured and consumed the rest of the baby." It was bloody, ragged, and bluish rather than pink. Whether or not this was an actual baby’s ear, the impact was the same. I put Kelly further behind me away from the dogs. I stood traumatized and entranced, ready for command. Aquino instructed me in full detail on the night’s activities, and that I was to leave Kelly with campground personnel until my return.

That evening I was taken lo Noriega’s yacht in the bay via a small motorboat. I triggered and tranced further as I approached the familiar "black mirrored" yacht according to plan. I was helped onto the back of the yacht by Panamanian "palace" guards who kept me there at gunpoint until I was cleared and my Baby’s Ear pass key accepted. I was escorted past the Air Force Base officials, their wives, drug people, and the vast amounts of cocaine laid out for them.

I recognized several of the guests, including Oliver North and Puerto Rican drug lord Jose Busto. I was led up the stairs to the conference room where Aquino, Noriego and Simpson were waiting. Simpson! I realized I must "be on the other side of the black mirror" and I gazed out into the darkness.

Simpson spoke softly,

"You’re on the other side of the black mirror now (NASA programming), peering though the blackness out to sea. Sea of black. Riding on a sea of black, drifting, drifting from the winds. Deep into the blackness. Drifting through the sands of time. Black sands, yielding shells ~ such as this Baby’s Ear."

He pressed it into my hand signaling it was time for me to speak, I addressed Noriega,

"If you please, Sir, I have a message from the President of the United States of America: The successes we have enjoyed in our shared endeavors are now history in the making, whose course cannot be altered ~ regardless of the imminent lifting of the veil by well intentioned do-gooders. As this veil is lifted, it may shed light on you. So you must have your house in order, as does Ollie North, and cease any and all detectable activity I will do my best to keep you under shield and out of view if you comply with these orders and cease all detectable activity at once."

Noriega reacted as anticipated, obviously insulted by me message. In the ensuing moment of chaos, Aquino hypnotically waved his hands in front of Noriega and dramatically spread out his satanic black cape (worn for impact on Noriega’s superstitions) which appeared to fill the room. Noriega all but bowed to him as Aquino’s control over him was complete.

Aquino’s manner was side-show-style rather than the usual somber tones used on Military bases for the Hands On demonstrations.

"General, for your entertainment and in respect and appreciation of your successful enterprising ’Contra-bution’, the Chief has sent his Presidential Model to demonstrate the latest technology in mind-control advancements. With the flip of a switch, this Pigeon becomes a Kitten (I began undressing). Quite a different animal."

Because of Noriega’s superstitious beliefs, the whole idea of switching personalities apparently frightened him. I know Noriega believed whole heartedly in mind control, but could not grasp the concept of multiple personalities (which I now believe he perceived as demonic possession).

Therefore, he did not adhere to the idea of one slave being trained for both business and pleasure. Aquino, whom Noriega already perceived as a "devil" working for Reagan, was manipulating his beliefs masterfully. The impact of this demonstration and Operation would prove to be Psychological Warfare of the highest order.

Aquino ordered me to lie on the bed and invited Noriega to look closer at what the "Wizard" ~ "his Chief (Reagan)" ~ could create. Noriega stepped closer to see what Aquino was pointing out to him between my breasts. A large, carved baphomet appeared. Aquino had hypnotically regressed me to the time of its making which caused it to seemingly "suddenly appear" right before Noriega’s eyes.

Noriega jumped back, ignorantly terrified of this scientific phenomena. I believe Noriega stayed in the room for the rest of the demonstration simply because he was frozen in fear. Aquino hit me with a cat-o-nine- tails and I shrieked in pain. Noriega jumped, Aquino hit me with it again, this time activating me to respond sexually as though pain were pleasure ~ a mind-control concept that Noriega more readily grasped. Then Aquino pointed out that the baphomet had disappeared.

While Noriega looked, Aquino used Byrd’s Hypnotic induction as he cut me "between the breasts with a knife saying, "Unlike a knife sharp and clean, I’ll carve out what I want." My trance had been deepened to the extreme that my circulatory system was slowed. Therefore I did not bleed until Aquino hypnotically changed my trance level. He then told Noriega that the baphomet carving had "retreated to the depths of my body and soul, possessing me and inciting the heal of hell."

He commanded me to show my "face", the vaginal mutilation carving of the baphomet face. As I did, Aquino offered Noriega my sex. As predicted, Noriega’s eyes bulged in terror and revulsion. While Aquino told him his "rejection of me had killed me," I ceased breathing and moving as conditioned. Noriega was dumfounded as Aquino laughed wickedly and threatened, "Even death will not permit her ~ or you ~ escape from the Wizard’s power." He explained that I was the "Wizard’s own" and "under his spell" and could therefore "re-energize myself and come back to life."

He put a vaginal prod in my hand and ordered me to masturbate myself with it, pushing the button to electrically jolt myself internally upon command. Noriega’s eyes were enormous. He paled to a sickly grey, his mouth fell open and he ran out the door while Aquino assured him that he had "NO where to run, no where to hide from Reagan’s powers."

Noriega predictably interpreted the demonstration as a threat from the depths of HELL, which should have been enough to heed Reagan’s commands to break the drug trafficking ties immediately. (Apparently this is not the case as is evidenced by Noriega’s continued Florida incarceration.)

Aquino and Simpson doubled over with laughter as they congratulated themselves on a job well done. Simpson finally ordered me to dress and escorted me to the back of the yacht to ensure the guards put me on the shuttle boat rather than kill me because of Noriega’s horror.

As I approached the dock of the campground, the boat driver told me I would find Kelly asleep in the ’recreation’ room. I ran to her, and, fearful of Cheney’s threat, made sure her ears were still intact. I was immensely relieved to find them still there and to know she was "OK" (I could not think to wonder what she had endured in my absence.)

I illogically felt like a "good mom" for "doing my part right so Kelly could live." Never before had I experienced such a sense of danger to us both and my relief was proportionate. I lovingly held her in my arms the rest of the night.

CHAPTER 14:

CLINTON COKE LINES

I met up with Bill Clinton again in 1982 at a county fair in Berryville, Arkansas. Alex Houston was "entertaining" there due to the close proximity of the CIA Near Death Trauma Center (aka slave conditioning and programming camp) and drug distribution point at Swiss Villa in Lampe. Missouri. I had just endured intense physical and psychological trauma and programming, Clinton was campaigning for Governor and was backstage with Hillary and Chelsea while waiting to make a speech.

Clinton stood in the afternoon sun with his arms crossed, talking to Houston about him and "his people" (CIA Operatives) being looked into specific areas for the dual purpose of entertaining and carrying our specific covert drug operations.

From my perspective, those who were actively laying the groundwork for implementing the New World Order through mind conditioning of the masses made no distinction between Democratic and Republican Parties. Their aspirations were international in proportion, not American. Members were often drawn from, among other elitist groups, the Council on Foreign Relations. Like George Bush, Bill Clinton was an active member of the CFR, Bilderbergers, and Tri-Lateral Commission.

Based on numerous conversations I overheard. Clinton was being groomed and prepared to fill the role of President under the guise of Democrat in the event that the American people became discouraged with Republican leaders. This was further evidenced by the extent of Clinton’s New World Order knowledge and professed loyalties.

Clinton understood that I had just been through "hell" in Lampe, and took it all in stride as he focused on his speech. He not only was well aware of the mind-control tortures and criminal covert activities proliferating in Arkansas and the neighboring state of Missouri, but he condoned them!

Just as there are no partisan preferences in this world dominance effort, neither are there any strong individual state considerations or boundaries, either. I knew from experience that Clinton’s Arkansas criminal covert operations meshed with the Lampe Missouri center where he routinely tended business and claimed to "vacation." staying in the compound’s resort villas.

In 1983, Houston took me to Lampe for routine trauma and programming while he was scheduled to "entertain" at the amphitheatre. Also scheduled to perform were Bill Clinton's and George Bush's fiends Lee Greenwood and CIA operative, slave runner, and country music singer Tommy Overstreet. Greenwood and Overstreet were active in both the Lampe, Missouri and Lake/Mount Shasta, California CIA compounds. Clinton was flown in from Berryville, Arkansas by helicopter for the shows as well as for a business meeting.

Before Clinton arrived, Greenwood and Houston were in the backstage dressing rooms snorting line after line of cocaine, Houston, always eager to make an extra penny to pinch, attempted to prostitute me to Greenwood,

"She’s the real performer," Houston said. "She performs all kinds of sex acts upon command. For a small price, she’s yours."

Greenwood laughed, and referring to my Huntsville, Alabama NASA programming said, "I’ve spent more time in Huntsville than she has, and I know full well who and what she is ~ a ’space cadet’ programmed for sex. She’s a modified version of Marilyn Monroe." Tommy Overstreet had waited in and heard what Greenwood said. "How much time have you spent in Shasta?"

"Shasta?" Greenwood looked arrogantly at Overstreet and smiled knowingly as he said, "You don’t ’spend time’ in Shasta, you maintain the concept if you can. I haven’t lost any time there, either, if that’s your next question. I go there quite a bit. Enough really to override Houston’s suggestion with ease and take what I want, when I want, and how I want it."

Greenwood began expertly accessing my sex programming and told the others in the room, "You all can come and go as you please, but I’ve been made an offer that I am going to use." He ordered me to undress and bend over the desk where he roughly sodomized me as he said, "You’re going to think it’s daddy all over again".

When Greenwood was through with me, I was ordered out into the amphitheatre concert area. During intermission, I met up with Swiss Villa manager Hal Meadows, Tommy Overstreet, and Governor Clinton in the hall. Clinton was wearing a cap that read "Diesel Trainer" which I was told to equate literally as "these-will-train-her". Puzzled, I looked at his cap and asked, "Are you a conductor?"

Clinton smiled and said, "Of electricity". Overstreet laughed as he continued,

"Actually it means I check cabooses. How’s yours?" I squirmed. Apparently Greenwood had bragged about sodomizing me. They laughed even harder as Clinton said, "Still running, I’m sure".

Houston stepped out of the dressing room to greet Clinton, "Hi, bud."

Houston extended his hand. "I hear you made Governor."

"I hear you deliver a hell of a one liner," Clinton replied, cryptically referring to cocaine and NOT Houston’s so-called comedy routine. "I’m always aspiring to achieve new heights."

"Well, come on in," Houston invited. "I have enough (cocaine) to put us all into orbit." I walked into the dressing room with them as Houston was saying to Clinton, "I suppose there are no limits for you since you’re across the (state) line."

"What line?" Clinton feigned surprise and ignorance. He looked at Hal Meadows as he continued, "You mean I’ve left that state of mine? In the state of mind I’m in, there are no boundaries anyway." He walked over to the table and snorted a line of cocaine. "I come here to get away from it all. This kind of business is pleasure."

"So where’s that young wife of yours?" Houston asked, referring to Hillary.

"She’s with friends." Clinton sniffed the coke further up his nose. "She’s minding her own business. I’m just here to unwind, see the show, maybe do a little hunting (referring to A Most Dangerous Game). I’ve got a bird (helicopter) ready to fly me back when I’m through. Hey, speaking of ’Byrd’ (he gestured my way) I hear she’s moved up to the big house (White House)." Referring to his friend and mentor Senator Byrd he asked, "So what’s his position now?"

"The same." Houston answered. "Probably like this..." Houston pantomimed a lewd sodomy pose while everyone laughed. "He still runs the show."

Clinton kept his eyes fixed on Houston’s "caboose" and said, "Why don’t you show her (referring to me) me way out and show me that again?"

If I could have thought at that moment, I would have realized Bill Clinton was/is bisexual. My personal sexual experience with Clinton was limited, but I had witnessed him engaged in homosexual activity during an orgy at Swiss Villa.

Immediately following the Swiss Villa incident, Houston was scheduled as usual to perform at the county fair in Benyville, Arkansas. There, Houston and I had been visiting with long time Clinton friend and supporter, H.B. Gibson, when we parted company to attend a private meeting at the mansion of Clinton’s bisexual friend and supporter Bill Hall. Hall had reportedly made his fortune in the pre-fabricated log home business, and the Clintons were slaying in a guest villa patterned after those at Swiss Villa.

Hillary had taken toddler Chelsea to the villa while Clinton and his aide/bodyguard attended the meeting. Tommy Overstreet was also in attendance as this directly coincided with the recent Lampe meeting. We all sat in Hall’s sunken living room on two couches facing each other with a black mirror coffee table between us. Hall had cut numerous lines of cocaine on the table, and everyone present ~ including Bill Clinton ~ was inhaling it through $50 bills rolled into straws.

The conversation ranged from CIA, drugs, and politics to the Swiss Villa Amphitheatre and country music. At that time, a major effort was underway to move Nashville, Tennessee’s country music industry to the Lampe area (it has since literally moved to nearby Branson), in closer proximity to the CIA cocaine operations that leached the industry.

Tommy Overstreet was attempting to convince Hall, who was obviously no stranger to the drug (cocaine) business, to join the high level CIA cocaine operation that was funding covert activity. They discussed the possibility of Hall transporting cocaine from Berryville, Arkansas to Nashville, Tennessee to be in on the ground level of what would soon be one of the largest and most prolific CIA cocaine operations ~ the Branson, Missouri, country music industry.

By enlisting now, the contacts and customers that Hall would procure could "politically and financially bolster him for life". Additionally, Overstreet discussed the viability of using Hall’s own company trucks to transport the drug throughout Atlanta, Georgia; Louisville, Kentucky; and Jacksonville, Florida as well as Nashville, Tennessee and Lampe, Missouri. These key CIA cocaine routes coincided with Hall’s established truck routes, according to the insiders present at the meeting.

Hall was being offered the "opportunity of a lifetime" as his role would also include laundering money through his business to fund the black budget covert operations. Hall appeared nervous and skeptical, and Clinton and Overstreet attempted to maintain a "light" atmosphere by joking that Hall could change the name of his trucking line to "CLINTON COKE LINES".

Hall was not convinced and began to raise questions as to the longevity of the operation and how he was going to protect himself. Although Hall was very adept at the cocaine business, he voiced concern that he found it easier to trust those who were not with the CIA operations than he did U.S. government protected participants.

Clinton reassured him that it was "Reagan’s operation," but Hall was concerned that some faction of the government would "shut it down like a sting operation" without warning and leave him literally holding the bag, Houston laughed and explained that "no one was going to cut it (the drug business) off." He assured them it was far too lucrative and that there would "always be a market" for drugs ~ a market controlled by those criminals implementing their New World Order.

Clinton added to what Houston "said, talking in local colloquialisms.

"Bottom line is, we’ve got control of the (drug) industry, and therefore we’ve got control of them (suppliers and buyers). You control the guy underneath ya’ and Uncle (Sam) has ya’ covered. What have ya’ got to lose? No risk. No one’s gonna hang ya’ out to dry. And whatever spills off the truck as it passes through (he laughed and snorted another line of coke) you get to clean up."

Hall smiled at his friend, which was apparently interpreted as consent. Clinton motioned for his aide to get his ledger. Overstreet began pulling out his paperwork, and Hall neatly cleared the table of the remaining coke lines.

Clinton gestured to me and told Houston, "Get her out of here".

Houston didn’t move and laughed. "She’s a Presidential Model. She’s kept secrets bigger than yours."

Clinton responded, "I don’t care. Get her the fuck out of here"

Hall’s wife led me away and locked me in a back bedroom. After an indeterminate period of time, I heard her telephone Hillary at the guest villa. She then drove me up the mountain through the dark to meet with Hillary. Although I had previously met Hillary we had very little to say to each other ~ particularity since I was still dazed and tranced from the tortures I had endured at the CIA Near Death Trauma Center in Lampe.

Hillary knew I was a mind-controlled slave, and, like Bill Clinton, just took it in stride as a "normal" part of life in politics. Hillary was fully clothed and stretched out on the bed sleeping when Hall’s wife and I arrived.

"Hillary, I brought you something you’ll really enjoy. Kind of an unexpected surprise. Bill ordered her out of the meeting and I look her to my bedroom and made an interesting discovery. She is literally a two-faced (referring to my vaginal mutilation carving) bitch," "Hmm?"

Hillary opened her eyes and sleepily roused herself "Show me."

Hall’s wife ordered me to take my clothes off while Hillary watched.

"Is she clean?" Hillary asked, meaning disease free.

"Of course, she’s Byrd’s," she responded, continuing the conversation as though I were not there, "Plus, I heard Houston say something about her being a Presidential Model, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean."

"It means she’s clean," Hillary said matter-of-factly as she stood up.

I was not capable of giving thought to such things back then, but I am aware in retrospect that all Presidential Model slaves I knew seemed to have immunity to social diseases. It was a well known fact in the circles I was sexually passed around in that government level mind-controlled sex slaves were "clean" to the degree that none of my abusers took precautions such as wearing condoms.

Hall’s wife patted the bed and instructed me to display the mutilation. Hillary exclaimed, "God!" and immediately began performing oral sex on me.

Apparently aroused by the carving in my vagina, ² Hillary stood up and quickly peeled out of her matronly nylon panties and pantyhose. Uninhibited despite a long day in the hot sun, she gasped, "Eat me, oh, god, eat me now". I had no choice but to comply with her orders and Bill Hall’s wife made no move to join me in my distasteful task.

Hillary had resumed examining my hideous mutilation and performing oral sex on me when Bill Clinton walked in. Hillary lifted her head to ask, "How’d it go?" Clinton appeared totally unaffected by what he walked into, tossed his jacket on a chair and said, "It’s official. I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed."

I put my clothes on as ordered, and Hall’s wife drove me back down to the mansion where Houston was waiting for me. The meeting apparently had been a success. I heard discussions throughout the remaining years between Houston, his agent Reggie MacLaughlin, and Loretta Lynn’s handler, Ken Riley pertaining to Hall’s successful branch of the CIA cocaine operation emanating from Arkansas, No discussions were as poignant and revealing as those between Alex Houston and CIA operative country music entertainer Boxcar Willie.

Boxcar Willie burst onto the country music scene after an ad campaign of high tech hypnotically persuasive produced television commercials that strategically made him an overnight, sensation and "star". The country music industry’s Freedom Train needed a conductor to lead the industry and fans to Branson, Missouri, and Boxcar Willie was placed in the driver’s seat. Like the Pied Piper of Hamlin, Boxcar Willie succeeded in his role of trance-ferring the industry in close proximity to the Lampe CIA cocaine operations.

Boxcar Willie was one of the primary ground level contacts that Bill Hall made after Clinton convinced him to cash in on the cocaine benefits of the country music industry transfer. Houston and Boxcar Willie discussed Hall’s lucrative dealings throughout the years in my presence while traveling the country together, billed on the same shows, including performances at the Swiss Villa Amphitheatre, I had much contact with Boxcar Willie personally since my government sponsored cocaine runs often coincided and intermeshed with his.

But I never knew Boxcar Willie as well as my daughter, Kelly, knew him. Kelly has named Boxcar Willie as one of her primary sexual abusers in three different mental institutions, and has voiced frustration at the lack of justice. "Why am I the one locked up while my abusers remain free?" she constantly pleads. I assure her I am doing all I can to blow the whistle on Boxcar Willie and expose his role in transferring the country music industry to close proximity of the Lampe, Missouri CIA cocaine operation as outlined by Bill Clinton.

1 Loyalty to the sovereign of our country is non existent under New World Orders. "President" Clinton poses no more leadership or loyalty to our country than Ronald Reagan did since both follow(ed) New World Order directives from former U.N. Ambassador and CIA DI-RECTor George Bush.

2 Hillary Clinton is the only female to become sexually aroused at the sight of my mutilated vagina.

CHAPTER 15:

NO MORE BEATING AROUND THE BUSH

It was a sunny, fall day in 1983 when U.S. Congressman Guy VanderJagt met with my CIA operative mind-control handler, Alex Houston, my then 3 1/2 year old daughter, Kelly, and me on the steps of the U.S. Senate in Washington, D.C. Kelly appeared familiar with VanderJagt, although I had never previously remembered seeing her in his company. Even so, I could not think to realize he was, in fact, sexually abusing her just as he had me when I was a child.

VanderJagt knelt on one knee in front of her to talk with her, assuring her that "today was a special day" because she would "see Uncle George (Bush) while mommy sees Uncle Ronnie (Reagan)". He stood up and took her by the hand, saying in Alice in Wonderland cryptic language, "Let’s go on an Adventure together" and led her quietly and robotically away.

I met up with Kelly again that afternoon at the White House, both of us literally "on our toes" and standing at attention in Reagan’s office. In retrospect, I wonder at the measures of control inflicted on my 3 1/2-year old child to cause her to perform so robotically and behave "so well" as she silently stood with the plastic smile and unblinking eyes, in the presence of President Reagan, Vice President Bush, and (later Defense Secretary) Dick Cheney.

Reagan appeared to gaze at Kelly, with her long blonde hair cascading down the back of her blue pinafore dress, completing her Alice in Wonderland Appearance. Reagan seemed to pose no direct threat to her sexually as he said,

"She is adorable, a model child", Reagan then gestured towards Bush and said; "This is my Vice President George Bush. People don’t usually know what the role of the Vice President is because he’s always behind the scenes making sure everything that the President wants done happens the way it’s supposed to."

He looked at me and said matter-of-factly,

"I catch the public’s attention (he made a gesture in the air that was eye catching) while the Vice President carries out orders."

Bush’s close friend, Dick Cheney, said, "And gives them".

"Right," Reagan said. "An order from him is like an order from me."

Bush was wearing canvas boat shoes and a cardigan sweater as he knelt on one knee in front of Kelly in order to talk to her on her level. Bush used the children’s television program Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood to scramble/confuse young victims’ (like Kelly’s) memory of contact with him and his sexual abuse.

His physical resemblance to TV’s Fred Rogers was deliberately exaggerated by his choice of clothes and mannerisms, and is further compounded by his developed vocal impersonation. Using his best Mr. Rogers voice he said,

"Come here, Little One. I want to ask you something. Do you watch Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood?"

"Yes, Sir," Kelly responded.

Bush told Kelly,

"Well, I’m kind of like Mr. Rogers when he makes his puppets move and talk ~ like your daddy (Houston, ventriloquist) does with Elemer (his dummy). Only I’m like Mr. Rogers because I have lots of puppets ~ only mine are people. I even have a King (Fahd) just like Mr. Rogers.¹ I pull the strings (he pantomimed marionette hand movements) and I talk through them. They say my words and we create all kinds of exciting Adventures. Right now I’m building a new Neighborhood (the New World Order). The stage is set, and I have hold of everyone’s strings. I need you to help me ~  together we can pull your mother’s strings. She’s in my Neighborhood. That means you’re in my Neighborhood, too."

It seems obvious to me now that Bush was referring to those actively engaged in implementing the New World Order through chaos and mass mind control (aka media conditioning) as "The Neighborhood". Of course I was unable to consider disputing Bush’s statement, and Kelly was certainly not of a mind to see beyond Bush’s twist on her favorite television program. Kelly’s big blue eyes grew even wider as she responded, "I am?"

Bush stood up and took her hand, "C’mon. Let me show you my Neighborhood," He led her out the door.

Kelly became violently physically ill after her induction into George Bush’s "Neighborhood" and from every sexual encounter she had with him thereafter. She ran 104-6 degree temperatures, vomited and endured immobilizing headaches for an average of three days (as is consistent with high voltage trauma). These were the only tell-tale evidences aside from the scarring burns left on her skin.

Houston forbade me to call a doctor, and Kelly forbade me to comfort her, pitifully complaining that her head "hurt too bad to even move". And she did not move for hours on end. Kelly often complained of severe kidney pain, and her rectum usually bled for a day or two after Bush sexually abused her. My own mind-control victimization rendered me unable to help or protect her. Seeing my child in such horrible condition drove my own wedge of insanity in deeper, perpetuating my total inability to affect her needs until our rescue by Mark Phillips in 1988.

Kelly’s bleeding rectum was but one of many physical indicators of George Bush's pedophile perversions, I have overheard him speak blatantly of his sexual abuse of her on many occasions. He used this and threats to her life to "pull my strings" and control me. The psychological ramifications of being raped by a pedophile President are mind-shattering enough, but reportedly Bush further reinforced his traumas to Kelly’s mind with sophisticated NASA electronic and drug mind-control devices.

Bush also instilled the "Who yagonna call?" and "I’ll be watching you" binds on Kelly, further reinforcing her sense of helplessness. The systematic tortures and traumas I endured as a child now seem trite in comparison to the brutal physical and psychological devastation that George Bush inflicted on my daughter.

As soon as the door closed behind Bush and Kelly, Dick Cheney reached over to Reagan’s desk from his seat and flipped over the hourglass. (Oz) "Her (Kelly’s) time is running out. You’d better pay attention and follow orders as though her life depends on it, because from now on (heh heh) it always does! If you make one mistake ~ one ~ then I’ll get her, my pretty."

Reagan said,

"George is like a director. He makes sure the stage is set to implement the New World Order as I envision it. Then he makes sure everyone has a script and knows their plan. He tells them how to speak and when to speak it. How to dress and (patting my head) how to wear their hair. He gets everything and everyone in place and hollers, ’Action!’"

Reagan shouted through his hand as though it were a megaphone and rambled on,

"All the world’s a stage. I’m the Wizard. But he is directing the show so you better pay attention and learn your part well from him."

Cheney Cheney interrupted,

"George and I will be working closely on a few projects together, and when you see him, you’ll see me. When you’re given orders from him, you’re given orders from me."

"She knows the chain of command, Dick," Reagan injected, referring to his perception of who was in charge, and in what order.

President, Vice President, Habib, Cheney, Byrd, etc. may have been the chain of command in Reagan’s mind, but Cheney’s definition was necessary to my understanding. From my perspective, the chain of command was clearly Bush, Cheney, Habib, Reagan, Aquino and lastly, on a par with my handler, Houston, Byrd, all of which was subject to change at any given moment.

Cheney just rolled his eyes at Reagan’s comment and never slowed down as he continued, "Right now a stage is being set and you will be directed by the Vice President on just how he wants you to do your part in setting the stage for Mexico’s role in the New World Order."

Reagan jumped in again,

"With the world in order, there will be world peace. By strategically placing an American Patriot dedicated to the cause of spreading democracy in all parts of the world, we can influence the thinking of every nation’s leader and paint for them a picture of freedom and American values that they’ll never forget. They’ll spread it to the people and the whole planet will be of one mind ~ one purpose ~ one cause. Freedom. You’ll be talking with some of these friends and leaders from time to lime on my behalf."

Bush slipped back into the meeting, without Kelly. Cheney continued,

"Taking orders from me and your new director-the Vice President. Lesson number one. You know what Miami Vice is. Undercover drug agents taking control of the drug industry. A Vice President is just that ~ an undercover drug agent taking control of the drug industry ~ for the President."

Bush spoke up.

"Mexico is a problem. They’ve got lots of drugs, but not the brains nor l he means to sell it outside their own country. So how can we take control of their (growing) drug industry when we can’t even get our hands on it? It’s your duty as an American citizen to open the routes and initiate freedom from poverty throughout their nation by offering them cash as a means of enticing their drug industry right into our grasp by bringing it right up to our doorsteps."

"Operation Greenbacks for Wetbacks," Cheney said, laughing. Bush laughed with him.

Bush regained his composure to conclude, "Your assignment begins in Miami with NCL (Norwegian Caribbean Lines) and ends when you return from Mexico with word of success."

Cheney caught my eye with a hand gesture that directed my gaze from Bush to the hourglass, which was running out fast. By then I was deeply tranced and lost touch with my surroundings all together while my trance was timelessly deepened for further programming, I left the White House with a message for the Vice President of Mexico, Carlos Salinas de Gortari, from the Vice President of the U.S., and with one very sick child.

1 Mr Roger projects through puppets on his show, and one of his key characters from the Land of Make-Believe is King Friday the 13th.

CHAPTER 16:

OPERATlON GREENBACKS FOR WETBACKS

My CIA mind-control handler, Alex Houston and I boarded the Norwegian Caribbean Lines ship bound for Cozumel, Mexico, with a large, black, soft side suitcase packed full of cash and a proposal of "prosperity" from the U.S. This proposal, programmed in me by Vice President Bush, was supposedly initial diplomatic groundwork for the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA).

It was my understanding then that the North American Free Trade Agreement was considered a significant step in implementing the New World Order through mind manipulation of the masses. According to Byrd, propaganda disguising the true purpose of NAFTA included the concept of "free trade" which the U.S. and Mexican governments had long since shared.

"Free trade" of child and adult mind-controlled slaves, cocaine, heroin and businesses has been not-so-secretly proliferating for years. My own father joined the "run for the border" via U.S. State Department and Mexican subsidized business incentives and opened yet another branch of his U.S. Department of Defense-given-business in Mexico. This was part of the "free trade" agreement that I know personally has been operating smoothly from at least 1984.

In an effort to maintain the illusion that the agreement would not create a negative economic imbalance between Mexico and the U.S., tourist areas of Mexico were deliberately built up, enhanced and Americanized with U.S. dollars. These funds were provided through CIA covert Black Budget operations of drug and slave trading, as well as directly through the Senate Appropriations Committee of which Senator Robert C. Byrd is chairman as of this writing.

I certainly do not purport to understand international business, nor have I attempted to "educate" myself through what 1 know to be propaganda-slanted and -filtered periodicals. How money interfaces in world markets has been well documented. For example, who supports whom in which financial endeavors is apparently far too complex for even BCCI attorneys and investigators to sort through.

My personal perspective on Mexican, U.S., and Saudi Arabian buildup of Mexico’s economy is limited to my own experiences. My under-standing is further affected by deliberate misinformation from the criminal perspectives of those who were in control of my mind’s knowledge base and actions. From time to time, Senator Byrd used me as a robotic sounding board. He told me what he wanted me to hear, and this was structured more toward stroking his own enormous, warped ego than it was to educate me in world finance.

Senator Byrd claimed "the money game is simply a game of control," and lives by his adopted Golden Rule of "He who holds the gold makes the rules." He told me in so many words that,

"by appropriating funds to all (viable) projects ushering in the free trade agreement, and allocating lesser amounts to U.S. social systems such as our ’criminal’ justice system, I control our country and our place in world markets. All the world is a stage, and I own the theater!... you can bank on it!"

Senator Byrd’s twisted reality echoed in my mind when America was bought (stolen) and sold by Presidents Bush and Clinton in the recent passage of NAFTA.

"I would never run for President ~ Oh, I’d win if I did," Byrd bragged. "But why should I run for an office that is beneath me? I can make a President look good, or I can make him look bad by strategically appropriating funds."

Byrd and others I knew boasted that he was one of those (corrupt power brokers) responsible for Bill Clinton’s being "chosen" and elected to the office of Presidency. And the last minute bids and dealings with those Congressmen holding NAFTA’s deciding votes proved "strategic appropriations" indeed made Clinton "look good" in his NAFTA "victory".

At the La Celiba Hotel in Cozumel, Houston maintained my food and water deprivation for mind-control purposes, even during our dinner meeting in the hotel’s restaurant later that evening. Although the restaurant was "officially" closed due to the late hour, a mariachi band, one waiter, four stationed armed guards, my Mexican dignitary contact, his two assistants, and handler, Houston and I were present.

During the meeting, arrangements were made to meet with Mexico’s then Vice President Salinas the next afternoon at a nearby military installation. I would also deliver a message as usual from Senator Byrd at the nearby Consulate’s office pertaining to U.S. financial support for creating propaganda to insure the illusion of economic equality in Mexican tourist areas. These funds were simply to further the ongoing shared goal of easing into New World Order domination through carefully contrived smoke and mirror tactics.

The next afternoon, Houston escorted me to the high security fenced government installation for my meeting with Salinas. According to Bush, Salinas was regarded by the Reagan-Bush Administration as superior in power to Miguel de la Madrid who was officially President of Mexico at that time. The upcoming Mexican "election," which was no more an election than Reagan’s second term, was to place Salinas in the office of President to coincide with Bush’s destined Presidency.

To insure that this "strategically placed American Patriot" would be voted into position, Reagan informed me that the U.S. would "guard the integrity" of "elections" by covertly "overseeing" them, among other strategies. Salinas was to be President at all costs.

Although President de la Madrid was considered by Bush to be the steppingstone to the ultimate reign of Salinas/Bush’s (already established) diplomatic relations, he was regarded with all due respect in a manner conducive to "no margins for error". His full cooperation was tantamount to establishing Bush’s and Salinas¹ goals via free flowing drug markets and Mexico’s cooperation in subversively funding and supplying Reagan’s Nicaraguan Contras. De la Madrid worked in close association with Salinas so that a smooth transition of power would maintain U.S.-Mexican relations and efforts already in place.

"A message to Salinas is a message to the President," Cheney had explained. Not only would the message be relayed to de La Madrid, but for the most part Salinas was the one responsible for working with George Bush since they would both come into power during the most critical point in the promotion of NAFTA ~ passing it by the American people and into law. President Reagan, Mexican President De la Madrid, Vice President Bush, and Mexican Vice President Salinas were all "of one mind ~ one effort" toward economic expansion and growth for our southern "neighbors in the New World Order" through what I experienced was based on "free trade" of drugs, children, and pornography.

Vice President Bush told me that this (criminal) activity was regarded as Mexico’s,

"only means of rapid economic advancement and freedom from poverty since the people were slaves to their own inability to advance in world markets."

When I arrived at the military installation with the aforementioned suitcase of cash in hand, I was taken to Salinas’ "office" through a series of electronic gates guarded by officers in white uniforms. Salinas sat at his desk, which was small and functional (i.e., military issue), set on a highly polished wooden floor in a vast room virtually void of decor and personal effects.

This created an air of military practicality. I set the suitcase in front of Salinas and began relaying the message I had been programmed to deliver,

"I have a message from the Vice President of the United State of America to our neighbors in Mexico. America is willing to share its wealth through a trade agreement with Mexico. We’ll trade our cash for control over Mexico’s cocaine and heroin production. By controlling your drug industry, we can open the border between our countries to allow a free flow of cocaine and heroin into the U.S., bought and paid for in American dollars to build Mexico, Eventually this could dissolve the border between our countries altogether as Mexico’s economy grows to match ours.

If we begin today, this dream could be realized by the turn of the century-sharing the same continent, sharing the same wealth. Why? The drug industry already dictates what the Mexican government can or cannot do. By giving the U.S. control of your drug industry, Mexico regains control over her government. Re-established power backed by U.S. dollars will bring Mexico on an economic par with America. We can begin by spreading the word through the (drug) cartels that the U.S. is covertly willing to open the borders to free drug trade by making agents available to show you the passage and routes through which the drugs are to be delivered.

Only U.S. agents can bring Mexican heroin and (South American) cocaine across the border, and likewise they will bring the cash in. Explain to those select few who control the drug empires that the cruise line (NCL) agreement is going into mass expansion, tearing down the border between our countries enough to allow for as many drugs to come in as Mexico can deal out. When do we begin? Immediately. The cash is at hand. (I gestured toward the suitcase which Salinas unzipped to find full of cash.)

Deliver whatever amount of brown heroin you have at hand as a means of confirmation to the agreement. Keep the change as a token of the change and good fortune that has befallen Mexico from its neighboring nation."

As I finished Bush’s message, Salinas immediately took a note pad from the desk and scrawled a quick note. He passed it to a guard who was stationed at the door. He stood up, smiled, and leaned over his desk as he extended his hand in a warm handshake. I was escorted out. Houston found me on the front steps of the installation and together we were escorted through the barbed wire fences and back onto the streets of Cancun.

I waited in a small clearing nearby for an indeterminate length of time, playing with a large iguana. Finally, a taxi cab driver pulled up and honked his horn three times, signaling me to pick up a fist-sized ball of Mexican brown heroin. The heroin was crudely wrapped in brown paper, tied with twine, and measured approximately the size of a baseball. As quickly as the cab driver left, Houston, who was standing some distance away with two uniformed men, signaled me to join him. We were then driven to the airport where we boarded a U.S. Air Force aircraft to Washington, D.C.

Immediately upon arrival at Andrews Air Force Base just outside of Washington, D.C, I was taken to Senator Byrd who then escorted me to Dick Cheney’s Pentagon office for a meeting with Vice President Bush. I was ill and vomiting from the high voltage administered in Mexico to compartmentalize my memory. I was allowed to use Byrd’s magnetic pass key card to unlock the maze of doors that led to the Ladies’ Room.

I was still wearing my inappropriate-for-D.C. cruise clothes and carrying the heroin in my tote bag when I met with Bush to confirm Mexico’s agreement to his proposal. Bush took the heroin for himself, obviously pleased with the quality of the product. Cheney laughed and told Bush he needed to "confiscate the Contra-band".

Bush replied, "Over my dead body" as he laughed at Cheney’s Contra joke. "If you don’t share some of it, that could be the case," Cheney said. "Pitch it here."

Bush struck a pitch pose, wound up, made a fake out pitch, and joked in baseball banter, "It’s a ’high fly’ ball. You’re going to have to steal." He tossed the heroin in the air, caught it, and strode for the door, Cheney got out of his chair, pointed to the door, and ordered me "Out".

Houston and I were flown in to Montego Bay, Jamaica and transported to Ocho Rios to board our next NCL cruise ship.