My mind-controlled existence became more complicated after Senator Byrd introduced me to then President Ronald Reagan in the fall of 1982 1 at a White House political party. Byrd told me,
"When you meet the Chief, imagine him with his pants down. He’s most comfortable knowing you are imagining him with his pants down. He doesn’t want formality."
Reagan admittedly had seen the How to Divide a Personality and How to Create a Sex Slave videos made in Huntsville, Alabama. He acted very pleased with me as though I had participated in them willingly. Within the first few minutes of meeting Reagan, he was giving me acting tips to utilize in government operations and pornography!!
"When you become your part, your performance increases, which in turn increases your ability to do your part ~ for your country. ’Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country’ ~ your part," he instructed.
Reagan explained to me that the illegal CIA covert activities I was forced to participate in were "justified" as they funded covert activities in Afghanistan and Nicaragua.
"America’s Freedom Train is spanning the globe and sex is but a sidetrack to the ultimate course of freedom. Our job of procuring and transporting arms is the most difficult part of all. But it can and must be done. How can a man with no arms fight? These operations are necessary as American people raise too much hell about violence already, and it is better they’re not informed of our supporting wars they cannot understand the significance of."
That night Senator Byrd acted in the capacity of a pimp and prostituted me to Reagan. Referring to me as though I were a machine, Reagan asked Byrd, "Does she run on chemicals?" meaning specific CIA drugs.
Byrd answered, "She takes it in spurts". I noticed that Reagan’s eyes lit up with perversion and understanding of Byrd’s statement, which meant that I "shared" whatever drugs were in his system through his urine. Reagan later told me he preferred sex slaves equipped for this task since he, as President, should not have to get up in the night to urinate, "Well," Reagan said, holding up his glass, "All I’ve had to fuel her with is alcohol.
Before I left with Reagan, Byrd informed me that,
"Uncle Ronnie doesn’t sleep with his mommy (Nancy)," and that he preferred snuggling into his LL Bean, light blue flannel sheets in his nightshirt and ridiculous nightcap because "they’re warmer, softer, more comfortable, and don’t snore".
Many commercial and instructional (private) pornography films I and others participated in, referred to as "Uncle Ronnie’s Bedtime Stories," were manufactured solely for his pleasure-oftentimes according to his instruction, using Freedom Train slaves. After my initial meeting with Reagan, I was used in numerous films that were produced predominantly at Youngstown Charm School and/or by his "Chief Pornographer"3 Michael Dante, specifically to satisfy his perversions. These included a wide range of cryptic themes, but were mostly bestiality. Reagan often watched the videos while I was prostituted to him, requiring me to re-enact the porn however possible.
I first met Reagan’s Chief Pornographer Michael Dante, AKA Michael Viti, at an elite Nashville hotel where he was attending "charity" Golf Tournament festivities. Like CIA Operative Charlie Pride’s Pro-Am Golf Tournament in Albuquerque, New Mexico, this "charity" tournament provided a cover for the cocaine and white slavery operations that dominated the event. Houston and I often attended such "charity" events, as did Dante, but it was only after having met Reagan that Dante’s and my paths crossed as arranged.
Dante took me to his hotel room after our initial introduction. He snorted a few lines of coke, looked me over as though I were merchandise, and accessed my sex programming. He then arrogantly asked me if I knew who he was. He told me he lived in Beverly Hills, California and made movies. I thought he was referring to his box office flop, Winterhawk, until he said,
"Uncle Ronnie sent me. He wants me to make movies with you as your ’contra-bution.’ We’re gonna have a good time, then he’s gonna have a good time, and everybody’s happy. You’ll like that, won’t you Baby? Get dressed. We’re going back downstairs and make arrangements."
"No arguments," "speak only when spoken to," "take a good beating now and then just to keep you in line," "see to all my comforts and housework," and "be on call 24 hours a day when I need a good whore".
He gave me a slave bracelet ~ a trademark of his porn ~ and said, "A woman needs a chain. It’s a public reminder of total commitment and devotion. A reminder of the chain-of-command. A woman is tied to her man. No man should be tied to a woman."
Dante related to me,
"When Reagan was Governor (of California), we went to Dodger (baseball) games together and sat in the Press Box. I got to know him real well and we got along. So, he and Tommy (LaSorda, Dodger manager and their mutual friend) and I would continue partying after the game. I brought him a few girls (slaves) and we did business. Really. Tommy LaSorda brought us together ~ you’ll like him. I’ll take you to meet him. We’ll go to games together all the time, every chance we get. You’ll love that, won’t you, Baby? You like a Press Box, Baby? Dick says you do."
Dick Thomburgh was Governor of Pennsylvania during my tenure as a Presidential Model mind-controlled slave. He used his influence to bring Houston into Pennsylvania State and county fairs year after year for the purposes of cocaine and pornography distribution, as well as for prostitution of me to him on a regular basis. Thornburgh was a heavy cocaine user, and was deeply involved in CIA covert activities ~ particularly Project Monarch. He was a firm believer in mind control, not only for sex training and government operations, but for sports. An avid baseball fan, Thornburgh had much to share with Reagan, Dante and LaSorda,
I had been giving Handwriting Analysis lectures on NCL’s Norway cruise ship (my cover for covert operation) in 1987, and Thornburgh and his friend Chicago Cubs Baseball Scout Jim Zerilla were in attendance. Afterward, Zerilla offered me a job with the Baseball Commission analyzing handwriting of their "million dollar babies" baseball players before they were signed up. Thomburgh explained that the job may not fit into my schedule. Nevertheless, we met on several occasions during the course of the cruise, always for sex, but business was discussed as well.
My programmed mind contained a "baseball computer" that was created for Reagan, and used by many including Thornburgh, LaSorda, Dante", and Zerilla. It was packed with the kinds of statistics in which they were interested; the codes, keys, triggers and hand signals of certain mind-controlled baseball players.
To this day I am not certain who instigated the plastic surgery to which I was forcibly subjected, but soon after meeting Reagan and Dante I was scheduled for breast implants. Perhaps it was done for pornography. Perhaps it was Reagan’s preference. I tend to believe it was a combination of the two and ordered since my breasts were no longer lactating. In the first commercial porn film Reagan had directed Dante to produce in St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands my breasts were still tender and swollen from silicone implant surgery.
My appearance was not the only "make over" I endured after meeting Reagan. Aquino and I were called to Washington, D.C. to revise my base core programming to override Senator Byrd’s control for security reasons. Since Reagan had been shot, he took extra precautions to ensure his safety which included directing Aquino as to how he wanted me programmed.
While Reagan had Aquino in D.C., he demanded that he wear his black ritual robes to a White House party to reinforce the controlling superstitions of a few South/Central American diplomats. Aquino appeared foolish in the eyes of his peers. They knew Aquino’s image was only a guise for Psychological Warfare, but his appearance at the White House in costume made Aquino look like he believed his own facade.
Earlier that day, Reagan instructed Aquino how to program me in keeping with "spin" programming depicted in the "How to" videos. "Program it," Reagan said, referring to me as though I were an object, "under number one. I like the number one. It’s the first, the best, and it promotes confidence ~ like ’I’ve won’," I observed Aquino giving him the intellectually disgusted look here served for anyone with the fortitude to make a suggestion to him, but tempered his reaction by giving some thought to the request.
Additionally, Reagan discussed how Aquino could use me on various military and government installations to provide "Hands-On Mind-Control Demonstrations" of the "latest advancements in training" by displaying the diversity of my "Presidential Model" programming. Reagan said the Hands on Demonstrations could "educate our boys in the military to the wonders of the mind-control phenomena."
1 Since I had no concept of time under mind control, the ’80s seemed like one long day to me, whereby discerning exact dates is extremely difficult. Furthermore, I was programmed to believe that every encounter with certain individuals was "the first time". I do know that I had been conditioned and programmed in preparation for Reagan since 1978 at NASA’s Cape Canaveral in Titusville, Florida.
2 Reagan preferred illicit pornography videos such as bestiality, while his favorite pornographic magazine was Larry Flynt’s Hustler.
3 Although Hollywood’s Dante rivaled Larry Flynt for the title of "Chief Pornographer" producing video versions of Hustler’s stills, Flynt was unequivocally the official White House Pornographer. Dante’s covert filming of political perversion for blackmail purposes failed to gain him the international notoriety Flynt maintained through his New World Order collogues such as Presidents Reagan, Bush, and Ford; CIA Director Bill Casey; U.N. Ambassador Madeleine Albright; Senators Byrd and Specter; Congressmen Trafficant and VanderJagt; Governors Thornburgh, Blanchard and Alexander; and various World Leaders such as Prime Minister of Canada Mulroney, President of Mexico de la Madrid, and Saudi Arabian King Fahd... to name a few...
4 Having been out of circulation since my rescue did not preclude my ability to "predict" winners according to political favors: from George Bush, Jr’S Texas Rangers to the Toronto Blue Jays’ victory during the Canadian political heal of NAFTA.
PLEASE NOTE: In order to maintain the integrity of documenting my experiences using precise and photographic detail, I have recorded events and quotes as they occurred in reality. Please excuse any offensive and foul language, but this is the way Cheney presented himself, I was attending another White House cocktail party where, as usual, I was taken aside for a meeting and escorted to a large office.
"You’re the kind of girl who could hold a man in line. (He was cryptically referring to the lines of military personnel I was forced to have sex with.) That’s why I’ve selected you to tour a few Air Force Bases with the Colonel (Aquino) and demonstrate for our boys in the service that a Presidential Model is trained for, a kind of ’hands on’ demonstration. But you’ll have to audition for the role."
It had been eight years since I had been hunted and brutalized by Cheney in Wyoming, and apparently he wanted to see how my programming had progressed before agreeing to use me in Reagan’s "Hands-On Mind-Control Demonstrations". He grabbed me roughly by the hair and slung me onto a black leather chair, tipping my head backwards over the high studded arm.
As he lit his cigarette, I slowly regained focus enough to realize I was in pain. The back of my head hurt from being thrust into the studs on the chair, and I slowly lifted my head. My owner, Senator Byrd, had just walked in and realized Cheney had already completed the "audition". Referring to compartmentalizing my memory via stun gun high voltage, Byrd asked, "Did you fry her?"
Cheney, ’cocksure’ of himself as always, answered. "She can’t have fucked all of Washington" (indicating that no one would believe me anyway, even if I did reach this point and talk). Cheney put out his cigarette and said as he went out the door, "She’ll work. Tell Ronnie she’ll work."
When Byrd saw that my lips were bleeding, he called Cheney a "son of a bitch" under his breath, as this damage would prevent my fulfilling other assignments that were planned for me. Byrd touched his finger to my swollen lips and tasted the blood (and Cheney) several times. Then he slapped me hard across the face, which re-aligned my jaw but caused more blood to flow down my chin. He took a box of tissues from the desk and threw it at me, the corner hitting me in the forehead. "Wipe yourself up. You’re just getting started. I’ll see to it you get what you’ve got coming to you."
Fortunately for me, Byrd had cause to return to the formal cocktail party and did not have time to brutalize me further. My face was battered, mouth torn, and my throat felt torn and stretched. I had difficulty swallowing for some time, and could not speak. I certainly was in no condition to return to the cocktail party, and was escorted out by agents/guards.
Before I could leave Washington, Byrd made good on his threat and arranged for me to meet with Cheney in a blue bedroom in a part of the Whitehouse so remote that "no one could hear my screams and moans". But Cheney implemented Oz theme "Silence" conditioning anyway as he proceeded to brutally sexually assault me.
"Byrd tells me you need a good whipping. But I’m not certain which instrument you prefer, so I brought them all."
In preparation for ’’running bases" for Reagan’s Hands-On Mind-Control Demonstrations, I underwent a great deal of programming by both Aquino and Cheney. Cheney laid the ground rules while Aquino carried out our programming derail and performed the demonstration with me on various military and NASA installations.
Reagan wanted the demonstrations to include all programming depicted in the "How to" films, additional programming instilled since the videos were made, delivery of drugs when applicable, and sex according to Aquino’s instruction with whomever/however many were present at the lecture. Cheney’s personal "touch" to the demonstrations was to have me programmed to vaginally internally electric prod myself with a high voltage cylindrical cattle prod-truly an example of total mind control.
I was routinely escorted arm-in-arm "Oz style" by two agents to Cheney’s downstairs office in the Pentagon. Sometimes Byrd took me in. Other times Cheney walked me through the building, particularly if we were going to his "Bunkhouse" personal quarters. Cheney’s office was equipped with black leather furniture, a huge messy brown desk, massive book shelves, and an hourglass that he always used in keeping with Oz programming, to assure me that my life was on the line under his command.
The first time I reported in, Cheney shuffled through the clutter on his desk, picked up a paper and began reading:
"Number one. I am NOT your friend, and I don’t want to see you unless I order you to report in. Number two. Follow the Colonel’s (Aquino) orders, as it is the chain of command. What he orders you to do, is a command from me, follow it to the letter, as though your life depends upon it, because (he looked up and grinned wickedly) of course, it does."
I knew he "was NOT my friend," but he already "saw me" sexually on other occasions. I was perplexed and hesitated. Even though I remained silent, Cheney sensed my hesitation and became enraged. He got up in my face, poked my breast bone with his finger and roared,
"Don’t even THINK to question anything I say! There is no question as to what I do, what I think, or what I say, because I am absolutely above questions ~ especially YOURS!! Your orders are clear. Now get out of here! I have work to do!"
1 My jaw is permanently damaged from Cheney. I have chronic TMJ.
My (CIA operative) handler, Alex Houston was scheduled to perform with country music entertainer Loretta Lynn at the Playboy Club in Atlantic City, New Jersey in the spring of 1985, and he admittedly did not want me there for the performance. He explained that after his show, he intended to "dress up like a carrot as lunch for the Bunnies" and I would only be in his way.
CIA operative Ken Riley, the Neo-Nazi pedophile who functioned in the capacity of Loretta Lynn’s road manager and Project Monarch Mind-Control handler, was Alex Houston’s closest friend. Riley often made arrangements through Loretta’s and Houston’s shared talent agent, Reggie Maclaughlin, for all of us to travel together ~ particularly when it involved government covert operations such as this Playboy Club gig did. Loretta’s singing career and political ties into CIA covert operations have always been synonymous. Riley escorted her in and out of the White House on numerous occasions during the Reagan Administration.
This trip to Atlantic City provided me an opportunity to talk with Loretta while her husband, Mooney, Riley and Houston met for business. Loretta and I had so much in common that our time together had been restricted from the time we met in Minneapolis, Minnesota in 1981 and discussed our victimizations.3
Loretta and I switched personalities spontaneously as we inadvertently triggered each other with the shared cryptic language to which we were accustomed. We discussed forbidden subjects including Noriega and Byrd until Riley and Houston caught us and separated us as though we were a couple of naughty kids. I learned more than I was supposed to about Loretta while in Atlantic City, but was never permitted another opportunity to speak with her so freely.
This trip to Atlantic City was multi-purpose, which was not unusual for government operations in which I was forced to participate. I had a major cocaine transaction involving Noriega to attend at the airport; a message to deliver to Philip Habib pertaining to the Contras, and another programmed in by Habib in answer to Reagan; country music "entertainment" aspects; and prostitution to Habib according to Reagan’s instruction.4
As the sun was setting over Atlantic City, Houston activated the Project Monarch Oz programming that was used for high level covert operations, and had me dress accordingly. I wore real and faux diamonds to signify my "Presidential Model" business role, rubies to signify my Oz programmed prostitution personality, and emeralds to signify my Oz programmed drug business.
Houston led me up the elaborate escalators of the hotel to a high stakes gambling area where Habib was playing cards. The guard at the door did not let Houston through, and I was sent to Habib’s table on my own. When I approached, Habib leaned back in his chair to hear while I quietly recited in Oz cryptic, "I’ve come such a long, long way to see you, Uncle Ronnie sent you something."
"What would that be?" he asked loudly as he leered at me and chuckled. I could not respond because I was under heavy program. He handed me his room key and pulled me close as he hypnotically whispered, "Use the key. Put it in the lock. Turn. Open the door, and step through a window in time." The other gamblers at Habib’s table were getting impatient, and I quickly exited the gambling room.
When I arrived in Habib’s room, two of his bodyguards accessed my programming. "Chiefly speaking," I began reciting Reagan's message. Arrangements were made for the two guards to pick up a fair sized shipment of cocaine the next morning that was arriving on a small military "brass" airplane. Houston and I would then board the plane and fly to D.C. where I would complete my part of this operation.
When Habib arrived, he ushered me into the bedroom part of the suite and began disrobing, down to his boxer shorts and gartered socks. Referring to a recent Dante porn film I was used in, he said, "I liked your ruffled tennis panties..." then threw me a pink teddy and ruffled panties resembling the tennis outfit commanding, "Put it on." I complied. He threw me a stuffed toy cat on the pillows and explained, "That kitten is going to keep this Kitten (pointing to me) from screaming. We’re going to play Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum." (S&M games)
Houston knew I had been programmed with a message for Reagan that I would deliver the next morning in D.C. As usual, he began to access it immediately. His quick timing somehow permitted him to penetrate the electricity and programmed codes (designed to keep the information repressed) and accessed the information. Houston kept a written record of any messages he was able to access (along with photos and ledgers) for his personal profit and future blackmailing purposes, should he need to protect himself.
Morning arrived before I was allowed to sleep, and I felt exhausted and "spacey" as I waited by the curb for Habib’s bodyguards to pick Houston and me up and take us to the airport, A small military airplane was parked in a restricted fenced in area as we arrived at the airport. The two bodyguards conducted their business and quickly loaded the trunk with the bundles of cocaine as planned. Houston and I boarded the airplane and flew to Washington, D.C. where I delivered Habib’s message to Reagan. The bank transaction numbers later checked out to be a Cayman Island account number.
Philip Habib was directly involved in various DIA/CIA Operations I was forced to participate in throughout the Reagan/Bush Administrations, Although Dick Cheney maintained his role as my Commander for these Operations, Habib directed my actions where International "Diplomatic Relations" were concerned, Cheney orchestrated events from behind his desk, whereas Habib was active in the field as Reagan’s attaché’.
The following Operations, documented in their entirety from my experience perspective only, most likely involve other aspects to which I am not privy. In typical DIA/CIA manner, scam "need to know’ information resulted in the "left hand not knowing what the right hand was doing." Nevertheless, the overall criminal purpose of Operation Carrier Pigeon and Operation Shell Game, documented herein, does not change.
1 Riley, over time, owned several slaves.
2 Riley, like my father, Wayne Cox, and other, remains apparently immune from prosecution for his crimes against children and humanity, as it is considered a matter of "’National Security" under the 1984 Reagan Amendment to the National Security Act.
3 I still have the handwritten note from Loretta that prompted out forbidden conversation and I hope that someday Loretta will gain the piece/peace-of-mind that comes with rehabilitation.
4 In the course of deprogramming, I found retrieval of this information much quicker than it would have been had Houston not accessed it previously, against government policy, and for his own personal gain.
The term "Pigeon" is one with which I have been familiar since the early1980s when I first began delivering messages between my "owner" Senator Byrd and Puerto Rican drug lord and CIA operative, Jose Busto. Houston had simply explained to me then, as we fed the flock of pigeons roosting at the Old San Juan Cathedral, that Pigeons were used as messengers. The DIA’s U.S. Army Lt. Colonel Michael Aquino often activated my Pigeon programming during the Hands-On Mind-Control Demonstrations.
Dick Cheney further defined the term "Pigeon" when I learned of Operation Carrier Pigeon in the mid ’80s. He said,
"You have been selected from the flock (of programmed slaves) for the Carrier Pigeon Operation for the purpose of carrying messages from point A to point B as ordered. Pigeons, once they fly the coop, find no freedom in flight, but carry out their task of delivering their message from point A to point B by the shortest possible route ~ a direct route. I will direct your route and you will deliver messages as ordered."
The cryptic "pigeon language" utilized by all participants in the operation was intermixed with The Wizard of Oz, Alice in Wonderland, and "Genie in the Bottle" cryptic programming themes. While Pigeon meant messenger, "Carrier Pigeon" referred to the U.S. Air Force aircraft that actually transported the arms and drugs. "Pigeon Droppings" included the sometimes multi-national dispersal of the arms and drugs after they reached their destination. "Pigeon Holing" meant covering up the criminal activity. These definitions, as I understood them then and understand them now, may well include deeper, more diverse meanings than I have perceived.
Habib’s favorite programming theme was Alice in Wonderland, Through the Looking Glass due to its international recognition and relation to the ultra- effective NASA mirror, time, and infinity space programs for instantly dissociating programmed participants. He habitually spoke in Alice in Wonderland cryptic language, and even used it for sex as was evidenced by his Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum brutal games of perversion. Due to Habib’s orchestration of Operation Carrier Pigeon, this CIA covert operation was littered with Wonderland mirror themes from beginning to end.
My CIA handler, Alex Houston had just returned from a brief solo trip "to Florida" with an elaborately wrapped box. "It’s from a friend of yours," he told me as he handed me the box.
"Let’s go into the bedroom so you can unwrap it and see it through the "Looking Glass’."
The heat you radiated when we last met
melted my mirror.
I had it made into a dress just for you,
cut to accentuate your figure so that when you melt into it,
You lose yourself into
the pool of liquid mirror.
Step into the Looking Glass
Sink deep within its pool
and straddle dimensions in time.
I’ll see you there...
along with my friends.
Houston knew there would be a note, and ordered "Let me see your note," snatching it from my hands. He gestured toward the dress. "Go ahead and try it on while I read this note. Now let’s see, what does it say? ’Come to Poppa’?"
I took the dress from the box. It did not feel like anything I’d ever felt before. It was cold like satin, but thin like silk. I started crying quietly, afraid that Habib would somehow show up if I had it on.
"Put it on and I’ll zip you in," Houston said as he took another note from his wallet and read it as I undressed:
There’s a pair of magic shoes to wear with your dress,
to transport you faster than the ol’ ruby slippers (Oz)
The shoes, like the dress, are made just for you,
and when you wear them you’ll be fit for a King,
I’ll send them for you at the appropriate time.
I did. Houston accessed Habib’s Wonderland brutal sex programming for his own gratification. Afterwards I hung the dress in Kelly’s closet with my other trigger-significant clothes; out of sight, out of mind. Until the shoes arrived...
Habib "sent the shoes for me" soon afterward. They were shiny black with what appeared to be silver lightning bolts down the high heels and sides. In place of dinner that night, Houston gave me a "Wonderland Wafer" (MDHMA-XTC CIA designer drug "Ecstasy"). The wafer, like all those supplied by Habib, bore his trademark that read "Eat me".
Something in-lightening to tranceport you faster
than the ol’ ruby slippers.
Click your heels together (I obeyed) and be there in a snap.
Electrifying-with the rumble of thunder.
Boiling through time
So you won’t be late for a very important date.
I found myself at the White House with Byrd, attending another small cocktail party of about 20-30 people. After we spoke with Reagan, Byrd pointed me in the direction of Philip Habib and sent me over to him. My eyes were locked on Habib’s as he hypnotically said:
Melt into your melted mirror
for an electrifying ride.
Look deep into the black
of my melting mirror eyes,
See you reflecting me, reflecting you,
reflecting me ~ you-me ~ you ~ me
until we melt together and sink deep
into the other side.
Habib took me by the hand and led me to the doorway of another room. It was a dining room of sorts where an informal array of guests was gathered. As soon as Habib appeared in the doorway, King Fahd of Saudi Arabia quickly excused himself from the table and approached. He was wearing a multicolored robe and headwear with a black-brown rope band. I was instantly repulsed by his "wicked" lecherous gaze; I stepped back into the other room in fear. Habib introduced him. "This is one of ’my friends’ I mentioned in my letter."
I robotically responded, "It’s a pleasure to meet you" and extended my hand as taught in Charm School. Fahd bent over to kiss my hand. As he did, his evil black eyes bore into mine as he softly said, "Your beauty warms my embers. See them glowing deep within the darkness of my eyes ~ igniting into flame-black flame." He laughed wickedly at the effect of his use of NASA hypnotic conditioning.
Habib slapped him on the shoulder as though they knew each other well and there were no formalities between them and asked, "Am I right? Is that fit for a King?"’
The three of us went into another room that appeared to be a guest bedroom that Habib was occupying. He closed the door and told me,
"Diplomatic relations are very important. You know the old saying ’when in Rome do as Romans do’. Well, he’s a King. Get on your knees. His wish is your command. Satisfy his deepest wishes. It’s your turn for a magic carpet ride, so turn your Genie free."
Then Habib went to the chest of drawers and began pulling out his electric prod and bondage equipment as he explained.
"Now let me introduce you to my other ’friend’. I need to bottle up a message with your Genie and send it out to sea. You know what to do. Begin undressing now."
I was at sea on board an NCL cruise ship bound for their private island in the Bahamas, Stirrup Cay, which was to be my rendezvous point with Noriega, "Bottled up" in my mind through the recent ’Genie in the Bottle’ programming, was a cryptic message from King Fahd to Noriega. It was a moonless night whereby the Caribbean waters appeared as black as the night. I could not distinguish the sky from the sea in accordance with NASA hypnotic conditioning.
Upon arrival to NCL’s Stirrup Cay, Houston and I began our usual walking trek to the farthest end of the island where the CIA operations radio station and equipment were located. In a hidden cove on the island’s back side was a smaller island of sufficient size to conceal Noriega’s personal yacht, anchored behind it.
"I shipwrecked." John (the name I called him) pointed to the boat half buried in the sand, "That’s all that is left of my boat."
I asked, "Why haven’t you been rescued?"
He cryptically replied, "I sent a message in a bottle and I expect a response real soon. Good thing I had these coconuts (he was carving one) and all that ’sugar’ in the hull to sustain me."
Houston said, "So, they cast you away, huh?"
My contact laughed and sniffed, "Yeah, cast me away with all that ’sugar’ ~ that’s nothing to sniff at." He looked up as Houston informed him a speedboat was approaching; I looked out across the cove beyond the little island and finally noticed Noriega’s yacht. A "black mirror" finish speed boat, which matched the upper smoke glass windows of Noriega’s yacht, was approaching. John told me, "Probably has something to do with that message I sent. Help me wave him in." I did.
When we pulled up to the rear of the yacht, I was helped on board by Noriega’s armed guards. I noticed there did not seem to be any big parties going on as was customary, and Noriega seemed unusually abrupt and businesslike. He was not drunk this time. Upon command from John, I delivered Fahd’s message:
"I am under command to deliver a message from King Fahd. The Caribbean is becoming volatile. Trouble in Jamaica, Trouble in Cuba, Even trouble in Panama. Dominican Republic must be launching point for missiles and artillery that are being channeled though Cuba. Concluding arms deal, Carrier Pigeon must be detained until all transactions are cleared. Banco de Panama to receive Contra Aid after all steps leading to me have been swept away by the shifting sands (of time), and all pigeon droppings pigeon holed. Our business is concluded. Let us part on friendly terms"
After the shipment, there would be no further deals through Noriega involving Fahd, because Noriega could no longer be trusted. Besides, Fahd had increased diplomatic relations with Mexico for covert operations, and Iran-Contra was just beginning to heat up.
Noriega did not seem to be upset by the news of losing Saudi Arabian business, although he was somber and took some time to respond. His translator was working over some complex computer equipment after I delivered the message. I left Noriega’s yacht with John and a brief message for Dick Cheney at the Pentagon.
Back on Stirrup Cay, Houston was anxiously waiting to begin transporting the cocaine back to the party area of the island. There, NCL workers were cleaning up from the cruise ship’s beach party cookout, which was NCL’s excuse to stop the ship. After I muled the first heavy load of cocaine in my tote sacks, Houston approached one worker familiar with the drug operation and informed him we had a heavier load than usual and needed to make another trip.
When the cruise ship docked at the Port of Miami, Puerto Rican drug lord and CIA operative Jose Busto was acting as a U.S. Immigrations officer (commissioned by the Drug Enforcement Agency through the CIA), which he often did for NCL. Busto helped us clear ship undetected with the large load of cocaine. The drugs were packed into suitcases, and then loaded into Houston’s specially made motor home which was parked in NCL’s guarded, restricted parking lot.
A large quantity of cocaine was retained by Houston for his own use and delivery for personal profit through his country music industry contacts. Some of the cocaine would be delivered by me to Saudi Arabian Ambassador, Prince Bandar Bin Sultan, Fahd’s own "Homing Pigeon".
I carried a message from Warner Robbins Air Force Base in addition to the message from Noriega agreeing to Fahd’s terms back to Dick Cheney at the Pentagon. Cheney then prepared me for the final phase of the operation. This was a meeting with Prince Bandar (who Cheney, Houston, and others referred to as Sultan) in Nashville, Tennessee where he often visited corrupt friends.
Dick Cheney cautioned me, "Sultan will be in Nashville having dinner with friends at the Stockyard." (The Stockyard was a popular country music dinner club known for its CIA criminal covert activity involvement.) Cheney glanced at the list on his desk and continued,
"Among others, those friends would be (Mayor) Fulton1 and (Sheriff) Thomas.2 They are considered a threat to the operation. They’re not discrete. Thomas in particular is not to be trusted ~ he’s an ass and too crooked. So, Sultan must leave the table before the message is delivered. Any questions? Good."
Prince Bandar Bin Sultan’s reputation for sex and drugs was widely known in Nashville. But much of my information pertaining to his activities came from one of my closest Project Monarch friends. She is an entertainer’s daughter who was prostituted regularly to Sultan when he was in town, which was often.
When Cheney was through with me, Byrd escorted me to the White House to see Reagan, who also cautioned me about the Prince. Reagan was aware of Habib’s having activated me sexually with King Fahd, and made it clear that my scheduled rendezvous with Prince Bandar would not include the usual sex.
Reagan joked in Byrd’s presence,
"Birds (Byrds) may well be eaten by a Kitten. (Reagan’s pet name for me), but not Homing Pigeons. Homing Pigeons taste foul."
Byrd laughed. Reagan continued, "Homing Pigeons have one purpose. Passing messages. Throughout history world leaders have passed messages to and from each other by way of pigeons. Messages that have set the course of events that have altered the course of history.
Homing Pigeons are loyal and dedicated to their task, flying over seas, yet never pausing long enough to even quench their thirst-giving no thought to their own needs. When a pigeon is released, he takes a direct course to his destination. Dedicated to delivering the very messages on which history was founded.
Why, even Noah relied on a pigeon to traverse the seas to bring back a message of hope. It is your duty to attach an added message to the Horning Pigeon ~ one of peace, from our homeland lo his: One from the President of the United States to King Fahd of Saudi Arabia, ... (Omitted due to international ramification.)"
"I understand you ordered me to report in, Sir." Cheney looked up from his desk where he was shuffling through papers and tying up loose ends before leaving his office.
"Sit down." he ordered, "I just got word that the Genie in the Bottle ’Cast-away’ Operation is complete and I intend to pop a cork or two of my own in celebration of its successful conclusion. I have time on my hands and want you to join me. The bunkhouse is being prepared..."
I was swollen and bleeding vaginally, the bottom of my shirt was soaked in blood, and my belly hurt deep inside when my escort finally came for me early the next morning. Staying around Cheney while he slept was as deadly a mistake as removing his clothes or questioning him ~ it was forbidden.
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.3 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."
"My message is brief and I only need a moment of your time away from your dinner."
"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: ..."
1 Richard Fulton and his bank were under Federal investigation as of 1991.
2 Fate Thomas is currently serving time in a Federal penitentiary for bribery and extortion.
3 Recently under Federal investigation for corruption.