Trance Formation of America (w/o documents)

My name is Marquart (Mark) Ewing Phillips, born May 17, 1943 in Nashville, Tennessee, I have no criminal record and I have never been adjudged insane, I am not a scholar, professional writer, or mental health physician. While I lack the official published academic credentials, I am recognized internationally by mental health and law enforcement professionals as an authority on the secret science concerning external control of the mind.

The purpose of Part I of this book is to document how this reputation was gained. This brief and highly condensed contribution is intended to provide an understanding of why, when, and where I embarked on a study of the most secret technology known to man: Trauma-based mind control. Through the publication of declassified United States Government documents, our U.S. Department of Defense (DOD) admits that this ancient wizard's mechanism for control is so dangerous that most information pertaining to it must remain Classified as TOP SECRET. As tbe employee of a DOD subcontractor with exposure to mind-control research, I was required to sign an oath of secrecy. To this day I am restricted by law from revealing certain specific information that directly pertained to my employment as, among other «sensitive» exposures, a U.S. DOD subcontractor in mind-control research.

This super secret technology is an evolved system of remote human physical find psychological manipulation that has only recently been officially recognized by accredited mental health physicians for what it is, absolute mind control.

My first encounter with mind-control research began in the late 1960s in Atlanta, Georgia on the Emory University campus at the Yerkes Primate Center, It was there that I learned about primate behavior modification-the basis for human mind control. Part I of this book is my attempt to impart an understanding of how this and other exposures would prepare me for the Challenge of a lifetime.

What I witnessed, in terms of technology, at the Yerkes Primate Center and Other government sponsored research facilities, combined with years of personal research into this science of mind manipulation, did not adequately prepare me for what I would be exposed to in 1988 through an unexpected chain of events. This exposure came in the form of personal acquaintance with the human results officially entitled by DOD as, among other cryptic file titles, MK-Ultra[1].

I have outlined this noxious introduction in hopes that the material provided by one MK-Ultra survivor, Cathy O'Brien, will incite a legitimate federal investigation of her claims.

I was able to liberate MK-Ultra victims, Cathy O'Brien and her daughter, Kelly, from the invisible grip of this U.S. Government secret weapon of control. In the process, I also helped Cathy recover her mental and physical health. However, I have not been successful in enlisting the cooperation of my government to pursue the justice issue. There is a reason for this failure to obtain justice that you, the reader, NEED TO KNOW. I have been told repeatedly, "Justice is not obtainable, For Reasons Of National Security."

This book is primarily the autobiography of Cathy O'Brien, who did not volunteer for service to her country, but was used her entire life against her innate, voluntary will for perpetuating criminal activity by many so-called leaders within the U.S. Government. These "treasonous leaders" did volunteer for political «service» to our country. They must be held accountable for their actions.

Together, Cathy and I have dedicated our lives to the pursuit of justice and rehabilitation for her and Kelly. All avenues for justice and rehabilitative relief have been blocked For Reasons Of National Security. The question arises, whose security? Cathy O'Brien provides the logical answer. Perhaps after reading this work, you will inspire others to read it. Collectively, as patriots, we can make a positive difference for Cathy and Kelly, our government, and humanity, by having our voices heard. In my opinion, our great United Stales Constitution does not need to be amended it needs to be enforced.

The grim reality we must all embrace is that there is, in human terms, no justice, and no revenge adequate to equal what these two, and many other victims of this U.S. Government secret weapon experienced. The only remaining remnant of opportunity for justice for these survivors would be derived from a public forum expose of what they experienced. What these survivors need to witness is the mass dissemination of their story and a radical, positive change in their government's management of secrets. This would be an acceptable, though belated, substitute for justice. Their hope lies in the belief that —

"Truth lives a wretched life, but always survives a lie".

CHAPTER 1

Sometimes words, or groups of words, found in the English language have many definitions or meanings. Within each meaning there may be different logical and Literal perceptions of the application of a given word. However, the words mind control usually conjure up a single response. This is most unfortunate due to the vast differences of perception contained within the reference.

For example, if you have access to a late 1980s Random House or later Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary and reference mind control, you will notice there is a conspicuous absence of a listing. Should you go one step further and secure a college professor's teaching copy of Oxford's Companion To The Mind (Oxford Press 1987), you can reference practically anything concerning research of the mind without a reference to mind control. Perhaps you may now realize that through Random House, Webster and Oxford Press omissions, you are a victim of information control.

Mind control is sometimes loosely defined as information control. This being one of many accepted ways to define the term should immediately rase questions of distrust towards your information sources. Since what we think is based on what we learn, manipulation of a mind, or a nation of minds, can be accomplished through control of information. With thought control being a result of information control, many avid researchers of mind sciences simply label it «soft» mind control.

These days, we live in a world in which the continued existence of multinational businesses and governments depends upon instant communications. However, with consideration to the so-called problem of. information overload, it would appear to most people that we hear and see enough to make rational decisions concerning our individual lives. Unfortunately, this is not true. What we don't know, as evidenced by mind-control atrocities, is quickly destroying society as we have known it

The answer to this problem is glaringly apparent. We, as citizens of a supposedly free country, should not permit our government to restrict any information that protects criminal activity under the guise of National Security.

Secret knowledge equals power, with the end result being control. Therefore, despite the deliberate efforts of those persons in control of national media information management (who are not media employees), results of secret mind-control projects gone awry have been leaking out for years through the media. People are literally waking up to the mind-control reality because there is an obvious lack of logical explanation for certain sensational news events. What really happened at Jim Jones' Jonestown and with Sirhan Sirhan, John Hinkley, and Lee Harvey Oswald? And, more importantly, why did it happen? The simple common denominator existing among these persons has been publicly slated by the media, based on research of their medical histories, is mind control.

In reality, information control is but one component of mind control. Whereas "brain washing," a term coined by an investigative journalist writing about Korean War P.O.W.s around 1951, described the results of what the Chinese regarded as thought reform.

The term brainwashing denotes to most people the destruction of a person's memory. This slang term continues to be used by the news media in place of the all encompassing term, mind control. In reality, applied brainwashing techniques are similar to those used in trauma-based behavior modification.

During the past three decades, a significant number of religious groups worldwide has been cited by the mainstream news media as destructive cults. An emphasis on the word destructive is necessary in defining these groups as cults. Random House Dictionary defines cult as "a particular system of religious worship". By this definition, the word cult would encompass all religions. These so-called destructive cults have been publicly denounced by the news media for using brainwashing, thought reform, and mind manipulation tactics on their believers. However, there is an obvious lack of expressed concern by these same media as they fail to address the underlying issues of mind control, the power basis for abuse.

Perhaps the reporting news media can not, for some reason, publicly open the proverbial Pandora's Box. Is it plausible then to consider that closer scrutiny, by the media and the public, of these destructive cults' leadership could reveal a solid connection to government sponsored mind-control research? These arc questions that, in themselves properly addressed, would provide important answers to this social epidemic involving physical and psychological abuse. The answers that an in-depth professional investigation would provide could be the first step in resolving the rash of problems that destructive cults, serial killers, and sexual child abusers, thrust upon society.

As consumers of national news media supplied information, we continue to invent half-truths which, in this case scenario, is seeing and hearing only what results from mass mind manipulation.

Historians provide us a glimpse into the future through recorded events of the past. It appears that throughout recorded history, man has, towards the end of each millennium, returned to a focus on certain types of bizarre human behavior. For example, there has been in the past 150 years a resurgence of wide spread interest in the occult "black arts" which include satanism or Luciferian religions. These constitutionally protected «religions» use trauma to control the minds of their followers.

Mind-control practices within the occult groups (according to survivors adjudged credible and law enforcement officials) have been accredited with bridging the gap between applied science and Shamanism. Occultism as a manner of religious expression has been around for thousands of years. Only in the last 150 years has science aggressively pursued the truths regarding mind manipulation hidden within the occult belief systems themselves.

According Lo the Random House Dictionary, occultism "is the practice of alleged sciences claiming knowledge of supernatural agencies which are beyond the range of ordinary knowledge." Once again, it is a reminder that secret knowledge equals power.

In 1971, the New York Times reported a story on the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) and occult research, the basis of which was gained through a collection of documents released by the U.S. Government Printing Office under the Freedom of Information Act. This was a report to Congress and clearly showed that the CIA was interested in the cause and effect clinical findings that occult religious practices have on the Black Arts practitioner's and/or the observer's mind. Of particular interest to the CIA were the heightened levels of suggestibility that certain occult rituals produced in the minds of the practitioners. Cannibalism and blood rituals were ranked highest in the order of importance to their research.

Behavioral psychology teaches us that control of human suggestibility is recognized as the fundamental building block for external control of the mind. This suggestibility factor alone potentially creates a human rights legal issue when we consider constructing laws to protect people from overt or covert mind-control practices. Consideration to the human suggestibility factor could result in all forms of consumer oriented service and/or product advertising becoming illegal. Advertising and the marketing of services and/or products through communications can be justifiably defined as a type of psychological manipulation, (nought reform and/or mind manipulation which results in a form of behavior modification, A patriot friend, Steven Jacobson, published his book entitled Mind control in America in 1985, eloquently exposing the science of mind manipulation through advertising. The basis for successfully modifying human behavior requires mind manipulation techniques that, when expertly applied through advertising media, become a form of «soft» mind control. Factoring in suggestibility through the tactile senses as the "Achilles' heel" of the human race renders everyone vulnerable to becoming, on some level, a victim of soft mind control.

The controversy of what is and what is not mind control rages on among scholars in the schools of law, human rights, and mental health. All lhe while the confusion of issues provides a form of legal protection for practitioners of trauma-based mind control, the only known form of remote human control that is absolute. All other forms of mind control, including chemical and electronic manipulations, are considered by mind-control experts as temporary.

There are laws protecting U.S. citizens' rights to practice their religious beliefs and freedom of speech. There are no laws which specifically protect leaders of destructive cults and/or practitioners of trauma-based mind control. However, because of the U.S. Government's use of mind control and the broad diversity of legal opinion concerning the accepted limits of free speech and religious practices, the legal loop holes for criminals employing mind-control techniques on their «flocks» for personal gain remain open.

For every problem there exists a solution.. The formula for problem solving, rests firmly on the quality of the supporting research information concerning the nature of the problem. Legislating laws specifically to protect people from mind-control abuses would be futile. Practically every civilized society in-existence has some law and/or group of laws which would protect the people and punish the practitioners of mind control. Laws are enforced according to lawmakers' interpretations of the specific legal language. The lack of enforcement of laws already on the books that could protect us from mind-control abuses stems from applied legal interpretations and cover-ups of survivor testimony by the CIA and National Security Agency (NSA) For Reasons Of National Security.

Mind-control atrocities, if committed by anyone who could be linked to government sponsored projects, are typically ignored and covered up. Access to the courts by these hapless survivors is thus stonewalled by government paid so-called legal experts who receive their orders from the National Security Agency.

Defining the term "mind control" is akin to defining the limits of the 1947 National Security Act. The basis for the solution to the National Security controversy is simple. It is known as: Truth logically applied.

It is an obvious truth that the National Security Act has been interpreted, not to guard the integrity of military secrets, but instead to protect criminal activity of the highest order.

Repeal of this Act and replacement with the established rules of military conduct concerning National Security that do not infringe upon the constitutional rights of America's citizenry or the rights of its allies would result in compliance with the Constitution.

CHAPTER 2 SALESMAN, AD MAN, MIND MAN, PATRIOT MY PERSONAL EVOLUTION

"Every revolution, bloody or bloodless, has two phases. The first is the struggle for Freedom; the second the struggle for power. The phase of the struggle for Freedom is divine. He who has participated in it invariably feels, physically, that his best and most precious-inner self has come to the surface. We know that being faithful to the TRUTH stands higher than our own participation in governing the country — and that is why we must not have a suciety that would reject ethical norms in the name of political mirages."[2] As I was saying to my grandmother, Mamaleen Johnson, "My life has turned into a nightmare and I'm wide awake," tears were streaming down my face, dripping off my chin onto her patent leather shoes. She affectionately patted my shoulder as she listened.

The words we exchanged, the room's wallpaper and furnishings, my beloved grandmother, Mamaleen. even the taste of my tears combined with a feeling of overwhelming grief-it is ail there etched into my memory.

This was the summer before I was to enter my second year of school in 1950. The first year remains a blur with cause.

Life for me and my family had changed dramatically over the previous year. So radical a change that it had taken almost a year for me to realize life was not becoming any easier to live. My stuttering was getting worse. The rare moments I could speak coherently were limited to short sentences devoid of the word «you», and then only to my mother and grandmother. Occasionally when angry I could speak clearly, or when alone in the woods while talking or singing to trees. Apparently my frustration with oral communication due to stuttering had been intensified by a trauma I experienced the previous year. Little did I know then that this trauma would positively and negatively influence my future and the lives of others I would know for the rest of my life.

On a hot and sticky Tennessee July day in 1949, my father helped boost first my mother, then me, into the saddle astride our four-year-old high-spirited "gift horse" Wojac. This was to be my first ride on the back of an animal. The excitement of the moment combined with stuttering rendered me, literally, speechless. As I recall and from photographs taken at the time, I was wearing a sweat-soaked, pale yellow cotton shirt, dark tan shorts, brown socks, and dirty tennis shoes. At six years old, I was very thin and did not take up the remaining saddle space behind my mother.

With the reins in my mother's hands, the horse responded to her polite command of "Come on, Wojac. Giddyup." He began slowly walking down our driveway to the narrow crushed limestone road beside our property. Upon reaching the gravel road, the horse turned or was guided left, momentarily disappointing me as I knew we were only going for a short ride. It was only about a quarter of a mile to the busy paved intersection that would be dangerous to cross. (Had my mother decided to go in the opposite direction, we could have ridden for a couple of miles before reaching any automobile traffic.)

As quickly as the horse made the turn from our driveway onto the country road, my mother nudged his flanks with her heels. With another command of "let's go," the horse responded with a mild jerk of motion and he began a fast trot down the middle of the road.

The horse's speed, in retrospect, was too fast for safe travel on gravel. Not knowing this then, I was not scared until I saw the crossroads looming closer, I can hear myself half shouting "BBBBBetter slow down. MMMight BBBBe a CCar CCComming." Before I could enunciate the last words, my mother began a slow sideways slide off the saddle. I could not see her face as she disappeared under the horse, and the reins disappeared with her. The horse bolted full speed ahead. In the blink of an eye, my realization of being alone in the saddle with no way to control the horse washed over me. Quickly, I tugged on his mane to no avail. It was in this instant I determined that the runaway horse was not going to stop for the crossroads. I jumped. As I recall, the fall was swift and my abrupt landing in the sharp rocks was not painful, though it seemed that my body would never stop rolling. Panicked and with the dust beginning to settle, I sat up, blinked the dust and sticky blood from my eyes, and looked about for my mother. She lay in a disorganized heap beside the road. I ran to hen

The first mental impression I experienced was that she was just wide-eyed dazed from her fall. Then I noticed her eyes weren't blinking and around her head was a thick puddle of blood. Not wanting to leave her in the road for fear she would be run over, and not strong enough to pick her up, I began screaming in the direction of our home in hopes that my father could hear me. Almost immediately he responded by sprinting to us", all the while shouting, "What happened? What happened?"

For the "life remaining in me" I could not answer for, as usual, I was speechless. As he knelt down to speak to my mother, he stopped mid sentence when he apparently saw her eyes in a fixed gaze and that the back of her skull was crushed inward. Instantly he picked her up. and as we were running back to the house, he commanded my eleven-year-old sister to call an ambulance. To this day I cannot recall how we got to the hospital.

The grisly scenes of this tragedy were not my nightmare. It did not play over and over again in my mind, for I had dissociated from it. I had voluntarily and autogenically created a memory barrier of this trauma. This is a normal human response. Had I been tortured after the trauma, I would not have been able to voluntarily recall either the accident or the torture. Hence the basis of this book.

The nightmare began during the subsequent recovery year when we realized my mother would never be herself again. She had lost over a quarter of her brain when the horse stepped into her skull. Permanently gone was her ability to smell, taste, and hear in one ear. These were the physical handicaps she developed. Her resultant emotional condition would become evident to me many years later. As a child, this new awareness of my mother's condition had minimal impact on me compared to the fear I lived with, moment to moment, due to my father's chronic alcoholism. Years later my sister would follow his lead into a losing battle with the bottle. I was safe, as alcohol made me stutter.

After being told so many times during my developmental years that my mother's condition was attributable to her brain damage, and that my stuttering was because my brain was not working correctly, it occurred to me at some point to learn about the brain. For years after the accident, I overheard adult conversations about my mother's brain. My curiosity peaked about the brain and the resultant invisible mind and had set the course for my life's interest.

Somewhere in this time period, I fantasized I would learn enough about the mind and brain to help my mother and myself.

As a child, my attention span was regarded as abnormal. I was considered very bright, yet my grades in school reflected something different. Although not properly diagnosed, I was most likely suffering from what is now termed Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD). The handicaps of stuttering and ADD were to become my first personal improvement challenges once I was out in the world on my own.

This "on my own" objective came at an early age. I was barely sixteen-years-old when I left home to begin my pursuit of happiness. My first efforts resulted in total failure. However, I could not return to my parents' home because they were now divorced.

Young, broke and rejected, I was able to determine two things. First, I must learn how to communicate if I were to enjoy any success in life, I went about this task methodically, first by enrolling myself into a local night college. In the classroom I studied speech, business law and psychology. At the library; I studied brain functions and their effect on the mind. I was not degree oriented because I could not earn enough at two jobs to attend the required classes to graduate, but my studies were slowly providing me a usable skill. Secondly, somewhere during this period of learning I began to realize I possessed a natural ability to sell. Perhaps this ability to persuade others resulted from my childhood experience of having to "read people" through their body language rather than talking with them.

My first real job in sales was so successful that my client base was reduced by my employer. I responded to this action by moving on.

The Vietnam War was heating up and I was eligible for the draft. No longer in school, I knew that my number would be drawn soon. And it was. Little did I know that my prayers for a deferment would be answered and would afford me an exemption from military duty. I would soon be working for the Ampex Corporation and with the U.S. Department of Defense in a civilian capacity. The defense work closely associated me with top research scientists working in the area of primate and human behavior modification. Ironically, I learned more about the mind from my casual relationships with these scientists than I did working at the various research sites. The sites included teaching hospitals, state mental institutions, military bases, National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) facilities, and the Yerkes Primate Center.

The following years of my corporate employment in national and international sales evolved into sales and marketing management positions in an executive capacity. My personal life, in terms of loving relationships, was again in shambles but my career and ongoing mind, brain, human behavior research was rewarding enough to compensate for my lack of emotional expression. The secrets I had learned so well concerning powers of persuasion, both conscious and subliminal, had long since become a functioning part of my mind's arsenal of defensive and offensive tools of control. I resolved then and there to become a "control freak". Instead, my fantasy was not to learn what I could control but what was controlling me.

Then, around 1986, a peer friend of mine observed that I had arrived in the perverbial "comfon zone" in terms of presenting profitable ideas for others to set upon, and advised me to go into business for myself. Shortly thereafter he provided me an excellent example by resigning his six-figure executive marketing directorship and nominated me as a candidate for his replacement.

Ironically, for the first time in my life, the nomination was rejected because I did not possess at least a master's degree in business management or communications. His assistant was given the position, and I was subsequently offered the assistant's vacated position with no hope of promotion, which of course I refused. Soon thereafter, my friend, free of his corporate golden handcuffs, established his own firm which became a very successful business.

Around this same time a childhood acquaintance, long since socially separated from my life, reappeared long enough to introduce me to his country music entertainment friend, Alex Houston. From this introduction I learned this acquaintance, Ray Myers and his wife, Regina, are alleged pedophiles who reportedly sexually molested Cathy's daughter and their own children. It seemed that Houston was looking for someone with international business negotiating skills who could assist him in putting together a large enough sales deal to finance a manufacturing operation. After spending a few days of complimentary consulting time with him, I had made some rather interesting and intriguing observations about the man and his ideas. First of all, Houston did have a legitimate, potentially profitable idea concerning the manufacture of an electrical capacitor device that could increase energy efficiency for large industrial consumers. Secondly, Houston favorably impressed me as a calculated risk-taker. Thirdly, Houston agreed to finance my production of a marketing plan for presentation to potential foreign buyers. And finally, Houston agreed that I would run the company as President, if and when I sold that plan, I thought. "No problem!"

The intriguing part of this «budding» relationship was my awareness of Houston's propensity for dishonesty. I felt an urgent need for legal advice on how to insure contractual protection from Houston. Within days, Houston and I had conceptually and contractually agreed to start up the business. I designed a logo and assigned the name UniPhayse. The contracts we entered bound both of us to our respective areas of commitment and was iron clad. Houston's willingness to participate in my legal protection maneuver further perplexed me, because of the obvious 'honesty type" clauses contained in the agreement. At the time, in my mind, I had determined that if Houston could "keep it clean" and perform his role, we would be able lo make this company successful. If not, I owned the company lock, stock, and barrel and could still make it work.

Months later, with business and marketing plans in ray briefcase and a demonstration model of the proposed product in hand, Houston and I boarded an airplane to Hong Kong. We were met upon arrival by a tall, well-dressed, Korean gentleman who introduced himself as William Yoon. He owned an international shipping company. His ships carried practically everything from scrap metal to Chinese silkworm missiles all over the world,

Mr. Yoon, as he preferred to be called, in keeping with Far Eastern protocol, was interested in negotiating a joint venture company with his friends in the most populated nation on Earth, The People's Republic of China. All arrangements had been made by Mr. Yoon's staff for Houston, myself, and him to fly to Beijing the following day to begin negotiations with the Mining Ministry. After several days of exhausting discussions through an interpreter almost entirely between myself and the deputy director of the Chinese Mining Ministry, it appeared as though we had a workable deal.

An elegant banquet was ordered by our gracious Chinese hosts, and it was there I learned that the Mining Ministry was a part of the Chinese Ministry of Defense. Feelings of patriotism welled up in me for the first time in my life. I was aware that China was engaged in supplying missiles to Libya, a Middle Eastern country with whom the U.S. was in conflict. The Chinese were swapping missiles and other weapons for cheap Libyan light crude oil. The Chinese were about the only country in the world who dared defy the Reagan Administration's trade embargo. These fleeting thoughts of being involved with the Chinese military felt treasonous to me. Although uncomfortable with the idea of a business venture with such potential for political disaster, I reminded myself that hundreds of other U.S. companies were already in China. Houston refused to discuss the subject.

During the return flight from Beijing to Hong Kong, I confided my patriotic concerns to Mr. Yoon knowing that he would soon become my business partner. He eloquently relieved my fears of potential disaster with a complicated explanation that made sense at the time. This man politely informed me that we could not lose money as he and I would have interim control over all product sales revenue generated outside of China, By Chinese law for joint venture companies, 60 % of all manufactured product must go outside China.

Houston and I returned to Tennessee and I briefly met his wife, Cathy, for the first time when she greeted us at the gate. She appeared to me to be young, beautiful, very dumb, and dressed like a prostitute. I paced my walk to be several steps away from her as we headed to the baggage claim area. Within a few weeks of this visit, a delegation of Chinese electrical engineers and finance experts were flown to our Tennessee office for more negotiations and to collect technical production data (we held) for future manufacturing purposes.

Soon after the delegation departed for China, I received a mysterious phone call from someone at the U.S. Department of State, aka the State Department. It seems someone in my Chinese delegation had earlier been refused entry into this country due to his being identified as an international weapons supplier for terrorists. This telephone voice assured me that there were no problems that would arise and that this information was not to be publicized. I thanked him and assured him the information was secure.

A couple of months later, my new Hong Kong partner, Mr. Yoon, invited me, my wife, Houston and his wife, Cathy, to come to China for the official signing of the Chinese joint venture agreement. When I asked Houston if he and his wife would attend, he flatly replied, «No». He had already booked his «act» and could not cancel. I then offered to escort his wife and mine to China. He responded «no» again, that it was too far and too expensive for a pleasure trip. I was relieved because I had already learned enough of the Chinese language to know our partners did not like or respect him, and Cathy's demeanor embarrassed me. I later learned that Houston's «gig» was to "trance-sport"/transport Cathy and little Kelly to the infamous Bohemian Grove for prostitution.

My trip to China with all the pomp and circumstance went well as expected, even though my wife and I were in the process of separating for a divorce. However, just before I was prepared to return to the U.S., I received some extraordinary information from a man who showed me Chinese Ministry of Defense credentials that gained my full and complete attention. This man was in possession of a file on me that could have only been gained through a thorough investigation of my past professional associations. His English skills were only strong enough to roughly, nervously translate some of the file's content. This man had photographic proof of a U.S. Department of Defense security clearance I once held. He acknowledged that the "Chinese knew all about me". Thoughts of blackmail raced across my mind. These thoughts instantly disappeared when he began to voice his government's true concerns. Their concerns were about Alex Houston and his involvement with the CIA, drugs, money laundering, child prostitution, and the big one he saved for last, slavery. No mention of mind control was offered, although he did comment that Houston was a "very bad man" and his crimes were "of the White House". Disbelief was in order but not possible, due to the wide array of "Eyes Only" stamped and initialed (official) CIA letterhead and U.S. Government documents he slowly flashed before my eyes.

My first response to this «officer» was that Houston was too stupid and crooked to be connected to U.S. «intelligence». This comment was quickly countered with a gut wrenching photograph of Houston. He was smiling a demonic grin while apparently having anal sex with a small, very young, frightened Black boy. Later he was identified to me as being Haitian.

When confronted with this horrific information and the apparent validity of it, I asked, "What do you (your government) want me to do?"

He replied, "Get rid of him, distance yourself from him and all of his associates".

I responded by asking him how he thought I could accomplish this task. He stated, "Any way you choose". I told him that regardless of what he had seen of American television concerning violence, the only way I knew was to force him out by purchasing his company stock, and I needed money to do it. He said, "Give us the figure and make the arrangements. It is done."

I had returned to Tennessee with a Chinese government contract for products valued at thirty-one million dollars. Stapled to it was a telex letter of credit made out to me and the company from Houston's bank connection the New York branch of the now infamous Bank of Credit and Commerce International (B.C.C.I.). The amount was one million dollars in U.S. funds. The contract was worth approximately ten million dollars in gross profit for Mr. Yoon and me.

Given the charge by the Chinese to immediately discharge Houston of his duties, I knew exactly what my plan of action would have to be. Any other approach to resolving this problem could backfire and all would be lost. And since a former, indirect employer of mine (when I worked for Capital International Airways), the CIA, was implicated, I knew one mistake and it could cost me my life. A comforting thought prevailed and I reminded myself Houston was not only corrupt, but stupid. The CIA must not have respected him either. Otherwise why would he have had to go outside his circle of powerful perverts to recruit me for an international business deal.

I drove to my office to begin the process of discovering something Houston "must have done" that would breach the performance contract he and I had signed when we started the company. Houston was out of town supposedly doing one of his entertainment gigs, so I had complete, unobstructed access to all files, his included. As I had mentally predicted during the long flight from Hong Kong, the entire ferreting process took about fifteen minutes. It seemed that Houston and the old acquaintance who had introduced him to me were, as they say, "selling out the back door". I collected the shipping bills and, ironically enough, the bank deposit slip Houston had retained when he cashed and deposited the customer's check. There was even a letter copy where

Houston had specifically instructed the customer not to discuss his account with anyone at our company other than Houston himself or bis pervert friend, Ray Myers. Upon this discovery, I phoned the local Korean lawyer (whose business card I had been given by Mr. Yoon while in Hong Kong) to begin the stock transfer process. With pleasure, I wrote Houston's letter of resignation.

With this problem in the process of being resolved, I left the office to visit an old, dear friend (now deceased) who had maintained powerful U.S. and foreign intelligence connections. I needed answers I could trust with my life. This «retired» Air Force General from the Intelligence division would be my source.

The word «slavery» delivered in broken English by the Chinese Intelligence officer shouted in my ears during the short drive to a local hotel lobby, a comfortable place my «spook» pal selected for us to talk in private. In the few short minutes of the drive, I had my questions (for him) mentally noted. I wanted so much to gain the most from our meeting. The slavery word had triggered a dark question in my mind, blocking other constructive thought, as I was not comfortable with introducing the term mind control into my presentation. I knew I could speak freely about anything to this trusted friend. I wanted desperately to avoid the words mind control, not for reasons of comdemnation, but because they represented a secret I had patriotically maintained for twenty years.

After my arrival and the light chit chat of social niceties had been exchanged between us, the air changed to one of seriousness. I briefed him on my business involvement, and began a methodical line of questions concerning the file the Chinese Intelligence officer had presented on me and, especially, on Houston: shortly, my friend interrupted me in mid-sentence, smiled a toothy grin, and said, "Flash, you're still the same, and you know damn well what I mean." «Yes», I replied.

The spook was referring to a 70s rock ballad titled "Still the Same" by singer Bob Segar that was assigned to me years earlier by mutual poker-playing buddies who identified with my passion for successful risk-taking. I despised gambling. My passion was "risk management" and poker gave me a recreational outlet for it. Although my friends each paid dearly, they soon learned my poker strategy was not so much "card counting" as it was my ability to read their body language. This included the micromuscle spasm responses around their eyes, Houston also lost to me at cards. The message the General was implying, roughly translated, was that I was once again "lucky as hell" to have survived my brief business relationship with Alex Houston.

The discussion went down hill from that point directly into the dreaded arena of mind control. After several minutes of listening to details concerning a huge, invisible CIA slave trade going on world wide, the talk became more regionalized to Tennessee. I learned that Cathy and her little girl were victims of trauma-based mind control. They were slaves and the «soul» property of my Uncle Sam. I learned that everything I knew in theory and application about external control of the mind was fully operational and encroaching on the private sector of society.

I was growing numb. The first words out of my dry mouth were, "How would you spring these people out of it?" He smiled and said, "I wouldn't! What are you going to do with them if you did get them out?" Before I could answer, he interrupted and said, "Look, you're still the same, but nothing else is with Uncle. Now most of the CIA, FBI, and the MOB (Mafia) are the same, and they're making their moves on the military."

I responded, "I already know that, but how do I save these two people?" He said, "OK. Get the mother on the phone while her handler is gone. Use the usual hang up code of dial and ring twice, hang up call back, ring once, hang up and call back. Tell her you're God, Give her a biblical passage. They're all Christian based programmed around here."

Understanding that this procedure would gain Cathy's full attention, the General continued, "She'll do anything, and I mean anything — except toast Houston — that you command her to do. Remember, God commands. Find yourself a preacher who knows the Bible and get a double-bind verse. You know what to do — for God's sake. And, listen, if you do this, you're on your own."

"Mark, this is nuts," he pleaded. Go to China and take them with you, Forget about this Red, While and Blue cesspool. It'll clean up. There's lots of good guys in the inside busting their asses to stop this mess, but you're not going to save the world."

I injected, "No, just my ass and a couple of people who Uncle considers something other than human," Then we briefly chatted about some fine points of the rescue and how to legally stop Houston from taking her back. I never saw this friend again.

Walking back to my car, I listened again in my mind to his haunting words. and my own life suddenly seemed like a scratched phonograph record with the needle following the same groove over and over again. The thoughts in my head were suddenly very unpatriotic — a far cry from the feelings I had expressed in China concerning Mr. Yoon's involvement in shipping Chinese missiles to Libya.

Now I felt pure rage for what my country had become during the years after I had bowed out of doing defense work. For once my own mind seemed to be my worst enemy. Hatred for everything consumed me,

I loved what my country had once represented to me, but now I was ashamed to be an American. And unbeknownst to me at the moment, soon I would be ashamed of being a male, based on Cathy and Kelly's memories.

During the long, usually boring drive to my secluded house in the wilderness southwest of Nashville, I distinctly recall considering the inherent risks in the formula I was given for «stealing» two slaves from under the coke-filled noses of the CIA. My concerns were not of whether I could do it, but related to my friend's question of, "What are you going to do with them?"

My thoughts went blank as I muttered to myself, "Life is getting complicated again", I then consoled myself with the old adage of "first things first".

Within a few days, I had played God and coordinated the move of Cathy and her 8-year-old daughter, Kelly, out of Houston's house into a nearby apartment. All of this was totally unbeknownst to Houston. As instructed, I had deliberately placed the powerful coded suggestions into Cathy's mind. These commands partially bridged her own amnestic true perceptions that Alex was going to kill her. Little did I know that the message I was provided to block Houston's former control of her was true.

Cathy and Kelly seemed to me to be very disoriented and somewhat disconnected from reality. In their new, sparsely furnished kitchen, I listened quietly to Caihy excitedly explain that "God had sent me" to her. She «knew» this was true because her hands seemed to automatically open her King James version of the Holy Bible to Psalm, Chapter 37, verse 37, which proclaims for the literal minded, "Mark, the perfect man".

Not only had I placed this biblical reference by a covert suggestion in her mind while playing God on the phone, but just now in her home moments earlier, I had broken the spine on her Bible so that it would «magically» open to that page. She said, "See, God did it again for you to see".

Using a deprogrammer's language trick, I replied in a «reversed» response, "Well, I'll be damned. You are right. That's the only explanation left — that could explain all this", I was anxious to change the subject so as not to risk alerting any one of her observant personalities to my well contained laughter. I had been warned that programmed slaves were hyper-observant.

In retrospect, I could not have had thoughts of being sacrilegious. I was and remain deeply spiritual, but my earlier years of researching religions for life's answers had turned me cynical and cold of man's interpretation of the Bible, Koran and Buddha's teachings. This attitude I privately harbored towards organized religions did nothing to squelch the dread I felt wash over me for that moment.

In my attempt to change the subject from religion, I had remembered the Nazi mind-control research performed under Himmler's command on the families of northern European multi-generational Satanists. Christianity, particularly Catholicism, was Himmler's pick of the religions' litter for targeting "Chosen Ones" for his hideous mind-control experiments. These Chosen Ones were to be the robotic leaders of Hitler's New World Order. I then asked Cathy what religion she was before she met Houston. She replied, "Mormon, but I was a good Catholic before then".

My mind swirled from that shocking revelation. I again quickly changed the subject and suggested we go out to dinner and discuss her new job as my assistant starting the following the day. But tonight we would discuss her divorce plans.

Later that evening, I began my search for a secure phone to find someone from past associations I knew were CIA connected on an officer's level. I needed a get-well-quick formula or a clean mental health referral who could help these two wide-eyed unfortunates. I was informed there were none and that I knew more about "that mind stuff" than anyone who would talk.

I returned home to find my phone ringing with an anxious Alex Houston, who had returned from a «vacation» at Boys Town in Nebraska, on the other end exclaiming that he was looking for his wife. She had " disappeared".

I faked not knowing anything and suggested he come to my house the next afternoon to go over some urgent business. The next morning, I located a lawyer, for Cathy, and she had the divorce papers drawn up.

That afternoon I had Granville Ratclift, a local Sheriff's deputy I partially trusted, who occasionally watched my house when I was out of town, waiting inside my house to witness and legally serve Houston with the divorce papers and his termination notice from the company. My last words to Houston which I recorded on tape were, "You could get hurt if you mess with me or them. Alex, get out!" (Now, I hope Houston lives to be a hundred years of age.)

Getting the legal jump on Houston to project Cathy reminded me that I needed to attend to my own divorce needs. My wife mutually agreed her life could be more emotionally rewarding without me. She moved to Florida and set up house with her mother. We filed for a noncontested divorce. I agreed to sell the house and what remained of our joint possessions.

Still unable to secure expert help for Cathy and Kelly, I maintained their safety by moving them into my house until it was sold. It was during this time that I was approached by a neighbor who said he had seen someone through his binoculars wearing a gun and taking pictures of my house. Other such intrusive visits by unknown persons followed suit. I was getting real nervous.

I again called on a CIA operative I knew who worked within Nashville's corrupt law enforcement elite who, days later, informed me to "get my ass out of there now-someone wanted me dead!" When I asked why, he said, "You know damn good and well why!"

The house sold quickly and I had already decided to walk away from my company, my contracts, and the one million dollars on deposit as a letter of credit at B.C.C.I. in New York. Mr. Yoon came to Nashville, He purchased Houston's stock. I returned Mr. Yoon to the airport. My last words to him were, "Farewell, friend". He knew nothing of what was going on and I have never seen or spoken with him again. That afternoon I cleaned out my office, handed the keys to the landlord, closed out my personal and company bank accounts.

I had become angry beyond anything I had ever experienced. In retrospect, this was the birthing process of evolution from man to patriot.

I now only wanted answers to what was going on in my government. We needed to be safe while I searched for these answers. My next stop in this pursuit would be Las Vegas, Nevada, Once there, I met with some powerful, underworld characters I had befriended back in my aviation days at Capital International Airways while «packaging» gambling junkets for these characters. I felt confident that these guys would protect me at least until I could find out what and who Cathy knew. I was reminded by these men that they were a part of the CIA's new funding operations. One of them flippantly remarked while chomping his Cuban cigar, "You can't hide an egg in a hen house, fella".

My contact then coldly informed me that I had become involved in something that affected our National Security. I lied to this "wise guy" and cryptically responded, "Oh, well. I'll take them (Cathy and Kelly) to Alaska and play like a voiceless chameleon". In retrospect, this spontaneous lie must have worked to protect me from "red shining" myself to become the recipient of a CIA/MOB hit.

Cathy and I continued to stay «parked» in Las Vegas for a few more days waiting to retrieve Kelly from a last minute (suspected CIA) court ordered visit with her biological father, Wayne Cox. Later, I would learn from Kelly's medical reports that she had spent Christmas vacation "in hell."

I was now alone in my mind, scared, and going broke fast. Once again I felt totally alienated from everything and everybody in my life. At this moment, I began constantly reminding myself that I was doing the only thing I knew for sure was right. Realistically, I was astride the proverbial tiger and I could not get off its back and survive.

CHAPTER 3 THE RECLAMATION OF CATHY'S MIND

"The greatest gift anyone can give another is a good memory."[3]

It was now the week after Christmas 1988. I was fulfilling half of my pledge to the Vegas mob. With all of our remaining personal belongings containerized and secretly in transit on a different ship, I, my "new family" and pets were ferry-bound for Anchorage, Alaska. The sixteen hundred mile trip through ice and snow would take about three days to complete. Unfortunately, it gave me time to think.

Due to our negative cash flow situation, realistically I knew there was no place to run or hide from the CIA. Cathy and Kelly seemed happy and believed they were safe. This was my number one priority! For me, I had to trust that my escape plan would convince interested CIA personnel that we no longer represented a threat to their security. The plan was based on an ancient psychological warfare formula developed by the Romans, I wanted to portray myself as akin to a character in a bad Reagan (western) movie and ride into the sunset never to be heard from again. Thinking to myself that where we were headed geographically, there was no sun to set, at least until spring. Late one night about mid way into our voyage, I sought the solitude that the outside forward deck would afford me. I was thankful for the wind-driven sleet and snow that stung and closed my eyes and opened my mind for focused thought. At the time, I was psychologically "strung out" from a combination of rage and unbearable emotional headache.

To safeguard my precious teenage son, Mason, from being hurt and/or unwittingly used as a pawn to force me to remain silent, I had virtually destroyed our father/son bond. I loved and missed him very much, and still do. The resultant emotional pain from the deception and separation seemed to be compounding within me and was consuming-my being.

I had, in the course of rescuing Cathy and Kelly, shunned and insulted my son, collapsed my company, simultaneously orchestrated two divorces and sold all personal treasures. I worried I would never see my elderly mother again. Her health was deteriorating. The tailored clothes I wore no longer fit me, as I had lost over forty pounds and looked skeletal. Chronic insomnia, a symptom of the severe depression I secretly fell, was slowly driving me mad. My own short-term memory was beginning to fail. I had noticed for the first time in over thirty years that I was stuttering when enunciating certain words. I knew this was just the beginning of a long and dangerous expedition in search of answers.

As I stood alone, with eyes closed, on the ship's ice-covered steel deck, a strange feeling of relief washed over me. I had somehow managed to remember from where I could draw "emergency strength." I began silently praying for inner strength and guidance through a meditation technique I'd learned years ago. Immediately, I experienced a feeling of peaceful self-assurance that we would survive to tell our story.

Suddenly I became aware that the icy wind was freezing my face and hands. I was elated that I could feel again. Apparently I had repressed my tactile senses along with my emotions. For the first time since I learned of Cathy's and Kelly's mind-control existence, I felt functionally alive.

I opened my eyes to discover I wasn't alone any more. A voice was coming from somewhere. I looked around and saw, crouched down and wrapped in a dark green blanket almost beside me, the source of the voice. Again I heard, "Hey man, you OK?" This good man whom I later came to know and respect was Mark Demont. He was a classic example of what Alaskans term a "sour dough". Roughly defined, a sour dough was anybody from the "lower 48" (states) who was disenchanted with their home and low on money. We were both sour doughs and refugees from a sick society gone mad from CIA drugs, media violence, and uncontrolled greed.

I offered him a cigarette and my hand in friendship, something I had not done voluntarily in almost a year. We agreed to stay in contact after our arrival.

About two days later, we landed safely at the Juneau docks. We were told by the ferry's Captain that it was the coldest day of the decade. The ship's thermometer read a minus forty degrees fahrenheit. For me, this was an anticipated weather condition, and for Cathy and Kelly, a physical challenge.

I had spent about two years in Alaska around 1980. It was then that I helped my former boss from Capital International Airways, George Kamats put a new carrier on line known briefly as Great Northern Airlines. I left Alaska back then, not because of the environment, which I loved, but due to my inability to cope with Kamats' daily tirades. This rigid fellow had a long, colorful history working for other CIA controlled airlines. Among other jobs, he had held top executive positions of authority with the infamous air support section of the U.S, Forestry Service, Air America, and Evergreen (CIA) carriers.

Now I was back in Alaska, unemployed, and knowing I was being tracked like an animal by the same organization I had previously indirectly worked for, the Central Intelligence Agency. Having slept the past couple of nights, I was feeling much better and the thoughts of being tracked did not concern me. I recall having more productive things on my mind. I could not allow raw fear to become any part of my daily diet of thought process.

Cathy and I dedicated every possible moment to locate a house we could call home. We finally found a fourplex apartment that was inexpensive, with two bedrooms and a heated garage. We had to have a heated garage for my three beloved pet raccoons and two dogs. Our new home would never have furniture beyond a TV, two beds, and a table and chairs. This inconvenience never was discussed. We were comfortable.

After settling into "our place" in the remote rural town of Chugiak, we immediately began doing normal things. We enrolled Kelly in a great public school, met our new neighbors, and played in the snow. All of this was being enjoyed in a traditional family way-something Cathy and Kelly had never before known.

Our remaining meager resources were disappearing before my eyes. The cost of asthma medication that Kelly now required to keep her alive was over $400 per month. I strongly suspected that much of the reason for her declining health resulted from the two weeks "in hell" she had recently spent with alleged serial killer, Wayne Cox, She told me so, by detailing the hideous satanic rituals she and her four-year-old step brother, Jacob, had been subjected to,

Fortunately, I had held onto my expensive Niton camera, guns, and personal jewelry items. These were the last real assets I had remaining to sell. I sold them and the proceeds paid our living expenses for five more months until Kelly's health needs and circumstances forced us on welfare.

During this five-month period, with Kelly in school and no telephone to distract us, I began intensifying my deprogramming efforts with Cathy, Most stays, our work started the moment we returned home from taking Kelly to school. As soon as Kelly was in bed at night, after dinner and homework, we resumed our «session». We worked like this day and night, seven days a week, focused intensely on the deprogramming process, until I would pass out from exhaustion around three o'clock in the morning.

The deprogramming formula for pulling Cathy's fragmented mind back together was inherently free of problems. The small problems I did experience with the formula stemmed from having to «expertly» apply it based on my educated memory of almost twenty years previous. I had no communication with any recognized authority other than Cory Hammond to guide the initial therapy. My single greatest challenge was to learn how to control Cathy's constant state of trance as she journaled her memories.

In spite of reporting to the FBI that I was a hypnotist, I knew that if the FBI and CIA could prove through my admissions I was using hypnosis on Cathy, her testimony in court would be worthless. Therefore, the threat of reprisal from the CIA was averted. In fact, through my own intensive research of hypnotherapy I learned how to control Cathy's trance states. T regarded it as unhypnotizing her. Eventually I would be regarded by mental health physicians as an «expert» in the application of this little-used clinical tool for recovering memory.

Aside from my learned deprogramming skill, the balance of the formula I used consisted of elements which are actually rules of ethical therapy conduct. Those therapy rules were strictly enforced, Cathy understood and agreed that, in order for her to have absolute control of her mind, she must place total trust in me and the therapy regime.

1. I maintained a constant vigil to ensure Cathy's physical and psychological safety from all outside influences.

2. No memories could be verbalized by Cathy until after they were written by her. The only questions I could ask were history oriented and directed to Cathy's presenting personality that was recovering the memory. Those questions could only address the who, what, when, how, and where of the memory. Even if I could have known the answers in advance, I could not inject. Our perceptions would have differed radically and could have created more memory barriers between personality fragments.

3. I fundamentally explained mind control to Cathy and she then understood that what happened to her was not her fault. However, she understood she was becoming responsible for her actions here and now. Through therapy, she was asserting control over her own mind.

4. We devoted many hours to "intellectual discussions" of Cathy's learned religious beliefs and they were «logically» debunked, just as if I were explaining how the illusions of a magician's tricks worked lo confuse reality.

5. No expression of emotion by Cathy would be permitted during the memory recovery and journaling process. I never asked her "how does that make you feel?" This is as important as the safety issue for the rapid recovery of memories.

6. I provided Cathy adequate food, vitamins, water, and sleep to restore her failing physical health.

7. I taught Cathy how to view her memories on a "mind movie screen" rather than re-experience them through the mind's "virtual reality" mechanism.

8. I instructed Cathy how to trance herself and control the depth of her trance state through a self-hypnosis technique (some regard as meditation). This was put in place to avoid possible contamination and/or confusion of her memories, which might have happened had I used a hypnotic induction technique known as guided imagery.

9. Cathy was not allowed to read books, newspapers, or magazines, to watch TV, or to discuss with Kelly anything she recalled. Cathy had experienced a lifetime of information control and therefore had minimal contamination of memory to sort through. This rule was also understood and respected by Kelly, whose memories were beginning to surface.

10. All behavior patterns and social habits Cathy exhibited were re-examined through logical discussion between us. All pre-established behavior patterns, including daily routines, were re-scheduled or stopped completely.

11. I required her to wear a wrist watch twenty-four hours a day, to alert me of any "lost time" she felt she was experiencing. Losing time, without trauma, is a strong indication that personality switching is occurring. Whereas being able to account for time is an indicator that recovery is occurring.

The memories Cathy was recovering were horrible beyond anything I had ever heard anyone speak about, I often wondered if I had fallen in love with Cathy as a result of my developing the psychological malady known as the Stockholm Syndrome. Those thoughts never bothered me for I knew I had grown to love Cathy. I had heard enough horror from Cathy and Kelly to know I was now suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). The symptoms of this disorder went unnoticed by Cathy and Kelly because they too were PTSDed, and had been all their lives.

My own health began to deteriorate rapidly. My regained body weight began to melt away once again. I was experiencing incredible stomach pain, vomiting, and diarrhea. I was literally living on a patent medicine known to ulcer sufferers as Maalox. A «secure» phone call to a doctor friend in the "lower 48" produced the name of a local internal medicine specialist I could trust. Aware of my predicament, my physician friend made the appointment on my behalf for this doctor to prepare certain in-office tests. One of the tests, using a fiberoptic stomach tube, showed that as a result of a water borne parasite, there were holes in the walls of my stomach. He recommended emergency surgery. I replied, "No. How much longer can I live with this before surgery?"

He said, "It depends on how well you can follow my instructions"*

"No problem," I said. Within a few days of feeding myself intravenously and taking the prescribed medications, I began to recover.

It was during this recovery period that I began my telephone search for answers to speed Cathy's recovery process. Again I was told by my former "well connected" associates that I knew it all. I was not convinced. However, my persistence soon paid off as one particular phone call resulted in my striking proverbial "pay dirt".

The medical books on clandestine experimental research for treating dissociative disorders mysteriously appeared "on hold" for me at the Eagle

River branch of the Anchorage Public Library. I was covertly alerted to pick them up on a certain day at an exact time. I complied.

As I was leaving the library, a middle-aged woman with a grocery sack in her arms approached me. She asked if the library was open. I thought this odd since I was walking out the opened library entrance. My curiosity was short lived when she asked, "Have you read any good books by Dr. Milton Erickson lately?"

I replied, "No, but I am checking one out by (psychiatrist) Dr. William S. Kroger entitled Clinical and Experimental Hypnosis,"

"Oh, yes," she said. "I'm a real fan of Dr. Kroger and he is a real fan of Dr. Erickson who you know is considered the father of subliminal mind-control (theory) research. She began walking away and turned, smiled and said, "Enjoy your books and use the book, Mark."

I assumed she was addressing me by name while referring to the book itself. I also concluded from this comment that she was obviously the person responsible for delivering the books to the library. Soon I learned she was referring to a bookmark placed inside one of the books which provided me a desperately needed communications vehicle. Recorded on the book-mark" was a toll free 800# with a time and date to use it. I used this 800# and many others similarly provided me for a communications vehicle to covertly access the spooks' (spies) subway to information. For two more years, this method provided me with telephonic guidance through a maze of mind work with Cathy.

When I called the bookmark «800» number, it was answered by an electronic voice which said, in part, "Please enter your employee number now". I complied, using a series of numbers that I had been previously «assigned» by someone who must remain anonymous because I do not know their identity. The next sound I heard was that of a phone being rung. After exactly eight rings, my call was answered by someone I did not know. He asked, "What's the problem?" I fell like a vacuum cleaner salesman with his foot in the door, delivering a canned sales presentation. I began nervously emphasizing my desperate need for a quicker therapy regime for Cathy.

The voice asked, "Have you read the books?"

"Yes," I replied. "But many of the clinical terms were foreign to me." The voice then instructed me to go back to the library and "pick up a psych reference book on term definitions". I then interrupted his instruction to ask if I could speak with somebody who could make this deprogramming process go faster. He said, "Well, there are only two deprogrammers in this country-one in Boston (Massachusetts) and the other in Phoenix (Arizona) and neither one could be of much help or be trusted with the kind of information you are getting (from Cathy)." He hesitated, then said, "You're going to need a referral, which I can't provide. But you know how to do it" I asked, "A referral for what?"

"To have the chance to speak with a doctor who knows about this and might be of some value," he told me,

"OK," I said. "Who's the doctor?"

"Cory Hammond, out of Salt Lake City (Utah)."

"Gees," I said. "That's Mormon headquarters, and that was the last religious trauma base for Cathy."

'Yes! — the voice continued. "But you can trust this doctor if you're careful and don't give up too much (information) on yourself. He's paranoid like all the rest (who know about mind-control atrocities) but he could be of some help.

Oh, be alert. Everybody's watching this guy so anything you say, they (the bad guys) will know."

"Thank you very much," I replied.

Somewhere in the process of finding a referral professionally acquainted with Dr. Hammond, I telephoned dissociative disorders specialist, Dr. Bennett Braun, a well-known and published psychiatrist in Chicago, Illinois. I learned from our conversation that he had an entire hospital unit dedicated to therapy for people like Cathy and Kelly. I wondered at the time why his name wasn't previously provided to me for a consultation. As a result of this brief telephone encounter, I learned that Dr. Braun had a number of patients on a long waiting list for a «bed» within this facility. The doctor then provided me the name and telephone number of a «friend» he confided in, People Magazine senior investigative reporter Civia Tamarkin,

Contacting this People/Time Life magazine reporter was to be my biggest single judgement error in the pursuit of helpful information. I would soon learn she was indirectly responsible for nearly costing me my life, and did indirectly cost Kelly her chance for «expert» therapy- which is another book in itself.

When I first spoke with Civia, she dropped important names like a maple tree drops leaves after a frost. I audio tape recorded practically all conversations with this seemingly well informed source, then and in the years to follow, Civia first provided me the name and phone number of the Boston "deprogrammer," an ex-Moonie programmer by the name of Steve Hassen. Next, she provided the name and phone number to contact Jolyn «Jolly» West at UCLA. Reluctantly, she gave me the referral I needed to communicate with Dr. Cory Hammond. "The later contact being the only "briefly helpful" one with whom I would speak.

Maximizing my PTSD impaired judgement, I telephoned programmer Steve Hassen, for advice on how to help Kelly (only), which resulted in his coming to our home in Alaska, Apparently, his agenda was to traumatize Cathy by using a well-known code to trigger her to run for her life — from me. The method he employed could have been effective, but fortunately for Cathy and Kelly, his robotic delivery like his moral ethics was very poor. I learned that Hassen's voiced and recorded professional respect for his UCLA psychiatrist friends, Dr, West and Dr. Margaret Singer, derived from sinister reasons. Little did I know that Dr. West had worked for the CIA in Project MK-Ultra mind-control research for decades, it seems some of Dr. West's CIA supported research had been exposed by a Congressional investigator of the MK-Ultra Project in the 1970s. However he survived the public scrutiny because the U.S. Government had, in essence, halted further investigation of him and his work under the National Security guise. His only reported crime was for killing an elephant with an overdose of LSD in the presence of school children. These facts I would learn after Cathy and I spoke with him by phone and subsequent disaster struck us, This too is another story in itself

The phone calls between Dr. Cory Hammond and myself were informative and supportive. He proved himself to be the single, most valuable live information asset I would know in my quest for expert therapy advice. Later Dr. Hammond delivered to the mental health community through a symposium presentation in 1991, the whole truth as he knew it on the topic of mind control. His advisory instruction to me on a particular Erickson technique for painless, non abreactive memory recovery, called «revivification», literally saved my predious Cathy from reliving the horrors as she remembered them. This man is my personal hero.

Spring in Alaska was a very different experience from what I was accustomed to in Tennessee. The Alaskans just refer to it as «break-up». In place of hearing the sounds of chirping birds, I listened to the drip noises from the ice melting off everything. The streets had become an ugly brown mush. For spring as normally a welcomed seasonal change, it was depressing to say the least. The only good news was that the days had slowly changed from darkness to warm sunlight. With this seasonal change, a time bomb I did not know existed began its countdown. Kelly's asthma and behavior were radically deteriorating for no apparent reason.

One Friday morning in May, Cathy received a call from Kelly's school principal requesting we pick her up as soon as possible and have her examined by a doctor. The school nurse said Kelly was having a severe asthmatic attack that did not respond to the medication she had with her. We picked her up only to find that her condition seemed to improve miraculously at the sight of us. But this improvement would be short lived,

The following Sunday, Kelly's coughing became almost constant. She had exhausted our supply of an important asthma medication which she regularly used in her respirator pump, I covertly substituted distilled water and sat with her while she struggled for her breath. Using an Erickson technique of guided imagery, I began telling her a story about a little girl who huffed and puffed and climbed a mountain. The story I told ended with the little girl reaching the top of the mountain only to be so tired that she fell asleep in a bed of wild flowers, Kelly responded by breathing normally and actually falling into a sound asleep for a few hours, only to awaken and repeat her coughing spell. I returned to her bedside and I asked why she coughed.

Kelly, somewhat agitated, responded, "I have asthma". I repeated the water substitution trick and she responded favorably and said, "Dad, Wayne (the father and alleged serial killer Satanist) told me I was gonna' die."

I said, "Well, he's not a doctor".

Kelly continued, "He really did say that over and over and over again."

I then asked, "When did he say this?"

"When school's out," she replied.

I asked, "What do you mean?"

She robotically repeated, "When school's out."

"Do you remember when Wayne said this to you?" I asked.

"In bed," she continued. "He thought I was asleep and he was talking on the phone to Alex (Houston) and then to me," I knew then Wayne Cox had programmed her to die using a clinical technique known as hypnosleep. Alex Houston was guiding Cox through the program.

I interrupted her (as I saw she was entering a deep state of trance) and responded, "Well, school's not out and tomorrow you will be well enough to go back to school."

As I suggested, Kelly did feel good the next morning and returned to school. This day would be her last day in Birchwood Elementary.

Only a few hours passed before Cathy and I again were called, this time by the nurse who became agitated when Cathy truthfully answered her question, "Didn't you take her to the doctor?" Cathy said. "No. but we will."

Later that evening, Cathy, Kelly and I would make the last of our emergency drives to seek medical help for Kelly.

At Anchorage's Humana Hospital, Cathy and I met with the young, very bright and beautiful physician, Dr. Lorrie Shepherd, who seemed perplexed and, perhaps, frightened as to Kelly's unexplainable deteriorating condition. I requested a private meeting and she complied.

After about thirty minutes of my explaining what Cathy and Kelly had been rescued from, I defined mind control for her. Learning this, Dr. Shepherd then consulted with a local female psychiatrist, Dr. Pat Patrick to evaluate Kelly,

The evaluation was completed and Dr. Patrick invited Cathy, and eventually me, to her office for a consultation. This was to be Kelly's first official evaluation that indicated she suffered from Multiple Personality Disorder (MPD)[4], a serious psychological disorder resulting from severe and repeated trauma.

I then asked Dr. Patrick if she could arrange for a sexual abuse specialist to verify if Kelly had been abused. She complied. The results were positive. Dr. Patrick and Cathy seemed almost relieved at this validation. The result sickened me.

Kelly's asthma stabilized at Humana and she was transferred to Charter North Psychiatric Hospital for in-hospital care. Dr. Patrick apparently provided the best care she knew. Unfortunately it was inadequate. Months passed and the State of Alaska welfare authorities began to realise Kelly was not improving and her ineffective care costs were mounting by thousands of dollars weekly.

Dr. Patrick, Cathy, and I, with the cooperation of the Tennessee Violent Crimes Claims Commission, began searching for a hospital that would accept Medicaid insurance. Finally, one was located in Owensboro, Kentucky which advertised a specialty in working with ritually abused children. Kelly was transferred to this facility and the State of Alaska paid all the bills for her move there. Later we would learn that this elegant hospital facility was nothing more than a human warehouse that collected whatever fees the federal and state governments would pay them per child resident. A pretty place to see, but the care for Kelly would prove to be "less than nothing".

During the summer before Kelly was transferred to this Kentucky hospital, and Cathy was recovering satisfactorily, I felt it was safe to leave their side so that I could find work. We desperately needed money to travel, to live, and to return to the "lower 48" with Kelly in the winter.

I quickly secured a job at Alaska Business College as an interviewer of prospective students. My sales «performance» resulted in my being promoted in two weeks from an admissions representative to Director of Admissions. I banked as much money as possible from my earnings over the next five months to provide for our move, to be closer to Kelly. The thought of the separation agony that would exist between Cathy and Kelly served as a reminder of my ongoing separation from my son, whom I had not heard from in almost a year.

Cathy, on ill advice from me, called her father and begged for some financial help for Kelly's sake. Her father wired $500 to confirm our location and commented, "This is America. Unless you come back to Michigan alone, no more money!" It was this statement that triggered Cathy's repressed memories of her own tortured childhood by this alleged pervert and slave salesman, Earl O'Brien.

Soon the FBI telephoned Cathy and told her that she needed to «voluntarily» conic to the Anchorage FBI office for questioning. Upon arrival, Cathy was informed that she was under federal investigation for attempting to extort money from her father.

Cathy looked strangely relieved when she heard these charges. Later I would learn that she felt better knowing for sure she was not «crazy» or delusional and that her father did in fact do those things to her and her brothers and sisters.

The FBI Agent was openly sympathetic and reportedly the DOJ «inspired» investigation was subsequently dropped upon his recommendation. This agent went on to secure a cash donation through his Mormon church that enabled us to leave his jurisdiction.

It is noteworthy that during this same time; through another special agent at the Anchorage FBI office, I was interrogated for "what I knew" regarding an unrelated crime involving my ex-wife and her lawyer boss in Florida. I knew nothing, I now know that the FBI was, in effect, attempting to destroy my credibility as advocate for Cathy and Kelly through their investigation efforts of me. Their case against my ex-wife and her lawyer was solved, and her lawyer accomplice was convicted of first degree murder. My ex-wife became a state's witness and was acquitted.

However, days later I would «see» my ex-wife being arrested and processed on the popular national television show "Unsolved Mysteries". That unfortunate case involved only one homicide and made the national news for weeks to come. In contrast, Calhy's testimony, with proofs provided FBI officials, was filed and deliberately covered up — For Reasons of National Security.

The fall season in Alaska was now quickly giving in to winter and the "termination dust" (snow) was re-coating the surrounding mountains. The air was definitely becoming nippy. The change of seasons signaled another change within my new family. Kelly was going to be transferred soon to the Kentucky Valley Institute of Psychiatry (V.I.P.).

Cathy and I had been saving every dollar I could earn during my brief tenure at Alaska Business College in preparation for our move back to the "lower 48".

I realized now that Cathy had gone into a state of recovery known as «fusion». She had long since stopped switching personalities and had become a beautiful, intelligent, and logical lady. She was no longer susceptible to anyone triggering her to go against or away from me. She continued to journal her traumatic memories and was professionally adjudged stable.

The passage on ships and ferries out of Anchorage to Seattle was booked solid for months ahead. They would only accept freight and/or vehicles. I purchased two, one-way tickets on Alaska Airlines and brought our family car, a 1976 AMC Pacer, and remaining belongings to the Anchorage docks for shipment.

Suddenly, as we packed our bags and were ready to board our flight, a nearby volcano erupted and halted all air traffic in or out of Anchorage for the following two weeks. We waited anxiously for the airport to reopen. We would leave first and Kelly and her nurse would soon follow. This would be the first step of what would be an endless journey in our pursuit of justice.

CHAPTER 4 TRUTH AND CONSEQUENCES JUST US PURSUED AND JUSTICE DENIED

Our much anticipated arrival into the Seattle (Washington) International Airport terminal heralded a new beginning. Cathy appeared to be openly optimistic that perhaps, at long last, Kelly would soon have her chance for recovery. Privately, I felt much less hopeful, I knew from past personal experiences and through my "insider sources" that mental health physicians from the private sector of society had little acquaintance with secret U.S. Government mind-control research. The only mind-control informauon these doctors had access to for the most part was from the hysterical comments supplied them by their troubled patients. Hysteria, in this case, as a symptom of misinformation is highly contagious, and therefore spread throughout the mental health profession. Many practitioners displayed symptoms of the "ostrich syndrome" to me, their peers, and patients through fear and chronic denial.

It was 1990, the beginning of the last decade of this century and the millennium, and most mental health physicians remained in a state of denial concerning the existence of mind control. Mental health as a science is barely one-hundred years of age. Truly an industry in its infancy in relation to the other recognized healing arts.

Due to mental health's infancy and the fact that it is rooted in the archaic, mystical theories of Jung and Freud, combined with the non-availability of government controlled research information, the term "mental health" is viewed by patients and doctors alike as an oxymoron. Patients I have interviewed who suffer from dissociative disorders frequently refer to the profession as "mental hell," and their well-intentioned provider as "the rapist". Unfortunately for all parties concerned, in many reported instances these cruel labels are consistent with the quality of the care provided. Whereas I strongly support, in concept, the healing arts existing in the fields of mental health that could be applied in the treatment of mind-control patients, I cannot foresee their application in meeting the needs of these patients without some radical changes in our National Security Act. Afound 1970, I recall witnessing a «mild» case in point. I was overseeing the video taping of a TOP SECRET psychiatric experiment involving a young man who had suffered brain damage resulting from some type of severe head trauma. This patient was ambulatory. He could not remember anything, express himself, or for that matter, think. He was not brain dead. He was mind dead. Through the application of a combination of experimental drugs and hi-tech electronic technology involving harmonics, his brain was being «retrained» to permit constructed thought processes to commence. The brain scar tissue that was inhibiting his ability to think was being chemically and electronically by-passed. I equated this experimental procedure to the "hot wiring" of an ignition switch of an automobile to preclude the use of a key. The extraordinary procedure and subsequent results of this experimental therapy was meticulously recorded. The record, tape, and doctor notes were dropped into a security envelope and were taken by courier to Fort George Meade, Maryland.

What made this case so memorable was the event that immediately followed. I overheard the experiment's attending physician complaining bitterly to his nurse colleague that «his» patient in an adjoining ward, who was not a "DOD guinea pig," through application of this method, could "probably recover". The doctor's complaint addressed his being prohibited from applying state-of-the-art treatment for his patient by virtue of his DOD oath of secrecy. This doctor was frustrated at being forced to serve two masters. The DOD being one master held control over his career through his medical license, liability insurance, and the secrecy oath he had signed. The second master was the doctor's own moral and ethical standards, supported by the Hippocratic Oath he had signed upon becoming a physician.

Thus without benefit of the voluminous DOD research findings and technology developments, the medical field of mental health is in its learning curve for establishing models to provide patients state-of-the-art care. In other words, mental health providers themselves are quickly becoming the second group of mind/information control victims.

The mental health profession is in a sate of crisis and his arrived at the proverbial crossroads of failure and success. The road to success through the application of available technologies appears to be blocked FOR REASONS OF NATIONAL SECURITY.

As a direct result of DOD management of mind research secrets and the resulting federal information containment practices, mental health providers are on the defensive with their patients, the courts, and more recently with certain special interest action groups. These groups are attacking the mental health professional as a target for destruction. Well-funded organizations with very questionable agendas, such as the False Memory Foundation (FMF) and the Church of Scientology, have publicly denounced mental health as a profession.

The Church of Scientology has emerged as the apparent leader in publicly denouncing the mental health profession. Through the church's Washington, D.C. based "human rights" lobby group, it has launched a massive negative propaganda campaign accompanied by numerous lawsuits against ethical drug companies and mental health providers.

Scientologists believe their church's ffounder, L. Ron Hubbard, has discovered a cure-all for mental illness through behavior modification. Hubbard, a successful science fiction writer, allegedly acquired knowledge of subliminal mind control through his military service with U.S. Navy Intelligence. He named his behavioral modification program Dianetics after his first wife, Diane.

The False Memory Foundation is a lobby group which is primarily utilized by persons charged with sexual abuse. The FMF is desperately attempting to develop legislation that restricts therapy for persons suffering from dissociative disorders as a result of trauma. This organization's stated beliefs include that repressed memory is a myth. FMF has found the mental health profession's Achilles' heel.

To date, the model for developing an effective therapy regime for dissociative disorders (which are as a result of repeated trauma) has not been published by either the American Psychiatric Association or the American Psychological Association. The difficulty in developing a model is due to a number of factors. The primary factor involves national security secrets concerning classified mind-control research.

In the present climate, referring mind-control victims to mental health professionals for treatment would be tantamount to subjecting a patient needing delicate surgery to a surgeon who was blind-folded and hand-cuffed. The knowledge of these conditions produced the private opinion I withheld from Cathy when she professed optimism for Kelly's latest recovery opportunity. Nevertheless, Cathy was nearing complete recovery and we both recognized we were doing all we could a(the moment to provide for Kelly's needs.

Perhaps identifying «who» within our government is interested in withholding vital medical research findings and technologies information from the mental health profession could provide a foundation of understanding. From my personal experiences while working for Capital International Airways. I formed a strong opinion that addresses this question. However, the answer that mirrors my perception was later eloquently provided by a Washington. D.C. news correspondent and journalist, Linda Hunt, in her book Secret Agenda. The historical basis for this book are the declassified DOD documents identifying Project Paperclip as being the secret importation/relocation of Nazr and Fascist scientist into the United States over a forty-year period.

These brilliant criminal scientists were primarily focused on two areas of research, rockets and the mind. They were placed in positions of authority in, among others, prestigious universities, colleges, industries, and NASA. Over the years, these imported criminals have directly influenced our society with advanced rocket technologies and mind-control applications through U.S. Government sponsored research. According to Secret Agenda, Nazism, as a philosophy and form of government, is alive and destroying our country, in part, as a result of Project Paperclip.

I can attest to this statement from personal knowledge gained during my employment at Capital international Airways, which is named as one of the primary transporters for Project Paperclip.

These were background facts for some of the thoughts that rushed through my mind on our Jong drive from Seattle to the Southeastern U.S. I was anxious to discover the end results of my telephone campaign in the pursuit of justice I had waged while in Alaska.

Our first destination would be Huntsville, Alabama. This southern U.S. city is famous for its tourism centerpiece, the NASA owned U.S. Space and Rocket Center. The town also boasts of being home to more Pentagon, black-budget, U.S. dollars per capita than anyplace in America. Cathy harbors a very different opinion of this town, its police force, and the NASA research facility. For Cathy and Kelly, Huntsville had been a place they were regularly taken to by Alex Houston for hi-tech torture and the production of child and adult pornography films.

This trip to Huntsville would be different for Cathy, except for one aspect of her previous experiences. Both she and I would receive our first threat to our lives in our pursuit of justice from law enforcement. This was surprising to me and «normal» for Cathy.

The lead-up to this threat began with my phone call to a Huntsville based legal aid group known as the National Association of Child Advocates. This organization publicized that it was formed through the leadership efforts of the local district attorney 'Bud' Crammer, who is known to his constituents as "Gun Ban Bud". After supplying this advocacy center with Cathy's recollections of her past experiences in Huntsville, we were contacted by two Huntsville City

Police Department «vice» detectives. Their names were Jeff Bennet and Chuck Crabtree.

Upon our arrival into Huntsville, these two vice cops escorted us and our trailer to a local apartment used for staging drug buys. The place was furnished, complete with audio and video bugs throughout every room. When I asked Bennet if the "place was bugged," he flatly denied it. From this lie I knew with certainty that Cathy and I were there to be specimens for whomever to study, I knew "who," and we gave them our best performance to mislead them. This action probably saved our lives.

After weeks of "delays," the two vice cops sat down with Cathy and me for discussion. She supplied them a myriad of testimony including detailed physical descriptions of two particular perpetrators, their names, and location maps of where they lived and allegedly produced child and adult pornography. The two perpetrators, themselves Huntsville policemen, were also helpful assets in the campaign for electing District Attorney Bud Crammer. Their names were Audie Majors and Sergeant Frank Crowell.

After Cathy had exhausted all of her recollections, Crabtree and Bennet ordered us to "leave Huntsville now while we were still alive, and shut up if we intended to stay that way!"

Later, Cathy and I would learn that Crabtree and Bennct had notified every law enforcement officer in over five states to whom we had provided information, They reported that we were a pair of "professional con artist criminals". Perhaps they were able to accomplish this discrediting tactic as a result of police reports we filed in other states, which included a reference to our "bud experience" with the Huntsville Police Department. In addition, the

Nashville office of the FBI was responsible for perpetrating Crabtree's and Bennet's discrediting lies. This FBI action ceased after resident-agent-in-charge Ben Purser was told by a friendly district attorney that I now could prove the identity and prosecute those responsible for the character assassination. The harassmet stopped,

It is interesting to note that 'Bud' Crammer would in less than a year, be elected to Congress. Within months after his election, Bud was rewarded for years of alleged containment practices. Allegedly Bud has been covering up investigations for the intelligence community, DOD, and of course his number one financial supporter, NASA.

The wife of an Atlanta, Georgia physician, Ms. Faye Yeager, did however survive Bud's wrath in court. Her «crime» was advocating for and protecting a child who had been horribly abused. This courageous lady had her day in court and won. Now she has filed a counter-suit in Federal court. Reeling from Bud's "second hand" threats to our lives, we returned to Nashville, Here we learned that the Kentucky V.I.P. hospital administration had suddenly declared Kelly's State of Alaska medical records "to be in error". V.I.P. said she was "fine!" This statement was supplemented by "you best come here now and pick her up or we'll give her to Kentucky Child Services and they will find adoptive parents."

This was a terrifying development since Kelly could not function outside a restrictive environment. She had been declared suicidal and homicidal by three attending physicians and/or therapists. Cathy and I were homeless. We brought Kelly back to Tennessee where she, Cathy and I stayed in my mother's tiny two-bedroom home. This living arrangement would not last. Kelly's asthma (program), destined to separate her from her mother, returned within 48 hours. We rushed her, gasping for breath, to Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville for emergency treatment. Again Kelly's condition worsened to the extremely critical point, then returned to normal. Her attending doctor thought he had seen a real miracle until he learned about mind control.

Vanderbilt Hospital physicians who reviewed Kelly's past medical and psychiatric records recommended that she be moved to the worst child warehouse we've seen so far, Crocket/Cumberland House, the "home for broken butterflies" (see photo). Because Cathy and I were both unemployed and Kelly only had Medicaid insurance, the State of Tennessee demanded temporary custody. Their demands for custody were legally legitimate and morally equated to extortion for they had no intentions of seeking expert therapy for Kelly.

Through a lengthy two-year court proceeding, with five lawyers opposing Cathy, we had a partial victory, Kelly was transferred to Charter Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee where again she did not receive MPD/DID therapy, but for the first time did receive genuine empathy from a social worker, Abbott Jordan.

During this period, my life and liberty was threatened by the Nashville Metro Police Department. This verbal death threat was delivered by Metro Homicide Captain Mickey Miller and echoed by his friend and subordinate Lt. Tommy Jacobs. Miller said, "You best forget this woman; walk away from all this now before your health changes." Jacobs said, "There's nothing wrong with that kid that her father (Cox) can't fix. She just has allergies. You'd best forget you ever heard of either one of them." I have all this conversation on audio tape.

Within a few months of these threats came others threatening both our lives and liberty from every branch of law enforcement within the State of Tennessee. This included the Nashville office of the FBI. The latter was in the form of a "clerical mistake" on the part of the FBI that was to be a "frame up" for my supposedly threatening the President of the United States, George Bush. This charge was totally groundless and was subsequently dropped, but only after I secured a lawyer

It was now 1991, and Cathy and I had determined that we must proceed with "phase two" of our pursuit of justice through a well organized information dissemination campaign. The funding for this project would indirectly come from the assistance of Bill Ross who also provided constant moral support,

Cathy and I have always fell uncomfortable exposing gentle persons like Bill Ross to such horrific information as pertains to trauma-based mind control. However, we have learned over the years through our public speaking engagements and consultations with physicians and others that, generally speaking, people appreciate knowing WHY they are no longer "at the top of the food chain," Bill Ross like hundreds of others never gave up hope that we would live to tell our story.

Five years have passed since we returned from Alaska. The lessons learned through this trail-blazing effort in our pursuit of justice should never be taught to anyone. No person should have to experience the heartache, desperation, and grinding poverty that Cathy, Kelly, and I have had to live with-During the winding down portion of our information dissemination campaign, Cathy approached me with an idea she thought could help us win public support. She had repeatedly commented that she wanted to rescue Seidina 'Dina' Reed, daughter of actor/singer Jerry Reed of Smokey And The

Bandit fame. According to Cathy, she had been used repeatedly in pornography productions with Seidina over the years and had bonded with this once beautiful woman.

Seidina's husband, David Rorick, aka Dave Roe, was then her alleged sadistic handler. It is noteworthy that Roe allegedly received his training on how to maintain a slave, using specific tortures, from Alex Houston. Roe lived and reportedly loved, with Houston before he met Seidina. Cathy and I naively believed at the time that Jerry Reed was not involved in his daughter's enslavement as was Cathy's father. Furthermore, we were convinced that Jerry Reed, with his numerous connections into politics and the entertainment industry could be a powerful ally. This was not to be.

I rescued Seidina and in minutes after the rescue, she began talking, but not until I had discussed my plan in person with her famous father and his agent at a Brentwood, Tennessee restaurant. Reed had more Chan enough time to warn Roe that I was armed and on my way to his house. All evidences disappeared.

Years later a U.S. Customs Enforcement officer informed me that I had «somedoby» connected to Reed, possibly Reed himself, suggesting "I might be blackmailing him." This «clean» customs officer knew I had rescued Seidina from Roe's enslavement and that I had audio taped all meetings with Seidina, Jerry Keed, and his wife, Prissy. He was openly concerned for my safety and that Reed was lying so as to frighten me away.

Within two months after the rescue, Seidina and her mother filed criminal charges, including sexual child abuse (of Seidina's four-year-old son) against Roe. A "spook informant" working within the Nashville District Attorney's office alerted me to these charges and the anticipated outcome. No action was taken FOR REASONS OF NATIONAL SECURITY. Seidina had been prostituted to, among many others, heads of state, and to the Arabian Ambassador to the U.S., Prince Bandar Bin Sultan. According to an involved witnesses of one of her encounters with Bandar (a friend of George Bush) she was one of his favorite slaves. We've never heard from Seidina or any member of her family since the rescue. This trek through hell in our pursuit of justice taught nothing to Cathy that she had not already been told by her abusers. For me, I learned the hard way that our Constitution was only a beautiful plan that had been stolen, plundered, and replaced FOR REASONS OF NATIONAL SECURITY.

Today, Cathy, Kelly, I and all true patriots stand at the proverbial crossroads of revolution or evolution. Through armed revolution, we patriots will perish and the emergence of a totally government controlled society will herald in another period of "dark ages". As a proud gun owner, armed with inside knowledge, I know we are technologically out-gunned. Whereas if we choose to evolve through the challenges to our psyche that developed communicat ion technologies present we can reinstate our Constitution and set our people free. Revolution or Evolution-change in life as we know it is inevitable.

Each of us must now take a stand to commit a portion of our individual time and diminishing resources to support the action groups and individuals who are not afraid to work at taking back our government through mass exposure of its crimes. We must seek new leaders who will be committed to doing the most with the least. These leaders share the battle cry that SILENCE DOES (indeed) EQUAL DEATH.