"What brings you here?" Baby Doc spit the words at me in English. I had been led into his library by three armed guards, "I have no need of a Catholic whore,"

Baby Doc's applicable knowledge of the English language was limited by his intellect whereby an aide filled the need for an interpreter as I delivered Casey's message.

"I come in the name of peace. I have a message for you from William Casey, sanctioned by the Vatican, The Pope is in agreement with U.S. policy in Haiti. He has seen a vision, a sign from God. The vision is a World Vision, whose people are reaching out to yours with charily in abundance. The goods and services provided require only that the people of Haiti anoint the sick, feed the hungry, and clothe the poor through his servants of World Vision. Their mission will separate good seed from bad and restore peace in your region. The peace that shall be visited upon your land amongst your people is imminent, but not before the rivers run red with the blood of the wicked. The vision is plague, and your people will fall in the streets pleading for mercy, and you will not be here to hear it. The lime has come for you to leave. It is God's will that you escape the plague with blessings from the Vatican, never to return to your homeland. Prepare for your exodus today for tomorrow holds a promise of doom. Using your prophetic wisdom, warn the masses of impending doom and arm them with World Vision. The vision is one of peace' for those who flock to the tents and churches for salvation. Your destiny is clear, and the Vatican has cleared the way for your departure."

With Casey's message delivered, Baby Doc's Tontons returned me to the same airplane I had left a short time before. I flew in silence, unable to think to comprehend the magnitude of what had just transpired. Events to a mind-controlled slave are all perceived as first and last times. Therefore, Casey's instructions that I would "depart Haiti, never to return again" seemed business as usual to me. Flying over the mountains that separate Haiti from the Dominican Republic, I noticed the gentle people below bathing in the waterfalls, toilessly washing their bright clothes on the rocks, and primitively hauling goods in the baskets balanced on their heads. An occasional goat ran across the barren land, and the children, bellies swollen from starvation, played with slicks and vines. With my mind-controlled and spinning with misperceptions, my whirled vision, like Ortega's rose colored glasses, prevented me from seeing the reality of New World Orders.

(9) There can be no world peace without peace-of-mind, and there is no peace-of-mind under mind control. Haiti, once a prototype of New World Order controls has now been used up and discarded by the CIA and Jesuits. U.N. "peacekeeping forces" have created a smoke and mirrors illusion of «peace» by keeping it FROM the Haitian people.

CHAPTER 24

A-HUNTING WE WILL GO

On December 4, 1986, I turned 29 years old. Usually mind-controlled slaves were discarded, "thrown from the Freedom train," at 30; but I argued with Houston when he told me my government abusers only had one year left to "use me up". I had had no conscious awareness of the passing of time, and believed I was still only 24. Regardless of what I believed, my abusers did their best to "use me up" physically and psychologically before even a month had passed.

I was in Washington, D.C. on a routine trip, which included being prostituted to President Reagan. "Uncle Ronnie's" cheeks were flushed from excitement and cognac as he told me, "I always take two weeks off for Christmas to go back to California." Reagan interrupted himself to break into an old Hollywood style song and dance, "California here I come…" The While House, he claimed, had always been confining to him, and he appeared genuinely excited about his upcoming trip. "I look forward lo this trip every year because I get to see old friends. Oh, I still work while I'm there-the President's work is never done-but at least I'm there. It's about time you see where I call home." Then, quoting the Wizard of Oz, he said, "'There's no place like home. And you're about to see why. Say it with me, "There's no place like home. There's no place like home'." Then he instructed me in Oz cryptic, "Click your heels. There's no place like home."

Blue-white light seemingly exploded in my brain, like being hit with deadly low voltage AC electrical current. Reagan was "setting the stage" for an attempted mind scrambling time slip, to be reactivated at an upcoming meeting I would have with him in Bel Air, California.

The motor home was packed to the walls, and the walls were packed with cocaine as Houston, Kelly, and I departed on our long drive to California. Houston had planned several "tourist stops" along the way that proved as" nightmarish as the California ordeal itself.

In Las Vegas, Nevada, Houston kept Kelly and me busy prostituting us to everyone he knew "in the know" and in attendance at the Country Music Association's annual convention. Weary of being sent from room to room, I was back in the lobby literally trying to catch my breath when I saw Michael Dante. He was dressed in an expensive, light grey silk suit and dark glasses, looking more like a Fed than a mobster, leaning on a post, waiting for met "Our love" he professed over the phone for mind conditioning purposes was certainly not apparent now. "You're late," he growled as he looked at his watch. He ordered me into the Ladies' Room to activate programming by having me "lose myself in the infinity mirrors that lined the walls. With my mind set like he wanted, he then used and directed me in commercial pornography. Later, he did the same with Kelly.

At the Grand Canyon, Houston traumatized Kelly and me in preparation for. the upcoming events in California. While hiking down the canyon, Houston attempted to anchor hypnotically all of the trip's events behind the death and insanity programming to which he was subjecting us. When we stopped for a late afternoon lunch in the Canyon, Kelly collapsed in a state of shock, unable to eat. Houston was pleased because he "got to eat it all himself". I was, as usual, undergoing the food and water deprivation. I was so thirsty, I could not think to eat. Kelly's condition magnified my own terrified state, and I did all I could to keep Houston from supposedly pushing her over the edge. I carried her for hours all the way out of the canyon, without pausing to rest. In my own mind I wanted to believe I was actually able to protect her. The fact was, Houston was wearing me down physically to ensure that I could not protect her at our next destination: Lake/Mount Shasta, California.

George Bush was highly active in both the Lampe, Missouri and Shasta, California retreat compounds. Just like Lampe, Shasta's cover was country music. According to everyone I knew, singer and songwriter Merle Haggard supposedly ran the show at Lake Shasta, diverting any and all attention from the nearby Mount Shasta compound. Shasta was the largest, covert mind-control slave camp of which I am aware. Hidden in the wooded hills, military fencing corrals an enormous fleet of unmarked, black helicopters and more mind-controlled, military robots than I saw in all of Haiti. This covert military operation served its own agenda, not America's. I was told and overheard that it was a base for the future Multi-Jurisdictional Police Force; for enforcing order and law in the New World Order. In the center of the high security compound, was another well-guarded military-fenced area that was regarded as a "Camp David" of sorts for those running our country. George Bush and Dick Cheney shared an office there, and claimed the outer perimeter woods as their own hunting ground where they played "A Most Dangerous Game". Predicated on conversations I overheard between the two, it was this world police military background that earned Dick Cheney his cabinet appointment as Secretary of Defense[72] with the Bush Administration.