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Terrorist Watch addresses the terrorist activities and the the methods used by al-Qai'da terrorist operatives in the U.S.,  with in-depth analysis of  the relationships that exist between al-Qai'da (al-Qaeda) and Middle Eastern terrorist groups and their Middle East nation-state benefactors.


Abu Zubaydah, al Qai'da's head of international terrorist operations and a principal operative in the US New Era operation was captured after being critically wounded in a gun battle in Pakistan  .   .   .   The Benevolence Foundation  .  based in Chicago  .  and its director Enaam M. Arnaout were charged with providing as much as $685,000 anually to Al Qai'da  .  .  .  London terrorist blasts believed to have the signature of a sophisticated al-Qai'da operation    .  It is believed that a bomber was killed in the bus blast    .  Property belonging to three other men believed to be involved was found at the location of the other blasts, police said today    .  Military-Quality Explosives Suspected     Purchase your copy of 'Beyond Coincidence - al-Qai'da's War Against America'   .   .   .   for only USD $19.95    .   .   .   Purchase at the bottom of any page on this Website.     .
This Web site was first published in July of 1998, and has been  maintained on a non-profit basis consistently since that time, without personal concern of retribution, (despite continuing death threats) for the benefit of citizens worldwide who cherish their families, the right to live in a free and democratic society, and the freedom to worship God through the religion of their choice.

Al Qai'da  Watch Home Page

    The Al-Qai'da Manual Section 1

Terrorist Threat Confronting the US

The Little Scroll  Introduction

al Qai'da Description

Preface to The Little Scroll

Author's Notes & News

Excerpt - The Little Scroll

Usama bin Laden

    Ayman Al-Zawahiri FBI Poster

The Walrus of the Sea

New Era Satellite View

NORAD Security Breach

State-Sponsored Terrorism

The Saudi Connection

Charter of Hamas

New Era OPS Members

Former al Qai'da Prophet

Babylon of Usama bin Laden

US Nuclear Missile Shield

Counter-Terrorism Sites

Interpol's Bin Laden Site 

Congressional Quarterly Press

ERRI Site on bin Laden/al Qai'da

Official DoD Pentagon Photos

The Terrorist Threat Confronting the United States


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In this book I will describe to you events that may require that you suspend any preconceived notions of reality that you may have. During this journey you may perceive a reality within which my family has been living that may cause you to question the validity of the methods of Classical Western Scientific Thought that is fundamental to our education, and to our societal views of reality. In a very real sense this book concerns religion, as the very real human beings (and those you will find to be of a nature of which you may prefer not to relate to as human) whom you will meet in this book are all by fundamental nature raised and firmly embedded in their respective religions.

As Albert Einstein so aptly demonstrated all matter is merely energy caught in a spinning matrix. This 'collapsing waveicle' is the fall of Lucifer, the veil of the illusion Satan is caught within and also the veil that Satan hides behind. What Satan cannot see is that this vortex of spinning energy is a dance, the dance of the love and joy of the Lord God Almighty. The Archangel Lucifer, being extremely intelligent, perceived the crux of the nature of God's creation. Lucifer then reached out and grabbed God's creation in his fist, drew it to his heart and said "Mine!" At this moment Lucifer fell, as he failed to understand the true nature of God's creation, God's only Son, Christ. Caught forever in the nature of his contradiction Satan is forever spinning and falling, grasping for that which he can never have nor understand. Thus he created the illusion that he is trapped within, which is matter. The veil is the boundary of the illusion of the separation of energy and matter and also the vehicle upon which we as souls may grow up from matter, rise above the limitations we have imposed upon ourselves and reach out to the incomprehensible loving light of God's eternal love. The Lord God manifested his Son, Jesus the Christ, here on earth to demonstrate this truth. CHRIST is an ancient Greek word that when fully translated means, 'Anointed in the oil of the joy of God's love.'

Muslim extremists label the United States of America 'The Great Satan.' These men and women are caught in the contradiction of Lucifer's hatred. They are not capable of true selfless compassion and loving and it is this lack of faith that binds them to their cause. The extremity of the measures that these people are willing to make to further their cause demonstrates the danger of the logical mind over the heart. This is the illusion of rational thought over the grace of God's love. St. Peter referred to the development of the concept of logic in the Roman era as the increasing dominance of mythology. To define reality on merely a lineal level is to miss out on the entire meaning of existence. An appropriate analogy would be to be observing reality through the edge of a pane of mirrored glass. You only are able to see that which you expect to see, a mirror image of your own expectations. There is no heart in lineal perception. This is merely self serving observation. This was Lucifer's mistake and his downfall.

It is mythology to expect that it is possible to analyze existence from a purely objective point of view. The mere act of observation influences that which you are observing. Every physicist knows this to be true. Matter is subject to the energy of our observation due to the fact that matter is merely the illusion of energy caught in a collapsing vortex. Our interaction with existence is a romantic affair. This is why nature is referred to as being female. She is receptive to our overtures, and she responds towards our expectations upon the basis of our needs. This truth is not entirely lost on the Muslim fanatics who are determined to destroy our existence, I assure you. What they miss is that the nature of their methodology of destruction and their attempt at manipulation towards their own selfish goals is the definition of the collapsing wavicle. A 'wavicle' is a physicists description of the duality of the nature of light, for light (and therefore energy) is both a particle and a wave. However it is a contradiction to say something is both one thing and it's opposite. Classical Western Scientific Thought is based upon the rules of logic, and the rules of logic do not encompass contradiction. Therefore Classical Western Scientific thought as a system for describing existence is not valid, for this system breaks the very foundation upon which it is built, the rules of logic. Science is in fact mythology, and is valid for describing reality only within the limitations of a defective system of analysis. The illusion of a particle (matter) is the result of separate energies spinning within a collapsing vortex while caught in each other's individual gravitational fields. This is the nature of attachment and desire. This is the nature of addiction. This is the nature of Satan, and also the miracle of God's love, as we are bound to this material world only by the extent of our desires and attachments. Release from this attachment to the material world comes from selfless service through the grace of God's compassionate love. Despite the Muslim fanatic's illusion of selfless sacrifice they are bound towards self-immolation in this way by their own behavior of self gratification. I have seen this to be true. They take great pleasure in the power they derive from their violence and from their sexual desecration upon women, men and children. They live in an illusionary world whereby they carry out their violence with the intention of accomplishing their political goals of global dominion within the illusion of their perception of their reverence towards their god to the irreconcilable harm of all humanity. Their subservience to the god they worship blinds them to the nature of the beast for whom they work. The reality is that there is nothing selfless about their actions whatsoever, and thus they are bound within their own nature to self immolate, or collapse upon themselves forever within the illusion they have created. This is the nature of the bottomless abyss. The ironic aspect of the people of whom you will come to know while reading this book is that in a very literal sense they provided the key to their own destruction. This is not mythology of which I am speaking, but the reality of existence. I assure you reality is not lineal. Reality is God's incomprehensible love for you each and every moment of your existence. As Jesus Christus (the Christ) stated, "God is Yes."

I came to know and to understand the nature of these beasts of whom I speak through a chain of events initiated by group of people who were in reality top level operatives of several international terrorist groups. These included members of the Iranian secret service, Hezbollah and Palestine Islamic Jihad. I came to know these people from the very core of their absolute lack of heart.

The vast majority of people in America are insulated, both physically and psychologically, from the almost constant barrage of headlines consisting of brutal terrorist acts committed by Islamic extremists which intrude into our lives from the Middle East and more recently Africa. The World Trade Center bombing was perhaps for most of us a distant and uncomfortable recognition that Islamic fundamentalism and the political goals that this movement represents actually affects some lives in America. The recent arrest of Ossama bin Laden associate Ahmed Rassam in Port Angeles with plastic explosives and urea has perhaps awakened some people in America to the very real danger these men and women present to our lives.

The explosion of global terrorism by these Muslim fanatics began in 1979 in Iran. The revolution fomented by Ayatollah Ruholla Khomeini has had repercussions spreading throughout the Islamic world, emboldening Palestinian and other nationalist Muslim extremist groups and individuals to a pseudo-religious frenzy that defies imagination.

Does the American public not understand that these same Muslim extremists are thoroughly entrenched in the US? The base for most of these groups is in the US, not in some foreign country. We offer them a safer haven than they can find elsewhere. They have no real freedom of movement or speech in Syria, Iraq, or Iran; there is no such thing as a Bill of Rights in these countries. In the US it is easy for them to gather in small groups as anonymous citizens. Advanced computer systems with state of the art encryption technology is available in virtually every town across the US and over the Internet. The US has the most advanced telephone system in the world, offering high-speed fiber optic cable and far less risk of their phones and data lines being tapped than elsewhere. They also have at their disposal vast economic resources, and a population of over six million Muslims from which to draw operatives in the US. They have organized an extremely sophisticated terrorist network throughout the US. Many of these men and women are American citizens, own houses, pay taxes, and are gainfully employed. Most of them are extremely well educated, and many of them are professors at colleges and universities across the country, educating our children on the evils of the US policy in the Middle East. These terrorists have bought motels, check cashing businesses and gas stations in cities across America. They have strong ties to the Cali drug cartel in Columbia and with other drug rings in South America. Hezbollah's base in the tri-border area of South America alone exports 40 tons of cocaine annually into the US. They not only have infiltrated the Hells Angels biker group, but they run it. This fact is not too surprising due to their enormous financial resources, their skill and propensity towards violence, and their worldwide network. Their association with the Hells Angels provides them with an additional network of contacts that provides them an enormous base of resources, from false identification papers to the ability to trace or track down anyone in this country. Their control of the Hells Angels also provides them with over a hundred thousand soldiers willing to carry out any order they wish. To refuse an order from the Hells Angels is a death sentence. As you will discover upon reading this book, at times members are murdered after carrying out a directive. This is also true of terrorist organizations. They leave no witnesses when it comes to the security of their operations.

My existence became an immediate security risk for the principals of this operation, as I was not ever supposed to escape from their grasp. I also came to understand who they were to a degree that exceeded their expectations. Originally two contracts were put out with the Hells Angels, one for myself and one for my wife. The origin of these contracts were from two different sets of people who happened to know each other and who each had their own reasons. One was from a disgruntled boyfriend of my wife, who had close ties to the Hells Angels. His brother is gifted with computer technology, and his position involves the creation of false identities in US computer systems and the creation of false IDs. The other party to these contracts was from the children of my former wife, who had passed away in 1994. What these people had to gain was cold hard cash and misguided revenge. The solution that was arrived at was that my wife and our daughter would be murdered in an incomprehensibly brutal manner, and I would be framed with such perfection that no jury would do anything other than sentence me to death. What the people who initiated this contract did not know was that the Hells Angel's hierarchy is composed of operatives of Islamic terrorist groups. Upon their close inspection of me and the nonprofit association I was in the process of creating a decision was made to use me for their own purposes before carrying out these contracts.

Under the direction of Iranian secret service agents an operation was underway to smuggle a number of nuclear bombs into the United States. While monitoring me they discovered that I was in the process of establishing a nonprofit corporation whose pilot project was the construction of a 9th century reproduction of a 76 foot long Viking ship. They decided that this nonprofit, MeriSol Services Inc. could provide them with an ideal cover for their operation, as that involved bringing a submarine containing these nuclear bombs into US waters. Members of the Iranian secret service and Hezbollah had obtained ownership of an old cedar shingle mill on the banks of the Willamette River, south of Portland Oregon. They then built a submarine bay into the old mill pond on this property, called New Ear, but they needed a cover during the period when they brought this submarine in. My intention at the time was to locate MeriSol near Portland, and as they expected I agreed to an offer to locate this nonprofit on their property. As a result of their manipulations into my life I had no other choice, as they were able to torpedo all other options, including all contacts with my family, my housing, and previous arrangements I had made with another nonprofit to locate MeriSol on the banks of the Columbia River.

This arrangement seemed to me at the time to be a blessing. It appeared to be ideal for the purposes of MeriSol, it also appeared to be ideal for me and my family, and unbeknownst to me it was ideal for their purposes also. That is how this entire chain of events began.

It is not commonly known how vast the economic resources these groups have at their disposal. This was an operation run directly by Iran, which has oil revenues in excess of $4.5 billion annually. Palestine Islamic Jihad, Hamas and Hezbollah receive funding from numerous other government sources as well, including Syria, Kuwait, Iraq, and Libya. Hezbollah, formed in 1982 by the Iranian military intelligence service, receives $600 million a year from Iran. In addition these groups receive hundreds of millions of dollars from contributions from supporters in England, Canada, France, the US and over sixty other countries from around the world. All of these groups are 'umbrella' terrorist groups operating in the US under the authority, direction and support of Iran. The magnanimity of the concept that I had stumbled onto an Iranian operation to detonate nuclear bombs in the United States of America was such that it took me quite some time to accept these events that took place as anything other than coincidence. Considering the targets they had selected, including Washington DC, NORAD and CENTCOM there can be no doubt that they had also targeted Israel, and quite possibly Russia. I believe their intention was the initiation of global thermonuclear war. This was their master plan, the mother of all solutions.>

Another man who played a principal part in this operation, and who was not so well known then was Ossama bin Laden. He arrived at this 'New Era' property shortly before the submarine arrived, and he was involved in a smelting operation there. Needless to say he did not introduce himself to me as Ossama bin Laden, and it took me a year to determine who this man actually was. He was actually melting down plutonium, which he had possession of before the submarine arrived. Their intention was to plant several nuclear bombs in automobiles with additional plutonium to create what is referred to as 'dirty bombs.' The result would be the spreading a vast amount of highly radioactive dust into the atmosphere at each location. Their intention was therefore to cause catastrophic short and long term civilian casualties, in addition to their primary military and political targets. Their plan also involved what I believe to be the nationwide disruption of the local and state police forces, as well as the FBI. My wife and I observed one of their trial runs, and their apparent methodology for this was to be the simultaneous robbing of numerous banks in numerous cities across the entire country. I am speaking of a sophisticated operation brought about by trained military intelligence personell who excel in the art of disguise and identity transformation. Their methodology was not to run, but to create multiple identical suspects and suspect vehicles. Their intention was not merely to rob banks, but to distract and occupy our nations police forces.

Whether or not you are concerned with prophecy is immaterial to the fanatics of the Muslim world. What is critical to them is their goal of global dominion, and the lacksadaisical attitude of the American population makes their goal attainable. They have proven that they will stop at nothing to achieve their vision of global dominion.

These men are not kind. They take absolute delight in causing the most unimaginable pain upon men, women and children, while they dance their dance of celebration within their bizarre interpretation of Islam. They truly believe, in truth they have been deceived into believing that they can break all of Mohammed's rules to achieve their aim of global conquest. This is Hamas doctrine I am referring to. This is also Iranian doctrine. This was Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini's doctrine, which asserts that the raising of Satan through the live dismemberment and simultaneous sexual desecration of these men, women and children at the moment of their death is their path to the power necessary to cause the destruction of the United States of America.

This book concerns the suffering of my family at the hands of these evil beasts. I have written this book so that others may understand what has occurred, indeed what is still occurring in our country at this time.

Federal agents sacrificed their lives for us on many occasions throughout these trials. I am speaking of sacrifices made by those who came to understand the hell that these men and women had put us through, and who understood the sacrifices we were willing to make for God and for our country. I am also speaking of sacrifices which these good people made, and which they continue to make on behalf of God and the people of the United States of America. They put their lives on the line day and night so that people in the free world are not subject to the evil that these rogue nations represent.

To use the word atrocities for the acts these beasts committed in the name of Islam is to negate the very meaning of how we perceive language. I am speaking of men who have embraced the unthinkable as their ally, perceiving him to be the one and only true god, so that they may dance in glory, even at the moment of their death, firmly believing that he whom had so severely deceived them may put them at his side at the moment of his illusory triumph, at the throne of this beast whom has forever throughout existence wanted to be called 'god.'

I assure you the Islamic fundamentalists do not care how you perceive reality. Hamas doctrine, which embraces all fundamentalist Islamic doctrines, proclaims that they will accept Christianity, Judaism, and other religions, but only under the umbrella of their version of Islam. Their vision is one of a 'New Era', a vision that Hitler described at the 1939 Olympic games. The Arabic and Persian peoples are well known for their long memories, and for their long term planning. It is time for humanity to let the hatreds of the last three millenniums pass. Unfortunately the Islamic fundamentalists cannot let their hatred go. They have warped the Islamic religion to suit their own bitter cause.

One of the aspects to these events that occurred that I have a hard time comprehending is the complicity of a large number of Americans throughout this country without whose help these men and women would never had have been able to come so close to causing such irreparable harm. As you read through this book you will come to understand the motivations of many of those of whom I speak. In your journey through our lives, I would ask only that you keep your mind open, a difficult task at best, I assure you. I was the quintessential 'Doubting Thomas' throughout most of this ordeal.

1 My father was not of a religious background. He was baptized a Catholic when he married my mother. Her father was Irish Catholic, and her mother was of Jewish parentage. I offer this information for you to have some foundation with which to see what has taken place, and why I was their perfect choice, for I am a Christian with Jewish heritage. In 1975 my fiancé was killed in an automobile accident. I placed a blanket under her head, a blanket that came from the palace of the former Shah of Iran, the Shah Reza Pahlavi, as a gift. I suspect the fact that I have in my past distant ties to the Shah Reza Pahlavi of Iran was not lost on these people either. They are extremely thorough.

I can only ask of my readers this: while you are reading this story of my family's hardships and pain, please put you arms around your wife and children, your parents and grandparents, your brothers and sisters. For these evil ones of whom I speak take absolute delight in inflicting the most unimaginable pain on our most loved ones. For I assure you these are beings that do not clock out at the end of the day. They do not rest, and they will never rest until their mission is accomplished. Their mission is the destruction of the United States of America. Their mission is the destruction of the very fabric of our lives. If you have been wondering why the US sends cruise missiles at every location where sources indicate Ossama bin Laden is hiding out, you will come to understand the seriousness of the threat which this man represents to the western world as you read this book

When you read this autobiography perhaps you may find the time to find that most precious of gifts, your family. Mary, the mother of Jesus, wants this of us more than I could ask you to understand. Perhaps when you read through these pages you will understand why.

I have written this book so that Americans may be shown the truth of how so very close Iran, it's umbrella terrorist organizations and Ossama bin Laden came to successfully causing incomprehensible damage and pain to our country, our people, and to democracy itself, for I assure you these people abhor the concept of a people free and without subjection. Perhaps this book will also lead Americans, and all people on this planet who care about life, who care for their wives and children, about what it means to be human, to rise up and declare that this is enough, to put a stop to these men and women who act in the name of that ancient god Baal.

"He treads the winepress of the fury of the wrath of the Lord God Almighty."

In the biblical era a 'winepress' was a community event. Let us tread the winepress.



My wife, May, rented an efficiency apartment in Portland, Oregon from a man who turned out to be not only who was not only a Satan worshiper but who was also with the Iranian secret service and Ossama bin Laden. We knew this man as Dan hachey. He told May that the original spelling of his name was 'Hachet,' and that he was of French heritage. The American pronunciation and meaning would be more appropriate for his methodology. He also told her that the French were very romantic, and he began making advances towards her from this point on. He also rented out two other rooms on that floor, both to Arab students who attended Portland State University. Dan Hachey repeatedly showed up, creating various excuses as to why he had to enter her apartment. One day when she was coming home from work he came right up behind her as she was opening her door. He insisted on coming inside, telling her that he had a mirror that he wanted to give her. She told him that she did not want a mirror, and went inside. Once she was inside the apartment she discovered that her wallet with all of her ID was missing. She thought that she must have lost it in the bus, but she told me later that she thought that he might have taken it from her rear pocket while she was unlocking her door. May's problems with this man increased.

May had called up the phone company to connect her phone, but after two weeks she still had no phone service. She repeatedly called US West to fix the problem, and at first she was told that her service was already connected. Then she was told that the phone was connected, but it was in another woman's name. Every time she called she was told a different story. Finally US West offered to send over a technician to look at the wiring and connect her phone. This required that Dan Hachey be present as the phone line came into the basement of the house. This man repeatedly missed appointments with the technician, and finally May insisted that he give her a key so that she could let the technician in. He brought her down into the basement of his house and showed her where the box was that connected the incoming telephone line to the individual apartments. May told me later that this basement was very strange. Mr. Hachey invited her to stay down there for awhile, but she told me that she was afraid of that place. She saw an image covering almost the entire wall of a woman, a woman she had just seen upstairs washing dishes in Dan Hachey's kitchen. When the telephone technician arrived May showed him the box in the basement, and he told her that he had never seen anything like it. He then brought her out to his truck and showed her two boxes that he said were used by US West. He told her that the box in the basement must have been custom-made, and he had no idea what the purpose of that might be.

I had been out of town when May rented this apartment from Dan Hachey. I came home on January twenty-fifth of 1996. Two days after I moved in with May we were married. Dan Hachey was away from his house when I arrived, which May said was normal. She told me that he was gone most of the time, and she thought he made frequent trips to Seattle. When he returned several days later and discovered that I was living with May he said that she could stay there but that I would have to leave. May told him that I was her husband, and that we had just gotten married. He looked at May and said, "Why did you do this? I never did anything to hurt you." He calmed down after a few days, and agreed to let me stay with the stipulation that we pay an additional $50.00 per month. During the next week or so I tried to establish a friendlier rapport with this man, and I told him one day that I had received training by IBM on personal computers for many years. He picked up on this, and told me that he had a friend in the Seattle area who had developed a device that is required by all long distance carriers to access local phone company systems. He went on to say that he traveled there frequently, and that his friend's device allowed him access into the US West computer system.

Six weeks after I moved in May announced that she was pregnant. I decided to make a wooden cradle for our child, a cradle shaped like a miniature boat. While researching information on designs I came across photographs of a ninth century Viking ship, the Gokstad, which is on display in the Viking House Museum in Norway. I initially thought of making a cradle on a miniature model of the Gokstad, but as I studied the construction methods of the ancient Viking ships, I became interested in building a full-scale replica of the Gokstad. This was far beyond my resources, and I developed the concept of creating a nonprofit corporation and using this ship as a vehicle for training inner city at-risk youths in a number of disciplines. I decided to name this nonprofit MeriSol Services Inc. I spoke to the curator of this museum and requested that he donate a set of plans to MeriSol. He was impressed with the mission of the nonprofit I was creating and suggested that I write a letter to the museum stating my request. After a couple of weeks I received a letter in the mail approving the donation of a set of plans to MeriSol, and stating that they would be shipped within a week. It was over four months before I received those plans.

I discovered after a few weeks at our apartment at Dan Hachey's house that papers on my desk had been shuffled around, and items had been taken. This man was entering our apartment while we were gone. I confronted Dan Hachey about this and he denied going into our apartment. After I noticed that he had entered our apartment at least two more times I made an appointment with a lawyer. This attorney sent a notice to Dan Hachey with a copy of the Oregon Landlord/tenant law forbidding a landlord from entering a domicile without a 24-hour notice. I had been working eleven hours a day seven days a week, one day I decided to take a day off. May and I slept in, and I woke up to the sound of footsteps next to our bed. Dan Hachey must have noticed that someone was in bed, but he certainly did not expect me to be there. As I looked up he was closing the door, and I heard his footsteps running down the stairs. My desk was right next to our bed, and I suspect that he was trying to retrieve something lying on the desk, or he was planning on seducing my wife. May and I had another consultation with our lawyer, and he notified Mr. Hachey that he was liable for one months free rent for every instance of entering our apartment.

One night May and I walked down the street to have a few drinks at a neighborhood bar. We stopped at the window of the Greek Orthodox Thrift Store, and I noticed a cute little stuffed bear hanging in the basket of a toy miniature hot-air balloon. I inquired about buying this cute little thing, but it was not for sale. When we arrived at the lounge we decided to play the video poker machines for awhile. I set my briefcase down underneath my chair, and when I decided to move to another chair I asked May to watch it for me. This briefcase was taken, and I was not able to locate it in the bar. I had many items of importance in that briefcase, including important legal papers.

My three teenage daughters arrived shortly after that, and within a few weeks we moved. I only saw Dan Hachey once after my daughters arrived. Mr. Hachey came to our door and knocked, and when I opened it he said, "I am going to ruin your life."

We moved into a motel, and upon checking our previous phone number at Dan Hacheys' I discovered that it had not been disconnected as May had ordered. May called up the phone company and again told them to disconnect it. After discovering that it was still on I then began calling the phone company myself, and I was told each time I called that there was no record of a disconnect order. It took several weeks of repeated phone calls before that phone was ever disconnected. We eventually moved into an apartment, and that turned out to be a disaster. We again had problems connecting our phone service. After several calls to find out why we had no service May was informed that the phone was already connected in another woman's name. Our service was eventually connected, but then my daughters became involved with the Eighteenth Street Gang. To top this off I then discovered that the assistant manager's brother was selling pot to my daughters, and I asked the manager to discretely ask his brother to stop that at once. He was not discrete however, and he brought his brother over to confront me about it. During this confrontation this man admitted selling pot to my daughters, and they both left. My daughters became furious and called the police on my wife and claimed that she was abusing them. May was over eight months pregnant, and not the abusive type. When the officers arrived they realized this. Less than two weeks after that, as a result of these problems, we were evicted.

By then May had given birth to our daughter, Bunny, and she was three weeks premature. As a result, she had to be fed from an oral tube. May took her to her family, two of my daughters went back to their mother, and my oldest daughter stayed with me. I rented a small room in a boarding house and tried to put the pieces of our lives back together again.

Although Dan Hachey had told me, "I am going to ruin your life," I assumed that this was the ranting of a jealous man I would never see again. The possibility that our problems with our phone bills, our telephone service and my daughters' problems with the Eighteenth Street Gang were all traceable to this man's manipulations did not occur to me at the time. Those problems were in fact a result of Dan Hachey's actions, as I would discover. These were not merely events contrived by a jealous man to get even, however. Our lives were merely a small part of this mans complex strategy to accomplish his goals. This man had been working on his plan for many years, as I believe you will find to be true as you read these pages. He had thoroughly researched my background, my family members, and he thus knew how much leeway he had for the timing of the various stages of the events that he had to accomplish. He had also studied May thoroughly. He knew how she behaved, and he knew how we interacted with each other. My development of MeriSol Services worked into his plans perfectly, as you will see.



Not long after I moved into the little room at the boarding house I met another man that was to affect our lives enourmously. One afternoon I decided to take the plans for the gokstad, which I had finally arrived at our PO Box to a loung around the corner called Redds Restaurant and Lounge. After I had spread the plans, consisting of three separate large pages onto several tables a man sitting at the small bar asked me what these palns were for. This man, who introduced himself as Halsey, appeared weather-beaten, in his early 50's, with salt and pepper hair and beard. He also wore an outdated dark blue captain's hat, and he could have been right out of Moby Dick, which is where his character most certainly derived from. He was certainly a literary piece of fiction created for my consumption, the bait on the hook for a man whom held a somewhat nostalgic taste for all things of the sea. Halsey quite convincingly struck up his best effort at a casual conversation with me, a contrivance carefully planned by men with a specific political agenda. Halsey asked to look at these rare plans, and inquired as to the nature of my interest in ancient ships. He then expressed his own interest in ships and pointed to a simplistic mural on the wall depicting people on a river engaged in water sports, sunbathing, etc. He told me he had painted this mural for the owner. I should have had a clue that this encounter was more than mere coincidence from his name alone, but I was far too preoccupied to pay that any mind. The plans had been postmarked from Norway in July, but I had not received them until late November and I was anxious to get moving on that project. The fact was that the reason the plans were late was due to Dan Hachey's ability to retrieve my mail at our PO box. This occurred to be at the time, but I did not correlate Dan Hachey with Halsey's interest in the Gokstad. My mind is also primarily cerebral, and my tendency is to relate to existence on a lineal level. Thus I have always tended to treat coincidence as just that.

Halsey then launched into a tale of an art gallery he once owned in San Francisco and of his valuable art collection that had been lost in a fire. I mentioned that I used to live in San Francisco, and I asked him where his shop had been located. He described its location as being near the top of the hill in Pacific Heights on Fillmore Street. At the time I thought this was a unique coincidence, as my sister had lived on Washington Street, just around the corner from his shop.

Upon inquiry I then explained to this man that I was in the process of creating a nonprofit corporation called MeriSol Services Inc. in the Portland Metropolitan area. The construction of the Gokstad was the pilot project and initial vehicle for the corporation's mission, which is the creation of paid job programs for at-risk youth and financially disadvantaged heads of families. Halsey inquired as to whether I had located a construction site for the ship, which is 76' 6" long. I explained that I had been offered a site on the Columbia River, but that the buildings had not yet been constructed. What I did not know at the time was that any possibility of ever receiving assistance from the corporation that had offered that building had been quite effectively torpedoed by these people.

Halsey mentioned that it was possible that this project could be located on land where he was currently living., on the banks of the Willamette River. Halsey described the owner as being a generous philanthropist who enjoyed supporting creative projects. The owners' name, 'Gary Tour' struck a chord with me as this was the surname of my sister's husband when she was living on Washington Street in San Francisco, around the corner from Halsey's art gallery. Gary was also the name of a man I had met who offered to locate MeriSol in one of the buildings his employer, who also ran a nonprofit, was building.

After several hours of reminiscing on ships and related topics he asked if he could stay at my place for the night, as he had missed his bus. I had to decline and apologized to him, explaining that I had no room for putting up a guest for the night. I was living in a tiny room with my daughter, and there was simply no place for him. He insisted, stating that he would not be a burden, and that he would just like to sit up and draw pictures. He then offered to draw a picture of a ship for my daughter. I capitulated, and brought him to my residence. He was most courteous to my daughter, and proceeded to skillfully draw with an engineer's style and precision a well rendered picture of a sailboat on a river.

I tentatively agreed to meet with Gary Tour at his property the following weekend.

The next day I called my wife and described the opportunity that had been offered to me. There was a large building on the property, which had room for offices, training centers for the students and a large floor with enough room for the construction of the ship. I also told her of the additional benefit of choosing between several abodes on the property. My wife returned to Portland and I brought Halsey over to meet her and our one-month-old daughter. Halsey seemed put out with my wife, and May described his look at her as shocked and angry. Shortly after this meeting with Halsey we moved into a motel in Portland. I met an elderly appearing black man named 'Rat' at a convenience store across the street, and I offered to pay him to move us out to Gary Tour's place. A day or so later Rat came by and we packed up our belongings and drove out to the property. When we arrived I proceeded to clean up the loft on the second floor of the warehouse for our residence, no small task in itself.

This building was 75' long and 50' wide, with an additional 50-foot by 25-foot two stories section on the other side of a wall. There was a huge industrial winch set below the level of the concrete floor, but at the time I could not perceive its purpose. I also noticed a small bathroom against the far wall, but it appeared to be locked from the inside. I thought this an odd arrangement, as there were no windows or access from another room. How would someone be able to get out of a bathroom while leaving the door locked?

I thought this was indeed an ideal setup for the mission of the nonprofit corporation, and I was quite pleased. There was a large fading sign hanging in front of the building which read: "New Era Boat Works." "New Era" was the name of a pre-Revolutionary Russian community that used to be located across the highway. There were still a few buildings left standing. This place appeared to be a godsend. It has often been said that I specialize in impossible tasks, and this was a task which I savored taking on. My motivation for this project was to offer the community within which I had been raised a positive and beneficial program to help the youth of the community. The mission was to create a positive and constructive life within which they could learn a trade within an enjoyable context. Perhaps I could offer my talents towards solving a problem that desperately needed help: The lack of direction and focus, and addressing the employment needs of our community's youth.

I met Gary Tour a few days after we arrived.. He seemed on edge, but he was impressed with my project and offered us living quarters. In return I agreed to acquire funding to finance the lease of the warehouse for MeriSol. I offered to remodel the mobile home on the south end of the property in exchange for our habitation of this wonderfully scenic place on the banks of the Willamette River. It was at this time that I learned that Halsey was going to be staying in the office that overlooked the main warehouse floor until MeriSol was established

Within a few days of our arrival a quite different sort of woman came up to the office to take a shower that was located next to the office. This individual wore curly shoulder length brown hair, and she had brown eyes. May later told me that she thought that this woman had been staring at me, and May felt this quite inappropriate. Several days later this woman again came up to the office, but this time her hair was silver, very full and wild looking. She was also wearing bright green contact lenses. Upon my inquiry of this woman and the reason for her presence on the property Halsey described her as being one of Gary's people whom he had taken under his arm. He had invited her to move into a small trailer between the warehouse and the mobile home I was remodeling. Although I had been told that she had just moved there, it appeared that she had been there for quite some time. Halsey initially told us her name was Natasha, but a few days later he told us her name was Natalie. When I asked her what her name was she introduced herself as Nadia. At least she knew what her name was. I was certainly beginning to wonder. Nadia had a very masculine figure, fairly tall and carrying fairly broad shoulders. She also had small breasts for a woman, to say the least. She alternately wore both pants and a skirt, or pants with a long dress. Although it took us over one year to put all this in perspective we now know Nadia to have been a man, an extremely clever man.

When we first arrived, the warehouse was full of perhaps eighty used washers, dryers, refrigerators and other miscellaneous appliances. Two men showed up one day and proceeded to clear out all of this junk. I was introduced to them as Mike and Ralph. Coincidentally "Rat" showed up that day with a blonde haired young Caucasian man. It appeared quite appropriate for him to be there as I had told him that he could have all of that equipment for free for removing it from the property. Rat wandered around to the back of the building, ostensibly to peruse future earnings in his world of recycling. He shortly thereafter ran back into the warehouse, with a man at his heels screaming that he would bring out his rifle and shoot any black man that I ever brought onto the property again. I later asked Halsey who this man was, and the nature of his relationship to the property. Halsey told me that his name was Alan, (coincidentally enough my middle name), and that this man was 'a sort of full time caretaker of the property," and an old high school friend of Gary Tours'. I pondered over the ramifications of having a crazy man living on the property on which I was in the process of establishing a corporate entity with young students present, not to mention the staff and board of directors. This was a project that would embrace students of all races and nationalities. Halsey tried to assure me that Alan kept to himself, and that nobody paid him any mind.

A fairly young brunette woman came by the office occasionally to use the shower. She seemed quite distant, and Halsey explained to me that she lived in the small trailer behind the warehouse with her boyfriend. I had occasion to drop by their trailer a few times, but they seemed angry at the inconvenience of having to oper the door. Neither of them was ever very friendly. Their trailer was tiny, and I wondered how two people could spend all of their time in such a small dwelling. There were two aggressive guard dogs in there with them, but there was not the smell that I associated with two large dogs being closed up in such a small space.

I soon thereafter began work on the mobile home, and within a week we were able to move in, albeit in sparse conditions. Most of the walls had been removed, the kitchen was nonexistent, and the wiring all had to be replaced. In the bedroom at the base of the closet there was an odd sloping metal chute going down below the floor. I could identify no purpose for this device, and considering I had been involved in home construction for over almost thirty years this should have raised a red flag to me, but I was too preoccupied to pay this more than a passing moment of wonder. I proceeded to replace the wiring, set up a functional kitchen with a sink and cabinets, and I then plumbed the bath and kitchen. The pump house was across the access road to the warehouse. The supply line that was constructed of 2 ½ inch PVC ran underneath the access road and branched off in the field 75 feet from the river. This junction branched off left to the warehouse, right to our mobile home and directly down. The latter direction made no sense to me at the time, and when I asked Halsey about the pipe that branched off straight down he said that it was the supply line for the water. That response was ridiculous, But I assumed that he just didn't know what he was talking about.

I bought and installed insulation for all of the exterior walls, and I offered to install sheet rock for the entire building. Halsey and Gary walked through the trailer several days later, and Gary declined my offer, commenting that he thought there was a potential of shorts when I installed the sheet rock over the cutouts in the framing for the electrical wiring. I thought this somewhat odd. I was formerly a General Contractor, and I am well aware of the need to install steel plates over electrical wiring which pass through the walls. Sheet rocking and finishing that trailer would have been a good investment and his decision made no sense.

This mobile home had a small addition built onto the front that served as a living room. It was surrounded by a deck, which ran the length of the trailer. This deck was actually over the water of the Willamette River when the water level was high. The mobile home was in such a state of unfinished state of repair that small pieces of ill fitting plywood and pieces of tarpaper had been placed over gaps in the exterior walls of the addition. The entire west side of the trailer facing the deck was composed of five sliding glass doors with floor to ceiling windows in between. It was quite cold, as it was early January, and Alan suggested I use one of the old large commercial heaters in the warehouse. I installed and wired one of these heaters, but with all of the glass it was still drafty. Nadia then brought over several large insulated drapes, which happened to be identical to the drapes that my previous wife had installed in our house a couple of months before she passed away. I now know these were in fact the same drapes. After a couple of weeks I noticed there was sparks and smoke coming from the service entrance pipe into the breaker box in closet of our bedroom. I questioned Alan about this, but he merely shrugged and said, 'That happened to me when I stayed there last winter. I think it is just old wiring. It is nothing dangerous." I again inspected the breaker box and service entrance closely, and although I could see nothing abnormal, I felt there had to be a large amount of voltage passing through those wires.

Alan was a dark complexioned man, with dark shaggy hair and a black beard. The persona that Alan maintained as a 'caretaker of the property and an old high school friend of Gary's' was a very adept personage for this man to maintain. However, as we saw through time, his stories were inconsistent with Halsey's tales of him, and indeed with his own descriptions of himself. Furthermore, I grew up in that same school district where both he and Gary claimed to be locals, and I knew neither of them. Despite my first encounter with him chasing 'Rat' off the property, when he appeared quite agile, he told me this tale that he had had one lung and the ribs on one side of his chest removed due to a heart condition. I told him that when my father had faced a similar operation the doctors had discussed replacing his ribs with artificial aluminum ribs. Alan quickly added that he also had had aluminum ribs implanted in his chest. He thereby initially presented himself as a wiry and quite weakened individual. Hindsight demonstrates this provided an excellent cover for his true abilities, having phenomenal strength and agility. In fact this man was an efficient and accomplished killer.

Nadia began to show her face with increasing regularity, rattling on that if 'Mike and Ralph could make money from recycling metals that they had scrounged from the property, then she could as well also.' Nadia would rummage all around the property, but most often around our trailer. She spent hours striping aluminum from old doors, setting fire to electrical wire to recover the copper within, in fact gathering an impressive enough amount of metal to fill up her old Toyota pickup truck. At this time we had no vehicle, and Nadia would occasionally offer to give me a ride to the nearby store in Canby. She then began to request favors of me in return, beginning with requests to cash checks for her from Alan's tugboat business, A&W Towing. She then began asking me to sign my name as the payee of these checks. I later asked Alan of the significance of my actions, he smiled and said that she had taken him for quite a ride. The impression I got from this conversation was that he thought it humorous. What in fact he did find so humorous was that I was buying into their game. Nadia also asked me on numerous occasions to accompany her to the metal recycling plant along the Columbia River to sign for the various metals she had scrounged from the property. Her story was that she had no identification, which is required to sell metals in Oregon.

These people went to great lengths to provide a convincing cover for this personage called "Nadia" – i.e., she had had a destructive relationship with her previous boyfriend; she was in the doldrums emotionally, etc. It is a standard cover that these people use consistently. Create an image of an individual that evokes compassion, pity, or even disgust. The intention is merely to arouse an emotion response, for people identify with their emotions, thus forming a basis for believing in the character. Whether your perception towards this character is positive or negative is immaterial.

While helping Nadia clean up some of the metal and trash surrounding the mobile home Nadia and I ended up speaking about our ancestry. I mentioned to her that I had some Jewish heritage, and she smiled, threw her head back and said, "I am Palestinian!" As I looked at her I thought that this was probably so. Other than that I paid it no mind at the time.

Looking back, it is apparent that this individual Nadia had reason for repeated trips out to the recycling plant. I assure you it was far more substantial than scraping together fifty to one hundred dollars. It is no coincidence that Pier # 4 is an international shipping port. There was a track record established with my identity for their cover within a cover. If this sounds a bit sophisticated, ponder on the ramifications of this depth of planning as you read this autobiography of my family's encounter with these people.

When our housing was reasonably habitable, I set up my computer system, and I then went to work on the necessary tasks of organizing MeriSol Services Inc. as a viable entity. I put up a wall-sized world map on the back wall, with pins and colored thread showing my hoped for circumnavigation of the world on a schooner I planned on building in the not too distant future. I also covered remaining areas of the walls of the mobile home with pictures and plans of the Gokstad Viking ship. This helped me to focus on the project at hand, and it also helped cover the bared insulation that was a major nuisance.

There was a huge old rusty oceangoing barge parked on the bank of the river on the opposite (south) end of the property, near Alan's trailer. Upon inquiring as to history behind this behemoth, Halsey explained that Gary was involved in a project to turn the barge into a simulated side-paddle wheel boat. Soon thereafter Gary and Halsey began to spend most of their time working on convincing me that this project was real. Halsey drew several colored renditions of the barge as a completed side paddle wheel boat, and they talked of their plans to open a museum, a restaurant and their plans to reserve one whole deck for conference rooms. Gary talked of his repeated negotiations with the city of Milwaukie Oregon to locate the "museum" at the city marina on the Willamette River.

Meanwhile Gary informed me that Mike and Ralph, the men who had removed all of the appliances from the warehouse, had taken over the small smelting operation located on the property. This building was on the other side of the railroad tracks from our trailer. These tracks run from Vancouver BC to Mexico, and run through the middle of the property. I went over to this smelter only a few times. There were several aspects of this operation that struck a wrong cord with me, however. They were supposed to be recycling used aluminum transmission cases, using a smelting pot with propane as fuel. Halsey brought me over there one day, and Mike made quite a show of his operation. He would direct a nozzle several feet long with a large flame blasting out of it at the ore until it melted. He then poured this ore into ingots, and purportedly he took it to the Alcoa aluminum smelter to sell it. In reviewing my observations of this operation it is apparent that there were large gaps in their portrayal as running a legitimate business. To begin with, propane is prohibitively expensive to use in any kind of smelting operation. During the last week that I actually saw them using this 'smelter' they received a delivery of up to 1000 gallons of propane. In an operation of this sort one would expect to see a shop floor littered with transmission in various states of disassembly. I once observed one greasy transmission lying on the large shop floor. I never observed vast clouds of black smoke rising from their ore pot, which should have been the case, unless they spent an inordinate amount of time and expense degreasing these transmission cases. Mike was demonstrative with motions of flurry as he scraped off the dross from the top of the molten ore. His intent was to make a show of his operation to distract me from the evident flaws to their story.

One day Halsey spoke to me of a friend of his that he would like me to meet. This man, who called himself 'Free Money Ted,' was described as being an old 'carnie,' or carnival producer. Halsey explained that this man was interested in the nonprofit I was working on, and perhaps it would be beneficial for me to meet him. I agreed, and Ted took me out to lunch several times. On the third occasion he described an idea of his whereby he would offer electronic bingo game boards to people in hospitals. He told me that this game would be connected to the Internet, and that it would require the use of a device called a transponder. A transponders is a microchip that emits a radio frequency. Automobile security companies use these as a tracking system to pinpoint the precise location of.stolen cars. Ted told that he would pay me $200.00 for information that I could provide to him that would assist him on this project. I researched the subject for a few days, and when I saw him I told him of my success. He smirked, and tossed a manila envelope with perhaps two dozen articles on transponders, all of which had been downloaded over the Internet from 'The Transponder News.' This man was not at all interested in anything I had found. This was all just a ruse. He wanted me to have those documents in my possession. Hindsight also tells me that he was also demonstrating their ability to access the Internet, access that they had at the New Era property.

I went up to the office on several occasions during this period. Halsey would be standing at the window that overlooked both our trailer and the Willamette River looking out with a set of binoculars. There were bald eagles, beavers and river otters to be seen, but this man seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time staring out the window with those scopes.

At about this time I noticed there was a dredging operation on the far side of the river from our trailer. However, the large dredges would be moved down to the bend south of us, and then a couple of days later the dredge would be down at the bend to the north of us, and then back up in front of us. I thought this was an odd way to conduct a dredging operation. I grew up a few blocks from the Willamette River, and I spent a great deal of time on the water. Channel dredges are an almost constant sight on the river, and they move at a glacial pace up the channel. I have never seen them hop back and forth like this one was doing. One day I observed a large tugboat parked at Alan's dock, which he used for what I thought was his little log and dock recovery operation. Several days later there were three tugboats parked at his dock. Alan explained that they were renting dock space from him, but I could see no logical reason for that, nor for the presence of three ocean going tugs to be twenty miles upriver from the Port of Portland.

A day or so later May pointed out what she said was another tugboat on the bend of the river. I looked at what she was pointing at, and it did not look like a tugboat. There was obviously something on the water, but exactly what it was I could not discern. This object in the water appeared to have spires of some kind rising above the water level. I was impatient with her at the time and I told her that what she was seeing was not a tugboat. I thought at the time that it looked like a submarine just below the water, but I dismissed that idea.

Several nights later Halsey introduced me to a couple that were visiting him in the loft next to the office, 'Jim and Suzy'. These people lived in a large wooden schooner that they said they had sailed from Copenhagen. Halsey brought me over to visit them at their schooner, which was docked underneath the Ross Island Bridge in Portland. They showed me their schooner, and a small tugboat, identical to Alan's tugboat, that they said belonged to Gary's son. They also showed me a virtually new water taxi they were selling, complete with dual outboard Mercury engines. I was also told that they were managing the marina that gave them free dockage and a small income. At the time I did not connect the fact that this couple was from Copenhagen with the phone charges to Copenhagen back at our apartment at Dan Hachey's house. Apparently he had called them to instruct them to come over to the US. They had a reason for being there, and their timing was certainly no coincidence.

I noticed one day that the large fading sign (Halsey was adept at painting signs, apparently faded or otherwise) on the front of the warehouse which had read "New Era Boat Works" appeared to have fallen down from one corner, exposing another fading sign which read Ossuma. Halsey explained that this was the name of the former owner. His story seemed somewhat plausible, but it was an unusual name. It was one year later that I discovered that Ossuma is a Muslim reverential title given to Ossama bin Laden by the Afghanistan Mujahadeen rebels in honor of his military, logistical and financial support for their successful war against the USSR's occupation of Afghanistan.

Halsey asked us to come over to his office the next day, as he had something to show us. When we arrived, he was acting very nervous, undoubtedly having been disciplined for making such a blunder as to fail to properly explain the significance of the Ossuma sign. He showed us a stack of a half dozen tax bills for the separate lots on the property. He even showed us a plot map of the subdivision, explaining that Gary was under severe pressure to pay off his property taxes. I noticed the house across the Highway was also numbered on the plot, but Halsey insisted that that house was not part of Gary's property. The name on the envelope window was 'Omundson,' and Halsey claimed that this was the same name that was on the sign (OSSUMA) but that some letters were missing. We knew this was not an accurate statement, and this added to our serious questions as to what we had gotten ourselves into, who these people actually were, and what in deed they were up to. This attempt to divert our questions on this matter was a serious flaw in their strategy, as it was at that time then evident that our conversations had to have been monitored for such a response as this. The possibility of Halsey spontaneously providing reasoning for questions that we raised in what we thought was the privacy of our trailer was beyond the bent.

Halsey's explanations were always just barely sufficient to answer our questions, but not enough to satisfy our sense that there was something very unusual going on out there at the New Era property. Ossama bin Laden's place in this complex web of events was woven at our expense, and that of more than a few federal agents.

A few days later I observed Halsey and another man removing some items from a small boat across the railroad tracks from our trailer. I sauntered over to take a look at this activity. Halsey introduced this man to me as Ken Smith. Not very original, but then it is much easier to blend in with the crowd if you have a common name. Halsey told me that Gary had bought this boat for $100.00, a price certain to catch my attention. I offered to help them clean out the contents of the boat, as I was told Gary planned on using the engine and junking the hull. They offered to give me a queen bed stand, with drawers on both sides. This was the same size of bed my wife and I were sleeping on, and I happily agreed. This piece even had a central open area that ran down underneath the length of the bed for additional storage. Ken originally said that he was from Molalla, Oregon, perhaps 20 miles from New Era. He then said that he was from Mulino, another small town about ten miles further southeast from Molalla. He then told my wife and I that he was from Missouri. It began to appear that nobody in New Era knew anything about anybody, much less themselves. I did not see either of these men for a couple of weeks, and Alan joked about this, suggesting that these two men were having an amorous relationship. Apparently he was not aware that I paid attention to the goings on there with increasing concern. He undoubtedly believed that my motivation for making MeriSol succeed would override any concerns I might have about these peoples business. That was not too far from the mark. However, I was spending between twelve and fourteen hours a day working on my computer, and I had a full view of every vehicle that came and departed from the property. I had seen neither Halsey nor Ken leave the property, and I knew they were not holed up in Halsey's office.

I inquired within the boat building community of Portland, Oregon for a Master Shipwright. I was referred to a Norwegian man, named Bent. Bent was a retired professor, and had completed a four year apprenticeship program in Norway building replicas of ancient Viking ships. When he came by and showed me his resume I hired the man as Master Shipwright for MeriSol on the spot. I took him on a tour around the property where the entire program would be operated from, and I then brought him over to meet Alan, who was working down on his dock. We spoke of Alan's business and of his activities recovering logs which he spotted floating down the river, in addition to his work removing trees from people's riverbanks. Bent commented on the large Ash log which was in the water next to Alan's dock, and of its' value to our project. That log shortly thereafter disappeared, and I thought it out of character for Alan to let a log worth over a thousand dollars just float on down the river. I had seen him chase considerabbly smaller logs, docks and other assorted and assundry items with his cute little tugboat when flooding created havoc. I had sat in his trailer several times as he placed and answered phone calls, addressing his business, A & W Towing, as a marine salvaging and waterfront repair company. Although the original impression he created was of a man not in great health eking out a living with his little tugboat business, he appeared to be, and in retrospect ended up presenting himself as a hard worker, a scrounger, and a survivor.

Bent and I made an appointment to tour the woodlands, which Gary was purportedly logging. Gary had told me that there were numerous oak treesthat he thought MeriSol could use in building the Gokstad. Halsey escorted Bent and I over this forest, and certain as night there was Gary driving a small bulldozer, dragging logs while his partner cut down a few trees. A logging truck was appropriately picking up a load of logs upon our arrival. The scene was contrived, but very convincing. The trees were of marginal value to us, but Bent was gracious and stated that several trees were of value to the project. Halsey had even brought along a barely functional spray can to mark the trees Bent chose for cutting.

Ken Smith in the meantime reappeared, and he moved into a rotting 45-foot relic of a fishing trawler that had been parked not far from our mobile home. This man came by to visit us quite a few times with a beer in his hand to chat, watch our satellite TV, and eat our food. He rambled on about his wife Sandra, a name my sister has used, and his two children back home in Missouri. He expressed frustration with Halsey and Gary, and rambled on about whether he should buy the old trawler. This man claimed to be a roofer, and quite frankly he looked the part. He was perhaps 6'2", with light brown hair to his shoulders and a scraggly light brown to reddish beard. He was determined to demonstrate his character to me as valid, to the point of showing me pay stubs. He even stopped off at what he identified to me as being a roofer's union hall in Oregon City Oregon, while he was giving me a ride to the grocery store. I have since verified that there has never been a roofer's hall in Oregon City. It was probably someone's house they had converted for a day for my benefit

These people had studied us thoroughly. They knew I would sympathize with Ken's efforts to keep working, as I have been involved in the construction business off and on for over thirty years. Ken also complained of his poor mileage he was getting on his Ford truck, an obvious attempt to form a connection with my long-standing interest with trucks.

One evening my wife insisted that I take a look at our phone bills from our earlier residence at Dan Hachey's house. May had previously taken it upon herself to keep track of all of our household bills, but our phone bill was replete with massive overcharges. After two days of analyzing our phone records with US West I compiled a documented history which demonstrated a pattern of multiple phone calls made almost simultaneously, some of which were literally billed as being made one minute apart to the same numbers but lasting for many minutes. There were calls made to Copenhagen, California, Texas, Michigan, Missouri, New York and Arizona, calls that we had never placed. I have often thought that I was efficient with the telephone, having been trained by IBM in the arts of sales and sales calls. I am not so efficient as to be able to make two international calls to the same number, with both calls overlapping. Nor am I that inefficient. Neither is US West computer systems so constructed that two calls lasting several minutes could be placed from one phone number to another same number one minute apart. I had gone over this time and again with US West, but to no avail.

My wife and I began to speculate as to the potential connection of our ID having been stolen when we lived in the apartment at Dan Hachey's house and these ridiculous phone charges. We traced the connection back to Dan Hachey, and came to the inescapable conclusion that this man was using her ID and the phone system to mask interstate and international phone calls. We recalled Dan Hachey's statement to me that he had a friend in the Seattle area that had developed a device that allowed them to enter the computers of US WEST. We also determined that it was also likely that this man was also using my wife's ID to open up bank accounts in her name. We have since learned this is but a minute aspect of these people's manipulation over our identities.

We speculated on the inconsistencies in Halsey's description of who Nadia was, her relationship to Alan, and Halsey's reference that Nadia and Alan were cousins. He had also told us that they were from Beaverton Oregon, and that Alan and Nadia were bikers. Then we speculated upon our growing perception that Nadia was in fact not even a female, but a man. At that point I heard a loud voice from somewhere underneath our trailer shout "There goes my cover!" This was followed by a loud "thunk!" which at the time I thought was a large timber being knocked over. Amy stated that it was a trap door closing underneath our trailer. I thought about this, and decided to investigate. I knew that had been the voice of Nadia. After a few minutes of discussion with May I drove over to the warehouse, with the intention of getting there in a hurry. I backed out the driveway and up the small rise, attempting to back around and over the railroad crossing. However, my windows were fogged up and I inadvertently missed the crossing. My left rear tire drove over a track, and I was stuck. Gary was coincidentally walking towards the RR crosing with Chris, a young man that Alan had said was his nephew. They immediately came up and attempted to push from behind the car to help me get over the rail. I decided to back up while turning to the left, thus driving onto the crossing platform and then forward and off the tracks. All of a sudden Ken Smith appeared in his truck, having driven down the driveway from the Highway 99E, and pushed my car off the track. I then drove over near to the warehouse and got out of the car. Gary walked up to me, but Ken and his truck had disappeared. Halsey then came up to us from the warehouse, disheveled and having blood coming out of his ear. He was shaking hard, and his voice was stuttering and weak. He told this story that a man who was visiting upstairs in the office had taken a sizpack of beer from the refridgerator, and when Halsey challenged him he flipped out and repeatedly jammed a screwdriver into Halsey's ear. I immediately walked over to the warehouse, where I saw Alan. He was just getting up from the floor, and he explained that he had been looking for his glasses. He was also disheveled and extremely upset. He showed a degree of anger and violence that belied his earlier presentation of himself as a weakened individual. When he put his bottle glass glasses on he even set them on his face awry. Then Nadia suddenly walked up from my left, and took control of the conversation away from Alan, attempting to calm him down. She said that the man whom had rammed Halsey's ear with a screwdriver had gone into the woods behind the warehouse. Gary even went so far as to wander off into the trees himself for to look for this madman. I was beginning to seriously question the existence of this individual. When I offered to take Halsey to the hospital he adamantly refused. Nadia asked me to follow her and Halsey upstairs to the office, where she asked me if I would try and convince Halsey to go to the hospital. He again refused. I then went downstairs to inquire further from Gary about this whole scenario, but he was still out wandering the trees looking for this phantom attack man. When I again went back up the stairs and opened the door to the office, there was Nadia embracing Halsey, and looking into his eyes. Nadia immediately was aware of my presence, released him and resumed her act of indifferent caring.

Alan did in fact totally lose control when he heard us speak of Halsey's statement to us that Alan and Nadia were cousins, and that they were bikers. These people in fact owned the Hells Angels. That was one of their primary covers. Another aspect to this episode is that it was Nadia who attacked Alan to defend Halsey's life, for Alan was a lethal killer. Most informative of all, however, was that both Alan and Nadia were at the warehouse before I got there. These people were in fact listening to our conversations from underneath our trailer, and they had the ability to move rapidly underground from one end of the property to the other without being seen. Another aspect to this whole scenario that escaped my attention for quite some time was the timing of Ken Smith's arrival at such a propitious time, and then his immediate disappearance. I knew that he had driven onto the property from the 99 E Highway, but the timing was too close to be a coincidence. There is a house across the street up on the hill above the highway, and overlooking the entire property. This is one of the original buildings from the Russian community which was called New Era. Ken Smith was living across the street up on the hill where he had a birds eye view of everything that went on at New Era. He was also Mike, the man who operated the smelter. In addition, the man we knew as Ralph, Mike's helper in the smelting operation, was Gary Tour. These men arrived and departed constantly, changing personages and using their increasing bizarre behavior to create distance in time and distance from us when they had business either out of our view or elsewhere

Ken Smith came by a few days later, ranting about how Halsey and Gary were reneging on their agreement with him on the price of the boat. He stated that he wanted to sell his truck, an older model flatbed Ford, while simultaneously complaining vociferously that he was getting a mere five miles per gallon while driving fifty miles every day back and forth to work. I offered to buy his other vehicle instead, which was labeled as a brown 1976 Ford LTD. This car he showed us was in pristine condition inside and out. He told us the classic story that this was his grandparent's car and had sat in a garage for eighteen years, except for the occasional trip to the store. There was a dent on the right rear fender, which he explained had just recently happened. He knew I needed a car, and he knew this offer was irresistible. Nadia was there at my trailer the day we made the formal agreement. She began to rant about a car that was virtually identical to Ken's that she would sell to me for only $350.00. I assumed at the time that the auto she was referring to was of questionable background, and perhaps not entirely legal. I told her "Fine, I will buy that car also. We can talk about that at a later date." I then gave Ken his $300.00. Nadia shouted, jumped up, and stormed out of the trailer. It was a very convincing act. I then printed out a contract on my computer, which we both signed. He gave me the keys, tax receipts, and an application for registration for the car. He explained that his wife had just received the title, and that he would have it in a week or so. In Oregon, a bill of sale and registration papers are sufficient documentation to receive registration, license plates and expiration tags for a vehicle. Thus this arrangement seemed apropos at the time. Ken and I then went outside and proceeded to clean out his belongings from the car. He offered to give me his VCR and a stack of home recorded movies. The selection of tapes that he gave to us is a unique key into how these people think and operate. The tapes that he gave me were Red October, OP Center, Miracle in the Wilderness, Star Trek VI, Unforgiven, Beastmaster II and a few others. There are several similarities among the tapes. One of the coincidences which stands out is the presence of Kim Kattrall in three of the tapes; Op Center, Star Trek VI and Miracle in the Wilderness. Op Center is a show about disgruntled members of the KGB selling MIRVs, or multiple independently targeted reentry vehicles, that is nuclear bombs, to terrorists. Red October is a movie about a Russian submarine crew bringing a submarine equipped with nuclear missiles to the US and requesting asylum. That submarine ended up sailing up a river into US territory. The gift of these tapes to me was a flat out declaration of what these men were up to. In addition, all of the movies were taped in Springfield, Missouri, providing another basis for Ken Smith's claim that he was from Missouri.

Shortly thereafter Halsey informed me that Gary had asked Nadia to move off the property, ostensibly to address my concerns of her erratic behavior. In addition, Gary also told me a few days later that he had also asked Alan to move, in his attempt to allay my concern about getting the property ready for the use of Merisol Services Inc. Gary allowed Nadia to move her trailer into the warehouse while she waterproofed it. Ken was up on her roof one night helping her apply white tar to seal it against leaks, and he explained to me under his breath that it had been so long since he had been with a woman that he was going to take Nadia to a motel that night. It was three days before we saw Ken Smith again.

Very bright and sophisticated subterfuge, indeed at it's best, for there was no such person as Nadia. Nad-ia without the 'ia' is Dan spelled backwards; that is Dan Hachey. My wife had told me just before we moved out of our apartment at Dan Hachey's house that she thought he was a Satan worshipper. The realm of Satan flows backwards. Satan's delight in confounding the innocent. He had to grasp onto all of de-light he could manage, as this was as close as he was ever going to come to the light. I say this now in retrospect.

My wife was returning one night from a trip to Portland with her mother when Ken appeared right behind them, frightening them both out of their wits. He tried to give May his phone number and address in Missouri, stating that he was leaving immediately. May told him he needed to talk with her husband, so he came inside and walked right up to me. He then rapidly blabbered on about this unseeming story about his wife's desperate need and spontaneous desire to make immediate amends over his past transgressions. Thus he was leaving immediately to Missouri. He shoved a piece of paper into my hand, which he said was his phone number and address. When I inquired about the title to the car he said he would mail it to me, and promptly departed. May and I later discussed his obtuse behavior, wondering if perhaps there was some relationship to his strange behavior with his expected night in the motel with Nadia. We speculated upon our suspicions that Nadia was in fact a man were accurate. I suggested that perhaps Nadia had hurt him with a vengeance. This was merely more subterfuge on their part, but quite effective. They were playing on our speculations, and turning them into their advantage.

May and I awoke several nights later to see the car seat in which our four month old daughter was sleeping in gently rocking. This continued for over an hour. I was not certain of the cause for this, and it actually did not make me feel comfortable.

A day or so later Nadia came by and asked if she could wash her dishes. Alan had asked me earlier that morning to accompany him while he drove down the road fifteen or so miles to take possession of and bring back a fifth wheel trailer he said he had bartered for with some logs. In actuality he and Nadia merely wanted me out of the way to allow Nadia to have access to May for several hours. My presence was certainly not needed with Alan. He even asked me to stop at a tavern along the way where he bought me breakfast. Alan was driving an old model flatbed Ford, a truck that looked identical to the flatbed truck Ken Smith had owned. The only difference was that this truck had a carriage built in the bed for hauling a fifth wheel trailer. I was certain that this was Ken Smith's truck, but he had supposedly left a couple of weeks earlier in a mad hurry to reunite with his wife, Sandra. May later told me that Nadia launched into what she referred to as a "woman to woman talk" with her. Nadia offered to baby-sit our daughter, Bunny, and she brought by a playpen, clothes for Bunny and clothes and boots for May. The boots and clothes for May were Nadia's, and thus May was soon dressing in Nadia's clothes. At one point she purportedly told my wife, "I do not like men, and I absolutely hate women, but I do like you, and I will never hurt you, if you know what I mean." This individual, Nadia, demanded a response from May, again saying forcefully, "Do you know what I mean?" The truth behind this insistent demand for a response is that this beast was demanding consent from my wife in some manner or form in order for him to fulfill his intentions.

One night I walked out of our bedroom unclothed to the table I had set up in the next room. I used this table to make leather purses taken from an old Sioux Indian design. These are elaborate purses, with multiple layers of long fringe and beads which I have been making on and off for over thirty years. I had left my cigarettes on the table, and when I lit a cigarette I heard a 'hoot!' or a holler from outside the window on the deck. As I looked out there was Nadia standing there with her mouth agape. She called to me, motioning to me to come outside. I shook my head, and walked back into the bedroom in disgust. She hollered again, and I then came back out from the bedroom, this time with my bathrobe on. I walked down the hall to the living room addition and opened the door a crack to see what she wanted. She was visibly upset, as if I had denied it the pleasure of further amorous visual treats. I had not realized that it was possible to see into the bedroom through the curtains. Nadia asked me if she could borrow my car to push her little Datsun pickup truck out of a mud hole. I refused categorically, and she shouted and stomped off. It was apparent to me that her motivations for using my car were not altogether honest.

Several days later Nadia came by the trailer and asked me if she could leave some boxes on our deck for awhile. I had no problem with that, and as she was walking out the door she threw up her fist in the air and shouted, "Let the games begin!" Needless to say May and I thought that ominous at best.

The day Nadia (supposedly) moved off the property she asked us if I would give her a ride to the convenience store in Canby so she could call the police on Alan. She launched into a tirade that he had broken several windows in her trailer. When she made the call, I noticed that she was looking at us while talking, and she was laughing. This was not a normal attitude for someone to be having when they were supposedly calling the police on someone. When we returned I dropped her off at the entrance to the warehouse, where Alan was standing alongside another man whom I did not recognize. There was an expensive new red pickup truck parked next to them that was loaded with furniture. Nadia walked right up to these two men and stated that I had given her a ride to call the police on them. They then all turned towards us and began to laugh. I was struck by this, and also by the fact that there were perhaps two moving vans full of furniture in that warehouse, none of which had been there before, and all of which had disappeared by the next morning. We did not see pickup trucks making multiple trips in and out of the property that night, much less moving vans. That truck did not leave either, although it was not in the warehouse the next day. I was in a position to know, because all vehicles that came and left from that property had to pass by our trailer, and my desk was right next to the window. This was not the kind of low-grade furniture you might find at a garage sale either. I tried without success to imagine a whole house of furniture being moved into that warehouse, and then disappearing along with the truck.

Gary was generally gone during the week, supposedly up at his girlfriend's house near Mt. Hood from where he supposedly ran his logging operation. The story I was told was that his girlfriend did not allow neither her phone number to be given out, nor her address. The result was that there was no way to independently verify anything about him other than his occasional presence on the property.

Halsey finally called the telephone company to connect the business office phone line. This turned out to be an interesting and quite revealing occurrence. There was a five-gallon bucket that was placed upside down on the ground outside our mobile home. Underneath this bucket was a large bundle of telephone lines just lying on the ground. Alan's story was that Gary had inadvertently dug them up with his bulldozer while leveling the ground around the trailer. I have extensive experience with bulldozers and it is a certainty those wires were not dug up by a bulldozer. He also stated that the previous owner used all of these lines. This did not correlate with Halsey's story that Gary had grown up there at New Era, nor was it logical that the boat building company that supposedly operated from there needed fifteen phone lines. A telephone repairman showed up, inspected the wires, and shortly thereafter he left. He returned later that day with another repairman. They followed the lines north down river from our trailer and climbed two telephone poles, explaining to me that they were attempting to locate a fault in the line to the warehouse. They returned the following day and successfully connected the phone service. When I told Halsey that they had been by he was extremely interested, and he seemed quite upset upon learning that the repairmen had climbed up the poles. Alan then showed up and opened up the wiring, explaining that he was receiving static on his line. He rewired a few wires and left, muttering to himself.

I took a day to drive to Salem, the capital of Oregon, to file incorporation papers for MeriSol Services Inc. I listed the address furnished to me by Halsey, 21449 South 99E, Canby OR. When the formal acknowledgment arrived in the mail, Halsey removed it from our mailbox while we were away shopping. When we returned he came over to our trailer quite visibly upset, exclaiming that I had used the wrong address He waved a letter in his hand from the State of Oregon Secretary of State's office, which held the incorporation papers. Halsey was actually yelling at both of us, ranting and raving that I had used the wrong address box, and that the box I was using was for Gary's use only. It is evident that this was a cover for the fact that they had opened my mail. He stated that I should have used 21419 instead, and that the box I was using was for for Gary only!

These people did not expect me to follow through on my commitments, especially to the point of filing incorporation papers. When the documentation arrived they realized the property was on record with the Secretary of State's office, not to mention the Federal Government, as all non profits are required to file for Federal Tax ID numbers. This was altogether more than these men had expected.

Several days later I saw that the entire set of mailboxes had been knocked over. Both Gary and Alan claimed that they had just fallen over, but upon inspection it was obvious that these had been solidly planted in the ground with a concrete base. Someone knocked over the mailboxes with a truck.

Meanwhile Gary and Halsey were making a considerable effort to make it appear that they were actively pursuing their paddlewheel museum and conference center project. I offered to let them use my 2 line business phone, showing Halsey some of the advanced features such as the removable processor with LCD screen, caller ID, 50 call memory, and so forth. Several days later I came by the office and noticed that the phone was disconnected, with the line wrapped around it, and sitting on the bookcase. Halsey was very nervous, and obviously wanted nothing to do with that telephone. He actually acted as if he was afraid of it.

I offered to sell Gary Tour a computer system at near wholesale prices, as I still maintained wholesale accounts from my previous computer business. However, when I dropped by a few days later Halsey had a partial system on his desk that lacked any documentation, and therefore was nonfunctional. This made no sense to me at all. Two days later he asked me to give him a ride to Computer City, which was an hour and a half drive away, to buy a printer cable. I was not happy about this, but I reluctantly agreed. He then had the audacity to ask me to pay for this cable, saying he would pay for it when Gary came out to New Era. Several days later Halsey came by our trailer and again asked me to give him another ride to Computer City, this time to buy a functional operating system for their computer. It was early in the morning, and the weather was dark and raining. I told him I was not interested in driving for several hours in the rain, and he then asked me if he could borrow my car. I was not at all pleased at this idea, but he insisted, saying he would not be gone for a very long time and they needed their computer up and running. I reluctantly agreed, as he was essentially working for Gary, my landlord. Halsey eventually did return a car to me, and it was in fact a brown Ford, with the same license plate, the same VIN number on the dash, and in many ways almost identical to the car Ken had sold to me. However it was late at night when he returned it, and the weather for a couple of weeks was dark and wet. May insisted a week or so later that we were not in the car I had bought from Ken Smith, but I found this a bit far fetched, as I did with many of the things May pointed out to me before and after we left New Era. It was not until several months later that I came to the realization that she was accurate in her assessment of the situation. Some parts of the car were the same, such as the dashboard and the seats, but the tires were not the same, and neither was the hood ornament. These men had been listening to our conversations, and they knew that I felt May was being paranoid about those people there. They played me like a fiddle.

It was at about this time that the Hale-Bopp comet appeared in the sky. May and I could see this comet's tail from our deck overlooking the river, and it was certainly a propitious sight.

Approximately two weeks after Nadia left I was watching TV when I heard footsteps banging up our stairs, and then I saw someone run right up to the sliding glass door, slam his hands on it, turn around and dissappear into the darkness. The next day an officer came by our trailer and asked to see my wife's ID. When she showed this to him he asked May if she was not 'Miranta,' and took out a photo that looked more like May than her ID did. May assured this (Federal) officer that she was not the woman on the picture, and he then turned and literally ran off the deck and up the driveway to his car.

The next day Gary came by the trailer, and looking at the stack of phone records I was going over he said, "Having trouble with your phone bills?" We told him of the visit by the officer the previous day and he said, "Federalis, huh?" He then walked out onto the deck while we talked. Gary then bent over the railing and looked closely at the level of the water, talking of the recent flooding we had experienced. His nerves were on edge, and as usual he was distant in his conversations with me. Gary came by every day for the next few days, constantly preoccupied with the level of the water.

This was more than I had seen of him in one stretch since we had moved out there.

One evening I walked over to see Alan, and I noticed that the light was on in his workshop on a dock below his trailer. As I looked down I saw a woman leaning against a worktable inside this workshop. This woman looked like Nadia, but she looked more female than Nadia did. In hindsight she looked like a blonde or gray-haired version of my wife. I told Alan that I thought I had just seen Nadia in his workshop, but he vehemently denied that that was she. He insisted that I had seen a mannequin. He then began bemoaning his lack of resources, and complained that he was missing a number of his business checks. I mentioned to him that Nadia had asked me to cash perhaps six checks on his account for work she claimed to have had done for him. He smiled, and said that she had bled him pretty good. As a result of his apparent lack of funds he complained that he did not have the fuel in his tugboat to drive down river to the marina to fill his tugboat.Over the next several days I noticed a poor attempt at a mannequin had been placed in a different spot on each day in the warehouse. I also noticed Alan drive onto the property quite a few times with several 55-gallon drums, presumably containing gasoline for his tugboat. One day upon returning from a trip to the grocery store Alan was next to our trailer wiring a 12 volt battery to a fuel pump, the type set into a 55 gallon fuel drum. He explained to me that he was going to use this to refuel his tugboat. It made no sense that he would want to start refueling his tugboat so far from his dock. Early the next morning I noticed two men whom I did not recognize unloading a 55 gallon steel drum out of a pickup truck right off our porch where Alan had rigged up the fuel pump. They then unraveled a long hose and laid it down over the riverbank, at the top of a steep narrow gully that dropped directly down to the river. The water level was usually 12 or 15 feet below our deck. The older of the two men was chiding the younger one, and I heard him say, "Well of course they noticed, you were up at 4:30 in the morning!" I had a bad feeling about those two men, but they looked clean cut, and I put my concerns on the back burner.

A day or so later Halsey came by the trailer escorting a man in a green uniform whom Halsey introduced to me as a representative of the Oregon Department of Environmental Quality. Halsey explained that I was the director of MeriSol, and he spoke of all the wonderful things I was doing. I got the distinct impression that I was being used as a legitimate cover for these people. I invited this officer inside and showed him the plans for the Gokstad ship, the world map on the wall, and the corporation's mission. He seemed impressed, although it is certain this man was not from the DEQ. Meanwhile, Nadia had left a half dozen boxes on our deck, and she just happened to come by at this propitious time to retrieve them. While this officer was interviewing me Nadia began scrambling back and forth across the deck moving these boxes, pausing each time and eyeing first the officer and then myself. I had never seen Nadia worried before.

Early the next day I walked out from our bedroom and looked out of the window of our addition to see Alan scrambling up this virtually vertical gully adjacent to our home like an animal. This man scrambled up this cliff with the speed and agility I had never before seen in a man. He then grabbed the hose that these men had used to pump what chemical I could only guess at, and then turned and scrambled back down the gully in a flash. A thought passed through my mind to walk out on the deck to see where he had gone to, as I would have heard his tugboat. There was no access from the bottom of that bank to any place else but out into the river, due to the steep cliff running along the banks of the river and the dense blackberry bushes that grew right up to the waterline. This decision to refrain from walking out onto the deck was certainly due to God's good grace. I thought better of it, and this thought may very well have saved my life. If I had walked out onto that deck I would have truly blown their cover, a perception which would have secured our fate prematurely and outside of God's purveyance.

One evening I was working on the MeriSol project creating employee manuals, writing proposals for funders, etc. When May came out of our bedroom to visit with me after putting Bunny to bed. She suddenly felt something was wrong, and immediately got up and went straight back to the bedroom to check on our little daughter. My wife found Bunny's bottle in her mouth with the nipple unscrewed, and milk was pouring out of her mouth and down her chin. May immediately picked up our daughter, slapped her on her back, and milk shot straight out of her mouth in a fountain. My wife had just left her not more than a minute before, and she had been an attentive and caring mother. She would certainly never have left an unsealed bottle in our child's mouth.

I met a woman whom I was introduced to as Tammy at Alan's mobile home one day, and Alan explained to me that he had rented his fifth wheel to her for awhile. This gal, Tammy, stopped by our mobile home one day. She indicated an interest in the purses that I was making, saying she liked leather, and that she was particularly interested in black leather pants, coats, and chaps for riding on Harleys. I told her that I used to own two leather shops in the early 70's, and that I would be happy to make some 'leathers' for he if she was interested. I told her of the problems that I had had with two of my daughters' involvement with the Eighteenth Street Gang, and she then told me that she knew the founder of the Eighteenth Street Gang down in LA. A week or so later I was with Alan and I again saw Tammy. A woman accompanied her, and it seemed as if she was escorting Tammy, although she was certainly not a police officer. Tammy appeared to have been severely beat up, as her face was very swollen. Another thing that struck me about her condition was that even though she had makeup on, it appeared as if someone had beaten her with boxing gloves or something that had been padded. There were no contusions on her face, and she did not have black eyes. It was as if whoever had done this had known how to hurt someone without it showing up very clearly.

I discussed this with May, and we speculated on the reason why this woman might have been so severely beaten. We discussed the possible connections of Tammy's statements to us: She knew the people out at New Era, she knew the founder of the eighteenth Street Gang, and my two daughters were involved with the Eighteenth Street Gang. I never saw her again. We also speculated on the ferocity that Alan had directed at Halsey when he had told May and I that Alan and Nadia were cousins and bikers. It was apparent to both of us that this gal had been punished for identifying connections that these people had with the Eighteenth Street Gang, and it reinforced my belief that these people were in fact bikers themselves. The concept that the events of our lives had been manipulated by a group of men and women since May rented that apartment at Dan Hachey's house (or before) was developing in my mind, but the long range planning necessary for this to occur was far too complex for any reason I could fathom at the time.

A few days later, on the first Friday of March 1997 at 1:30 in the morning I was startled out of bed by a loud roaring sound, apparently coming from out on the river. This was a very powerful sound, as if the engines had no mufflers, and someone was gunning the engines. I got up out of bed and walked out to the living room where I saw a large tugboat driving across the water towards our trailer. This tugboat had four extremely bright searchlights mounted on top of the cabin, flooding our trailer and restricting my vision. The only thing I could see out on the water was this large tugboat, and I could barely see much of that. I initially assumed this was Alan's tugboat, which undoubtedly was their intention. This boat, however, was one of the large oceangoing tugboats that had been docked at Alan's. There was a repeated and deafening roaring, but far too loud for a tugboat. As I looked at this roaring boat coming towards me on the water (eyes agape, I imagine), the sliding glass doors and windows began to rattle, indeed it seemed as if the entire trailer was shaking. (It was). I then saw that there were people on our deck. I walked over closer to the glass door to see what was going on, and I saw people scattering from different places against our trailer across our deck in every direction and disappear into the darkness. I quickly walked back into our bedroom and told May what was going on. I went back out to the living room, and I saw that there were people lined up outside our trailer on our deck, at every window and all five sliding glass doors, a menacing sight at best. When I approached the sliding glass door next to the addition I could clearly see a very tall man outside the slider, standing still as if on guard. I went back to our bedroom and grabbed a large wooden dowel that was over two inches in diameter and a couple of feet long. I thought that this would make for quite an effective club. I walked back out to the living room, and approaching one of the sliding glass doors, slapping this club in the palm of my hand, I said, "OK, come and get some!" We had no telephone, so I had no recourse to call the police. This would not have been an option anyway, as these people could easily have come into the trailer if they had wanted to. Their apparent intention was to intimidate us into submission, not to storm in and take our lives.Then they began rattling the doors and windows, and I could see Alan outside our main entrance, bent over and appearing as if he was trying to pry open the lock of our door. The trailer was still shaking, and I decided to go back to our bedroom and let May know the seriousness of what was going on. There was a large tree which the deck had been built around, and I had pondered as to the reason for the cable which was looped around the lower, heavy branch. This cable had been there for many years, as the wood had grown around the cable in several places. We heard a sound which I identified as a heavy steel cable being run across metal, a sound that continued for close to an hour, and then several hours later started again, continuing for perhaps another hour. My perception at the time was that these people identified by Halsey as 'bikers' perhaps had a very large underground drug lab underneath the ground. I thought that perhaps they were removing a long cylinder from below the deck, using this large tugboat to raise it up. I had in mind some type of automatic lab, which they could fill with chemicals, drop down underground and turn on. This seemed to be a plausible explanation at the time for our high electric bill and the occasional shorting out of our breaker box. I was reaching for any reasonable explanation in an extremely unreasonable situation.

Several hours after this whole episode began I heard a man outside the window of our bedroom say, "Kill them." May was still quite hysterical, (screaming), and I desperately needed her to calm down so that I could gain a clearer perspective of what was going on. I also needed to prepare myself for the violence that I felt certain was soon to come. When I repeated this threat which I had heard to May several times and told her she needed to be absolutely quiet, it finally sunk in, and she calmed down. An hour or so later we then heard a woman say, "I don't think we should kill them. They have a baby!" As it began to get light outside I could hear neither voices nor movement outside. I got up a short time later (we were lying prone on our beds, absolutely stiff) and walked down the hallway to the living room and to outside and verify that there was no longer anyone on our deck. I saw no one.

Needless to say we did not sleep, as it was shortly before dawn when all of the activity stopped. Later on that morning I saw Alan working on some thing or other up by the pump house and acting as if everything was normal. These people would have already killed us if that were what they were planning on doing and I knew it was in our best interest to remain calm. The activity of the night before reinforced my belief that people must be Hell's Angels. May and I discussed the numerous covers that these people were maintaining, and why I had been led out there in the first place.

I had been investing my time on the MeriSol project for the last five months, 14 or more hours a day, and therefore we had no cash to move. We had no family who would help us, as I would learn later thanks to Dan Hachey, and we had no other place to go. We decided against calling the police, as I correlated that idea with a Mafia man calling the police on the Godfather. We would not survive that action, as a contract would be put out on us immediately. We decided that anything other than going on as if nothing had happened would be an instant death sentence on the three of us. So we went on, maintaining our daily routine. I bought the tools I needed to obtain work as a carpenter, and immediately began to look for employment.

I had no naïve conceptions concerning the Hells Angels and their predilection towards drugs and violence. I had known bikers back in the sixties, and I found them to be extremely tough individuals. They were prone to violence when pushed, as are many Americans. I have always avoided violence, and therefore I have generally found that violence avoided me. It was apparent to me that these people were in fact 'Hells Angels,' and that we had been lured into a complex trap to create a cover for their apparent drug-manufacturing lab on this property. My decision to ''hang tight' until our resources provided us with the means of a reasonably unpretentious escape seemed to be the only viable option I had.

One night May and I were in the front of the trailer, where I had my office next to the living room addition. May exclaimed that there was a woman dressed in white walking towards us down the hall from the bedroom. I got up and looked, and I saw a faint image of a woman appearing to be dressed in a blue and white robe hovering in the hallway, moving first towards us, then away, and then forward again.

On April 11th, 1997 May and I drove into Portland to look for an apartment to rent. I stopped by a drugstore in the Hollywood district, as there was a public phone on the corner. As I pulled into the parking space around the corner from the phone both May and I saw a man sitting on a bench. He was leaning over almost double, as if he were ill.

To reinforce this perception there was an oxygen line going from his nose to a portable tank sitting on the sidewalk next to him. May did not want me to park right there in front of this man, stating that he was dangerous. I told her that he was obviously an invalid and certainly harmless. I got out of the car and walked around the corner to call the several phone numbers I had that held the promise of a place to live away from New Era. Suddenly May came running up to me, carrying our baby in the car seat, and she was absolutely frantic. I had to calm her down so I could make sense of her incoherent and frenzied babbling. She then explained that this 'invalid' had straightened up after I walked around the corner, dropped the oxygen tank and walked over to our car. He then plastered his face against our car window right next to her and said 'Hi!' in a slurring and almost delirious manner. He looked at May, and then the baby, and then he looked at the keys which I had left in the ignition. This man then proceeded to walk forward to a tan colored van that had just parked in front of our car, reached into the sliding door that had opened as he approached and pulled out a gun. He put this under his belt, put a stocking cap on his head, crossed the street, walked down the block and disappeared around the corner. He again reappeared back down around the other end of the block, crossed the street and walked into the US Bank that was across the street from our car. After hearing this I immediately took my wife and daughter into the drug store and told them to call the police, as my wife had just seen a robbery in progress. When the officers arrived a man walked right up to May and the officer who was interviewing her, looked at both of them, and then walked across the street. May realized that this was the same man who had walked into the bank with the gun. She immediately identified that man to the officer, and he asked how she could tell. She responded, "Because there are several of them, they are all big, and they stand out in the crowd." The immediate result of our actions was that we prevented a bank robbery. May told me that this was a day that that particular bank had large cash reserves deposited, and therefore we believe this robbery was planned to be a major hit. My wife had gained the information of the cash deposits through her previous boyfriend some time ago. His brother was a computer hacker, breaking into government databases, making false ID's and government documents for the Hells Angels. After this officer left an old woman with shaggy gray hair and a limp came right up into May's face and said, "Why did you call the police? What are you, a snitch?" Needless to say this upset May to no end, and she then came across the street where I was waiting. She did not want to go outside again. I explained to the owners that we had just prevented a bank robbery, and I needed a few minutes to calm my wife down. In the meantime, I noticed a tall, slim man who was wandering around aimlessly against the far wall of this building, constantly turning his head in our direction and observing us closely. After much coaxing on my part to get May to go outside and cross the street, we got into our car and left.

When we arrived back out at New Era a car was pulling up onto the property right behind us. As Mat caught up with me on the steps May told me she saw a man get out of that car and lunge towards us, shouting something. Two other men jumped out of the car, and restraining him they dragged him back into their car. Upon hearing May's description of this man I believed him to be Chris, the nephew Alan had staying with him. Chris had always appeared to act as a timid young man, and this did not make sense to me. He had somewhat long hair and a blonde beard, and appeared to be in his twenties. I also now believe that Chris was actually Halsey. These men were constantly changing their identities. There was a pattern to the timing of each of their appearances, such as Ken/Mike, Gary/Ralph, and Halsey/Chris. Neither May nor I ever saw the two of these men together at the same time. Repeated repetition of patterns seen tend to belie coincidence. As the saying goes in intelligence circles, there is no such thing as coincidence.

There were several items that connected with my past that showed up in Nadia's possession. Nadia had given me the set of curtains that my previous wife had hung in our house in Portland a few months before her death. I found the little stuffed toy bear hanging in a basket from a miniature hot air balloon in a 55 gallon barrel next to where Nadia had parked her trailer several days after it was moved off the property. I took this little toy bear in a hot air balloon back to our trailer and showed it to May. The presence of that little teddy bear was a connection which went all the way back to when we lived at the apartment at Dan Hachey's house. However the curtains predated our residence at Dan Hacheys. Those curtains had been installed by my previous wife in our home before she passed away in 1994. I had not seen those curtains since Januaryof 1995. This was eleven months before May rented her room from Dan Hachey. In retrospect the only connection there could have been between Dan Hachey and those curtains is through May's ex-boyfriend, whom I will call Mr. Rude. Mr. Rude's brother, whom I shall call Rod, was the computer hacker who worked for the Hells Angels. Mr. Rude knew my deceased wife's children, and in a fit of jealousy he had threatened my life and that of my wife. This was during our residency at Dan Hachey's house. Dan Hachey had told me that he was going to ruin my life. Thus the connection between Dan Hachey and the Hells Angels was complete. However at that time neither May nor I identified Dan Hachey with Nadia. I imagine the main reason was that Nadia seemed to have a larger stature than Mr. Hachey does. That is why Nadia always wore boots, and why she was always putting layer upon layer of makeup. This is also why she always wore pants over a long skirt, hoping to present himself as an aging female hippie.

Shortly before we left New Era Alan came by and asked us if we would walk over to his trailer with him, as he had some parting gifts for us. He gave us three items: A small white hammock, which I thought was merely a small fishing net, a large polished amethyst egg, and a small wooden box with a hand written label which said 'Black Amber.' This was one of those small boxes made in India, and inside this box was a piece of black pitch that at the time I thought was incense. Alan also talked of Nadia, saying that 'she' was not really 'Nadia' but 'Natias,' 'or rather not 'ia' but 'Natas.' He said this with quite some humor, but at the time it was a flyby. 'Natas' is Satan spelled backwards.

Chapter III

The Little Scroll

I had been begun working as a carpenter, and when I finally had a full paycheck I moved us off the property and into a motel in Portland. I believed we were out of harm's way, and that we had stayed at the property long enough to demonstrate to these 'Hells Angels' that we were not a threat to them. As we were packing our last load at New Era Alan showed up right next to our car. It took me six months after we left New Era to determine how these people could just suddenly appear anywhere on the property they wanted to. I told Alan he was welcome to all of the food that I had left behind, and we left. I rented a room at the 99E Motel in East Portland and continued my work as a carpenter. We were there for about three weeks when I became upset with several unexplainable charges on our phone bill, as there appeared to be a duplication of charges, and the management could not explain them. The owner of the motel which was located next door was in the office of the motel we were staying at every morning at 6:00 A.M. when I came in to get my coffee and doughnuts. He called himself Pete, which struck me as odd as he was obviously Arab or Iranian. I asked him if he had any units available on a weekly basis, and he answered in the affirmative. He was quite happy to have us so we moved there that afternoon. He rented us room # 14, which was located in the rear of this U shaped motel. This was one of two rooms that he said had baths, which May had specifically requested.

The annual Portland Rose Festival was about to begin, during which time the city is visited by a large compliment of navy ships, including a submarine, two Aegis frigates, and other modern Navy warships. I decided to take my family to the Willamette River waterfront to see the first large ship that had just arrived. It turned out to be an international nonprofit book boat. These people travel worldwide bringing bibles, other religious literature, and books of general interest at no cost to peoples of need around the world. We had very little money, but I found a table that had tiny little white bibles, barely larger than the end of my thumb. We wanted to support this group's efforts, but we had no discretionary funds. These little Bibles were free, so I picked up two of them and gave one of them to our daughter, telling her that this was her book! She absolutely cherished this "Little Scroll," as she so cherishes it to this day.

Several days later May told me that she had seen four big men carry a large object into the room to our left. She said it was "as long as a man was tall, with things sticking out of it, fins or something. It was heavy enough to make these men grunt when they lifted it out of the trunk of the car." She felt that she had seen something she was not supposed to see, and she was worried.

By this time I had talked with my sister in LA several times, and I had made a decision to move my family to Venice, California. Although my sister is wildly unpredictable, I consider her above all to be my friend. I knew her to have had a long term relationship with a Hells Angel in LA, and when I told her what had happened to us out at New Era she said, "No wonder they told me not to have anything to do with anybody up north." She then explained to me that her 'boyfriend' had beat her severely, breaking her jaw and several of her ribs in order to blackmail her son to work for them as a chemist in one of their methamphetamine labs. I told her that these people had gone over and above the limits of even bikers when they brought us out to New Era under false pretenses, set us up to take responsibility for their extravagant electric bills, and then threatened our lives. She told me that she would like me to videotape the property so that she could use it as blackmail against these people who had used her to get at her son.

I went back over to the 99E Motel next door to finalize my telephone bill. The charges listed on the bill contained a pattern of multiple phone calls, repeating a pattern which we had come to associate with Dan Hachey and the telephone switching device that we had come to believe was being used to manipulate the phone company's records. I showed this to May, but her reaction was totally unexpected. She started shouting, saying that this was an invasion of her privacy. Upon my questioning of why this was so, she became hysterical, and began screaming uncontrollably. I do not react well to hysterics of any kind, and my reaction to this was not much more sophisticated than hers. I threw my prescription glasses against the TV set, shattering the lenses. May then asked me in a clear and calm voice why I did that, as if she had no recollection of the scene which had just transpired.

I talked with my sister again, and she told me that she would send me the money to buy a camcorder to film the property at New Era the following day, on June 1st. The money did not arrive that morning, and when I talked with my sister she explained that her check had not arrived until that evening at 7:30 P.M. She said it was probably just as well, as she had probably saved my life. Later that night I addressed my concerns as to why May had reacted the way she did over the phone bill. She again became hysterical, at which point I became so angry I threw a heavy glass beer mug through the window. I then heard footsteps outside, and the glass came back through the window and landed on the floor beside me. The owner came by a few minutes later, and I apologized for the damage, and assured him I would pay for the window the next day. The next morning I talked with him, and I offered to buy the glass and replace the window myself. He declined my offer, explaining that he had someone whom he would call to repair it, and that it would cost $100.00. I then drove to the Western Union office, picked up the money, and bought a high quality used Sony Handycam. I came back to the motel, and May told me that her mother had been by. The manager had talked to her, and he threatened to evict us if she didn't pay him $100.00 to replace the window immediately. He also told her that the people at the motel next door were afraid for May's life. May and I spoke of this and of the basis for these statements. May and I had always been very close. A short two minute verbal confrontation is not the same behavioral pattern as a drawn out argument, much less physical abuse. I tried out the camcorder, filming May and Bunny, and I showed May how to use it. We took some very cute and memorable videos, most of which was soon to be filmed over.

I then left to drive out to New Era and film the property. I explained to my sister that all I would be able to film was a panorama of the property itself, and perhaps some close-ups of the buildings. When I arrived and began filming, the risk that I was taking and the danger I faced was palpable. I forwarded the film to near the end of the tape before I began filming, so as to not film over the images of May and Bunny. I did not hurry back to the motel however, as I was of a mind to blame my wife for the conflicts we had been engaged in recently. Upon returning to our room that afternoon, I showed the images I had taken out at New Era. She pointed out that there was a figure behind the tree on the deck of the trailer that we had lived in. This figure seemed to move around the tree as I pointed the camera at it. We could also see figures moving back behind the doors of the warehouse. Although I did go inside the trailer, I did not go inside of the warehouse to film. I was fully aware of the danger I had put myself into by going out there in the first place. The thought that I had put my wife in danger by leaving her alone in that motel room by herself was overshadowed by my anger over her outburst the previous night.

Since our funds were again running low, I decided to return the Sony Camcorder. As I would be receiving my Social Security check the next day, I could then go back out and repurchase the camcorder for my sister. I took the money we received, and we drove over to GI Joe's sporting goods store to purchase a car top carrier and a cooler for our journey the next day. I was still not happy with my wife, and I decided to go visit a friend I had been working with and take him out for a few beers. I did not return until around 8 PM that evening.

The next day I realized I needed to buy a set of buckles for the car top carrier. I drove back towards GI Joe's; about two miles down the road. As I prepared to leave May told me that she felt the presence of Nadia and the other men from New Era. I expressed reservations about the possibility of this being likely. She became quite emotional, insisting that they were in our room. In an attempt to calm her fears, I looked all over. I looked in the bathroom, under the bed, and under the table. She said she knew they were in the room, and insisted again that I look everywhere to make certain no one was in the room. I looked once more; even opening the closet again to make certain no one was hiding in the shadows. I saw no one. Explaining to her that there was no one in our room, and that I would be back in twenty minutes, I left. I then found myself going around in circles on the freeway for the next hour, unable to locate the correct exit for the store. I finally found it, and I returned about an hour and a half later. May was bright and cheerful. She stated that I had left the camcorder playing where I had left it sitting on the table and pointing towards the door. This was nonsensical to me, as I had not left the camcorder on 'play' before I left. I said "OK, right," and filed that statement to what I perceived to be her highly emotional behavior of late.

The next morning I called the manager and informed him we were leaving, and began packing all of our belongings into our carrier and our car. Pete came into our room and exclaimed, "It smells like somebody died in here!" He then told the maid to spray "Lots of scent to cover the smell." This 'maid' then sprayed some fragrance in the room. Pete then proceeded to look in the closets, opening every door, walking into the bathroom, and again said, "Who died in here?" My wife, who was sitting on the bed with our daughter on her lap said, "We have been sick for awhile." This man jumped straight up, looked at her with his eyes agape, and exclaimed, "Where did you come from?" May said, "I have been right here." He became visibly upset and immediately went out the door. The maid had dashed out the door so fast I did not even see her leave. This place was too strange, and reaffirmed my belief that my decision to move to LA was a good one.

It rapidly became apparent that that we would not be able to bring many of the things that we had accumulated. I decided to offer the baby stroller and several other items to the maid. I walked outside, and seeing her, I called out to her that I had some things that she might use. May came out behind me, and this maid took off at a full run down the parking lot, stopped, turned an abrupt left and dashed into another motel room. Thinking this behavior somewhat odd, I followed her down towards the room she had madly ran into. She suddenly ran at a full gallop back out of the room to a car parked out in front of this room, turned, looked at us, and then turned and ran back into the room again. This woman was behaving as if she had seen a ghost, and it was chasing her. I walked down the sidewalk and up the stairs into the room she had dashed into. I explained to her that we had several items that I thought she might be able to use, and she reluctantly accepted these gifts, but there was no doubt she was frightened out of her wits.

I had an agenda, as we were leaving within the hour to LA. I packed up the car and the car top carrier to the hilt, and we elatedly headed out of town, stopping to purchase another Sony Camcorder, which turned out to be superior to the one I had returned the day before. With absolute delight we "Hit the Road."



I drove all the way to southern Oregon, taking an exit that indicated food, lodging and gas. We stopped at a gas station in Brownsville, and I ended up looking at two old MG and Triumph convertibles in the back lot. I wanted out trip to California to be an enjoyable one, and I felt we could afford to take our time. The gas station attendant suggested we spend the night at a motel down the road. While we were there a man wearing a leather Harley jacket arrived, certainly not a crime, but he appeared to be watching us far too closely for our comfort. We soon left, and we decided that the motel that gas attendant recommended was dilapidated and quite frankly just not right. We stopped at a truck stop near there, and the receipt had as a logo "Halsey City." This was just too bizarre. I continued on south on I-5 to the next promising stop, where we rented a room at this motel that had its share of shady characters, but I was not interested in pushing myself too hard on this trip.

The next morning, while inspecting our car I saw that the weight of all of our things had brought the carriage of our car down so low that it was bottoming out at even the lowest drives. We had belongings piled up inside the car, and our daughter was looking lost in all of the clutter. Even our tires were almost flat from the weight. I thereby pulled around to the Dumpster in the rear of the motel and began removing items that were nonessential. I laid the more valuable items alongside the Dumpster, thinking somebody could use these things. A tall, elegant looking woman came around to the back where I was busy going through boxes and sorting out the mass of things in our car. She looked at what I was doing, shrugged, and walked away. I thought this kind of odd, as she looked to be too sophisticated to be staying at this place. I was certainly not impressed. We have seen this woman many times since then, and we have always found her presence to be reassuring.

We left soon thereafter, heading for the California border. At the border itself, there was a line of cars waiting to go through the Agricultural Inspection Station. However, we were waved right through. We were still worried about the biker at Brownsville, not to mention "Halsey City." I pulled in at the first rest stop I came to after entering California, and there at the phone were two men, one with a sign "Homeless Family Needs Money for Food," and he was laughing, almost joyous. The other one appeared to be on the telephone. We were not in a mood to trust anyone at this point. I looked for some food in the back, and I found what I thought was the tape I had taken of May and Bunny. I decided to take a few moments and watch the film. I saw some images which I did not understand, as I had not recorded them. I started to say something to May, but she was rapidly motioning for me to come back to the car. She said that these men were evil, and we had to depart immediately. I concurred, climbed into the car immediately drove back onto the freeway and headed south.

When we came to Redding I took the first exit that indicated motels were available. It was around 5 PM, and I found a very decent motel just off the turnpike. I went downstairs to the lounge to get cigarettes, and I noticed a man sitting at a table talking with the bartender. This man looked at me just a little too long, I thought. Upon closer inspection I realized he was the man at the telephone booth back at the rest stop. I immediately left, and walked up the stairs to our room.

After we settled in at our motel room I heard a female voice say, "When is the action going to begin?" I looked over to the mirror on the wall behind the dresser, and I could just barely see a woman seated behind the mirror. It appeared to be a two-way mirror, and I could only see her if I looked at it from a very acute angle. She was wearing a headphone set, and there was activity behind her. I saw a man walk up beside her, say something, look forward as if looking at us, but with his eyes looking lower, as if looking at a monitor, comment to her again, and then walk back out of the view. The "Action" henceforth did in deed begin, a series of events that became more intense with each passing day.

I picked up the camcorder and began to look at that tape again. What I saw first confused me, then shocked me and finally angered me. The tape began with a frontal view of our brown Ford LTD, taken from a distance of perhaps ten feet. I had not filmed our car. It appeared to be in a large parking lot, and May later suggested that that image was taped at the Fred Meyer grocery store parking lot the day when I bought the 8 mm tape for the camcorder, and I concurred. There had been a black man at the exit door blockning my way out, and looking back I now this man was Alan. Then the scene changed to inside a room with my wife wearing a pair of yellow dish gloves. She was walking backwards, beckoning to the cameraman to come to her. She was smiling seductively, and she said something, but this camcorder did not have audio. I had not filmed this. Neither did we have a pair of dish gloves, as neither of us uses them. This image lasted for around 15 seconds, and then she literally dropped straight down, as if she had passed out. The camera image then began to spin, as if the cameraman was rapidly spinning the camera, with the image moving all around as it was spinning. There was then a view of May, and she was wearing the dress that Nadia had given to her out at New Era. This dress was black, and it was covered with small purple and gold and white flowers. The image then closed in on the flowers, and the clarity of the flowers went out of focus. The image was of purple, and gold, and was glittering from the out of focus white flowers. The scene then changed to May lying naked on a bed, on what appeared to be satin sheets. She was lying on her right side, and she looked amorous and seductive. A corner of the sheet came up from behind her, at her waist, which she then took with a short sideways glance as if being prompted. Then white fluid appeared between her legs, around her pubic hair, as if from behind. Then there was a fleeting image of a man who was in fact Alan getting up from behind the bed and moving off-screen to the right. He had dark skin and a goatee length beard. Then there was a short scene of my wife walking into a bathroom, naked, which was filmed from behind. The scene then changed to whom I thought was May lying naked on her stomach, pushing hers torso up with her hands, with her hips still on the bed, and arching her head back. I practiced Hatha Yoga for many years, and this posture she was holding is called the snake. In the foreground, also lying on the bed, was what I thought appeared to be a female mannequin, lying on its back. I assumed it was a mannequin because the face was chalk white, and it appeared to be grossly distorted. A white sheet was pulled up just below her right breast, exposing it, and it covered the left breast. Then the scene altered with the addition of a naked man's backside humping up and down on the part of the bed where the lower torso should have been. He had very dark skin, with a substantial amount of black hair on his legs.

I was beginning to get really pissed off at this point, and I asked May to look at the tape and tell me what was going on. She watched it for awhile, and she told me that she did not understand what was going on. At the time I completely misunderstood what the intentions were of the people who constructed this tape. I have not had reason to distrust my wife, but I was looking at this film, my wife appeared to be with other men in a compromising situation, to put it mildly. May looked at this tape again several times. She became hysterical, saying that she was getting flashbacks. She said that these men had horribly beaten and then sodomized her. She then said that they had murdered her, and that she had been dead for several hours. I explained to her that it was not humanly possible to be dead for longer than four minutes before suffering severe brain damage, and that after seven minutes all brain activity stops. She responded that she only knew that they had hurt her horribly, saying that several men, including the individual Nadia, Alan and another man she now believes to be Halsey had hog-tied her, raped and sodomized her, and then murdered her. She told me that Alan had broken her neck with a device that he put on her wrists and ankles, and around her neck.

I then said, "May, how can I believe this story you are telling me when you do not have a single bruise on your body, much less the appearance of the kind of trauma which would result in death? In fact you look radiant, if anything. I have the proof of the tape! What proof do you have? I need to see some sign that you were actually hurt." May then took a bath, and she insisted that I stay with her. She began to get hysterical in the bathtub, shaking uncontrollably. I helped her out, and there was a large inflamed area all around her neck, and down the center of her chest. She screamed, "What is happening to me?" I took her out to the living room to the large mirror on the wall, and as we both looked at her image in the mirror the inflammation around her neck began to swell, turning a blotchy purplish and black color. There then began to develop a blood red band around her throat, which swelled to a one half inch thick band, and almost an inch wide, like a dog collar or something. Then I spotted contusions on her wrists, and I told her show them to me. There were severe wounds around both of her wrists. Then I looked at her ankles, and they also were red and swollen, with severe contusions running circularly around both of her ankles. We looked at each other, and I exclaimed, "Hog-tied!"

I again turned on the camcorder, and we each studied the film in turn. My wife told me that what I thought was a mannequin was in fact her. She asked me to look at this image, to see that these were her breasts, her face. It was hard to believe this as her face was horribly distorted, and there was this simultaneous moving live image of her doing this snake yoga posture. I looked closely at the image of my wife lying on her side, with what appeared to be semen spreading around her pubic hair in a circular pattern. This did not seem right, as she was lying on her side. This image was not logical, as semen would have gone down, due to gravity. This image was not real. I studied the part of the tape showing what I thought was a mannequin, and I saw that it was in fact my wife. Her tongue was hanging out between her teeth, her eyes were bulging completely out of her head, and her right jaw was visibly torn from her skull, and hung down in a grotesque manner. May later recalled that who she identified at the time as Nadia asked Alan to help him break her jaw from her skull. She remembers the crunching sound of them ripping the right side of her jaw out of her skull.

The image then changed to a view of a bathtub with a sliding glass shower enclosure, which was closed. Behind these semi-opaque glass doors was a man standing naked in profile. Facing him in profile was my wife. She was just standing there, not moving at all. After fifteen seconds of this image she dropped straight down, as if she had lost consciousness. The image then changed to this man standing there behind the glass doors with an extremely large erect peanus.

I then studied the image of the mannequin, with Alan humping on the bed. What was wrong with this image was that May's torso should have been there. Her lower body was missing. Then I saw that there was a pair of feet sticking out from the bottom of the bed. There was a long gap where the sheet was flat below her chest, and it was apparent that Alan was copulating on a blank spot on the bedspread. May's upper torso was mostly underneath the bedspread and sheet, and that part of her body from her waist down was down towards the lower part of the bed. Although I was raised as a Catholic, and I went to Parochial school for seven years, it had been a long time since I had read the Old Testament. The Hebrews struck fear into their enemies because they kept on getting up on the battlefield after they were killed. Their enemies got to the point to where they sawed the Hebrew soldiers in half, and they still got back up and went back onto the battlefield. Even if I had remembered this, I have always thought that miracles happened elsewhere, and to other people. Then the image changed to only the upper torso of my wife, her head beaten and broken horribly. Then there was a section of film that showed a pair of hands lifting Bunny out of the playpen and setting her on the shoulder of May's severed body. Our little seven-month-old daughter was not moving.

Then the film showed a view of the edge of the outside door, with the door open. There appeared the profile of what appeared to be a female's head, with brunette hair, slowly moving out from behind the door frame, and then slowly moving back out of sight again. Then the profile of a blonde female slowly moved her head out from behind the frame of this door, and then moved back from sight behind the door frame again. Then there was an image of Alan moving from behind the bed across the screen to the right. Alan had much darker skin than we had previously seen. The Alan we saw on this screen was not Caucasian. Alan is an Arab. The image changed to two lamps, one without light and hanging down from it's support Then there was an image of two figures passing in front of a mirror, from the right to the left of the screen. There was no substance to the figures, but mere outlines of their bodies crossing in front of the mirror. Then there appeared two faces, from a direct frontal view. These faces were smiling, grinning, shining fiery red. Upon closer inspection, these faces appeared to be composed of flames. Smiling evil faces of fire. . Then the image changed to the front door, taken from the inside. This image showed the back of a man going out the door, with his hand reaching back inside to close the door. The last image was of a rose bush, with a single yellow rose growing from the top. This was the same yellow rose bush growing in front of room number 14 of the Holiday Motel. Our motel room. Portland Oregon is the 'City of Roses.' Roses are my heart.

May spoke to me of her remembrance of a man with a deep and gentle voice speaking to her. He told her that she was in a safe box, where no one could hurt her. She said that Jesus was holding the box, and that God was consoling her. May cried out to him, "Who is going to take care of Bunny? Someone needs to cake care of my baby!" God then told her that Bunny was safe in the box with her and lying on her chest. God spoke to her again, saying, "I can't stop them from what they are doing. They have to be allowed to carry out their plan. But they cannot get your soul; they cannot get your daughter's soul. I have protected your souls in a safe box, where the evil spirits cannot get to you. It is locked, and the only person who can get to it is God." She asked, "What is the safe box?" He replied, "This is a box in the hands of Jesus. It is in the hands of the Lord." May asked, "Is it in heaven, in the sky, in the ground, or where?" The Lord said, "It is below where your body is being tortured. It is close enough to where your string will not be broken, which holds your life and your soul in a way that I can put you back together."

On June 1st, the day after I broke the window, the wife of the owner called up our room and told May that there were two men coming by to replace the window. She told May that she would be safe, and that no one would hurt her. It was the next day, on June 2nd, when I drove out to New Era to film the property. When I returned, it was an hour or so later when I left to buy a friend of mine from a previous job a beer. It was shortly after I left when May clearly remembers who she thought was me banging on the door, yelling "May, May let me in!" May remembers and identifies this individual as Nadia, even though I had later determined that this was in fact Dan Hachey. When May let Nadia in the door of the motel she believed him to be me. May had know me for over two years, and we had been married for a year and a half. Yet this beast fooled her. When he came into the motel room he told her that he had left his keys there. However, I wear my keys on a key large chain clipped to a belt loop on the right side of my pants. Any and all keys that I am using are always clipped on my belt loop. Nadia also brought in two men with him, introducing them to her as being friends of mine from a yard maintenance job I had held a week or so previously. May remembered that I had told her that I was going to visit a friend from this job and buy him a couple of beers, and so this made sense to her. Nadia then gave her a large glass of water and two pills that he said were Ibuprofin. He commanded her to take them both, and to drink all of the water. Her memory from that point on is spotty, but she remembers at one point he told her to take off all of her clothes. She asked him why he was still dressed, and he got extremely mad at her. She also remembers him taking off all of his clothes and saying, "Now I am going to rape you!" He then jumped on top of her and raped her. She then got up and went to take a bath. While she was in the bathtub she remembers Bunny crying, and Nadia screaming "Why don't you take care of your child!" He yelled at her many times, and there is an obvious reason for this. Tenants staying nearby would testify that the man in the house was loud and abusive towards his wife and daughter. When May was in the bathtub Nadia came into the bathroom and began to wash her hair. He then grabber her hair and shoved her head underneath the water. He held her head under the water until she began choking, and he then withdrew her head from the water and looked at her long enough for her to realize that he was not her husband. He then again shoved her head under the water, drowning her in the bathtub. She remembered Nadia sexually desecrating her body while she was in the bathtub, after he had drowned her. May also remembers these men beating her face and head continuously for quite some time. She said she remembered someone, whom she now believes to be Halsey saying, "He will be here in five minutes," Nadia then asked Alan to help him break Mays' jaw from her head. She then remembers coming back, and seeing Nadia positioning the camcorder on the table facing the door. She then saw a hand reaching around to close the door. She remembered three evil spirits going out the door, and then she got up.

As my wife and I were studying this tape which had been left at our motel room, we were living a kind of hell that was beyond any and all things I thought possible under the eyes of God. I am speaking as one whom attended seven years of Parochial school, as a husband to my wife and as a father to my four daughters. I am a man who is most apt to look with a certain degree of trepidation at a description of reality that deviates from the absolute norm, the norm being lineal perception. I am speaking as one who withholds judgment of our 'reality,' with the perception in mind that our subjectivity is bound to lead us astray.

We watched that tape and experienced this pain under the monitoring of the FBI. I saw them as being behind the mirror, and at times I found myself having to look at the mirror out of the corner of my field of view again in order to ascertain this vision and to understand that that which I was seeing was true. Although they were not actually behind the mirror, nevertheless my vision was true.

This was in a sense true, as the authorities were monitoring us. We were already judged guilty by association due to our residing out at New Era. This was the partial intention of Dan Hachey, Alan, Ken Smith and Halsey, although what they had in mind for me was the blame for my wife and daughters brutal murder. I am speaking of the 8-mm tape left for the authorities to find. What Pete and his 'witness,' the maid, expected to find was my wife's dismembered body and that of our daughter, Bunny, hidden in some drawer or closet. That is why Pete said, "Who died in here? It smells like someone died!" These men knew I had not left the motel since my return from GI Joe's. The police would look at the dismembered bodies, and I would be convicted in their minds, as well as in the minds of any jury. In addition, the other witnesses at the motel had seen my wife let a man in whom she had obviously believed was her husband. As we later learned, the Ford LTD that 'Ken Smith' had sold to me was with these men. They had indeed switched cars on me out at New Era. Halsey had returned with a Ford, but it was not a LTD. Thus, my car would have been identified at the motel in front of our room at the time. These men use multiple identical vehicles with identical license plates to commit their crimes.

As we were trying to determine the meaning of the presence of that tape I heard a voice say, "We need to get that tape." I slipped the tape under the mattress as we prepared to go to the store. When we returned I went to get the tape but it was not there. May was hysterical every time she went into the bathroom, and to calm her I stayed with her in the bathroom while she put on her makeup. I then heard the sound of something being dropped, and I quickly went into the bedroom. The camcorder was lying on the bed, and the tape was inside of it. I had previously looked in the camcorder, and the tape was not in it then. It was apparent the authorities had been in our room and had taken the tape for duplication. We did not know why we were under surveillance, but we had done nothing wrong, and therefore we felt reassurance in their presence. Later, while I was again looking at the tape in an attempt to discover what was going on I heard a voice say, "That sick son of a bitch." It occurred to me that this man was likely referring to me. I could not believe someone could think I would do something like what we were seeing.

I heard the sound of a drill from the room adjacent to ours, and it distinctly sounded as if someone was drilling a hole through our wall. I have spent decades in the construction business, and it was not difficult for me to locate the source and meaning of this sound. I turned to see what was going on but May began screaming again. I therefore stayed with her. I thought that it was important that I keep this tape, and I decided to put it into our bag of clothes. When I did this I heard a voice come from the room adjacent to ours say, "Did you see that?" Another male voice responded, "Yes, it's in the bag." I then brought the bag out placed it in the trunk of our car. I thought twice about this, but I was not extremely anxious to accept the idea that this tremendous conspiracy was going on at our expense, despite what I had seen and heard.

Later that night, hearing some commotion outside I walked out onto the balcony. I saw a man down on the parking lot looking up at me. He clapped his hands five times, slowly and loudly. This disturbed me, as I had seen Alan do something similar out at New Era when I was leaving his fifth wheel trailer on the dock and walking back up the hill towards the warehouse. At that time, Alan had grabbed a hammer and beat on a large drum five times. This man in the parking lot was of short stature, with fairly long blonde hair. He looked distinctly like Halsey, but he appeared much younger, and the hair color was wrong. I knew Halsey as having dark graying hair and a short beard. I felt somebody was up to no good, but I thought it a bit far-fetched that Halsey was there in the parking lot looking like a much younger blonde man. I could see no reason for those people from New Era to be following us all the way to California, much less be out in the parking lot trying to retrieve a tape I had hidden in my trunk. The next day we left early, and I headed for LA, looking forward to the warm sun and sandy beaches.

Before we even got out of Redding our car began wobbling in the front end severely. I pulled into a tire dealership and bought a new set of tires. I asked the young man who was installing the tires to please look at the underside of the car and let me know if he saw anything which did not look right, or that might be broken. He parked the car while I was occupied with the cashier, and as we were driving off he was walking across the lot grinning from ear to ear. We had seen a man approach him and engage in a conversation with him while he was installing our tires, and we speculated that there might have been an exchange of money between these two.

We were feeling increasingly uncomfortable and anxious to reach our destination. Perhaps ten miles south of Redding I saw a brown van approaching rapidly from behind us at a high rate of speed. I was not pleased to see that tone of brown on a van. This was identical to the brown van my wife had seen at the bank in Portland when that man took a gun from it. I decided to see if the driver was coming up to see us or just driving fast. I speeded up to a little over ninety miles an hour, and the van increased its speed, coming up almost parallel to us. I saw in my side mirror a redheaded female driving the van, and I turned to get a better look. I recognized that face. It was Nadia, and it's eyes were wide open like saucers, and it's mouth hanging open as if in utter awe. Meanwhile a white car had come up behind the van, and this car immediately dropped back as the van disappeared from view. It was my belief that he had driven forward to identify the van. In the distance behind us I saw him turn off to the right.

We drove on without incident until we approached Sacramento. May commented on two semi trucks driving in the opposite direction with large loads, and covered with the olive green tarp the military uses. May said that those trucks were evil. I reassured May that they were most likely military vehicles, and that, yes, perhaps they were carrying military gear of some kind. We again saw these same trucks driving southbound just north of LA. One of the trucks had that same oddly shaped load covered with green military canvas, one looked like the load was square, and one of the trucks was evidently a normal looking cab and stainless steel trailer. On the cab of this truck was the insignia "San Bernadino Brothers Trucking Company" on the door of his cab. It looked like the rig which a man who was introduced to me as "Chris" out at New Era brought by and showed to Alan. He had just bought it, and they seemed quite happy about it.

I filled off the freeway to fill up on gas, and I then drove to a Mini Mart next door to buy some juice for May and Bunny. As I came out of this store my wife pointed out this tall, solidly built man with a long ponytail and wearing a Harley T-shirt. He was standing right in front of our car on the concrete porch in front of the store. He was looking hard at us. He then leaned back against the wall and carefully looked around the corner of the building and surveyed the parking lot. He immediately jerked his head back, turned and ran off the porch and out into the lot behind us. There he climbed into the passenger door of a new tricked out blue van, which had the license plate "FLYS." We then looked in the direction of the parking lot he had been peeking at, and we noticed there were several vehicles that were definitely out of place. There was a blue-gray van parked about seventy-five feet to our left and forward with a woman sitting in the drivers' seat. She was just sitting there watching us, sipping on a coke. This was the same woman who had watched me empty our car of unnecessary items at the dumpster behind the motel south of Brownsville, Oregon. There was also a green California Agriculture truck, the same truck that we had noticed at the border crossing coming into California. I laughed, and shared with May that these Hells Angels kept on unzipping their fly, and exposing themselves to the authorities. What we did not know was that the authorities had not distinguished between our adversary and ourselves. We were heavily under suspicion.

By this time we had had an opportunity to look over the possibilities of why these men from New Era might have reason to follow us all the way into California. We kept going back to the day when we stopped the bank robbery in Portland, and our conviction that these men were obviously Hells Angels. We also saw that we had been used as unaware covers for what we thought was their methamphetamine lab at New Era. We considered the ramifications of the tape left at the motel in a new perspective. At this point I did not know what to thing of my wife's assertion that she had been murdered. It was apparent from the tape that this was true, but I still had difficulty believing in miracles. We did not discover until much later on out trip across the USA, which exceeded 6,500 miles, that the truth was far more bizarre, and more evil in intent than we could have at the time imagined.

I made the decision to take the I-505 connection to I-80 towards San Francisco. I was considering the possibility that these men knew we were on our way to LA to see my sister. I made the turn onto the exit at the last possible moment, with little room to spare. While exiting onto this bypass May began to lose control of her emotions every time she saw so much as a little stick on the road. She again became hysterical when I was going onto I-80, causing me to take the wrong turn. I ended back on I-505 going northwards to I-5. I decided to go ahead and drive South to LA. For a short while we were able in a certain level to relax, and put the evil that was chasing us down the highway to subside.

As I approached LA I chose Hwy. 110 – but again when I came close to an exit May again became hysterical, an experience I would not recommend on the LA freeway system. I again found myself driving North when I wanted to be going South, and then this situation repeated itself five times before Hwy. 110 dead-ended on this lovely tree lined avenue, with palm trees on the crest of a hill. I thought the ocean was on the other side of that hill. I then spotted the Pasadena Inn, and upon inspection I decided this was a safe and respectable motel. It was not until the next morning that I found out that the Pasadena was in fact in Pasadena, and not just over the rise from the beach. Hindsight has shown me that this was God's work, as if we had driven to Venice these men, who we still naively believed to be 'merely' Hells Angels were sitting there waiting for us with the open jaws of the dragon.

It will become apparent to my readers that in fact these men actually were 'Hells Angels.' Satan's disciples. They have become the overlords of a nationwide group of loosely (or perhaps not so loosely) organized men and women who risk death at the refusal of an order from the president of their local chapter. Thousands of bikers who would easily be impressed with a group of men dressed in black leathers with the demonstrated ability to manufacture vast quantities of methamphetamine. Men who had a distinct system for robbing banks, using wigs, removing and/or adding clothing in a few moments, using multiple, identical automobiles with identical license plates. All of this to confuse and occupy the authorities in multiple bank robberies in communities across the country simultaneously as they hatched their 'great plan.' It has always been true that the path of least resistance to power in all organizations is money and influence.

Soon after we arrived in Pasadena I noticed an inordinate number of bikers dressed in full leathers cruising up and down the boulevards. I took the 'tape' out of the laundry bag and played it, only to find that this was not the tape we had watched in Redding. It began with the image of a child, a profile view of a baby with its neck and body horribly arched back, its mouth opened to far to be natural; a view which we found so horrendous and threatening that my wife demanded repeatedly that I erase that image immediately. After much shouting on Mays' part, I decided to erase that image, against my better judgment. That child was not our daughter. It appeared to be a boy. I knew the appearance of that image on the new tape was not only an implicit threat but also a chilling display of the depth of the depravity of these beasts. Most of the other images which we had previously viewed were no there. In fact, it was not even the same tape cartridge. I had bought two new tapes in Portland, but this tape was old, and it was dusty. However the image which I had taken out at New Era was also on this tape, towards the end where I had begun filming out at New Era. Thus, it appeared that the first tape had been duplicated, with certain images added in the middle.

The second night we were at this motel, after May took a bath I went out to the car and I felt an evil, crawling presence I have had never experienced before. This presence was so powerful it was palpable. I went inside and told May that Nadia was outside, perhaps in our car. We talked about the three 'gifts' Alan had given to us: the net, the amethyst egg, and the 'black amber, what he called "Easter gifts," and we decided it would be best to discard them. I located them, took them outside and tossed them on the ground back around behind the dumpster. The next day we moved to another motel in Pasadena. I drove to an underground garage to park, and as we were getting out of the car a woman pulled up just below us in a sports car. She then immediately pulled back out again, drove to a space just above us, and parked. She got out of her car, took a long hard look at us, and rapidly walked across the lot and out the exit. We walked down the street to an open-air restaurant in Old Town and ordered lunch. It was obvious we had major surveillance all around us. There was a woman not more than ten feet from us, pacing back and forth, and talking into a walkie-talkie, and a few other people around whom were obviously on the payroll. We perceived that we were in danger out in public, so we finished our lunch and left. I decided against going to see my sister, as it appeared that we would be putting her in danger, as well as ourselves. The next day we had lunch at a Japanese restaurant. Shortly after we sat down a motorcycle cop drove up the street and turned towards the window where we were sitting, stopped in the middle of the street with his motorcycle facing us, nodded, turned around and drove back off down the street. That officer definitely caught our attention. Over the next two days I located a manual for our camcorder, and I bought us a VCR and some food to last us a few days on the road. I emptied more 'nonessentials from our car, as it was still riding heavy on the road. I also decided to leave our cartop carrier behind, as I believed it might be easier to maintain a degree of anonymity on the road without it on top of our roof. I even considered getting the car painted, but as I later found out, that would not have helped either.



We again hit the road, this time headed towards Taos, New Mexico. I had an acquaintance that I thought might offer us wise advice and a degree of protection from harm. I drove straight through to Williams, Arizona where we enjoyed a wonderful breakfast of Huevos Rancheros, and a semblance of peace. I then drove us to the Grand Canyon, where I found it to be as awesomely beautiful as I had remembered from the trip I took there in 1993 with my oldest daughter. We noticed no activity that we perceived as danger. I did take some video pictures of the canyon as a backdrop to my wife and daughter, and May filmed Bunny on my shoulders. On the way out of the canyon we only saw one biker, but we did not even feel comfortable about that.

I drove on in earnest, and I continued on until we arrived in Taos in the early afternoon. I rented room number 206 at the Taos Motel, on the southern outskirts of town. The next morning I went into town myself to see if I could locate my old acquaintance, which I had known for over thirty years. After several hours I managed to trace him down. I brought my wife and daughter with me out to his house only to find this man confrontational, telling me that we were not welcome in Taos. I asked him to listen to my wife explain the danger facing us, but he would not listen to our pleas for help. He looked as us askance, apparently unable to come up with an appropriate response to maintain his negative view. He told us our only recourse was to drive far away, "To Arkansas or somewhere and hide." He then showed us the door, which led to a path with a narrow plank that ran over a gully. I had to walk my wife and daughter over this in the dark. I drove us back to our motel room where we spent a well-needed night of rest.

The next day I drove us into downtown Taos, an experience that I felt we all needed. I have felt this beautiful place in the high desert to hold a spiritual grace. We stopped at Merlin's Garden, where I bought Frankincense and Myrrh, and charcoal burners. The Book of Revelation of John speaks of incense as "The songs of the angels, " and we found throughout our experiences that were to come this to be ever so true. I drove us to the Sagebrush Inn, where I worked for a short time in 1993. We enjoyed this lace so much we decided to rent a room there, even though we had already extended ourselves at the Taos Motel for another night. I then told May to wait for me while I drove back to the Taos Motel to pick up our belongings. When I arrived there I gathered up a full bag of the few belongings we had brought in there the night before. I lay down on the bed, and the next thing I knew my eyes opened, with no awareness of who I was or where I was. I studied my environment, and saw that I was in a room on a bed. There was no thinking process yet, only perception. My body sat straight up and I shouted, "May! Bunny!"

again and again, without understanding anything of what was happening to me. I could not understand why my seven-month-old daughter could not respond to me any more than why my wife could not. I only knew that I had to call out to them. I then found memory, which told me where I was, and where my wife and daughter were. I knew they were in danger, and I immediately jumped up and ran out the door and down the stairs to the car. I then remembered that I had come there to get our belongings. I ran back up the stairs, and looked all through the room, and I finally found the bag lying on the dresser. It was far short of that which I had put in there earlier, but I took it and drove the mile or so to the Sagebrush Inn.

It had been three and one half-hours that I had been gone. I found the Sagebrush In to be alive, with people dancing to live music. Sitting at the table where I had left them was May and Bunny. I did not know where to start as to why I was gone for so long, as it was getting dark outside. I took them both to the dance floor, where we danced to two songs, and then we retired to our room. I told her what I had experienced, and she said that was exactly how she had woken up at the Holladay Motel in Portland. The next morning a maid walked right into our room without so much as knocking. I not only find this improper protocol for service at a quality motel, but from our recent experiences I thought of this unauthorized entrance into our room as very likely bearing criminal intent.

I decided to locate a man, who I will call Jose, whom I had met in 1993 while I lived there for a time. I talked with him, and he told me we were welcome to join him and his family and friends at an outdoor blues concert in Belen, south of Albuquerque. I drove down there to meet him, and we all danced to live blues music. A thunderstorm descended on us, with an impressive display of lightning and rain. Our seven month old daughter found great joy in this experience, as did my wife and I. I was beginning to understand the horror which my wife and daughter had been subjected to. Jose invited us to follow him to his house, and he told us we were welcome there. May and I told Jose, his girlfriend and his other friends who were with him of what we had been going through. I told him about my belief that this group who were chasing us were Hells Angels, and my thinking that they must have a large quantity of money, and most likely drugs hidden on the car. I suspected it was hidden underneath the carriage of the car. May told them of her memories of what these men had done to her, and we described the tape which had been left in my camcorder in Portland. Jose stated that he was a Hells Angel himself, as was sticks, a friend of his that was there. He told me that he could initiate me into the Hells Angels, and guarantee our safety. I did not find this very appealing, and I let that subject ride. I showed him the camcorder, and I showed his son how to use it. He taped us for awhile, and with a little help, he was quite talented with it.

We spent the night on sleeping bags and blankets on his floor. The next morning, while just waking up I heard his girlfriend talking on the phone. I opened my eyes slightly, and I observed her walking back and forth at our feet, saying, "No, he's thin! No, he's not wearing glasses. Yes, her hair is red, but it is not that long." I had the distinct impression that this young woman was talking about us. When she saw that I was awake she went into the other room. I woke May up, and a short time later Jose came out into the living room and told me that he had to leave, as he had some business to take care of. I drove to the store and bought some groceries for breakfast. Jose's son, who I will call Jay, told me about his dream of the previous night. He said, "I had a dream that there were a lot of little lights, and a big darkness. Then a big light came, and the darkness left." Jose returned, and we ate breakfast together. He sat down with his girlfriend, and May and I sat together with Bunny on the other couch on the opposite side of the room. I told Jose about his son's tale of his dream. Jose said, "Really?" he then looked extremely uncomfortable. His six-year old son was acting a little strange. He did not want to sit with his father, but chose to come over and sit with me. I put him on my lap, and he then gave Bunny a little brown bear, which she has to this day. Jose told me that he had to leave again, as he had to build three caskets. I think he was trying to warn me of trouble, but I did not see that at the time. I knew he had been an undertaker when I last knew him, but he had told me the previous night that he was no longer doing that. Not to mention the fact that undertakers do not build caskets. Cabinetmakers build caskets. When he returned an hour or so later, he asked me if I would go with him for a ride. As we were driving down the road he asked me how soon we could leave. I said, "No problem. We can leave in an hour." He turned around and brought me back to his place. I informed May of what was going on, and we began to pack immediately. Jose then asked if we had a family picture that I would give to him. I talked this over with May, and for some reason I decided to give him a picture taken about five months earlier. When I handed this to him he hollered "Wee!" and went running back into his bedroom. I have to assume he went to use his phone. As I was packing our car, Jose approached me and told me this story of how expensive it was to cut a record, and that he had already spent over $4000.00 to record a record for his band, "The Drivers."

This man's girlfriend had called up her Hells Angel friends and sold us out to them. He had told me that the penalty for refusing to kill someone if ordered to do so was death. I should have listened to him. He had no idea with which he was dealing with. These people enjoy killing women and children. They dance with joy after doing this thing. The men from New Era were much more than the Hells Angels, as you will come to see. It is evident, however, that they were at the pinnacle of the power structure of the Hells Angels.

"A great and wondrous sign appeared in heaven; a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon at her feet and a crown of twelve stars on her head. She was pregnant and cried out in pains she was about to give birth."

We drove north to Taos, arriving at sunset. At the crest of the hill overlooking Taos valley, the Sangre de Christo mountains rise high behind this small artist's community revealing a unique formation which quite clearly appears to be a fulsome woman lying on her back, and appearing quite pregnant. We wondered at this beautiful natural wonder of God's creation. Thus was mother earth in golden splendor.

Although we had left Portland with resources sufficient to assure us a comfortable residence in Venice, California until we found work, I had not anticipated a mad dash half way across the United States with the entire organization of the Hells Angels on our heels. We had been stalked by a group of people who were more sophisticated than I had known the Hells Angel to be in previous years. Unlike the presentation made to us by the people out at New Era, these men looked cleaner, they were well organized, and they apparently had access to enormous cash reserves. At this time it was apparent that these people were spending a great amount of time and money to track us, and this enormous expenditure of resources defined the magnitude of their interest in us.

We had come to the realization that Dan Hachey, Alan, Gary and Halsey were in fact not only with the Hells Angels, but that they were undoubtedly at the top. These men were giving orders, orders that could not be deviated from. They were also offering considerable cash rewards for current pictures of our family. Their interest in us was due to our ability to recognize them, their apparent drug manufacturing operations at New Era, their apparent sophisticated bank robbery activities, and thus leading to our conclusion that there was something else they were also after. They were after our car. This explained the apparent switch of our car out at New Era, and also the apparent extreme weight we were carrying in addition to our belongings. It would stand to reason that drugs and money had been hidden in our car. However, this did not explain the incomprehensible brutality that was inflicted on my wife and daughter, as revealed in the tape that they had left in my car.

I spotted a pawnshop on the edge of town, where I sold the VCR I had bought in LA for $37.50. The least of my concerns was losing our VCR. My concern was for my family's safety. I bought several trout at the grocery store, and I drove us out to a breathtakingly beautiful park with a meandering brook at the base of a steep canyon in the Sangre de Christo Mountains. I stopped at a small gas station on the way, and while inside a truck pulled up alongside, where Alan got out of the car, looked closely at my wife, and then pretended to put some gasoline in the truck. However, this was obviously a ruse, as he never went inside to pay for any gas. They left in a few minutes, and May described his arrival, and subsequent departure after identifying her. This was the first sign that Alan had reared his ugly head since we left New Era. I drove off to the park, where we had an opportunity to eat, and enjoy the beauty of the land, while determining how we were going to survive from the threats that were constantly at our side. I found a degree of humor watching a fisherman trying out his skills in this beautiful trout laden brook as I was frying trout in a barbecue pit in the mountains outside Taos, trout which I had purchased from the grocery store in Taos. I was shocked back into reality when a Harley drove into the park driven by a man with a long gray ponytail. Deciding to determine the motivations of this man's presence, and whether it was innocent or predatory, I called out: "Hello! How are you?" He looked at me and called back: "Fine! How are you?" I recognized that not only was this man a friend, but that he was a "Federal Friend. "We had come to the point of recognizing friends from foes after time and pain. My wife was sensitive to the difference. She taught me much that I needed to learn. She can "feel" the evil that is the nature of these men; she could recognize the gloating, smiling, and peculiarly slanting grins of these evil men. Men who were so intent on causing us harm.

We knew we were not safe there or anyplace else in Taos. We hurriedly packed up, and I drove us south to Santa Fe. We could no longer could afford the luxury of a room, so I parked in the parking lot of a large shopping center. I burned Frankincense and Myrrh, and we slept on blankets piled on top of our belongings in the back seat. The car became unbearably hot, with condensation pouring down the windows, and I awoke from the heat and rolled down the windows for as long as I dare to let out some of this heat. This car became so hot over the next two weeks that the soles of my wife's sandals melted. The black rubber mat on the floor turned white, the cause of which became apparent in time. There were private security cars on the lot, and it would have been impossible for these officers to not have been aware of our presence. We felt protected by the presence of these guards, support within which we felt safe.

The next day I splurged and bought us breakfast, a meal that we split at the restaurant in the shopping center where we had spent the night. May and I discussed "New Era," and our growing belief that Dan Hachey had been integrally involved in the operations within our limited understanding at that time of what had taken place there. We had not yet realized that he was in fact a key player there all of the time, an insidious being of planning and deceit. We still had not identified him with his actual relationship to Nadia. We knew he had stolen May's ID, and my briefcase, and we believed he was using this information to establish bank accounts in our names. I gave May a list of several banks that I took out of the phone book. She began calling banks both locally and around the country to see if there were in fact accounts in her name. We had come to the conclusion that if Dan Hachey had indeed opened up bank accounts under our identities, then this money legally belonged to us. Therefore these people had no legal recourse in preventing us from withdrawing all of these funds in one simple act of closing the account. These men had hurt my family. I said: "These people have put us in this position. I am going to slam them into the ground for the pain they have caused you and Bunny. I will take all of their money out of their bank accounts, and I will break their financial backbone! I am going to squash them like a bug!" Little did we know at that time how much money was involved. I suspected tens of millions of dollars in May's name. That is but a small fraction of the funds these men had at their disposal. I now know it to be hundreds of millions of dollars.

I discovered that there was a Bank of America right in the shopping center where we were having breakfast. We raised our courage, and I drove us over to the bank. As we walked up to the entrance of the grocery store within which was the bank, I pointed out to May a compact car parked in front of us. As I glanced at the driver's window I saw the woman sitting in the driver's seat, she was closely watching us. She then mouthed the words: "They're here." Not only were we under observation, but the FBI had anticipated our presence at Bank of America. I felt we had no reason to fret; though this was not helpful towards my control over my nerves, not to mention my ability to calm the nerves of my wife. The bank is to the right of the entrance, and as we walked past the assistant manager it was apparent that he was frightened beyond all reasonable expectation. This poor man was frightened to death. This was not an encouraging sign. May explained to the cashier that we needed to speak to the manager, and when the "manager" arrived she escorted us into her office. Upon hearing May's explanation that we believed that her account had been manipulated, with accounts opened up without her permission, the manager explained to us that she would have to call the police. This was entirely too much for us to handle, and we politely excused ourselves, explaining that we had not eaten lunch, and this sounded like it would be a lengthy affair. I explained to this woman, who handled this situation most adroitly, we would return after lunch.

I drove us back to the restaurant where we discussed the possible repercussions of our various alternatives. I determined that we would hold our breath and return to the bank and state our case. We were concerned that we may have been implicated in the dealings of these people, and it was possible we would be subject to arrest. However we had done nothing wrong, and we were desperate for money. We were certainly not in any position to relax, find housing, and act like there were not people actively trying to murder us. We were well aware that this was the intention of these "Devils Disciples."

Upon returning to the bank, the manager was calm, and carefully looked at all records that she said were available to her on the computer. She found no accounts in my wife's name or in mine. May asked her that if any accounts turned up in her name, or mine, that these accounts be shut off to all access without her presence. The manager agreed to put a flag on any accounts that showed up. Leaving, I drove to Old Town in Santa Fe, where we found a lovely small fountain with grass where we could put our baby daughter down and reconnoiter. I filmed her on our camcorder, and we tried to relax something we had not been able to do since our experience out at New Era in April. A couple walked by us a short time after we arrived, and I couldn't help but hear their conversation. The woman said: "Why didn't they just close it down?" The man responded: "Because they never owned it in the first place!" She then responded: "Incredible isn't it?" The man then said: "Yes, it is."

That evening I drove us to "The Christian Fellowship," as I felt we would be safe with Christians, and there was a chance we might find sanctuary away from harm for the night. We were warmly welcomed as we entered the building, and we were brought into the auditorium where a revival film was just beginning. This was a good size auditorium, and quite full. Everyone began singing and clapping to the music when our daughter became upset at the noise and began crying. I brought her back to the entrance and began walking her when I was approached by a woman who asked me if I would like to place my daughter in the children's care center. Although I was not of a mind to leave my daughter with anyone, I felt at peace with the idea, and with this woman's presence. I therefore followed her to the children's care center and observed the kids for awhile. Bunny had been put into a mechanical swing, and she looked absolutely delighted, as did all of the other children there. I asked if there was a system, which would guarantee that only I could release my daughter from their care. She handed me a receipt, explaining that without that receipt they would not release her, no matter what. I decided I could accept this, left my daughter happy and playing amongst the other children, and walked back down the hall towards the auditorium. The wall at the entrance was floor to ceiling glass, and outside I saw this man rapidly pacing back and forth while talking into a miniature cellular phone. When the man turned around I immediately recognized him as being Dan Hachey himself, the former landlord of ours who said he was going to ruin my life. What more propitious than to have this man show up in Santa Fe on the same day that May and I had ordered that all bank accounts which even remotely to be in any of our names to be blocked. This man was pacing back and forth like a wolf in a zoo, and he was furious. I turned and walked straight back into the auditorium and to my wife, whereupon I told her that she needed to come with me immediately. She asked me where our daughter was, and I explained to her that she was fine, but that May needed to follow me, as there was something I wanted her to see. When we were out in the lobby I told May to look outside through the glass and tell me if that wasn't Dan Hachey out there, who was still intently pacing back and forth. She looked at him, and without taking a step her body moved straight back and to the right three feet in a singular movement. At that moment Dan Hachey entered the lobby, and while walking by us I said: "Excuse me, but don't I know you?" This man stopped, and then jumped, as if he not seen us before I spoke to him, although we were standing right there. I greeted him again, saying: " Excuse me, but you look like a man we know in Portland, Oregon." He responded: "I am not the man you think I am." My name is ... Don." I decided to carry this thing through, and introduced myself, shaking his hand, and introducing my wife. He then said he was working on finding a place for us for the night. Apparently he had come in right behind us, and overheard me asking if there was shelter available for my family. I then put my hand on his shoulder and said: "God bless you." He immediately dropped down low, bending his knees while simultaneously twisting to the right, literally dropping and twisting away from my hand on his shoulder. He then took off at a near run towards the auditorium door and the darkened room behind. His reaction was as if my touch had caused him unbearable pain and fear.

There was no doubt in our minds that this was Dan Hachey. We immediately picked up our daughter and left. I drove to an Episcopalian Church, where there were several men talking in the parking lot. I asked the man I thought to be a minister if he knew of any shelters in Santa Fe. He told me to go to the hospital and explain our situation. He explained that they had facilities where they could house us for the night in emergency situations. I then drove us out to the hospital, on the eastern edge of town.

We indeed did spend the night at the hospital. We spent the night sleeping in our car, in the parking lot. The woman who interviewed us told us that this was our only recourse, and that we would be safe, as the lot was constantly patrolled by security guards. I decided this was a place where my family would be safe from harm. I again emptied our car of several items we did not absolutely have to have, but the car was still bottoming out over even gentle inclines. This is a 1976 Ford LTD I am referring to, a veritable tank on rubber tires. I had difficulty visualizing the amount of drugs and/or money that would weigh down this automobile to that degree. Oddly enough there was another brown ford LTD on the parking lot, but it had obviously been violently disassembled. The interior was torn up, the driver's side window was missing, and the fenders were hanging loose. This was an ominous sight at best.

Our car was still unbearably hot that night for no reason I could explain, as the high desert is quite cool at night. We did not sleep well that night, and early the next morning I decided to find the St. Vincent de Paul and apply for traveler's aid. I ran out of gas before I found this place, forcing me to walk the thirty or so blocks to get there. After a several hour wait I was asked to leave the lot, as they were closing. I explained to this man that I had been told that there was a meeting that night, when funds would be dispersed for travel expenses. This man went to the front desk, where the gentleman explained that there was a committee meeting at five o'clock. It was clear that the people I was meeting with were not your normal St. Vincent de Paul directors. This became apparent to me when one of the women present asked me to sign on the top line of a legal size card paper form, a form which was certainly not going to fit into the little card file box they were using for client records. These people were altogether too intense to be committee members of a nonprofit corporation. The FBI wanted my signature, and they were interested in observing me write my signature. This woman then took this form and commented that I had very fluid handwriting.

The presence of these agents and the direction of their interest again demonstrated that the people from New Era, and the Hells Angel organization with which they were likely running were under intense scrutiny by the FBI. There was a degree of disbelief from the men present at St. Vincent de Paul towards the idea that I had ran out of gas, and that my wife and daughter were stranded in our car alone at the other end of town. There was resistance to the thought that we were without money; not part and parcel to this conspiracy of which the full dimensions were not to be made clear to me, and thence to the authorities for many months to come.

I took the wrong direction when I left St. Vincent de Paul, and I walked a couple of miles in the wrong direction. I was not pleased at the thought of walking back several miles, nor the thought of leaving my wife and daughter alone any longer that absolutely necessary. On the way back towards the proper station, and my family, I saw a man sitting at a bus stop across the street perhaps one half mile down the road. I crossed the street, sat down next to him and we struck up a conversation. I explained to him that I was trying to find the right station and get back to my family, who were stranded on a side street in our car. He offered to give me a ride, explaining that he was taking over the route at that point. After a time he turned and told me we were approaching my stop. I began to go to the rear exit when he called to me and asked me to come to the front, which I did. He then carefully explained how to get to the gas station from where he was letting me off, and then how to get to our car, and my family. He made certain I understood, and then let me out. This man was quite an unusual bus driver.

I finally arrived at the street where I had parked. A tow truck had pulled up in front of our car, and the driver had gotten out of his truck as if preparing to tow our car. My wife had been lying down, as she was afraid, but she then sat straight up. Her presence did not deter this man, however. It was not until she turned around and saw me walking up the street that he then saw me, jumped, climbed back into his tow truck and drove off. I was not parked in a no parking zone, but on a quiet residential street. There was no legal justification for towing our car, not to mention the risk which these men were willing to take, towing our car with my wife and child inside. These men wanted our car desperately.

I drove to the gas station and bought twenty-five dollars of gas, leaving us with six dollars. I then drove us to the freeway, heading south towards Albuquerque with the intention of departing from Santa Fe and the danger which this town had presented to us as fast as I was able. Despite the unexplained weight I was carrying, this Ford LTD impressed me with its ability to move. As we approached the outskirts of Albuquerque I came upon a series of bright yellow barricades along the edge of the freeway which within a very short distance closed off the right lane. There was no advance warning to these signs, and they were placed at the beginning of a series of sharp S-curves, forcing me to rapidly brake while negotiating this driver's nightmare. We drove past a semi truck, and Mat shouted that the men in the truck were pointing what appeared to be a machine gun at us, and shooting. I hit the pedal to the floor, drove through over a mile of the sharp curves, only to find in the middle of this highway havoc a pickup truck which was stopped in the right lane. I was forced to sharply swerve into the left lane while again negotiating yet another sharp curve. Shortly thereafter the freeway straightened out, and we saw a brown Ford virtually identical to ours pulled over on the right shoulder. The driver's window was shattered, and another car had pulled over in front of it. We saw a man reaching into the passenger door as we drove by. As I continued on a couple of miles the same car which had been parked in front of the Ford passed me at a high rate of speed, pulled over in front of me and sharply braked, forcing me to brake also. He then rapidly accelerated, braked and accelerated, while repeatedly looking at me in his rear view mirror. It dawned on me that this man wanted me to follow him. I immediately accelerated; at which point he did also, reaching speeds of 110 MPH. This man without warning suddenly turned sharply onto an off ramp towards downtown Albuquerque, flying through intersections, around traffic onto oncoming traffic, through red lights, and finally ended up whipping into the hospital emergency entrance. This man then jumped out of his car and ran around to the passenger door where he helped the woman pick a child up out of the seat, and they ran into the hospital.

We sat there in our car, stunned at the realization that a man, woman and child had taken bullets for intended for us. Dan Hachey must have put out a "hit" on us after he confirmed our identity in Santa Fe. We did not shut down any bank accounts, as they were already under observation. What surprised the FBI was that we did not control the accounts in the first place. This is how sophisticated these people are, a degree of sophistication far exceeding that which the Hells Angels could muster. Thus we had to wonder who exactly these men were, if they were not Hells Angels. The FBI must have been having similar thoughts. I suspect they believed the order to kill us was merely a ruse, and they decided to deploy a double to uncover this perceived subterfuge. The FBI found out the degree of violence to which these men were willing to go to see us dead. At this time the FBI must also have been reassessing the nature of these men's business, and perhaps coming to the realization that we had been used as a cover for these men and their operations. I did not feel that we were safe there, and I immediately turned out and found my way back to the freeway, heading east on US 40.

Forty miles or so out of Albuquerque we saw the same group of three trucks we had seen north of LA. The leading truck was a standard 52-foot semi tractor-trailer, with an additional two semi trucks pulling those same loads covered with olive green canvas. The way the load was set on one of the other trailers was peculiar, and unmistakable. The section view was triangular, with the axis, or point of the triangle running the length of the trailer. There was a ridge in the center of this triangular section that rose perhaps five feet above the rest of the section. I could hardly believe my eyes. The meaning of the repeated presence of these three vehicles, particularly after they demonstrated that they were now willing to open fire on sight on any vehicle which appeared to be us; these realizations deeply disturbed me. There was something going on here that involved matters far more important than drugs or money.

I decided to attempt to elude these trucks, and I took the next exit, drove over the next overpass, drove back towards Albuquerque, and then doubled back towards Texas. I pulled off at the next rest stop with the intention of getting off the freeway and getting some sleep. I actually believed we could evade these "terrorists." I got out of the car to stretch and freshen up in the small building only fifty feet from our car. Upon returning to our car there was a semi truck and trailer parked adjacent to, and slightly forward of our car. I stretched out and prepared to get comfortable, that is as much as is possible in the driver's seat. Something was wrong, however, and I felt very uncomfortable. The back of the semi trailer had a gate that rose only four feet, and unusual design for a tractor-trailer. There was a view into the trailer that revealed bags of onions stacked perhaps six feet high. These bags should have at least shown some disarray after transport. I have unloaded many trailers, and loads are not picture-perfect. This one was. Hindsight tells me that Halsey painted them. He had without doubt received training, and had quite a talent for precision drawing. I decided to lay back and partially close my eyes, and observe what transpired. I then saw a head slowly rising up from the inside of the rear gate of this semi trailer, between the neatly organized stacks of onions and the rear gate of the trailer. This was not two feet from the front of our car. I felt and saw an evil presence there which I had not felt since I felt a presence out in the parking lot of the Pasadena Inn on the outskirts of LA, a presence which was the identity we knew as Nadia. In considering my options for escape I realized this semi truck had hemmed us in. That was not right either, as the driver would have normally parked in the area reserved for 'Trucks Only.' The driver had parked obliquely to our car, with his front end pulled up alongside of the car in front of us, prohibiting our departure, and leaving my exit to the rear hemmed in by another car. The passenger of this car was fast asleep. When I saw this head slowly rise up in front of us I jumped up, started our car, and drove forward between the car and the truck as far as was possible. It was at this point that my wife saw Alan sitting in the passenger seat of this truck with what appeared to her then as a red nylon pantyhose pulled down over his face. I then backed up, turning to the left around the front of the car, which had hemmed me in from behind and then forward and around the semi tractor-trailer. My wife, May, described the appearance of Alan as a "Red glowing face." I drove for quite some time on this freeway at a not too leisurely of a pace.

The next morning we again saw a tractor trailer rig parked alongside the freeway, but the load this rig was carrying what appeared to be bales of hay. However, I grew up in Oregon, and the load on this trailer was not hay. The first clue was the tarp on top of the load, which reached down the sides to perhaps four feet from the bottom of the load. Hay is delivered dry. In the desert there is no reason to cover hay. Hay is not even covered in western Oregon! What was more peculiar, and noticeable, was the odd look of the hat that was visible. Far too picture perfect to fool a man who spent his youthful summers stacking bales of hay on a 1000-acre farm. Later on that morning May pointed out a truck pulling a horse trailer, and she insisted that the horse trailer was dangerous. Despite what we had been living through, I still found the concept of a horse trailer being dangerous farfetched. After this same horse trailer passed us two more times in the next two hours I drove us up right behind it, and what I saw was all I needed to see to convince me that it was time to back off. The back of this trailer was bending in folds as it went over bumps, and appeared to made out of rubber, or a rubberized plastic.

There was a pattern developing of vehicles which had been constructed to function in such a manner that their appearance could be changed in minutes, if not moments. I turned off at the Amarillo, Texas exit at around two A.M. where I found a large brightly lit store, and thus a place where we felt comfortable stopping, and where I could leave my wife and daughter outside in the car for a minute or two. I bought my wife some aspirin, and then I pulled across the street to a gas station to fill up our gas tank. This station was poorly lit, and no sooner had I gone inside to pay for the gas than several vehicles pulled in; a pickup truck which pulled in the aisle on the other side from us, and a red Chevrolet Lumina. After I paid for the gas I laid a map out on the front hood of my car to decide the route I would be driving. May called to me, and when I looked at her she was waving frantically. I walked over to ask her what was wrong, and she rapidly told me that I needed to get into the car right immediately. She then pointed out the new red Chevrolet Lumina, which had parked over towards the end of the station, and also the pickup camper that had parked aside of us. She pointed out these people to me, and as I looked I saw a tall man of obvious Arabic delineage motioning to two men at the pickup, with a wave of his hand. I did not then recognize him, but that man was Ossama bin Laden, or, as we knew him, Ken Smith, the man whom had sold us our car back in New Era. I did not find out until much later that Mr. Laden is, in reverence to his contributions towards the Islamic Jihad, called Ossuma, the name on the sign out at New Era which was exposed when the "New Era Boat works" sign had mysteriously fallen down, and then put back up again within two days. An event which occurred just before the arrival of 'Ken Smith.' The two men at the pickup truck were virtually carrying a heavily sedated woman to the driver's side of the truck, where they then pushed her into the cab. I can only assume they had taken her out of the camper of this truck. This woman was a redhead, as is my wife. She was the image of the woman who appeared to be my wife that had shown up on the tape that had been filmed at the Holladay Motel in Portland, Oregon. The truth and the gravity towards the actions and intentions of these men were becoming horrifyingly apparent. My wife was whom at first appeared to be a mannequin, drowned in the bathtub and horribly beaten, beaten to the point that her eyes had been beaten out of her head, and then severed at the waist. This was my wife. The woman whom these men were dragging into their pickup truck was under heavy sedation, and our impression was that she was not being treated gently, by any manner of speaking. Not to be ignored was the fact that other operatives were directing this operation, a method of operation signifying a degree of sophistication far beyond the purveyance of the Hells Angels. I have certainly never met a Hells Angel biker who was an Arab. However, we knew that the Hells Angels had not only pulled strings to obtain a current picture of us, but I had been told by my friend in New Mexico that there was a threat of death upon failure to produce that which his superiors had demanded. The answer to this parody was that foreign operatives had taken control of the Hells Angels. This was also the only possible explanation for the violence that these men were willing to flaunt in the face of the FBI. It was also apparent that we were being tracked by means in addition to visual identification. Despite the fact that I had backtracked numerous times on freeways halfway across the country, these men were still not only behind us, or at our side, but more often than not ahead of us.

These are thoughts that we pondered over as we were driving towards the Oklahoma border. There was a small town just inside Oklahoma that had come highly recommended by the woman at St. Vincent de Paul in Santa Fe, New Mexico. She had said that she used to own a gas station there. We enjoyed a moments of peace over a buffet breakfast, and discussed our options. I then filled our gas tank and drove on towards Oklahoma City. I did not stop there but turned south on Interstate 35 towards Dallas, Texas. I stopped at a motel at the highway 7 turnoff where we unpacked, and we then drove to Duncan to buy a few assorted assundries. When we came back to the motel my wife pointed out to me that the door latch had been broken while we were gone. This is the brass fitting which is bolted, or screwed into the door frame, and swings over and latches onto the door, thereby prohibiting entry by the duplication of the door key. We had come to the point of always inspecting the security of our rooms before we rented them, and continually during our residence. I then decided to take a look outside, and there in the parking lot was the same Red Lumina LS, License plate number 38CLB90 which we had seen the night before outside of Amarillo, Texas at the gas station. I immediately called the front desk and informed the desk clerk that our room had been broken into. I also informed him that as a result of the break-in of our room that I was not willing to stay at this motel, and we would be checking out immediately. To my surprise the desk manager told me that he did not have a problem with this and we could check out of our room. Within one minute I heard a knock at our door, and when I opened the door there stood a man, pacing back and forth as if impatient, with a cellular telephone or two way radio in his hand. He never did identify himself, but told me that our refund was ready at the front desk. We had already packed, and as we walked toward the door, he entered the room and, pointing to the Bible we had left on the table and said: " "Don't forget your book!" As we were walking towards the door, he then walked over to my wife, handed her a piece of stationery and said: "Here, you left this behind." What he handed May was the stationery from the Days Inn Motel where we had stayed two nights before. It was on this piece of paper that she had written down the license plate number of the same Chevrolet Lumina, which was parked out front. We had left that piece of paper in our motel room at a Days Inn motel almost 1000 miles behind us! I packed our bags, into the car and us and proceeded to drive around the corner to the office. The desk clerk had our refund ready for us, in cash. The authorities demonstrated a degree of concern for us that indicated all too clearly the danger that we were in. But if that were the case, why were we not in protective custody?

I the proceeded down the highway to Fort Worth, Texas. We discussed possible scenarios as to the willingness of federal agents with children in the car to take bullets on our behalf. The logical explanation is that the FBI was interested in determining whether the threats that were being made against us were real or merely a ruse. Apparently they thought it was a ruse, as they would not have taken that risk otherwise. We were also amazed at the audacity of the New Era group and their Hells Angels cohorts to openly flaunt their apparent belief in their own invincibility. We were beginning to speculate on the possibility that these men may actually be terrorists. We had only a few boxes left of our belongings, and yet our car was still sitting far too low for the veritable tank that it was. I saw a truck weigh station, and I pulled over only to find that it was closed. However, I discovered that the scales were working, so I weighed the front axle weight, the rear axle weight, and the combined axle weight. Our car weighed 1100 pounds over its rated weight, according to the label on the door panel. That was subtracting our combined body weights, and the weight of our remaining belongings, which was two or three hundred pounds. No combination of drugs and or money that could be hidden on our car could weigh that much.

After a brief stop in Fort Worth, I continued on to Dallas. When we arrived there I bought some groceries and drove to a lovely tree lined park alongside a narrow lake. I pulled into the park only to find four men with an appearance altogether too familiar. They all had long hair, a couple of them had beards, and they could have been just a truck full of very tough looking men. These men however were looking at us with we had come to recognize as the same smiling, mocking look with those slanty, grinning eyes. I immediately left, and then I drove us to a quick mart type store nearby. May called her family to arrange for money to be wired to us through Western Union. While she was on the phone those same men drove up in their pickup truck. One of these men got out and pretended to make a phone call from the phone next to my wife. I knew he was pretending, as he then carried on a conversation with nobody. I knew this to be true as I had tried that phone first and I knew that it was out of order. Apparently he was not too bright, but intelligence is not necessarily a prerequisite to violence. This was not a good sign. He had heard the bulk of my wife's conversation, and he must have known that we were expecting money to arrive. We immediately climbed back into our car, and I drove us to downtown Dallas. I managed to get lost several times, turning back and forth along the turnpike. Oddly enough I did not do this on purpose, although it did serve my purpose to an extent, as I believed that perhaps this might lose anyone who might be following us. I located a check-cashing store that accepted Western Union deliveries, but the owner was obviously an Arab, and he kept on looking at us. There are many ways of looking at someone, and normally I am not bothered by the idea of people looking at me. Most of the time it is a pleasant experience. I am not a small man, and I have no fear other than the fear of The Lord. There is a certain manner with which people look at someone with the intention of identifying them. It is apparent that they are on someone's payroll. After some time passed by, the cashier told us that there was a delay. When a biker drove up in front of this place and began to park, dressed in his 'colors,' I took my family and left. I found another Western Union office on the other side of town, although again I managed to unintentionally take a circuitous route to get there.

We successfully retrieved our funds, and I drove towards the freeway heading south.

On the outskirts of town, as I was waiting for the traffic light not far from the freeway entrance this extremely loud staccato sound erupted right behind and in the right lane from our car. It sounded identical to a Geiger counter, but as if it were on a loudspeaker. We had been speculating on the possibility that the people at New Era were spending resources and taking risks in excess of what I imagined even the Hells Angels would spend to retrieve a car in which they had hidden a cache of drugs, laundered money and bank robbery money. Therefore we had to consider that these men were in fact involved in criminal activities of a vastly more serious nature than 'merely' manufacturing drugs and laundering money. This experience only confirmed our growing suspicion that although Dan Hachey and Alan and their whole lot not only had the authority to mobilize the Hells Angels on a nationwide basis and order our execution, but that they were involved in nuclear terrorism. This explained why my car was riding so low. It also explained why the floor of our car was so hot that it melted the soles of my wife's sandals. The black mat under her feet was turning white, and we both had sores on our ankles and calves. I was not yet aware of the size and extent of the vast 'underground' operation at New Era, nor was I aware of the extent to which these men and women have demonstrably scattered other operations across the entire US



"And I saw an angel coming down out of heaven, having the key to the Abyss and holding in his hand a great chain. He seized the dragon, that ancient serpent, who is the devil, or Satan, and bound him for a thousand years. He threw him into the Abyss, and locked and sealed it over him, to keep him from deceiving the nations anymore until the thousand years were ended. After that, he must be set free for a short time." Rev. 20: 1-3

After hearing this Geiger-Counter-on –a-loudspeaker, my wife declared that this was proof that we had nuclear missiles hidden in our car. I found this idea dubious at best, as my vision of the size of a nuclear missile was more aptly carried in or on a semi-truck. I was not thinking of MIRVs or suitcase bombs. I then turned left at that intersection, and drove south on interstate 45 towards Houston, Texas. I had decided back in Albuquerque New Mexico that we would go where I was certain there were no Hells Angels: the Florida Keys. I still was thinking that these men were 'merely' Hells Angels. We knew that the man we knew as Dan Hachey was in Santa Fe the day we visited the Bank of America. His appearance at the Christian Fellowship Hall that very night demonstrated not only his complicity in the intimate workings of this scheme but most explicitly his apparent status as a key figure in the events that were still unfolding. The timing of his appearance demonstrated his authority in this matter. I decided it was time to take a break and ponder over this reality within which we were living, and I kept an eye out for an exit which would hold promise for a decent motel. We came to an area just outside Dallas that looked hopeful. Shortly after taking an exit I saw a large modern computer generated sign, the type which has cascading colors of type and symbols, which read: "Vacancy… Pull in Here Now!" running in a multiplicity of colors across the screen. I pulled in, and looking around I noticed that there were few cars in the lot. A several year old silver Mercedes drove slowly by our car, and the driver did not look the least bit friendly. I pointed this out to May, and we both agreed that we had seen both the car and the driver before. He looked like Alan, but with very dark skin. That man was Alan and began to register at the front desk. A man walked out from a room in the back, and the desk clerk apologized to him for being late. He then walked outside to the parking lot. I felt something was awry about this place, and I asked the clerk for a key so I could see the room first. She agreed, and I went out to tell May we were going to inspect the room.

However, as I opened the door and began to explain that we were going to inspect the room, I found that May was extremely upset. She exclaimed that the man who had just walked outside from the motel walked right up to our car, looked straight at her, and then turned and walked over to a truck parked several spaces from ours. I walked out in front of our car so that I could get a glimpse of who this person was, and what he might be up to. He was just sitting in the truck, staring at me. I returned the room key and we left with haste. May explained to me that this man was the brother of her former boyfriend of twelve years. Thus she had known him for many years. This man, who I shall call Ron, worked for the Hells Angels as a computer hacker, breaking into government files, creating false ID's, and performing other tasks. She said he was skilled at manipulating government documents; creating any government license or title; state or federal, for anyone at any time. May explained that this man programmed computers like the sign which had drawn me in. It was May's ex boyfriend, this man's brother, who had told her that he was going to have both of us killed, because she left him.

I drove south on the freeway, and within a half-hour's drive we saw this same man pass us in the truck we had seen him in at the motel. I had to ask myself, "What are the odds of this man from Portland, Oregon being down in Dallas, Texas, in a motel in front of us? A man who is in a back motel room programming the sign which had so successfully drawn me to that particular motel? It was at about that time that I recollected my meetings with 'Easy Money Ted,' and his overwhelming interest in transponders, the microchip device used by security companies to locate a lost car to within 15 feet, with the additional use of a GPS system. With a device such as this, it would be easy to track someone across the country. It appeared that their system was limited, though, and I have noticed that we lost them when we left LA .I believe that they did not expect me to leave LA, but show up at my sisters. It was in New Mexico that they were tipped off as to our whereabouts.

The reason for Ron's presence down in Dallas was that he had known May for many years, and he could positively identify her. What these men could not comprehend was that May could still be alive. Ron had been ordered to positively identify whether this woman was in fact May, or a substitute. He walked right up to the passenger window and looked at her close enough and long enough to know that this woman was in fact May. Therefore other people had identified her, but this information had been rejected, as Dan and Alan had murdered May at the Holladay Motel in Portland. I believe that Dan Hachey thought he was seeing ghosts at the Christian Fellowship Hall in Albuquerque, even after I put my hand on his shoulder and blessed him. On the other hand, May could also 'ID' Ron to me, and therefore to the authorities. This man who has conspired in treason against the United States of America. After he identified May, he was then ordered to follow us, and to relay the route we were taking. Dan Hachey believed he had taken us out (again) in Albuquerque, and when he received a report that we were still alive he spared no expense to fly this man down to Dallas to identify May. I cannot help but wonder whether Ron actually believed he was working for just the Hells Angels. Did it not occur to him why this biker organization had become so sophisticated, and willing to spend vast resources to locate us and kill us? Was he aware he aware that he was directly involved in not only conspiracy to commit murder, but also treason? I must think that he was well aware of exactly what he was doing each and every step of his misguided way. Perhaps his ego told him that this was due to his perceived genius. My next question is how long ago was the Hells Angels infiltrated, and then dominated by foreign operatives? What other organizations have they penetrated so thoroughly? Speaking of the perfect sleeper operation.

Bugging devices are available at electronic stores that specialize in surveillance and surveillance detection devices. Foreign governments have devices infinitely more sophisticated than that which you can buy off the shelf. Glasses are made which can record live video, and ones which project live video images on the inside of the lenses. I was beginning to get a glimpse of what we had unwittingly become involved in.

Ron had the authority of a superior to that motel clerk. I had to consider that these people at New Era have an extremely sophisticated and thorough network across the entire country. I could not discount the fact that it was he. I had never met this man, although his brother had threatened my wife, telling her, "My brother works for the Hells Angels, and they can make people disappear. I am going to make you disappear, if you know what I mean." At that time I had not taken this threat seriously, even though he had also called my stockbroker and repeated this threat to him. I assumed this merely the ravings of an immature man who would grow out of this childish threat. The appearance of Ron gave me reason to view this situation in an entirely new light. I then had to consider the complicity of these two men in the murders of May and Bunny at the motel in Portland. One of the covers which the New Era gang was operating under was as the directors of the entire Hells Angels organization. I rented a room to May's ex-boyfriend, who I shall call Rude, and to May in my house after my previous wife's death. He therefore knew my stepchildren, who gained executorship through subterfuge, deceit, and the complicity of the attorney who represented me. Those stepchildren made $250,000 off of that particular manipulation. It has since become apparent to me that those stepchildren made a deal with Rude to have my wife murdered and to have the blame put on me. Thus all of their goals were satisfied. That is how Dan Hachey received possession of the curtains that my wife had hung in our living room. I was then just beginning to see the pattern of this puzzle, and the complex picture that was materializing was daunting in its ramifications. This was long range planning in deed and action. These thoughts heightened and strengthened my resolve to see with the utmost clarity what was truly going on, and to make certain that this subterfuge was exposed and crushed.

As Ron passed us on the freeway another car sped past and drove to where it was adjacent to his truck. We then saw an extremely bright flash directed towards his pickup, and then the car drove on ahead. This man had just been ID'd, and photographed to boot! I expect this was also an explicit warning to leave us alone. I was driving 90 miles per hour when he passed me in the first place, and I decided to take another tack. I decided to see how this Hells Angels forger man might react if I then speeded up and followed him. His response was all too predictable, as he immediately sped up as I came to within 50 yards of his truck. He sped up and disappeared while I was driving 105 miles per hour.

I slowed down to 90 miles per hour, a speed that I maintained for quite some time. The freeway in this area had changed into a highway, and at the next town I took an abrupt left-hand turn at an intersection and pulled over in the parking lot of a small town grocery store. We went inside, and I then turned and walked back out the front door to see what may transpire. I saw a white van with major multiple antennas fly by the intersection. I also observed the driver of this van turn his head sharply in my direction, 'ID' me, shake his head in disgust, (OOPS) and then continue on. Shortly after this another, identically equipped white van drove by the intersection towards a destination likely a block or so down the street. The reaction of the first driver was the 'Que Card' which communicated to me that the authorities were still monitoring us without so much as a "Hello! We are here to support you in this pain and sacrifice of which you have so ably demonstrated!" My immediate reaction, and that of my wife, was one of both exhilaration of the battle, however the battle developed, and the understanding that enormous sacrifice had been made on their part. We also felt consternation that we were being left to our own devices for our survival.

We stocked up on juice and pop, and I continued on towards our destination of the Florida Keys. That night as we drove south I pulled off the freeway at the Huntsville exit, where I found a classic southern country restaurant. For a slight moment in time we were able to relax and enjoy the experience of our family living in a reasonable facsimile of peace. Our daughter was having a wonderful time eating mashed potatoes for the first time, and running her motor, as little ones do, by rolling her tongue at the table of an entire family of farmers who were sitting adjacent to us. This group was the salt of the earth of the humanity of America. We have often felt that this experience was a source of strength for us.

I continued to drive south, and we passed a car within which there were two men. This was not necessarily an event to be concerned about, but then when we passed this same car again five minutes later we saw that there were now two women in that car. May cried out that those people were changing identities at the turn of a hat! After another ten or fifteen minutes we again passed that same car, we observed two men in the car wearing kaffiyas, the Arabic head covering with a triangular shape on top. There may be a reasonable explanation for why these men found it necessary to change their cover within the space of a half-hour: They are subject to abject fear; they are practicing their multitudinous talents towards subterfuge, they are intent on causing my family harm. Whichever reason one may choose to believe one nonetheless must come to the inescapable conclusion that these men are so cocky that they believe they have no reason for fear, nor do they hold any belief that they are subject to failure. They are warriors, violent men who have sworn to carry through with their plan to destroy the United States of America. They have the unshakable conviction that their actions will ensure their place at the right hand of Allah. They were fooled by their false prophet, whom we knew as Dan Hachey. Dan Hachey had told May that he was French, and that the French were romantics. Nadia, or rather Dan Hachey told me he was Palestinian. He was actually both as he was French Palestinian.

May then pointed out Dan Hachey as we were passing him on the highway. This was Dan Hachey as we had never seen him, and as he looked in real life. He was obviously an Arab man, without pretense of personality reconstruction. By this time we were not merely talking in a casual manner of speaking. All of our speech was of an intensity bordering on shouting. We knew there was a bug in the car, (birds flying in midair eat, i.e. consume, or understand, bugs), and we were well aware that the federal authorities were listening to and recording our every word. They knew men were chasing us who were trying to kill us. These were men who had opened fire on the agents posing as us outside of Albuquerque. The authorities had good reason to monitor our conversations, if for no other reason than to identify how we could so easily identify these people who changed identities at the drop of a hat. Not to mention the fact that they were aware that the terrorists had a bug in our car, and therefore it was essential for the FBI to hear what the terrorists were hearing. The FBI must also have been concerned as to why we were continually being targeted for assassination. These terrorists had succeeded in killing several FBI agents. Therefore I was shouting to the authorities, but I was also shouting to the terrorists, whom we knew were also listening. Thus I was shouting this lecture to these terrorists, which the FBI must have gotten a kick out of. What I was attempting to communicate was their adherence to principles that are fundamentally evil. Dan Hachey then passed us by at a high rate of speed. May again identified him, shouting, "There goes Dan Hachey! He is driving that car right beside us!" Several minutes later we saw that this car had been pulled over by a state trooper. I began looking for a motel that looked and felt safe for us. I drove off the freeway at an exit that looked promising. At the first motel I turned into I saw a tan van (we don't like tan vans) coming into the parking lot behind us. After seeing a vehicle numerous times over a several thousand-mile trip it is easily recognizable. I turned around and headed back onto the freeway. I took another exit a mile or so down the road, crossed the highway, and then headed back up the entrance ramp to the freeway again. It had still not yet sunk into my head that Dan Hachey and his cohorts had a GPS and transponder system somewhere on our car. This is a unit that can be monitored from a laptop computer, with local and interstate maps available at the tap of a mouse.

Back in New Era Halsey had introduced me to this man who called himself "Free Money Ted." Ted claimed to be an old 'carnie,' and he was interested in promoting the MeriSol project for me for a percentage of all funds raised. This is not a method of fundraising that is accepted among donors. If a recipient accepts a contract of this nature the nonprofit involved will as a general rule be barred from receiving funding from most major donors. This knowledge of mine did not deter Ted from continuing his attempt towards manipulating my time, as these people had an agenda to complete. He took me out to lunch several times, with his brunette wife, soft spoken and subservient to his intense and demeaning will. On one of these occasions he told me of his great moneymaking scheme to build an automated bingo machine. The idea he put forth was to offer invalids and people in hospital beds the ability to play bingo over the Internet for a fee. It appears that my stepchildren had given these men an image of me as a money grubbing fool who would fall for any scheme in which I saw dollar signs. This man then asked me to investigate transponders, a microchip sized unit which sends out a signal detectable by a monitoring device. He offered me $250.00 for any tangible information that I could find on transponders. The morning I presented him with the results of my research he handed me a folder with several dozen printouts from "The Transponder News." He told me to study these documents and to isolate any articles that applied to his project. This was said with a look and tone that told me that he could care less if I came up with any information at all. He was ascertaining whether I would bite on this nonexistent project, and I also believe he was planting another clue for me to decipher while I was rotting on death row. That is how they knew I was only five minutes from the Holladay Motel.

This entire episode did not occur to me as I was driving around in circles first in LA, then in Dallas, and then dashing up and down and on and off the freeway ramps in Louisiana. These men had numerous backup systems in place. This is only one tiny reason why they always looked at us with this evil, gloating triumphant smile in their eyes. They have been working on this project for many years. I estimate over eighteen years in the making, perhaps since the reign of Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini. It was apparent on numerous occasions that there were men on the sidelines orchestrating their maneuvers. I am speaking of Iranian men. When the Shah of Iran was overthrown one aspect of is government that was not entirely eliminated was Savak, the Iranian secret service. Mossad, the highly efficient Israeli secret service trained Savak. Highly trained intelligence experts controlled the entire operation. These men are experts in the art of character changes, precision timing, and coordinating short and long range planning. These terrorists who have infiltrated into our country not only understand the system of the US, but they know how to manipulate like a fine instrument. I am speaking of an easy ride, especially for extremely bright Muslim revolutionaries. These are the ones who cry so loudly at the least suggestion that they may be involved in terrorism. After all, many of them have babies that were born in this country. These people are part-time productive citizens, gainfully employed, and very religious. After all, what right does the FBI have to bother them, since the US Supreme Court has ruled that the US government cannot interfere with the religious activities of anyone. Several members of the Palestine Islamic Jihad have been arrested in Tampa Florida for terrorist activities. These men are professors at the University of Florida, where coincidentally Eglin Air Force is located, site of the US Central Command of the Middle East Forces, and the Special Forces Command. There are twelve thousand Arabs living in Tampa. This makes for a very convenient place to base their smuggling of their fellow terrorists from South America through the Florida Keys. This is not to mention the fact that these terrorists have gained a high degree of respectability throughout the US as Professors with their respective degrees in Middle Eastern Studies. I am speaking of professors who are literally brainwashing our children. I know this to be true, as I studied under this man I later met as 'Dan Hachey' at Portland State University. He also taught at the University of Oregon in Eugene. I was infuriated at his portrayal of the Israelis as "Harbingers of Grief," supposedly having stolen from the Palestinians 'Precious moisture laden land.' If one bothers to study the Israeli reclamation of land which they bought from the Palestinians one will find that this land was mosquito infested swamps which the Palestinians at the time lauded as another Arab steal over the inferior Jewish race. Sell them swampland!



I took an exit on the outskirts of Gonzales, Louisiana and decided to stay at he Comfort Inn, in room 226. There was a lovely woman with long straight black hair working behind the desk, and she was most expedient in helping us. We were soon in our room, and it was only about three thirty in the afternoon. We both needed to get off of the road, and I was hoping that we might actually be able to rest and enjoy our night together. It is difficult to accept a reality within which terrorists actually are chasing you and your family. This kind of thing happens in the Middle East, not in the United States. At least not that I have experienced before. But then even when you see that it is true it is nonetheless a truth that is difficult to grasp. We had spent five months living at New Era, at the throne of the beast. Their repeated presence and their repeated violence directed at us was undeniable. It is difficult to argue with reality, even when that reality intrudes into our warm fuzzy perception of how existence should be. It takes a level of faith that most people are not willing to carry to the level of understanding, and believing, that myself, my wife and our daughter have been murdered, and that we all came back. Understand that this is a concept that we had to accept while beings that we perceived to be maniacs were still chasing us across the country. I was too focused to allow myself to live in absolute abject fear, although it would have perhaps been a more normal reaction. The presence of the tape that these people had left for me, or more accurately foremost for the authorities, was intended to take me permanently out of the picture. The woman in the foreground on that bed was clearly my wife, severed just below her chest, so white that I initially thought she was a mannequin. Her had been beaten to the point that her eyes had been knocked out of their sockets, and her jaw was ripped from her skull. No police authority would take the time to consider any alternative. They would have made certain that I was put away in a very harsh manner in no uncertain terms. I knew my wife, and that was in fact she that was lying there. They had placed our six month old daughter on her shoulder at the end of this film, on the shoulder of her mother's body torn asunder, severed, with a man copulating on her dismembered body. How can a human being even comprehend the nature of beasts that could do such a thing? These beasts were not only tracking us but they appeared to be in an increasing state of frenzy. I have only fear of the Lord almighty, but I held great concern for my family. What I had not yet understood was the true nature of Dan Hachey. These beasts are so thorough that it would make heart stand on end, if you were not so busy watching the latest episode of Halloween 13, or who knows what.

My wife made a big soft bed for our daughter out of a pile of extra blankets she found in the closet. I tried to get comfortable, but May just laid on the bed immersed in tension. I looked at the mirror that was on the wall opposite from the foot of our bed. There again was this woman on the 'other side,' and it appeared that there were several men in the room with her. Perhaps there was no one on the other side of that wall, in the next room. We were being monitored, however, and at the time my vision told me that in fact they were there. I then voiced my request that we have some privacy. Within a few minutes I heard a loud slamming, six times, slamming that I perceived to be the slamming of the door of the room adjacent to ours. I thought that was kind of these people to take our privacy into such kind consideration. It did seem odd though that six people would slam the door so hard, one right after the other in rapid succession. That door seemed to be slamming so hard that the entire room shook. It is true that this is unreasonable. The reality of what did happen is far worse. Nadia had entered the motel shortly after us. What we heard was the report of a gun, and someone's body slamming against the door. Shortly thereafter we then felt and heard an intense stirring of energy and a commotion of people and hushed voices out in the hallway. I immediately jumped up, and I then knew that this beast had found us. May and I then felt the presence of this beast in the room above us. If you have ever seen and felt a tornado cloud move over you, that feeling is a tiny glimpse of what the power which the beast projected around him. I had gained a measure of strength during these trials, and my concern for May and Amber superseded any possibility of fear. I initially thought he may have been in our room, the feeling was so intense. My emotions were then slammed right down to the floor. I have never before felt my emotions crawl out of me. I felt a field of power that sent me into intense confusion and mental disarray. The beast was looking for me. He had tracked us there, but he did not know where I was. May became hysterical, demanding that I find Nadia. I looked in the bathroom, as I felt him to be near there. I even got down on the floor, looking under the bedspread, and under the dressers. May then said, "Terrence! Terrence! Terrence! Terrence! Terrence!" I realized I was getting carried away, but it disturbed me that she had shouted my voice so loud. She appeared to have quickly gained control of herself, and this was out of character for her. I heard a man demanding "What is their room number? Where are they?" I could hear no response. Then I heard a bath being drawn in the room above us, but this did not make any sense. I then heard Nadia say, "Get into the tub!" I then heard a female voice exclaim, No!" He again ordered her into the bathtub. The sounds that I then heard were that of a protracted struggle. I could hear shortly thereafter a gurgling sound, and I realized he was drowning this woman. We were hearing the sound of her head being repeatedly immersed in water. A while later, perhaps twenty minutes or so, I heard the sound of struggling, and of great motion above us, and then I heard this woman shouting, "Come on! I can take anything you want to give!" There was more struggling, (the ceiling was shaking), and then we again heard this woman shout, "Come on! Give me some more! I can handle this! I like this! Come on!" I then heard a voice that was literally unearthly. I could not distinguish the few words this thing spoke, but it was certainly not English. This voice was the voice of the dragon. We heard no more sounds of this woman. It was apparent that the woman was the same person who greeted us at the front desk. She fought so bravely that it is certain that she was a FBI agent. No amount of training could possibly prepare for the power that I now realized we were facing. I then began to understand the meaning of the images on that tape. I wept for the pain and suffering that this so ever evil one has manifested for the portense of becoming, this thing in his ever so lack of heart. This is the beast that wanted, ever since he stole God's creation to be called god.

May held the bible in her lap, our daughter had "the Little Scroll" in her hands, and I prayed at the desk in that motel room that God would protect this ever so brave woman from that beast. I then walked over to the mirror, put my fingers and hand into a characterization of a gun pointed at my head, and jammed it towards my head repeatedly. This was a question directed at our observers, asking, "Why don't you just shoot him!" I then lifted both of my hands up in the air in a gesture, wondering why they did not just storm into the room and take this thing down. I was prepared to do this thing which so desperately needed to be done. May, however, would have none of that. I looked for a reaction in the mirror, and I saw what appeared to be this woman motioning for us to depart from that room immediately. I told this to May, but she shook her head and said in no uncertain terms that she was not going out of that room in any manner, nor for any reason.

An hour or so later our daughter began to scream uncontrollably. Our frantic efforts to quiet her went without success. I believed this woman who was fighting for her life above us was dependent upon the hope which I saw, that she might last long enough to be rescued. Our daughter's crying was certain to arouse this beast's anger, an anger unmistakably expressed by it through words uttered to her that I heard rising from a place far below baseness and depravity. It was with these few words he uttered to her which conveyed to this ever so brave angel that she was not in a struggle with some mere member of a bikers group called the Hells Angels, although he was that also. Nor was he a mere terrorist, although he was indeed a primary mover for Palestine Islamic Jihad. Alan was not joking when he said that Nadia was not 'ia,' but Natas. I heard these words which this beast uttered to that woman, and I began to understand why he is referred to as the beast. Dan Hachey gave Satan the power of multiple embodiments on this earth. His power was incomprehensible to the human mind. This is why I prayed for her life, and for her soul. Few angels have fought in the face of Satan with such bravery.

It was later in the early hours of the morning when I heard voices some distance down the hallway. I identified them as maids, two females and a male. They were calling out to each other, saying, "Room 101 is cleaned, all occupants are gone!" The man then shouted a few minutes later, "Room 102 is clear, the occupants have checked out!" I could hear them working their way down the hallway towards our room, loudly shutting the doors, hollering out the room number, shouting that the room was clear, and moving closer. When they came to our room a woman called out in a loud voice, "Room 126! Room 126!" I quickly walked over to the door and said, "We will be ready in a minute!" This woman then shouted, "Room 126 all clear!" These 'maids' were engaged in a classic ruse to lead Natas into believing that we had left, and that he therefore had no reason to stay, nor to hurt that woman any further. Perhaps it would be wiser for him to just slip out. Wonder beckons me to ask if only these people had known that they were risking their lives for a friend who I suspect had already given her life. . I had feared that he had shot that woman. These brave officers were also risking their lives for us, but this beast was not so easily fooled.

A half hour later I heard a sound and felt a vibration through our ceiling which led me to initially think that Nadia was picking up furniture and slamming it against the walls in anger and frustration. With this loud slamming and shaking of the walls, this sound moving around the room and shaking the ceiling, I had feared that he had shot that woman. I also have to face the more likely explanation that he had already murdered her, and that the FBI agents came into that room silently and swiftly, expecting to take this 'man' down. Neither did I, not in the sense of a man finding a way to bring Satan it this manifest plane through his body. Neither had I expected God to demonstrate his presence on this earth in terms such as the resurrection of the dead. That was something Christ did two thousand years ago. However, this is a belief fundamental to the Christian religion, the belief in the resurrection of the body. The physical body. Muslims do not believe in resurrection. Nor do they believe in the everlasting power of Jesus, the Christ, the Son of God.

What those FBI agents saw when they came into that room was not he. They saw not-he, something of which now knowing the method of which this beast maintained himself on this plane which we call existence, is a sight which they did not want to see. He knew that this would be true, and he took advantage of this. I suspect all of the bullets, which these officers fired, hit no thing at all. None of them ever saw anything coming, or anyone there. Or rather from my experience of viewing the tape left in my camcorder, what they saw was an insubstantial and almost illusory movement likely dancing circles around them, and then vanishing. It is difficult to fire upon that which does not appear.

The time by then was the very early morning hours. We stayed in that room and I prayed, and waited. When the sun rose the other woman who was present in the lobby the day before, when we checked in at the desk, knocked on the door and told my wife with a firm voice, "You really need to check with the front desk before you check out. OK?" I had already taken the elevator downstairs. As I walked out of the elevator I noticed a female wearing a long dress standing against the far wall in front of the elevator. She was looking straight through me as if nobody was home, as if she could not even see me. I went to the front desk and returned the room card, and then I walked back to the elevator and punched the second floor. I exited from the elevator and walked almost straight across the hall to our door, and knocked, announcing myself before I opened the door. May was ready, and after I assured her that it was safe she walked out of the room carrying our daughter. We both then saw this walking apparition of a female devoid of life standing in front of the door to the room next to us, room 227. This thing then said in a dead, monotone voice, without emotion or feeling, "Wrong room, wrong baby." This abomination was standing at the door right next to us as one of his 'miraculous signs,' as a living, walking and talking dead woman. It must have reasoned that we were on the second floor, and he was hoping to bluff May into opening the door, but he had the 'wrong room, wrong baby.'

I drove across the street from the Comfort Inn to a gas station and convenience store, where I filled up the gas tank. An older model station wagon pulled up in the lane on the other side of the gas pumps, with two black men in the car. May told me that the driver was Alan and that the other man was Halsey, both disguised as black men. I had to look at Alan very close to recognize him. It was actually the way he looked at me that alerted me to the danger that he presented to us. He was trying to ascertain who I actually was.



"And I saw an angel coming down from heaven, having the key to the Abyss and holding in his hand a great chain. He seized the dragon, that ancient serpent, who is the devil, or Satan, and bound him for a thousand years. He threw him into the Abyss, and locked and sealed it over him, to keep him from deceiving the nations anymore until the thousand years were ended. After that, he must be set free for a short time."

I got on the freeway, and headed south. I drove all day, and as evening approached. I began to look for a motel. Although I stopped at several motels, all were booked up. I continued on south for another hour or so, until a thunderstorm struck the area. This was a thunderstorm that one does not see in the Pacific Northwest. Lightning was striking all around us, and the rain began to pour down in heavy sheets so fiercely that I could no longer drive. I was forced by the elements to reduce my speed to less than five miles per hour, a dangerous speed to maintain on the freeway. Then I faintly saw through my windshield the international sign for a hospital, a 'H' within a blue circle. I immediately pulled over, and backed up to the exit, where I drove up and off the freeway. I managed to find this hospital, where we took a stretch, and brought May and our daughter into the hospital to freshen up. We then went back out to our car, and I drove over and parked in the employees' parking lot. I lit a charcoal burner in the ashtray and I burned some Frankincense and myrrh. I began to read 'The Book of Revelation of John' from the Bible. As I was reading May called out that Dan Hachey had just driven up in the parking lot in front of the emergency exit in a newer model pickup truck. He then walked around to the passenger side of this truck, reached in and took out a young boy, whereupon he the walked into the emergency room entrance. A half-hour or so later I saw a police car drive down the gravel road towards the employee parking lot, and he parked right next to us. An officer got out and walked up to my window, asked for my ID, and instructed me to wait in the car. A short time later another police car drove up, this time a female officer. The male officer approached my window and asked me to step outside. He gently frisked me, and told me to wait next to my car. He then walked back to the female officer, and they conversed for quite some time. They each lit up a cigarette, and they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Biding their time is a more complete description of the reason for these police officers' unprecedented casualness. I asked if I also could light up a cigarette for myself, and make myself comfortable in our car. The officer said, "sure, go ahead!" Another patrol car arrived, and this one parked facing the passenger side of our car. This agent then turned on four floodlights that were mounted on the top of his vehicle, above his light bar. I was back out of the car at the time, as the officer had earlier asked me to step out of the car and wait. Not only was I flooded in light from this agents' car, but these lights were also pointing towards the hospital windows which were looking down towards the employee parking lot. The agent then approached the car on the passenger side, and asked her if she could offer any information that could shed some light on the situation. May said, "Actually, yes, we need to talk to the FBI." He responded, "OK, start talking." May then explained that we were being chased by terrorists. She also explained to him that we had been followed across the country, shot at, and that we believed that these men who were chasing us had hidden something in our car, and that they were trying to kill us. May then described to this agent that she had just seen one of these men, Dan Hachey, go into the hospital emergency entrance carrying a young boy. May then told this agent that we did not want to drive this car any longer, and that we desperately needed help. This agent then said, "OK, thank you," and walked over to the other officers, where they talked for twenty minutes or so. The agent then left, and the male officer approached me and said, "Sir, we were called here because this is a small community, and we notice strangers here. I would ask that you not drive until you have stayed here for awhile. You can stay here until just when the sun rises, and then you can go." He then smiled at me, and left.

May and I discussed this somewhat odd behavior of the Florida Highway Patrol, and we wondered at the lack of understanding which these people were demonstrating. We were literally left to our own devices. I lit a charcoal burner, and put more Frankincense and Myrrh on. I returned to my readings from The Book of Revelation of John. At five thirty in the morning May exclaimed that she could see Dan Hachey outside of her window, with his face pressed up against the glass. Being the quintessential "doubting Thomas" I took this statement with a fairly large grain of salt. Our windows were fogged over, and I had not seen him. Then May pointed to a red Chevrolet Lumina driving down the access road to the employee parking lot, towards us. This car then drover around and behind our car, and then up to near the emergency entrance. I then saw two people get out of that car, a man, and a woman dressed in a sari, the East Indian dress. I was not buying that cover at all, as this was the identical red Chevrolet Lumina that had been following us across for several thousand miles. Then I saw another car driving down the access road at a high rate of speed, and that was all I needed to see. I lifted up my Keys, which were on a large key-chain hooked to my belt, started the car, and slammed the gears into forward, with my foot on the pedal with a vengeance. The entire car immediately slammed into something, and jumped, and the plethora of remembrances which I had gathered across the country went flying simultaneously both from the back of the car and from the dashboard. I put the transmission in reverse, and again there was the flight of objects flying from both the rear and the front of the car. I took a few brief milliseconds to ponder on the meaning of objects flying through space in two opposite directions simultaneously, filed this information for future reference, and slammed the transmission into forward. Again the car slammed hard, and I shouted, "We are driving over a curb!" I then immediately decided that this was of no consequence, and I again reversed the car, which again jumped, I then shifted into forward, slamming this thing again, and drove forward, turning to the right to the exit drive. There in front of us was this man slowly spinning around, slowly dropping, and looking back towards where I had just driven over Dan Hachey seven times. He was spinning, falling, spinning the around and around. I said to May, "Look, that man is doing the dance of the collapsing waveicle! That is the silliest dance I have ever seen!"

I then turned left onto the gravel access road to the highway, and as I looked over to the left there was this same man, still acting like he was jogging along. He was jogging, albeit in a twisted manner, still spinning a bit. His presence there was not logical in any manner of speaking, as he would to have been 'jogging' at fifteen miles per hour. He should not have been there. I then proceeded to drive down the highway, and this man not only maintained his proximity to us, but he in fact managed to beat us to the extreme edge of the hospital property. That which I squashed was the beast. I drove the beast out of the false prophets' body. After fifteen billion years of planning, Satan became desperate in his great plan to become god. He looked through the window of our car, what he saw there was an empty car seat. He could not see through the songs of the angels. He desperately wanted our car, and he crawled on his belly to see if what he had hidden underneath our car was still there. He took an enormous gamble, without the awareness that he was crawling on his belly at "Our Lady of the Lake" Hospital. He had murdered Mary's Son, Jesus, the Christ, the one 'Anointed in the Oil of Joy of God.' He, Lucifer, being one of God's most intelligent studies, perceived the nature of God's creation, and at that moment he reached out gasped creation with his fist, drew it to his chest and said, "Mine!" At this moment creation did in fact collapse into its, fist. Creation continued to collapse, and Lucifer collapsed with this creation which now so intimately belonged to him. Lucifer's' grasp is matter, or mass. This is known in physics as the 'collapsing waveicle,' and it continues to collapse in a spinning wave. This is Satan's world, caught in a vortex of spinning energy. Energy spinning around energy, creating the illusion of matter. This is Satan's illusion, and also Satan's deception. He had fooled the 'false prophet.' He had fooled all of the 'nations,' – i.e. the Arab nations, and Umma, the Muslim people.

In Santa Fe, New Mexico I put my hand on the shoulder of the false prophet in a gesture of Christian brotherhood, at the 'Christian Fellowship Hall.' I told him, "God bless you.' At that moment Satan momentarily withdrew from the false prophet, from the beast. It was at this point in time that Satan knew that he was vulnerable in a physical body, and he then knew then where that danger came from.

Dan Hachey did not comprehend that the power of Satan could leave him. He did not understand, in his haste, that he had exposed himself to harm at the one and only place in the universe where he could die. That which is dead cannot die, unless he lay down on the Lake of Mary, the mother of Love, Christ. There she stepped on his head and crushed him.

I drove the two blocks to the intersection, where there was the only traffic signal in town. As I waited for the light to turn green, an ambulance arrived at the corner, siren blazing. Behind the ambulance was a sheriff's patrol car, and there was the same female officer that had been at the hospital employee's parking lot earlier that morning. She had what appeared to be a clipboard in her hand, and she was waving this at me, with this look of absolute delight on her face. This was almost as bizarre as driving over the beast seven times at Our Lady of the Lake Hospital. That was an act that was not done in anger. I had no awareness that Dan Hachey was underneath our car. This was simply God's solution to this fifteen billion-year-old problem. This beast which had planned for so long at an attempt at being could not be destroyed with malice but only with a loving heart. A heart watching after and protecting his family. The God Almighty, and Mary, and her son, Christ, are above all things family. A family which has manifested on this plane which we call existence. We on this plane share something unique with God's family, and that is family. This is the heart at which these terrorists strike. Next time you buy a gallon of gasoline, keep in mind that you are putting dollars in the hands of murderers, men who dance with joy at the moment of our wives' and children's' death. I am speaking of our children in the United States of America, not some far away place. Every dollar that goes into the pockets of methamphetamine goes into the hands of the Hells Angels, which is operated by terrorists, Palestine Islamic Jihad and Hezbollah. Every dollar spent on cocaine winds up in the hands of the drug cartels in South America, men who are now working hand and hand with these same terrorists. That which is most precious to God's heart they strike, in a manner that has woken up many in the Christian community, of all denominations to say, "Stop this evil that these fanatics follow!"

And we are all still watching these fools do the dance of the collapsing waveicle!



"And I saw an angel standing in the sun, who cried in a loud voice to all the birds flying in midair, "Come, gather together for the great supper of God, so that you may eat the flesh of kings, generals, and mighty men, of horses and their riders, and the flesh of all people, free and slave, small and great."

I drove on to the next intersection, where the entrance to the freeway is. There was the red Chevrolet Lumina crossing from the left towards the freeway entrance. It was apparent that the driver of this car was panicked, as he was barreling across the road as if he could not get onto the freeway fast enough. These men, after all, had seen their prophet get squashed like a bug; their prophet whom they knew could not be killed. I was not interested in following this particular car down the ramp onto the freeway, so I crossed the intersection and continued on down the highway, hoping to find another freeway entrance. After twenty minutes of driving down this road I pulled over to a market, and got directions from several men out front. I had to turn around and drive all the way back to the intersection where I saw the Lumina. I drove back, and onto US Interstate 10 going east towards Florida. Within twenty minutes of getting on this freeway we saw the same three tractor-trailers which we had been seeing since we were just north of Sacramento. This time the truck with 'San Bernadino Trucking Company' insignia on the drivers' door was not a closed trailer, nor a trailer with a cardboard image of onion sacks in the rear of the trailer. It was not a trailer with fake stacks of hay bales, and covered with green tarp on the upper three-quarters of the load. This time the entire trailer was exposed, showing the load to be exactly what it was when it was not disguised. The trailer was a car rack, the type used to carry one or two cars. This car had a single ramp, and was designed to carry some serious weight. Specifically a six thousand four hundred pound Ford LTD, three hundred fifty pounds for ourselves and our baggage and the other one thousand one hundred pounds which were unaccounted for. After Dan Hachey saw us at the Christian Fellowship Hall in Santa Fe he ordered that I be killed at whatever the risk. When he discovered that the wrong man had been killed in Albuquerque. They again tried to take the car and us at the rest stop outside of Albuquerque, Dan Hachey had in mind to kill us at the Comfort Inn at Gonzales, Louisiana, but a very brave agent gave her life to protect us. Dan Hachey again tried to take the car at Our Lady of the Lake Hospital north of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and he lost his life for that effort. The entire team that had followed us across the country was ready to take that car right then, and when they heard that he was killed, they all panicked and scattered. There was also the same green canvas covered semi truck with the odd shaped triangular peak driving ahead of the car carrier. The canvas had been removed on this trailer also, exposing a load that was not easily identifiable as to its purpose. The cargo was several large concrete slabs of thirty to forty feet long each and four to five feet in diameter. There were two that I could see on the drivers' side of the carriage, which sloped inwards to a point at the top similar to the type of structure used on trucks which haul glass panels. I can see no reason to haul concrete slabs on that type of structure four thousand five hundred miles across the country unless it's purpose was critical to their operations. There were other trucks, and cars, and May was calling out as we drove by those she perceived to be 'evil.' I was flying down the freeway, driving at times up to 115 miles per hour. Our daughter was in a sudden need of a change of her diapers. She began to scream, and this I could not handle, as I was literally driving for our lives. I hollered at May (in a voice audible above Bunny's screams) to bring Bunny up into the front seat and change her diapers. May then told me there was a man in the truck next to us pointing a gun at our car. I told May to cover our baby and lie down flat on the seat, and I then hit the gas pedal to the floor. There I was driving down the freeway, May changing our little daughters' diapers as she was calling out, "there! They've got guns! And this car here! As she was calling out and identifying these people, vans would drive past us, slow down to look at these vehicles, nod, and pull over behind them. These people (agents) were clipping along at a pretty good pace themselves, as they were passing me. There were well over a dozed cars and trucks that we identified, and bullets were ricocheting all around and underneath our car. After several hours of this exhausting and terrifying experience our gas gauge was registering below empty. We decided that this conspiracy had been put to rest. Little did we know at the time of the extent of t he plans that these men had put in motion. I took the next exit that indicated that a gas station was available, pulling into a place which was a combination restaurant, convenience store, tourist shop and a Texaco gas station. We sat down in a booth, and shortly after we sat down three Florida State highway patrol officers sat down in the booth next to us. I overheard the man who was obviously the senior officer (I did not see his rank insignia) tell the two other patrolmen that he was going to have a raffle drawing and give away speeding tickets. They all got a chuckle out of this comment, as did I. A half hour or so after we arrived a tractor trailer pulled in and parked over to the side of the building, next to the phone booth. The driver, a stocky man with long hair and a mustache entered the store. I was watching everything and everyone, and I saw that this man was wandering back and forth on the same aisle. I have managed retail stores in the past, and you learn to spot people that are not shopping the way people normally do. He would look at something at a shelf, and then peer around the corner of the aisle at us, then at the Florida State Highway Patrol Officers, and then back at us again. I could see the indecision in his eyes and in his movements. He was acting like he was trying to maneuver closer to us, but there but there were those three State Troopers to think about. It is certain that this man was trying to raise the courage to kill us right there, but the State Troopers were giving him reason to hesitate. He must have been given an unconditional order, and he was having a difficult time dealing with the thought of opening fire on not only us, but also on these three officers. He was considering taking everyone out, and yet he was unsure if he could get away with it. I stood up an stepped over to the booth next to us and told the senior officer that the man not more than ten feet away, behind the shelves, posed a serious threat to our safety. He looked at me like I had just insulted his grandmother, and said, "OK." The truck driver lost his nerve, and went outside to the telephone booth, and placed a telephone call. Fifteen minutes later a very familiar pickup truck drove right up to the front of the store, on the other side of the window from where we were sitting. It was a yellow pickup, one we had seen on numerous occasions at New Era. There was old faded lettering on the side which read, "Joe and Bill's Cabinets," or some such nonsense. Alan got out of the truck, walked up to the curb outside the window and bought a newspaper from the box. He then looked at us for a few moments, then at the Troopers, and he then turned around and climbed back into the truck and drove off. Chris, the man Alan told us was his nephew was in the truck, as was Gary. They were all dressed up quite convincingly as cabinetmakers, or whatever. We knew the officers must have had knowledge of what had just taken place on the freeway covering a section stretching across three states, especially after the comment about having a raffle drawing and giving away speeding tickets. They did not, however seem to be paying us any mind, nor did they seem to be concerned with the man behind the shelves nor the arrival and departure of the New Era gang.

A while later a group of ten or so men, some with long hair, mustaches and beards arrived on Harleys and other motorcycles just as the officers were leaving. They all met out in the Texaco bay as if they were well acquainted, shaking each other's hands, and acting in a basically congratulatory manner. These men on bikes, obviously not your generic Hells Angels, stayed around for awhile, and then everyone departed as if on que, including the State Police. We breathed a sigh of relief, deciding that we were no longer in danger. Twenty minutes later a man drove up in a light tan station wagon, put some gas in the car, and walked inside and up to the counter to pay for his gas. It was unmistakably Dan Hachey. I walked towards him as he was at the counter, verified that it was in fact he, turned and walked back to our booth. I asked May to look at that man and tell me if that was not indeed Dan Hachey. She agreed that it was, and I walked back to the door to look closely at him. He had already gone outside and climbed into his car, and he sat there looking at me for a long time. He then smiled at me, that cocky, evil self-confident smile which was this man's trademark. As he drove off I turned around and told the woman at the cash register to call the police, as the man who had just paid for his gas had murdered a FBI agent two nights before. She said, "You're kidding, right?" I responded to her, "No I am not kidding. That man is a murderer. He killed an FBI agent two nights ago in the motel we were staying at, the Comfort Inn." She looked up the number for the local police, and called them. She then gave me a piece of paper that had Dan Hacheys' license plate number and the name on his charge card, 'John Doan.' That was not a great deal more original that 'John Doe,' much less 'Ken Smith.' These men reveled in their ability to use any name that they wanted, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. I assure you if I was working behind a cash register and a man presented me with a charge card which identified him as 'John Doe,' or 'John Doan,' or whatever, I would seriously question the validity of that identification.

An officer arrived and proceeded to ask us some very basic questions. He seemed more than a little dubious about our story. He made a call on his portable radio, and then I noticed that his entire attitude had changed dramatically. He interviewed the cashier and her assistant, and then approached us and began to interview us in more depth. We told this officer of our knowledge of the murder at the Comfort Inn in Gonzales, Louisiana, the shootings on the freeway, and of our belief that these men had hidden plutonium in compartments underneath our car. When he told me that my license was not valid, and that I could not drive that car, I explained to him that we did not even want that car, and that I was quite happy at the prospect of not driving anymore.

This officer, a local Gainesville Deputy Sheriff, continued asking us questions for over an hour. He talked with the cashier and conversed back and forth on his radio. He then approached me and explained that, "When someone reports the murder of an FBI agent I have a lot of work to do." He said, "We are going to take you and your wife and daughter to the Sheriffs' office for a more thorough interview. A female officer will come by in about forty minutes to take your wife and daughter, and you will accompany me." Forty five minutes later we were both on our way tot he Sheriff's office. This officer then casually explained to me that we would also be interviewed by two women "from HSS." He stumbled on the 'HSS,' and I got the peculiar sensation that he had been prompted to say that. They offered us coffee, and he asked me for the keys to our car. After about one half hour I was asked to give a statement in the Lieutenants' office. There was another man in the office, in addition to the officer, and three women. One of the ladies was taking notes of every word said while the other woman was asking me the questions. The woman who asked me questions was the same woman who asked for my signature at the St. Vincent de Paul Society back in Santa Fe, and also the same woman who watched me toss out belongings from the trunk of our car in Brownsville, Oregon. She was also the same woman who was watching us from the van at the parking lot of the convenience store when the man with the gun and the long ponytail wearing a Harley Davidson T-shirt was staring at us. Small world, eh?

If any of these people had identified themselves as FBI agents I would have been more direct as to exactly we had heard at the Comfort Inn. Quite frankly the truth of the reality of which had just transpired is a little too much to comprehend for someone who was not there. There was that woman who had been there since Oregon, but I was not thinking of her for some reason. Both may and I heard the shots fired out in the hallway next to our room at the Comfort Inn in Gonzales, LA. I also know that we both heard a commotion of people running out into the hall just before those shots were fired. Therefore either six agents were shot out in the hallway, or Dan Hachey, was shot six times. I also know that at least six shots were fired in the room above us later that night. The fact that we heard Dan Hachey drowning that woman above us demonstrates that he was still alive. Therefore, either numerous agents shot at that man point blank six times in the hallway next to our room, but failed to stop him, or he shot at several agents and dropped all of them. The fact that we again heard at least six shots fired in the room above us means that either he again shot several agents, or that several agents shot at him and failed to kill him. This was demonstrated by the effort by the 'maids' to convince him that we were no longer there. Since he showed up next door to us the next morning, obviously he survived, so either he was transparent to bullets, or numerous agents died, both on the second floor, where we were staying, and on the third floor above us.

I gave them as thorough a background as I then understood of Dan Hachey, Nadia, Alan, Gary tour, Chris and Halsey. After I had given these officers a condensed history of what had transpired in the last nineteen months, which I did in an hour and a half, they excused me, and I returned to the dining area of the station. These officers then conferred amongst each other for thirty minutes, and then asked May to give them her statement. They asked her numerous questions, and she told them of her background, her boyfriends, (two) her schooling, questions concerning her family, my family, and my daughters. At the mention of my daughters, there was a flurry of activity. They asked her about the background of her health, and she explained to them that she had had Bells Palsey, which partially paralyzed the left side of her face. They all said, "Aha!" They also asked her many questions about my sister, and she explained that we were very close, and that she had helped me recover from my previous wife's' death. They asked her few questions concerning neither the people nor the circumstances out at New Era. They were, however, extremely interested in the circumstances surrounding Mays' rental of her apartment from Dan Hachey in November of 1995. They were also interested in the problems with her phone service there, and the bragging by Dan Hachey about his access to US West computer systems.

May did explain the events at the Comfort Inn in Gonzales, LA. She also told them of the extreme heat we had been experiencing on and under the dash of our car. She also explained to them that the heat was most intense under the floorboard on her side, and that as a result of this heat she had sustained burns on her feet, and that she had sores on her ankles and feet, as did I, and Amber. The soles of her sandals had melted, and the rubber floor mat had turned from black to white. One of the women asked her, "How did you manage to live through all of this?" May responded, "By God's good grace." Both women then sighed.

May was excused from the interview, and the two of us talked for awhile as to what degree they truly understood what had taken place. Within twenty minutes or so on of the women came back and asked us if there were any needs which they could help us with. I explained that what we needed was the witness protection plan. One of the women, who had just came back from down the hall, said that we would be protected during our drive to the Florida Keys. They then asked whether we would like to take a shower. I had second thoughts about whether this was appropriate, not to mention whether it was a good idea. May wanted to take a shower, however, and they offered us soap and towels, and showed us to the shower. Then the female agent who had been following us across the country walked back down the hallway, all full of smiles, picked up our daughter and hugged her. Then two of the women left for awhile, and when they came back they explained that they were going to the grocery store to pick up a few things for the baby. They returned an hour or so later, and I was presented with the keys to our car, and told that we were free to these to women then took me out to the car, which had been towed to the rear parking lot of the station. They then proceeded to hand me bag after bag of infant formula, diapers, baby toys and assorted juices, crackers and other assorted necessities and food for my family. These women carefully observed my reactions to the car, and our items therein. It was admittedly a mess, and it did not occur to at the time that they had switched cars with us. I have learned since then that this is a common trick with the FBI.

I was directed to the Winn Dixie store down the street, where we immediately drove to pick up the Western Union money order that was waiting for us. When we approached the counter and submitted the required forms, the clerk explained that our funds had not arrived yet, and that there would be some delay. As we were wandering through the store, we observed a mad rush out the front door consisting of four or five people, men and women, and they had a degree of intent that superseded any pretensions of chasing after a shoplifter. There is an intensity with which federal officers go after someone which leaves me in awe. Fifteen minutes after this episode our money showed up. We shopped for groceries, and then we went out to our car. Parked next to our car was an old pickup truck, and lying on the dashboard was a pair of mangled sunglasses identical to a pair of my sunglasses that had come up missing several thousand miles behind us. It was apparent to us that someone had tried to collect our Western Union money, and they had been caught.

I drove onto the freeway heading south on Interstate 75. A few miles after I drove onto the freeway I saw an unusual event on a highway that passed underneath the freeway. Down on the right of the freeway there were two circles of police cars: a smaller circle of police cars surrounding the same tan colored station wagon that I saw Dan Hachey driving earlier that morning at the Texaco gas station. The door to the station wagon on the drivers' side was open, but there was no one inside. It appeared that Dan Hachey had been located, and he had pulled over off the highway into a parking area next to a building, where he had been surrounded by police cars. There was a grass median strip on that road, and there was also a larger circle of police cars in an arc surrounding the smaller arc of police cars, and stretching across the grass median strip to the other side of the highway above and below the station wagon. He had been hemmed in on three sides twice over. There were at least twenty police cars surrounding that station wagon, but I saw no police officers there at all. It was immediately apparent why we had been kept at that police station for so long. The authorities were waiting to catch that beast before they put us out on the road. I am uncertain whether they were able to apprehend him or not. Even if they did, the beast is a hermaphrodite, and there is no way they could keep him for long. I thought about taking the next exit to see whether an ambulance arrived, but I found no exit for over twenty miles. I decided this was just as well, as I did not want to give this beast an opportunity to climb into our car while we were watching the sideshow.

Gainesville happens to lie about one hundred miles north of Eglin Air Force Base. Shortly after we saw this scene off the highway an unusually large military semi tractor-trailer passed us on the freeway. The load on this vehicle caught my attention, as there was an enormous circular container. The outside surface of this container was not smooth, but had a heavily vertical fluted surface to it. This container was ten feet in diameter, and probably ten feet high. Someone had taken a spray can and painted 'PT 109' across the upper surface of the side of this container. That container was the type of container that the military uses to transport weapons grade plutonium. The significance of the 'PT 109' was unlikely a coincidence. My wife was born within the hour and the day on which John F. Kennedy was assassinated. After what we both had been through we had long ago ceased to pay attention to coincidence. Shortly after that truck passed us, another tractor-trailer drove by, with an identical but smaller cylinder, this one perhaps only eight feet in diameter, and only eight feet tall.

I had looked under our car during this trip, and the bottom of this car had steel panels bolted to the underside of the frame, as if it were built in the method of unibody construction, as is the way all modern cars are built. I know, however, that this type and year of car was not unibody. I have worked on older cars as a hobby for years, and I knew those panels did not belong there. I also knew that our car was substantially lighter. We no longer had problems bottoming out every time I drove into a gas station or parking lot. The car we had been given was of a darker brown paint, and the paint was much older and more worn than our car had been. The appearance of the engine was much worse that our car had been. The FBI had done a fairly good job switching cars on us, and this one was not radioactive, at least. I thought of the smelting operation out at New Era, and I realized that what 'Mike,' or rather 'Ken Smith' had been smelting was plutonium. I thought of the day at Motel 99 when I had just returned from an exhausting day at work. I had heard the loud sound of metal hitting other metal right outside our window. At the time I thought a truck had hit our car, as our car was parked right outside our door. I thought about going outside to check, but quite frankly my muscles were so sore I decided to look at it later. I realized, as I was driving down the freeway, that what that sound had been was someone, most likely Alan, dropping a softball sized ball of plutonium down into a compartment in front of our engine well. There must have been one put in earlier, as the impact of two of these sized pieces of plutonium would most likely cause what is called a 'fizzle,' or a slow nuclear reaction. Generally this reaction takes a couple of weeks to gain strength, and by then it will have gotten quite hot. The radiation from this 'fizzle' is quite intense. The answer to where the missiles came from I did not unravel until later in time. I still at that time knew very little about who these men actually were, nor was I aware of the full extent of the plans within which we had become, without our knowledge or consent, prime players.



I continued to drive south until we reached Naples, where we stopped to freshen up. We found Naples to be uneventful, to our wholehearted relief. I continued on towards Miami Beach, where I pulled over at a Denny's. This was a welcome respite from the three weeks of driving and the horrors within which we had lived through. A half hour or so after we arrived we noticed a man, who appeared to be of African American descent, sweeping the floor and spending an inordinate amount of time staring at us. He was dressed as a janitor, and was doing janitorial duties, but we did not believe for one moment either that this man was of African American descent, or that he was actually a janitor there. One of the possibilities was that he could have been a FBI agent, but this was not the case. This man was the same individual that drove up adjacent to us at the gas station next to the Comfort Inn the morning after the female FBI agent was murdered by this beast we knew as Dan Hachey. There is a way that these terrorists looked at us that we had come to recognize, and loathe. They observed us too closely, as if they had been instructed to positively 'ID' us.

We went out to our car, and I asked May to pour me a rum and coke. Driving with the knowledge of the danger we were in, and the lack of support from the authorities was not kind to my nerves. I grew very fond of my rum on this voyage. We would likely not have survived if I had been without it. It is also surprising that we survived with it. It was near dawn, and I became so drowsy that I could no longer drive, a condition that was abnormal for me. I certainly had the motivation to continue. A deep-seated concern for the lives of my family ensured that throughout our ordeal. I had no choice but to pull over in the first promising place I came across, an apartment building parking lot. We by then realized we had been thrown to the wolves by the authorities, and we were living in constant fear for our lives.

I lost consciousness immediately, and woke to my wife was calling to me. I then moved us to the back seat, where we repeatedly awoke, roasting in the back seat of this car. I would not have been surprised one whit if this car had been glowing in the dark. I gave up on sleep, still thinking it was sleepiness which had caused me to fall first into such a stupor, and then into unconsciousness. I drove south to Miami, and after fueling my car I continued on towards US 1. We ended up on Eighth Street, and I decided to pull into a park next to a harbor on the ocean. May was concerned over the tan van parked at the far end of the harbor. Neither of us by this time was fond of tan vans. After several minutes of observation, I decided this posed no threat to us, and we unpacked a blanket and prepared to have a picnic. Several minutes later a young man with long hair and a shaggy beard wandered slowly past us in this long narrow little park, not even a block wide. This man's appearance was as if he might be a homeless wanderer, or perhaps more accurately stated, doing is best performance of merely wandering lackadaisically through the park. I assumed this was normal for Miami, and did not pay this intrusion too much attention, but merely raised my guard a few notches. Within another few minutes he was back, and he kept staring at us. Halsey was actually quite good at subterfuge, but we had come to recognize his eyes, his stature, and his demeanor, right down to the set of his jaw line. Although English was not his native language, he spoke it quite well, while under the influence of certain drugs, which I originally had thought to be methamphetamine. I still suspect this is the case, although I believe they take massive quantities of this drug, a near overdose, to control their learned behavior and to control the dialects of the various languages that they speak. But this 'Halsey' was admiral of a fleet of sinking ships, he was. Their ships were sinking so rapidly they likely had to use their wigs to bail out their water. I suspect that by this time their bladders could no longer hold water. This man then sat down on a stone wall not fifteen feet from us, and reached down to the cuff of his pants, fiddling with something. My wife immediately became frantic, gathering our blanket and the baby while I continued to watch this man. I still found it hard to believe that these men had the financial resources and organizational capabilities to place Halsey down in Miami. Parked on the other side of the wall from Halsey was a station wagon, within which was a man smoking a cigar and reeking of the Mafia. Not the cover I would choose, but when you are an influential member of the 'criminal underground' with vast cash reserves I imagine every criminal group in the world will desire to come aboard. Criminals have never been known for their long-range vision. Their own destruction as their ultimate reward is the great laugh within which these terrorists must have found great satisfaction. I then put my head into the window of my car in the hopes that these men might think I had alerted the authorities. These men were certainly bright enough to perceive that FBI agents do not sleep in their cars. I backed up, and while driving forward I stopped in front of Halsey long enough to take a long look at this man. I said, in a voice loud enough certain for him to hear: "I'll take you down, you evil son of a bitch, right where I sent the rest of your evil friends." I had naively assumed that the federal authorities had arrested the reminder of his fellow conspirators. We had assumed someone in a position of authority had been paying attention. Halsey looked at me, smiled, and waved. This evil bastard actually had the compunction to wave at me! What I eventually learned over time was the surest method of positively identifying someone is to flaunt yourself in their face and look for the recognition in their eyes. I drove off, and within some confusion at an intersection over a canal I pulled over to reflect on this recurrent episode. Halsey's presence there in Miami was entirely too much. This man is an accomplished and astute actor, in addition to his talents in technical drawing, engineer, terrorist, and an accomplished killer. One of his talents which were used judiciously at New Era was sign painting, signs which appeared to be old and faded relics of the past. Specifically the sign on the warehouse at New Era, 'Ossuma,' (as in bin Laden,) on old tan vans, yellow trucks. I choose not to call this man an artist, however. These people study Americana to no end. They tape videos of American movies and study them for regional dialects, character changes, etc. They send these videos overseas to their terrorist training camps, absorbing our culture so comprehensively that they were able to fool many people, including federal and state authorities into believing that not only were they Americans, but that they were my wife and I, and perhaps your neighbor. I am speaking of normal Americans. These men and women continually change their identities to provide a cover within a cover within a cover. Mentally deficient Americans, 'hillbillies,' gay men, drug addicts, bikers, mentally deficient Cuban refugees, even university professors. They have the ability to not only dress up as any race or color which they choose, but also as females, and very attractive females at that. That was 'Dan Hachey's' specialty.

I found Highway US 1 and headed south. I did not stop until we entered the Florida Keys, just north of Key Largo. I again became so drowsy that I had no choice but to find some place where I could stop for awhile and regain my senses. Pulling off to the left I spotted a sign which read: "Pelican Cove Marina." I found the marina, no easy task considering I was within a minute or two of losing consciousness, and we found the pub on the second floor of this establishment. I ordered a beer, and May ordered a Coke. I had not yet connected these repeating episodes of near loss of consciousness with that janitor at Denny's north of Miami, and the fact that he had several reasons for being there. I struck up a conversation with a man about fishing prospects in the keys, and I began to relax. Our daughter began to cry, and as I handed her over the table to May I knocked over my glass of beer, of which I had had only a few sips. I ordered another beer and the man which whom I was speaking abruptly cut off the conversation when a woman who was sitting at the end of the bar shouted: "Shut up! I am trying to make a business arrangement with the bartender!" This man then looked at me sheepishly and said: "She has more authority here than the crocodiles!" The bartender then brought me another beer, and said: "This one is on the house, as long as you drink all of it." I thought this was considerate. Our daughter was still fussing, and I was preoccupied with calming her down. May and I heard that same woman who had made the deal with the bartender and several other men laughing, while looking at us and saying: "We'll make you a home right here with the crocodiles and the alligators!" We both thought this behavior bizarre. May asked where the rest room was, and the bartender said: "You can use the one in the kitchen. Ha! Ha! Ha!" May then began gathering our child and belongings, saying: "We're leaving right now!" I had drunk not more than half of that beer, but I was feeling extremely drowsy. I did not question May's judgment, but I picked up our child and we left down the outside stairs, when the owner appeared and ran down the stairs in front of us, disappearing around the corner. When I got us back on US 1 heading south. I became so drowsy again that I had difficulty maintaining consciousness long enough to turn the corner in Key largo and park in front of an apartment building, told my wife I had to sleep, and immediately fell into a deep coma. All three of us fell into a deep coma. I then heard May calling to me from a great distance, over and over again. When I finally awoke she told me she had been trying to bring me back for three and a half hours. She had been deeply concerned that I would not come back. I gathered my resources, my strength, and drove back onto US 1 towards Key West.

I continued to drive south until we reached our destination, albeit five or six hours than I had forecast. We spent the night in a most welcome bed. The next day I volunteered to assist on the Sombrero Reef Cleanup Project. The following day we were invited to a couple's wedding vow renewal at the Faro Blanco Resort. Perhaps coincidentally we met two of the women who had interviewed us at the Sheriff's Office outside of Gainesville, Florida. The live band played the old Grateful Dead Song: "I drove the Devil Down in Georgia." Actually, he was driven down in Louisiana.

It was not until the day after we arrived at our destination in the Keys that May poured out all of the Coca-Cola from the two liter bottle we had from the day before, explaining to me that she believed it had been poisoned. I went to the sink and scooped up some of the two inches or so of white foam, and it smelled strongly of cyanide. I drove up to the Sheriff's Office and asked if the substance could be analyzed, but the officer I spoke with told me they did not have the equipment. I then drove back home and investigated Bunny's baby food jars. It was clear her baby food had been laced with cyanide also. I then looked closely at all of the jars of baby food, looking for broken seals. I discarded ten or so jars.

We were staying with family, and there was house under construction adjacent to us. I decided to walk over and observe carpenters at work in the Florida Keys. There were three men at work at the time, and I mentioned my background as a contractor. They reacted in an extremely rude manner, which I thought out of character for men on the job speaking with a contractor. As I was leaving a man drove into the driveway in a newer model station wagon, got out and walked right up to me. I introduced myself, shook his hand, and explained my interest in this house, asking if it was his home under construction. This man seemed nervous and uptight concerning my presence there and I excused myself and left. He also left, within a few minutes. Upon inquiring as to who these neighbors were, I was told that he was a radiologist, and that both he and his wife were away most of the time. A day or so later I met his 'wife,' although I never saw this particular man again. This woman was blonde, and owned one of those little fluffy dogs that yap incessantly. It should have had one of those sweaters on that you see in northern areas of the US. The image of this blonde woman with this fluffy white dog rang a bell, but I could not put my finger on anything concrete at that time. This woman was Seigrid, a woman that had showed up at New Era several times with her little lap dog. She had tried to talk May into working for an 'Adult Community Care Center', but this job required that May stay locked down at this place for 24 hours, with no outside communication. It did not sound right then, and I was extremely disturbed to see her there in Marathon. I began to think of other details of our encounters with Seigrid. I had been told that she lived in Oregon City when she was not working in the retirement center. She dropped by several times and spent the night in the tiny trailer that was parked alongside of the river between our mobile home and the warehouse. She came out once with a black woman who looked around the property, at the trees and the sky as if it had been the first time she had seen daylight in quite some time. I suspect now that she was from Nigeria. I also thought of the house up on the hill across the street that Halsey had so vehemently denied had any connection to their property. I had often heard, and a few times had seen a small white lapdog out on the porch, yapping away. I had even noticed that that dog looked like Seigrid's dog, but I had merely filed that information for future reference. I now believe Seigrid was a member of 'The Red Army Faction', a terrorist group that operated out of East Germany to strike at West German targets.

We drove to Big Pine Key to have lunch at a renowned Deli there, and a somewhat stocky, middle aged man wearing bib overalls sat down in a booth behind my wife and daughter. This man did not order any food, but just sat there staring at us with this vacant look in his eyes. He then stood up, and walking behind my wife he ran his hand along her back, and then put his hand on the car seat as he walked by. I paid for our meal, and we immediately departed. Two days later, on the fourth of July, two girls from the neighborhood announced that the man next door had invited everyone to the second floor of his house, the house that was under construction, to watch the fireworks. I thought this out of character coming from the man I had met a few days before. We went next door, and upon climbing the top of the stairs my wife said severely under her breath: "That man is Alan!" There was no doubt this was not the man I had previously met, but the man who had shown up in the deli. He was built heavier than Alan was, and he did not particularly resemble him. Hs hips were broader; his hair was a close cut reddish blonde, his complexion ruddy. He had far too much weight in his face for anyone to think that he was Alan, unless that someone had seen the sophistication with which these men could make out of their characterizations of American people, men and women. We immediately climbed back down the ladder, my wife certain this man was going to throw us off the building. This was not the case, as this man had to see us again and again, as he had a chance at New Era to know us quite well. He could not believe that he was seeing us. That is why he touched May, and touched the car seat. He could simply not believe his eyes.

They next day May and I drove to the Winn Dixie grocery store only to find Alan sitting in a pickup truck in the heat, this time looking quite like Alan, only missing the oil and grease from working on his tugboats. We went inside, gathered the things we needed, and were waiting in line when May blurted out: "That man right there is Gary Tour!" He had walked right up to her (I was facing the other direction), looked her in the eyes, turned, and rapidly walked away. When I turned to look at him, I saw he was with another man, and both of them were bald, and of obvious Arabic descent. Gary looked at me as they were backing up down the aisle, looking at me with something between shock and awe; their eyes open like saucers. Gary then looked at the man with him, shook their heads in agreement, and they then again looked at me with the same degree of incomprehension and awe. Both of these men had a receding hairline that reached back to the middle of their heads. I had never seen Gary without a baseball cap on his head. Neither had I ever seen Dan Hachey without a baseball cap on his head. However, I was certain Dan Hachey had been killed while trying to run from the police near Gainesville, Florida. The color of these men's skin was artificial, however, as if they had rubbed walnut oil into their skin. This was an oversight out of character for these professionals. This was merely another disguise within a disguise within a disguise. Their disguises were failing however, as we could see right through them.

Then a man came dancing sideways across the floor, waving his hands in the air and waving at us. This man was none other than Halsey. I looked back to where Gary Tour was, but he was gone. Halsey's dance across the floor was quite a successful ruse. I certainly was not going to chase them. I was not curious enough about the changing face of danger to go chasing after it. I was focused on avoiding danger, and the pain that these men had inflicted upon my family. We were now well aware that these men were in fact bona fide terrorists. As 'NAD-ia' responded to me upon my statement that I was Jewish: "I am Palestinian!" Many clues were left for me, the only question being whether this was a conscious act on their part, or providence. I suspect the latter.

On the seventh of July two checks which I had been expecting on the 5th of July finally arrived. We cashed my checks and drove to Key West. We had a refreshing drink on the beach at the Hilton, and headed back up north to Hawk's Cay Resort on Duck Key, in the center of the Florida Keys. I danced to live music with our child in my arms while another man was videotaping his wife dancing with their child. It was a sweet respite from the stress under which we had been living for so long. We went down to the pool, where I pointed out to May this man across the pool from us who was staring at us. This man was not even attempting to be discrete. This was not the casual interest of a fellow traveler, but a cold, hard and unremitting stare. I went into the shallow end of the pool, and this fellow proceeded to enter the pool from the other side, whereby he soon was within ten feet of me, staring at me all the while. Again, this was enough for me to exit the pool, collect my family and depart. As we were leaving the pool, May pointed out that this man was gathering his family also, a woman and a child. I went to the front desk and inquired as to the availability of rooms, but the clerk indicated the lowest rate available was far above the 150.00 I was prepared to pay. I thought this quite odd, as that was not exactly tourist season, and the resort was not particularly busy. As we were walking across the parking lot May pointed to the steps of entrance to the lobby, and partially hidden behind the corner of the building, still staring at us, was this same bearded man. This definitely qualifies as unusual behavior for a tourist, and I began to question the wisdom of staying in the Keys. I had driven over six thousand miles to take my family out of the grasp of danger, which I had thought to be from the Hells Angels. They were a part of this, as these men in fact controlled them. We had repeatedly begged for assistance from the FBI. It is true that FBI agents gave their lives to protect us, but we had not even been offered protection from the violence that was all around us. Oddly enough, if we had been taken a protective custody program at that time the real danger that these terrorists had planned would likely not have ever been revealed and this country would have been devastated. Although it was evident that the FBI thought they had the case all wrapped up, it was apparent to my wife and I that we had been targeted by an extremely sophisticated group foreign of agents that were not about to give up. They were too cocky and self-assured for me to believe that they had been beaten. What we were seeing was a look of triumph and gloating, the look emanating from a group of very powerful group of people who had supreme confidence in their victory. This power was focused on the destruction of my wife, my daughter, and I, initially, and thence the destruction of the US, and Western Civilization as we know it. We questioned the morality of a federal government agency policy, which could repeatedly leave a small family defenseless, and at the mercy of terrorists. It is not often that a man is able to not only save his family from certain death at the hands of terrorists, but also able to save his country from nuclear annihilation. We knew this to be true, and we believed the federal government must have been aware of this fact. The truth of the extent of these terrorist's activities in this country, and the reason for their unremitting and gloating confidence in their victory was buried in the clues which had been given to me. Some of these clues were given to me intentionally. Some of these clues were revealed to me from sources much higher than these evil ones could ever hope to comprehend .We referred to the danger through which we lived, and continue to live thorough to this day as: "Beating the grass with the sword to flush out the snakes."

Within three weeks my wife and daughter were driven north through the Keys to Miami, where they both flew away to the high desert country to be with our family.



"Now when they have finished their testimony, the beast that comes up from the Abyss will attack them, and overpower and Kill them. Their bodies will lie in the street of the great city, which is figuratively called Sodom and Egypt, where also their Lord was crucified. For three and a half days men from every people, tribe, language and nation will gaze on their bodies and refuse their burial. The inhabitants of the earth will gloat over them and send each other gifts, because these two prophets had tormented them that live on the earth. But after three and a half days a breath of life from God entered them, and they stood on their feet, and terror struck those that saw them." Rev. 11:7-11

I had been living on the coast, working full time at a Coast Guard station when a man showed up to work off some of his community service hours. I was stripping and waxing the floor, and there was this man behind me doing nothing other than staring at me. He had been observing me too closely all day long to be merely interested in the quality of my work. I did not realize until that night that this was Halsey, sans beard and sporting shorter hair.

At about this time May was visiting Portland, Oregon, and she called the business where we had our PO Box. It was suggested that May show up there before the business opened. When May arrived, this woman began apologizing profusely, explaining that she had been subpoenaed by the FBI. May was then approached by an FBI agent, who showed her his badge, and explained to her he needed to ask her some questions. May spent the next forty-five minutes answering questions from this man concerning her background, what she knew of me, etc. He then asked her if she knew where I was, as they had lost track of me. Upon hearing this I believed it was a red herring. Looking back I realize the FBI actually did not know nearly as much as I had assumed. He asked her if she could identify my handwriting, and she replied that she could. He then laid a note of some kind on the table, cupping his hands around all but a small area and asked her if this handwriting was mine. It was not my handwriting. When she began relating to him our experiences at New Era he told her he was no interested in that, as that was not his area of investigation. He was, however very interested in Dan Hachey, where he lived, and the circumstances surrounding her rental of an apartment in his house on Burnside Street in Portland, Oregon. She told him of her difficulties with our phone service. She spoke of a device that Dan Hachey had bragged to me about, a device required by all long distance carriers to access local phone companies. She related to him that he bragged about having access to the US West Phone Company computer systems through this device. He then immediately jumped up, said: "Thank you," and promptly departed.

I was shortly thereafter moved to a position with the local sheriff's office, where I worked for five weeks before anything unusual happened. I was washing a Florida Highway Patrol car one day when I observed a man, perhaps in his thirties, standing behind the fence of the parking lot watching me. He appeared to be of Hispanic origin, had long shaggy hair, a beard, and he had a book in his hand. He was rocking back and forth sideways, and he appeared to be imbalanced in more ways than his inability to stand steady on his feet. I told the trooper standing next to me of this man's presence behind him, and he spoke to him is Spanish. The trooper then sent him to the front office, where he was unintelligible. It appears neither Halsey, nor any of these men speak fluent Spanish. However, from a different point of view, to maintain the illusion of insanity is a manner of subterfuge which eludes close inspection. Not even authorities have time for crazy street people, or any personage that will cause a reasonable person to turn away in disgust. "O.K. fine, just leave quickly." I suspect these men actually are quite fluent in Spanish. They are merely playing a game, a game from which I imagine they derive great satisfaction.

The following weekend as I was walking towards the police escort vehicle a van drove up and adjacent to this police car. As I approached the car I clearly saw the driver of this two tone blue and silver conversion van look at me, smile, turn and nod his head to his passenger, and drive off. This man whom 'ID'd' me was none other than Terence Rude, whose brother was the master computer hacker and forger for the Hells Angels. That night I called May and related to her this encounter. We had thought this man had been arrested in Gainesville in June of 1997. The next day I arrived to work only to find the office akin to a hornet's nest with activity. That evening my 'escort' had a shotgun lying on the car seat between us. Officers were asking me if I 'felt safe,' and if I did could I please wash their car.

A week later, as I was washing a county sheriffs car I noticed a man standing outside the gate. He was there for over one half hour, staring at the small plastic Sheriff's emblem stuck to the gate post, doing his best to appear to be doing something, or nothing, as long as he cold spend this time to observe me. He appeared to be in his forties; Caucasian, balding, with a ruddy face, as if he spent too much time on the bottle. He wandered back and forth behind the fence, focusing on my every action. He then walked over to a white Volkswagen bus, sporting a 'For Sale' sign in the rear window, and drove off. The police station was basically devoid of police cars on weekends, and these men apparently were well aware of this fact. Their repeated arrivals on weekends was due, I suspect, not merely due sheer intellect but also to fulfill their other obligations, which I believe had more to do with the maintenance of their covers than judicious planning. The next weekend this man showed up again. This time, after watching me wash a police car for fifteen minutes or so he walked through the gate ('Police Entrance Only') and approached me. This man then put his hands on his hips and exclaimed: "What is this, some kind of JOKE?" I said: "Excuse me?" He pointed to the outfit I was wearing, a red/orange shirt and pants, and said: "What are these clothes? Why are you wearing them? Where did you get them?" I told him this was a uniform that I wore as an indication of the position that I held. He asked where I worked, my job title, and why I was working there. I felt no compunction to tell this man anything of import, shrugged my shoulders, and said nothing more. He then stormed off, climbed into his Volkswagen bus, which was now painted a dark charcoal gray, and drove off.

I again called May and related this reappearance of Halsey at the Sheriff's Office. I had to assume these phone calls which I made were a community event: "He treads the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God Almighty." Two thousand years ago a 'winepress' was not a device purchased a wine making store for pressing grapes, but a religious, celebratory event of the community.

Several weeks later I observed this man who appeared to be recovering from an extremely rough night, mugging and all. He was wandering around the parking lot of the library next to the police station, hollering to no one in particular for the cigarette that he was waving about in the air as desperate proof of his apparent need. He even hollered out at a sheriff's deputy as he was entering the police station for a light, who predictably turned, looked at him in disgust, yelled: " No!" and closed the door.

Again, these people know Americans and their nuances to an art. They videotape movies and study our behavioral patterns; they buy houses, rent out studios to unsuspecting individuals, videotape them, steal their identities, and then murder them. Act in such a manner in which not only will no one notice you, but that you will be so obnoxious in their face that they will turn away in disgust, therefore assuring your anonymity. They will have never bothered to look at you close enough to establish an identity. They flaunt disability, as everyone knows Americans are diehard liberals who will march in Washington DC to support anyone who even comes close to being the recipient of their perceived governmental abuse. The western world, and particularly America, is an easy target for terrorists. That is why their bases are located here.

This man, whom I did not recognize at the time, then approached me, more or less, staggering a bit, weaving, and as he walked past my view he held his hand over the top of his head. This was a very convincing affectation. He then continued on to my right towards the rear of the parking lot and disappeared behind a truck. This is not an easy thing to do, as there is no where to get out of the parking lot but past me. Forty minutes later apparently the same man came walking up towards me from the rear of the parking lot. He walked right up to me and said, "Hey chief, can you tell me where the cop shop is?" I said, "Right around the corner." This man was clear and direct, with no pretensions of a debilitating neither hangover, nor the hand over the forehead, no staggering as if recovering from too many hairs of the dog. He was also missing the contusions on his face that he had earlier worn. These men were getting sloppy. This man, in addition to lacking the pretenses of his former self, was bald. That is why Alan covered his forehead. The man in front of me was Gary Tour. He walked around the corner, and I did not see him again that day. Less than an hour later Alan returned. He walked up to within fifteen feet of me and said something just out of my hearing range. I said, "Excuse me?" He answered, "You heard what I said, you son of a bitch." I shook my head, prevented from seeing that which was in front of my eyes by God's good grace. Alan then turned to the right, his head bowed slightly, remembering to cover his forehead, and then walked to the right and behind a vehicle. Shortly thereafter the pair of them, Alan and Gary, left in a new model full sized classed out blue and silver pickup truck.

These men were there to try and determine who I was. They believed they had murdered me in Taos, New Mexico at the Taos Inn on June 13, 1997. They knew that it had been and now was I. They first sent Halsey to identify me. Halsey went back to tell them that it was in fact I, but they could not accept that. Muslims do not believe in the resurrection of Jesus, the Christ, much less in the possibility of any normal Christian being resurrected from the dead. I would not have believed it myself, except that I know that I am here now, and I know my wife and daughter are here now also. These men firmly believed that they had killed me at the Taos Inn in room number 206. They had made certain of that. They went back to their studies of the Book of Revelation of John to verify the conclusion that they had to be facing. They had to believe that it could not be I, but an agent of the US Government playing a joke on the failed efforts of these people to destroy 'The Great Satan.' They were forced to come to the conclusion that they had been worshipping the false prophet. That is why Halsey indignantly demanded, "What is this, some kind of joke?" That question took me a while to unravel. I was wearing a dark orange uniform, and due to the fact that I had been washing state police cars, my uniform appeared a wet, blood red. "I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True. With justice he judges and makes war. His eyes are like blazing fire, and on his head are many crowns. He has a name written on him that no one knows but he himself. He is dressed in a robe dipped in blood, and his name is the Word of God. The armies of heaven were following him, riding on white horses and dressed in fine linen, white and clean. Out of his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations. He will rule them with an iron scepter. He treads the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has this name written: King of Kings and Lord of Lords. " Rev. 19:11. When I came upon this chapter in the Bible my immediate thought was, "No, you idiot, I have been washing cars! I'm just wet!" However, I am speaking of religious zealots, and it is true that they have spent more time studying the Christian Bible that the vast majority of Americans. These men had no idea of the significance of the 'red robe I was wearing,' except that it scared them to death, especially considering that they were well aware that I have a very large red birthmark on my inner right thigh, and I was wearing a wet red robe. What they envisioned was the sacrificial blood, blood which they had drawn themselves. Thus, they had been worshiping the false prophet, and they were bound though their own actions to be cast into the abyss forever.

I began thinking of that mysterious fisherman whom I met while he was walking down the railroad tracks behind our trailer out at New Era. I thought of his comments concerning the two barges that used to be on the water. He had said, "There were two barges on the water, and the shore looked different." When I pointed out the old rusty barge sitting in the water next to Alan's' trailer he said, "No, they were new." I also thought of these peoples' ability to move from one end of the property to the other end without detection. I had often thought that they must have been moving underground. I also thought of their ability to disappear from anywhere on the property whenever police or agents arrived. I also thought about Nadias' shout from beneath our trailer, "There goes my cover!" and her appearance on the other end of the property with Alan and Halsey. I thought about Gary Tours' statement that he was planning on using a DEQ land

reclamation program to fill in land which he had lost through erosion from flooding. I then thought about traveling down that road, Highway 99 E, since I was a baby. I attended junior high school and high school in that area and every summer I rode a bus back and forth down that stretch while picking fruit. I remembered that area down below the highway, across from the New Era Russian community that had been founded when Russia originally colonized the pacific coast region in the seventeenth century. That property was an old shingle mill, and there was a large bay that came into the property, and was used to float cedar logs up to the mill. I also recalled the pump house, with the PVC pipe going directly down not far from the river. That had not made any sense to me, nor did the fact that water was frequently rusty and oily. All of this information came together to me as a realization of the meaning of all of these occurrences; these people had placed two ocean going barges in the bay, and buried them. These barges were two hundred fifty feet long, one hundred wide and seven or more stories tall. These people had buried barges underneath the ground within which they had a good size small town. Two barges side by side, safe from detection. They built their very own 'New Era.' They built their very own 'New Jihad,' on the territory of the United States of America.

The federal agencies involved in this investigation understood the ramifications of this information more thoroughly than I had, for they also put together another piece of this puzzle which I had thoroughly described. I did not yet understand the relevance of the information I had provided. The additional key that identified what these people were trying to camouflage was the sound of the cable riding hard on a resistant object. I had looked at that cable the next day, and I found no evidence of friction whatsoever. The mounting of the four bright floodlights on the top of the tugboat was a cover for that which they did not want me to see. The loud sound of the motor, a virtual roar, was not from the tugboat but from the diesel powered Russian Walrus Class submarine that was pulling into an underground submarine bay. Apparently the muffler was defective. The opening and subsequent closing of the doors to the submarine bay caused the shaking of the trailer. This was the purpose of the two barges parked side by side. It was the ideal location for this operation, as their ability to park these barges in the bay allowed them to be half-submerged in water. This was also the reason why 'Gary' was constantly looking over the edge of the deck to our trailer towards the latter part of our stay at New Era. He knew what the level the water of the river had to be in order to time the docking of the submarine into the underwater docking port correctly. I saw the larger tugboats attached to the dredging barges moving back and forth on the river. The purpose of this operation was to provide a cover with that tugboat and the barge for the submarine. The property at New Era is located south of the Oregon City locks, and to bring a submarine of that size up the locks would require that this be done surreptitiously. The locks are too shallow to bring a submarine through the locks underneath a barge, so the only possible method they could have used was to hide the submarine within the barge. This is the reason why the crane operating on the barge never loaded that barge with a substantial amount of sand or gravel. There was no dredging operation going on in that river. They were merely waiting for the water to rise.

These agents had planned to detonate these nuclear bombs at strategic points across the country. NORAD closed its' facility in a state of alert in May of 1997, the month that we left the New Era property. This is an indication that the authorities had some clue as to what was going on. The violent reaction of Dan Hachey to our visit to the Bank of America demonstrated that his access to their money had been cut off. His increasing desperation to kill us, culminating in his own death north of Baton Rouge, Louisiana was an indication of the strategic importance of our vehicle to their plans. It has since become apparent to me that they had at least two nuclear bombs hidden in that car. In addition, it was also apparent that they also had two large plutonium spheres near the front engine compartment. It has become apparent to me that these men had planned on detonating at least two of these bombs with a substantial amount of additional plutonium, which would result in a 'dirty' bomb. The far reaching radiation contamination of this would be devastating to the American population. As I was not privy to these terrorists plans I cannot say with certainty what their intentions were in regard to the submarine. I do know that Ossama Bin Laden is an extremely intelligent and resourceful man, and that he has sworn to destroy the United States of America. I also know that their underground submarine bay was most conveniently capable of serving as a bomb shelter. They had stocked enough furniture and most likely food for a decent sized village. This bespeaks of preparation for a prolonged stay, perhaps to survive a nuclear attack.

Ossama bin Laden's successful involvement in the Afghanistan war against the USSR gave him the confidence to devise a plan to further his goals of a global Muslim nation. With the assistance of Iran he successfully acquired nuclear bombs and a submarine with which to smuggle these bombs into the US. The construction of the submarine bay at New Era from two barges was an operation that took many years to plan and carry through to completion. It is apparent that they were on a tight schedule. They wanted us there long enough to cover the docking of the submarine, and they made certain that this was such a traumatic event for us that I would do everything in my power to leave as soon as their task was completed. They played on our conversations concerning our belief that these men were Hells Angels manufacturing methamphetamine in an underground lab, as it was an excellent cover. They even brought my sister into their manipulations, as she knows Hells Angels, and they were in fact Hells Angels themselves. These men had provided themselves with covers within covers within covers, and they researched my background thoroughly. Their solution was to murder May and Bunny and frame me for their murder. This was a solution that Dan Hachey had constructed while May and I were living at the apartment at his house in Portland.

Hezbollah and Palestine Islamic Jihad are considered to be shadow branches of Iran by western intelligence analysts, so all of their goals would have been accomplished. My presence above their 'OP Center' provided them with an ideal cover for their activities. In addition to their successful smuggling of nuclear weapons into this country these men were uniquely located next to the new Sprint fiber optic cable which was laid underground across the New Era property while I was out there. Halsey had found this most interesting. Considering that these men are engineers I am not surprised. Dan Hachey had made it clear that they access to local and long distance phone company's computer systems. Having direct access to a fiber cable junction box would give them untraceable access to local and long distance phone lines and to the Internet. As these people had catacombs throughout the property at New Era, constructing one more short tunnel to access the massive international fiber optic cable would be advantageous indeed. The engineers who designed the burial for this cable had certainly made their task easier by constructing a junction box right next to the railroad crossing in the center of their property. It is no wonder Halsey stood out in the rain admiring these men's work. They could hardly have had a better location for this junction if they had put in a request.



A month or so had passed since I had last seen Halsey, Gary Tour and Alan at the Monroe County Sheriff's Office parking lot. I was traveling with a Deputy Sheriff one afternoon when he told me that there was a car coming up behind us which was going to exceed the speed limit. This car drove up in the lane to our left, pulled over to the lane we were in and forward a couple of cars, and waited for the light to turn green. As certain as day is light this car immediately proceeded to accelerate to a point that it was obvious that it would exceed the speed limit by a good margin. We were driving in an unmarked pickup truck, so we had a good cover. The Deputy Sheriff clocked this car at over 70 miles per hour through the downtown area, and when he caught up with this car he turned on his portable light and pulled the car over. The deputy walked towards this car, and the driver showed him a passport and drivers license from Paraguay. The only evidence he could offer for a local address was a piece of paper with an address in Miami. The driver of this car then got out of his car and walked right up to the Deputy's pickup truck, allowing me a good look at this man. The passenger door to this car then opened, and of all people to pop out was Halsey, looking somewhat like Halsey, oddly enough, but a South American version. He was waving a camcorder in the air, as if that was convincing evidence that they were just innocent tourists. The driver of that car was the man I had known as Gary Tour. By this time I was aware of the large Hezbollah presence in what is called the 'tri-border area' where Paraguay, Argentina and Brazil meet. The fact that these men were willing to break the speed limit was an indication of how desperate they had become. Their appearance was also not dissimilar to the identities they had taken at the Winn Dixie store in Marathon in July of 1997. What was most revealing was the calm and confidence with which the authorities were able to track these terrorists. It also demonstrated the authorities' ability to see through these men's disguises.

It was two months later that I made a decision to bring May and Bunny back down to the Florida Keys. My wife located a mobile home on a canal in Marathon. Upon seeing the location, right on the canal, with rubber and coconut trees, I rented it. I bought a new Pentium computer system, and then connected it to the Internet for research purposes for this book. It was several days later when I began to take notice of the white Cadillac parked in the driveway across the street. Several times a week I observed a large man with heavy jowls sitting on a chair facing our trailer. When I looked at him I saw that he was laughing. This was laughter that was directed at me, not just a man smiling in neighborly friendliness. May told me flat out that that white Cadillac was the car we had initially bought from Ken Smith. Upon looking at this car closely, I realized that she was correct. It took me a long time to make the connection of where I had seen this man before. Back at the rest stop outside of Albuquerque, when I had come out of the building and found a semi-truck parked diagonally across and in front of us. There was a white Cadillac parked directly behind me, hemming me in. This was the very same place where Satan raised his ugly head in the guise of Nadia, or Dan Hachey, and his assistant Alan. It was the same white Cadillac, and the very same very large man with the heavy jowls who showed up across the street from our mobile home in Marathon. I noted the license plate of this car, 'UMMA.' I queried a search on this word on the Internet, and the results showed me that this was a Muslim word that means 'the Muslim people,' and also 'the people of nations.' After considerable more research on this topic, and on Hamas, Hezbollah and Palestine Islamic Jihad, sites which included the word 'Umma,' Out of curiosity I typed UMMA backwards and suddenly I was looking at the Seal of the CIA.

While contemplating the meaning of the white Cadillac across the street, I began thinking of 'Ken Smith.' I was not yet certain of his complicity in the 'New Jihad' group. May and I still thought that his place out at New Era was innocent. I was also interested in obtaining the title to the Ford LTD sitting in my driveway, as the tags had expired, and it was not legal. I began calling every Sandra Smith in Springfield, Missouri. After five or six tries, I finally found a Sandra Smith who hesitatingly affirmed that she was the wife of a Ken Smith. This was only after I explained that I had bought a brown Ford LTD from a Ken Smith while I was living at a property at New Era, Oregon. Upon questioning her to make certain that we were talking of the same Ken Smith, I noticed that she said that she had two children while Ken had told me that they had three. Most parents know how many children they have. She confirmed that he was, however, the same Ken that had journeyed to Portland, and, yes, he used to have a brown Ford LTD. She was extremely cautious with me however, and she would not even say if he was in the State of Missouri. She then told me that she would leave a message with his sister, who lived in another part of the state. What part of Missouri she would not say. About four hours later Ken Smith called me. He sounded cautious, and he was aggressive and curt in his replies. I actually warned him of the dangers of associating the people at New Era, and I recommended that he avoid going back there. This was not the friendly 'Ken' that we had known at New Era. I ended the conversation, and I began to wonder who this man actually was. I pressed *69 to retrieve the phone number from which he had called, but the number was blocked. I then delved back into my research on terrorists on the Internet. I came across an article on Ossama bin Laden, with a clear photograph of him. At this time a search on this man resulted in two hits. Now there are numerous web-sites devoted to this killer. I am a very visually oriented man, and when I saw this photograph of bin laden I immediately recognized him to be Ken Smith. I first showed this image of Ossama bin Laden on my computer screen to my teenage daughter, who lived with us out at New Era for a while. She affirmed that there was no question but that it was Ken Smith. May came home from work later that day, and she also immediately recognized him. Upon further research on the Internet I came across two more photographs of men that I knew very well. One was a photograph of Yahya Ayyash, "The Engineer." Yahya Ayyash led the military wing of Hamas and was well known for his proficiency as a bomb maker. He was claimed to have been killed on January 5, 1996 by an improvised explosive device contained within his cellular telephone. With this type of injury it would have been difficult to establish an identity. This is assuming that Hamas wanted an identity made in the first place. I assure you I know this man as Dan Hachey. Another photograph I recognized was that of Ramadan Abullah Shalah. Shalah was reported to be the new operational leader of the Islamic Holy War group. Islamic Holy War or Jihad is an offshoot of Hamas. Shalah was last reported to be living in Syria. This man May and I both know as Alan.

A week or so later I walked the two blocks to the local Mini-Mart. As I was walking across the parking lot I observed two men of obvious Arabic descent on the concrete walk in front of this store. Both of these men had close-cropped hair, with no mustaches or beards. Their skin color was very dark brown, with deep dark circles under their eyes. These men were not friendly. They were watching me with an intensity that caught my attention immediately. They both looked like they would like to kill me. One man was tall, over six feet, and the other man was several inches shorter. The tall man was Ossama bin Laden, as he looks as the Arab man he is. I know that man well, and his change to his natural features did not hide his identity from me in the least. The shorter man I knew as Gary Tour. As I began to approach the store they looked at each other, nodded, and walked rapidly towards a new, tricked-out blue and silver pick up truck that was parked in front of this store. As I stepped up onto the walkway they each jumped into the truck, all the while staring at me with eyes as wide open as saucers. The pickup they were driving was the same pickup that Alan and Gary tour were in at the parking lot of the Monroe County Courthouse two months previously. Ossama bin Laden's conversation with me on the telephone concerned him enough that he knew he had to see me with his own eyes. I do not know where he had called me from, but I doubt it was Missouri.

It was less than two months later that the US government began sending cruise missiles at each and every place where western intelligence sources indicated Ossama bin Laden was hiding out. There are several reasons why the US targeted the training camps of Ossama bin Laden in Afghanistan. First and foremost is their intention to eliminate this beast from the earth. Equally as important is the fact that the war in Afghanistan is over. The purpose of these training camps is to train these killers for the war they are waging against the US on US soil. Iran is using an area of South America called the 'tri-border area' where Argentina, Paraguay and Brazil meet as a transition point for smuggling in Iranian secret service agents, Hezbollah and members of other terrorist groups into the US. In addition 40 tons of cocaine are smuggled into the US annually from this area. The man I had known as Gary Tour was arrested in Paraguay in front of the US Embassy on October 27, 1998. His name is Soubhi Mahmoud Fyad, and he is one of the highest ranking members of Hezbollah. He is also considered to be an agent of Iran's secret service. Mr. Fyad was carrying false identity papers from both Paraguay and Brazil when arrested. He is also suspected of involvement of the 1994 bombing of the AMIA Jewish community center in Buenos Aires, Argentina. The man I knew as Halsey, whose real name is Mohamad Astarki, was arrested in Paraguay earlier in October of 1998 in front of the Israeli Embassy. He was carrying an Iranian passport issued in Brazil as well as airline tickets to Tehran, Iran. Thus, members of the Iranian secret service, Hezbollah, Palestine Islamic Jihad and other terrorist organizations are moving in and out of the United States of America frequently. They have infiltrated vast amounts of these murderers into the US, and they are not about to stop now. Thus the US is engaged in a war, and I assure you it is not a cold war. American blood runs hot.

Terrorism expert Steve Emerson told the Senate Judiciary Subcommittee on Terrorism in 1997 that Ossama bin Laden had cells throughout the US capable of carrying out attacks on US soil.

A few days later I was walking through the parking lot of this Mini-Mart when I noticed a tall (six foot four ) man with a graying beard walking towards me with a purpose. He would have been wearing a trench coat if he had been in Europe. In the summer in the Florida Keys that would look just a little out of character. Just as I said "Hello," he looked right into my eyes (glasses) and said – well, something. His timing was perfect, and intentionally so, as he knew that I would not hear what he had said as he intentionally waited until I said, "Hello". I knew that something very intense was going on, as this man was up to serious business, and that business wasn't going into the store to buy a pack of cigarettes.

Another week passed by before I saw Halsey again. I was walking from my bank to the Mini-Mart close to our house, and I saw Halsey walking towards me, appearing very much as he did a couple of months earlier, that is as the 'tourist' from Paraguay. He was clean shaven, and he had long black hair, worn in a ponytail. There was a man walking fifty paces behind him, and he was glancing back and forth between me and Halsey as he was talking into a phone. This man had a dark graying beard, and he looked as if he had seen Casablanca too many times, sans trench coat. This scene appeared to have all the makings of a takedown. I also know that this man was packing some heavy artillery. I could feel it. In retrospect I now believe that the intention of this Federal Officer was merely trying to deter me from going into attack mode on this man Halsey, as they knew I would identify him.

Hurricane Georges arrived with a vengeance and I again sent May away to the high desert with Bunny. I traveled to a high place myself, on the wings of a great eagle. I was finally given the protective custody that I had asked for. The authorities also had the opportunity to study me at close range for over ten months. They know what the true color of my hair is, what color my eyes are, what my blood type is, how tall I am, how much I weigh, how I interact with other people, what makes me angry, what my likes and dislikes are. In short, they now know who I am, and who I am not.

Dan Hachey, whom I still believe was Yahya Ayyash carried an appearance identical to mine when he walked into the high school of my oldest daughter and signed her out of attendance. My entire family was furious at me for this action which I had no part in. This devastated my daughter's trust in me, and in addition he very effectively cut me off from the rest of my family. A man who identified himself as me then called my wife's grandmother and told her that we were taking showers with our baby daughter. The insinuation was dark, and effectively created the distance intended between May and her family. This was of the same type of manipulation that they used on May's mother back at the Holladay Motel in Portland, Oregon. The manager had told May's mother that they were afraid for May's life. They are extremely effective in destroying the family connections of the people they target. In May's mothers case they were laying a precedent for my guilt in May and Bunny's murder. Dan Hachey was also able to convince May that he was her husband. I had often referred to May, in a complimentary way, as "My mad rapist wife." Dan Hachey knew this well as we had spent seven months under his close observation at the apartment in his upper floor of his house, and six months out at New Era. When he jumped on her and yelled, "I'm going to rape you now!" she still thought that he was her husband, that is, myself. He could just as easily have convinced your wife that he was you. Think about this. He so convinced May that he was I that she did not know who he was until he shoved her head underneath the water in the bathtub. He kept her head underneath the water long enough to make certain that she knew that he was not I, but a thing which crawled on the ground in a loathing attempt at being, and that had convinced her that he was I. He made certain that she knew that he was going to murder her, and he then drowned her. He was not alone in that motel room. He was with two other men, Alan (Mohammed Abullah Shalah) and Halsey (Mohamad Astarki). May has flashbacks of what Mr. Ayyash then did to her body while she was still in the water, but she cannot speak about it. It was clear from the tapes what other things they did to her body, and she has recollections of all of these things as if from a distance. We have also deciphered this from the tape that these beasts were so desperate to retrieve, and from my wife's memories and from our daughter's reactions to various experiences. As God told May, "I cannot prevent them from carrying out their plan, but I can protect your souls." We cannot go back and change what these evil men did to our family, but we can try and heal the wounds that these evil beasts brought upon us. Our daughter remembers to this day. At times she screams uncontrollably for hours, and all that we can do is rock her, and to tell her that we love her. May composed a song to Bunny during our trials on the road: "The circle of God's love goes round and round and round, and the circle will always be there, with Mommy and Daddy and Bunny." May is now able to take a bath, in water. She can even take a bath or shower in a bathtub that has sliding glass doors. She has experienced daunting emotional pain as a result of the butchering of her body which these beast inflicted on her. Our daughter sometimes screams hysterically at her mother, and she will then place her hand gently to her mother's jaw, and then her eyes, and give her a hug and a kiss. There are no words that can describe what this abdominal manifestation of an attempt at being and walking on this earth has done to my wife and to our daughter.

Perhaps only Americans who travel frequently are familiar with the massacre of the 65 tourists in Luxor Egypt on November 11, 1997. Afghan-trained soldiers of Ossama bin Laden carried out this massacre. What was not widely publicized however was the fact that those terrorists dismembered those people while they were alive. These men were dancing and singing as they carried out their evil depravity. "Religious zealots." "Islamic Jihad." "Holy War." Satan's War.

All of these men hate women with intensity beyond comprehension. They hate the freedom, the love and the grace that the American family represents. These men are religious zealots, fanatics who have sworn to destroy the entire western world. Ask the families who lost loved ones at the hands of Ossama bin Laden at the World Trade Center bombing in New York City if they find the concept of terrorists operating in this country remote.



It has been almost one year since hurricane Georges hit the Florida Keys. I recently took the two tapes that I thought I had protected from theft and manipulation to an electronics store to have them converted to a VHS format. The technician was apologetic when he explained to me that one of the tapes was not recoverable, and he was at a loss to explain why. He told me that it was in a different format than he had ever encountered. I put the one tape that he had successfully converted into the VCR when May came home from work. The first image I had recorded on the camcorder after we left Portland was at the Grand Canyon. May called to Bunny, "Come and see the pictures of Mommy and Daddy and Bunny!" As we were watching this tape, we were at first delighted, but then confused. Before long we were watching this tape with horror and confusion, wondering what further subterfuge had been placed upon us.

To clarify my use at times of the gender 'he' or 'his' when referring to the actor portrayed as May, this is due to the my recognition that the individual posing as May is in fact a man The first scene initially appeared normal, with May sitting on a bed in what I judged to be a motel room, with our daughter on her stomach on the bed next to her. May looks at the camera, and then looks at the baby and says, "Hi Bunny!" The attitude of this person is if she is nervous, and there are no emotions whatsoever in this individual, neither towards the baby nor towards the person behind the camera. This individual is behaving as if she was being prompted. (S)he then reaches over and picks up the baby and begins to bounce this baby on her lap, saying, "Boing de de boing, boing de de boing, doop de do de doo." This is repeated several times, along with a couple of other ditties that May used to sing to Bunny. However May loved her daughter, and she shared this love with Bunny. She also shared this love with me, and despite the danger we knew we were facing May and I enjoyed the knowledge that we would have memories of Bunny when she was a baby on video. This individual however is cold. All of this individuals personage is of rote role-playing. It is apparent that (s)he holds no love for the child. This person, and the baby however so closely resemble May and Bunny that in Mays words, "My mother and my father would think it was me." The voice of 'Actor May' is also astoundingly close to May's voice, but again there is no emotion in it. This individual is also considerably heavier than May was at this time. There is a pronounced masculine demeanor to this individual, the way his eyes are set, and the way he picks up the child. What is not clear is the purpose of this masquerade. I cannot even be certain of the location of this room. It is certainly not similar to the initial shots I took of May and Bunny at our motel room in Portland. I had filmed Bunny in her playpen, and May holding Bunny, and May took some film of me holding Bunny. Another giveaway is the view of the bathroom behind this actor. The counter to the sink is visible, as it bends down over the front of the counter almost a foot. It is made of plastic with a wood veneer coloring to it. This is a bathroom I have never seen before. What I do recognize out of this whole scene is the comforter on top of the bed. This is the same comforter my previous deceased wife and I had on our bed for the seven years we were together before she passed away. I recognize the floral pattern and the coloring. Apparently the people who were engaged in this 'production' were not concerned to duplicate the actual footage of the beginning of the film I had taken. There is no doubt that they had access to the tape, as a few of the audio and video images are taken from the tape I shot. They were quite meticulous to reproduce the other scenes in the film.

The scene then changes to The Grand Canyon, with May standing with Bunny in her arms on a viewers platform over the Grand Canyon. Upon close study I noticed many discrepancies in this short scene alone. I have watched and listened to this tape many dozens of times, including spending countless hours watching this tape frame by frame. There are several scenes depicting what I initially thought was my family at the Grand Canyon. Out of all these scenes, the only scene that I cannot distinguish from the view I filmed is a moving panoramic view of the canyon itself. Oddly enough what took me the longest to notice was this individual camouflaging as May had a blue coat wrapped around his waist. May still has all of the clothes in her possession that she had during this journey, and this coat does not match. More important, however, is the obvious view of the knot that this individual has tied around his waist. Actually what is important is not the knot, but what is very apparent behind the knot, tied within it and tucked under the waist of the dress. Upon close inspection it is obvious that this person has a large gun tucked in his dress. This gun, a sawed off shotgun, or a machine-gun is partially visible just above and behind the knot. There is no doubt that this was a gun. It is as if this person was the Bonnie partner of Clyde, two people carousing across the country in flaming glory. Looking at this tape I could not help but wonder; why hide a gun halfway, unless you want to flaunt its presence? There are several other aspects to these images that are supposed to be of May and myself that are different from our experience. One striking difference is that the Sony camcorder I bought in Portland was a top of the line model, and it had a very good quality auto-focus system. During the entire tape the image is continually going out of focus when the camera zooms in on an image. Also when we came up to the viewpoint of the canyon there were only a few Japanese people there, and May held up Bunny, who waved at them. The Japanese were delighted with her. I filmed this, but it is not on the tape. In the tape that I now have the platform is crowded. There is a man and a woman who May and I recognized. They are both Federal agents, and they take several hard looks at the both the person acting as May and the man behind the camera. Another difference is there are two people speaking Aramaic in the background. There were no Arabs while we were there. There is another scene in which a man who I initially thought was me, (they are very good at this) is bouncing Bunny on his shoulders, and saying, "Bunny loves me." This man's hands are a deep chocolate brown, however, and his hair is black. I am the only natural blonde in my family, although I must admit there is some gray in my blonde hair now. I also have blue eyes with a gold corona at the center of my iris. This man's eyes are brown. At the end of this scene, this man turns to his left, nods his head in an affirmative gesture, as in, "This is a take," and the camera is shut off. There is another scene of actor May, and she is bouncing actor Bunny (I believe a male baby acting as a female baby) up and down. Then she looks to her left, smiles and says, "He saw it," and the camera shuts off. This last comment was undoubtedly in reference to the gun they were trying very hard for someone to notice. Throughout this tape the characters repeatedly looked to the left of the camera, and it became apparent to me that there was a another camera filming each scene. There are other scenes filmed very close to what I had filmed. These images were filmed as if someone wanted to convince the viewer(s) that this was May and I on this wild rampage across the country, carrying a not very well disguised shotgun. When May was interviewed by the FBI agent in Portland after she returned to there in November of 1998 he asked her of our whereabouts in Albuquerque New Mexico in June of 1997, and if she had any knowledge of a bank robbery there. He then showed her a piece of paper which he was partially covering with his hand, and asked her if she thought the handwriting was mine. It is apparent that these men did rob a bank there shortly after we passed through disguised as May and myself. Needless to say they most likely used a shotgun during this robbery.

While on our way south to meet Jose, I had pulled off the road at a secluded spot. This area is high-mountain desert country. I love the beauty of nature, and I decided to lay down next to a yellow cactus flower and have May film me. I bent over and kissed this flower, and then I bent over again and acted like I was going to bite it. There are some outstanding differences with the tape that May filmed there. When May and I were there, just before we left she told me that nature was calling, and I suggested that she fertilize the cactus flower. Apparently these people were not aware of that, for on this film when the man masquerading as me bent over to kiss the flower, he frowned, and said, "It smells sweet." He then angrily reached over and pulled some toilet paper from under the cactus flower and with a jerk threw it behind his shoulder. This man then bent down again to just above the flower and opened his mouth wide as if to bite it. A voice which sounds very much like May's then says, "Terrence, I need to see your eyes." This man then looked at the camera for a few moments, turned and began to get up. The camera was then shut off. I noticed that this man's eyes are a deep brown color. My eyes are blue. His hair is almost black, whereas my hair is natural blonde. Upon studying this part of the film very closely and methodically, frame by frame, I discovered that what at first appears to be his left knee under his hip is actually of all things a tire, colored blue to match his blue trousers. It is such a close match in color that it would seem likely that these images had been filtered with a computer editing and painting program. This man is not actually laying on his side, but flat on his stomach, to hide the fact that he is a very large man. The colored tire makes it appear that his hips are not as wide as they actually are. If he had been lying on the side of his hip it would have been immediately apparent that it was not I. Another outstanding feature about this man is that he has breasts, which quite visibly bounce when he turns, as he is about to get up. This man is obviously masquerading as both May and myself. However the man at the grand canyon is not the same man. That man was much taller, perhaps over six feet. The image then shows a view of the cactus flower from a distance and the camera pans slightly to the left, zooming in on a figure lying on the ground. This image is very surreal, as it appears to be some black grotesque rock. I watched this scene many times before I was able to discern that this was a man under a tarp, and not a craggy black rock. A face can be seen looking at the camera from under the tarp, and there is a slow movement underneath this tarp. I did not notice this movement until I moved the frames forward one at a time. The image then pans to the right, showing several boulders and then down to the road, where 'actor May' is bending over and reaching into a large brown car. This car is the car that 'Ken Smith' had originally 'sold' to me out at New Era. This car is almost identical to the car that was switched to us out at New Era. The main noticeable difference is a long hood ornament that coils up on top of the hood, almost like a snake, instead of the 'LTD' emblem. The paint is also new, as was the paint on the Ford I had bought. I backed up the tape and watched the camera panning over the rocks, again frame by frame. Upon this close inspection there are several men visible amongst the rocks that blend in so well that they are barely discernible. One man is standing against a large boulder, and he is wearing camouflage fatigues, such as you can by in a used Army and Navy store. As the view pans across this man his face turns slowly away from the camera and faces towards where the figure underneath the tarp is hiding. This is an almost Dali-esqe image, and the camera moves too rapidly to notice the presence of these men except in slow motion. These men are veterans of the Afghan Taliban war against the USSR, a war that they won. They are trained and accomplished killers and they have brought their techniques for blending in with the landscape to the United States of America. They fought against, and beat, the "Lesser Satan." And now they are committed to destroy the "Greater Satan." Unlike their war against the USSR where the war was conducted in Afghanistan, however, these killers are conducting their war on US soil.

There is a scene that closely follows the film I took while May and I were in Santa Fe, New Mexico. I had filmed May and Bunny lying in the grass at a fountain in the old town section, but 'actor Bunny' is wearing a different outfit than our daughter had worn. The resemblance to our daughter is quite close. I also recognized a man who walks across the view of the camera as the same very large man who was across the street from us in Marathon. This is the man who was driving the car Ossama bin Laden had sold to me, but painted white, with the license plate UMMA, and labeled a Cadillac. Also when we were in Santa Fe it was fairly quiet. In this scene there are quite a few people on the sidewalks. The order of this scene is wrong, however, as it precedes our arrival at Jose's home in outside of Taos New Mexico. We had not stopped in Santa Fe until after we had visited him.

I had brought my video camera into Jose's house in New Mexico, and I let his eight-year-old son practice taking images with this camcorder. I carefully showed him how to aim the camcorder, and he was quite good with it. The tape that is now in my possession, however, is so painful to watch and to listen to as to be unbearable. Both the video and the audio portions of this tape make it clear that Jose and his family were murdered. The video images on this tape are moving rapidly around, identical to the way the images were moving rapidly back and forth on the tape taken of my wife at the Holladay Motel in Portland. Upon close inspection it is apparent that the visual images were not shot in one 'take,' but are a composition of images with the audio dubbed in. Apparently the viewer is expected to assume that a child is holding the camcorder, and this is the reason for the images changing so rapidly. There is also Jose's son's voice saying, "This is recording, that is recording." Actor 'me' says, "Ah. See how you are." Then Jose's son says, "You are recording." It is evident that although he is supposed to be filming, Jose's son is not recording anything. The actor playing the visual image of me is sitting on the couch, and is definitely not the same person behind the camera. I suspect that the person behind one of the cameras is the one who was mimicking my voice. The images are continuously moving, and it is difficult to connect the images with the voices. This is quite an effective technique. The images change suddenly, and it is apparent that some serious editing was done to these images, as well as with the audio." There is then a sound, "Uhhnng," and the basis for that sound is horrifying. There is an image of a table cloth, which oddly enough matches the material worn both by May during the time we were there and by the actor May in the tape. Although the material is identical, the pattern of the cut of the dress is not accurately duplicated. It was a close match. I know this because May still has the dress she wore then. There is an image that lasts for a few moments of a man that so closely resembles me that I thought it was in actuality myself. The man impersonating me is sitting on the couch, with a hat identical to the brown felt Indiana Jones hat I own. This man is looking directly into the camera, and he is swinging a pair of sunglasses in his hand. The images again begin to move around the room. There is a conversation in the background which fairly closely follows the description May gave to Jose and his guests of statements I had made to her before concerning Nadia, and our reasoning as to why we believed it was a man. The voice is that of Jose's girlfriend, however, and there are several times when she stops, and says, "what," and then continues on with the dialogue. There is a point where when she is talking of the pain that Nadia inflicts on his victims. She is saying, "Nadia is a man. He is a very strong man." Her voice tightened up at that point, as if in extreme pain. She then continues, with her voice varying with different levels of stress, saying, "He escaped from the jail because they thought he was a woman, but he was a man. He broke their arms." Suddenly her voice changes, as if someone had just caused her extreme pain. At this point her voice descended an octave, and more closely resembled May's voice. It was an extremely close match. The camera images are still moving up and down and back and forth in a dizzying manner. Jose's son's voice is audible in the background a few times again, saying, "I don't see my bike. I can't see my bike with this." This caught my attention, as he had an old bike parked outside the trailer, but there had been no bike inside. Watching this tape frame by frame, an exhausting and heartbreaking task, I assure you, I noticed the image passes over a new bicycle with ribbons on the handles. There is also a new portable TV set sitting on top of Jose's old console TV, and an expensive pair of new tall speakers. There is amongst all the various sounds the voice of Jose's girlfriend saying; "I'm dying." Then Jose says, "I'm dying too. We're all dying." Then there is a sound of a man gurgling, and I am afraid I know what this sound is, having seen the tape of May at the Holladay Motel in Portland. There is then a man's voice, saying, "That took a long time. He is finally asleep." From my memory of the tape of May's physical injuries I am forced to conclude that these men conducted acts similar to that which they did to my wife in Portland. Dan Hachey and his cohorts have a procedure that they use consistently to achieve their goal, and it involves extreme torture and then death. They derive power from this act. The source of this power is Satan. Towards the end of this scene in Jose's home is the voice of Jose's girlfriend softly saying, "I enjoyed the good times we had together. I will miss you."

After we left Jose's home I drove back to Taos, where I bought some fish and drove out to a park with a stream at the base of the beautiful Sangre de Christo Mountains. While we were at this park I had shot some film of the stream and of May and Bunny on the picnic table. A very similar scene is on this tape also, but it is not what I taped. The last film of this place begins with May standing next to the picnic table with Bunny in her arms. A male voice says, "Yes, yach." When this man said these words 'actor May' then began her acting job, holding this child in her hands and singing the verses May used to sing to Amber, albeit with the tone and level of compassion as if this was a task to be completed instead of a natural act of love. This person sang the same few songs to this child repeatedly throughout this film, as if that was the only dialogue she knew how to speak. Upon consultation with an Aramaic professor I found out that translation to the words this man spoke, "Yes ayach." is "Yes, pain now."

I had noticed that several of the people out at New Era were very much on edge. Their nerves were at a high degree of tension. Both 'Alan' (Shalah) and 'Nadia' (actually several people, composed of both at least two men and also I believe a notorious female terrorist from the Middle East) exerted a level of strength, agility and speed that was far beyond normal human strength. What this film reveals is these men have a method to bring themselves or others into "character." The technique that they use is directed on another individual, their victim. This involves a combination of extreme pain, violent sexual acts perpetrated on the victim while still alive, and after death, and the simultaneous physical mutilation of the victim's body.

Perhaps now we all see why these men are collectively referred to as "The Beast." Perhaps also we can see the severity of the threat that is upon our soil. These men have no qualms whatsoever about killing American men, women and children, while causing them the most unimaginable pain. They not only have no qualms about this horror that they inflict on innocents but they feed upon it. Imagine a young child or baby having to watch his mother and father being tortured and raped, (yes, both mother and father), mutilated alive before their young and innocent eyes. These beasts then do this to the children. They leave no witnesses. If this won't wake you up, then nothing will. Now you may understand why the US sends cruise missiles at every location where they even get a clue that Ossama bin Laden is hiding out.



Dan Hachey was the false prophet who deceived the nations and kings with his miraculous signs. He did not understand that he could be mortal and subject to death. The evil one, the adversary of God, Satan, the Devil; all of these names of the beast have significance because of the nature of who he is. This one is very real. This dragon surely caused my family harm, and I assure you he certainly meant to cause you and your loved ones harm. He preyed on women and children. Dan Hachey was first and foremost the embodiment of Satan. Dan Hachey found great pleasure in their duality. They enjoyed using double entendres in all names, phrases and clues that they used.

Yahya Ayyash and Ramadan Abullah Shalah were the dichotomy of he who would take over God's creation forever and for all time, for he wanted above all things to be called god. He did not perceive that he, who had stolen existence from the very hand of God at the moment of God's creation, after having arisen and walked on this earth for the pinnacle of his glory, could be subject to death.

This is the key to the bottomless abyss. Dan Hachey placed himself in the realm of God's justice when he entered the house of God's worship, the Christian Fellowship Hall. It was there that he felt the touch of the hand of Love on his shoulder. That simple act showed to him that he was mortal, for my hand on his shoulder wounded him and put fear into the core of his being. Only through God's loving hand of Christian fellowship could he be sent to his fate. That simple act of unselfish Love put fear into Satan's being for the first time in fifteen billion years, when he first murdered Mary's Son, Christ. Christ is an ancient Greek word, when translated to its fullest means; "The One Anointed in the Oil of the Joy of God's Love." Dan Hachey was the false prophet of Islam, for he demonstrated his power over death to the kings and generals of the Arab nations. He received his power over death through the live dismemberment and sexual desecration of innocent men, women and children. The kings and generals of these 'nations' abided in this path as it was Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini's doctrine that any act, no matter how evil, even to the point of raising Satan is allowable to fulfill his wishes to destroy their concept of 'The Great Satan" and achieve global dominion.

Dan Hachey traveled to Syria and then to Iran and showed these kings and generals his miraculous signs. He was worshipped as the prophets and saviors of Islam. He met with Ossama bin Laden and arranged to have a submarine that had been purchased by Iran to be smuggled into the US. I believe their plan was the initiation of global thermonuclear war. They succeeded in bringing this submarine into the United States of America, and this submarine contained nuclear bombs. These men thereby offered these kings and generals total global domination in exchange for their unconditional financial and intelligence resources. They truly believed that their plan could not fail. Satan's goal was his dominion over the entire world, and the fulfillment of his wish to be called god. The realization of his plan, fifteen billion years in the making was now within his grasp.

The realization of its plans required the possession of those nuclear bombs, however. It was on the lake of the mother of Christ, Mary, the lake of eternally burning sulfur for him, that he lay down and crawled on his belly. He crawled on the one and only place in the universe where the beast could be put down. His desperation drove him to do this, as he had to have those nuclear bombs that were hidden underneath our car and the plutonium he had hidden in the front engine compartment. He had to make certain that they were still there. He lay down on his belly on the lake of Mary, the Mother of the Christ, our Lord, and she crushed his head. How utterly appropriate.

My concern at this time was for my wife and child, two innocent beings who did not deserve the pain and torture that this beast had inflicted upon them. It was apparent to me that this beast was intent on continuing to inflict this pain on them again. The beast had two horns like a lamb. This was why the next day I thought it was Dan Hachey at the Texaco Station. This was the duality of the beast with ten horns and seven heads, for he was many in one.

When I lifted up my key chain and inserted it into the ignition I drove forward and over him, and back over him, and forward over him, seven times. This was an act of love for my family. I shouted to my wife, "I am driving over a curb!" The subsequent confusion resulting from this act was God's act of mercy towards humanity, for violence is not within god's realm. The subsequent flying of objects simultaneously from the front and the rear of that car were the manifestation of the universe spinning the false prophet and the beast into another realm. Objects within that car within these moments were literally floating. Seven times. Seven heads of the beast.

In turn each of the other seven heads of the beast will be sent to the Abyss. For when the beast and the false prophet were cast into the Lake of eternally burning sulfur his power over death was removed from all of them. Their 'cover' was squashed. Their disguises were transparent, and they could hide no more.

They could hide no more from May and I, and our job was to make certain that the federal authorities of the US government knew who they were. These beasts were in awe at the sight of the resurrection of a seemingly inconsequential small American Christian family. These men were now exposed to God's everlasting ever-flowing and all-seeing Light.

It has been over two years now since we left New Era, but it has only been recently that these beasts from hell, truly Satan's disciples, and the evil that they had opened to the world has been put to an end. It was God's will that each and every one, in one and in seven to be sent to the lake of eternally burning sulfur, eternally spinning, falling, eternally grasping for that which Satan can never have with fear and abject loathing at the core of his being. This is also the fate of all the other members of Satan's conspiracy against god's favorite city. This is the city where Love dwells.

Precious life was lost at the expense of these Muslim fanatics, with their Iranian and Syrian benefactors. Men women and children, mere babies were sacrificed at Satan's throne, murdered by these evil ones. We were chosen to be God's anvil on which Satan was cast down into the Abyss. I do understand that we had to come back to this plane to stop this evil from destroying that which we all hold precious.

Mary, the Mother of Christ, her Son, and the Lord Almighty God are above all Family, and they only ask that within God's Family we hold the flame of the Love of God's Heart gently in the palm of our hand.



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