proverbial fire that I didn't even know was burning when I delivered the message to Reagan.
Bush was with Reagan and me in Reagan's secondary office (to the Oval office) of the White House as I relayed the message as instructed, 'Daniel Ortega is a peace loving man, who seeks the same resolutions that we do. But he told me to tell you-(I dug in my purse for the opium) that he and I found more peace in this substance- (I handed the opium to Reagan) than you'll ever impart on the surface of your painted globe.'
Bush smiled as Reagan's face instantly turned beet red with rage. Bush then reacted and spun up out of his chair, look the opium for himself, and told Reagan, 'Settle down. There's more. It seems the only peace she spread was between her legs.' He headed for the door, saying, 'I would reconsider my position if I were in your shoes — considering what's filling hers.' Bush dropped his gaze down the back of my legs to my shoes as he continued, 'It's running down both sides of her legs.'
Obviously I wouldn't be subjected to sex with Reagan that day. I was quickly excused and flown back to Mexico, where I resumed my NCL cruise. With my memory of the event compartmentalized through high voltage, I believed at the time that I had never been gone at all.
CHAPTER 23
WHIRLED VISION
In the fall of 1985, the same part of me that met with Ortega was walking with (Reagan appointed) CIA Director William «Bill» Casey through the arboured rose garden of his Long Island estate. Casey began by manipulating my Jesuit/Vatican programming base personality with the expertise indicative of the current union between Catholic and CIA operations. Casey, whom Reagan referred to as a 'man of Vision,' was forming my Jesuit mind-control programmed «understanding». 'I have a World Vision[64], one of peace. By removing the more violent factions of societies world wide and replacing them with faithful leaders of one world government, and the one world church, global unification is eminent. It is a beautiful vision, and it came to me in my dreams. God has moved me to move men. I've moved them here and I've moved them there — now it's time to remove them. My World Vision encompasses the globe and puts to rest any and all tensions, strife, overpopulation, and starvation. My vision is a World Vision, and the churches see it my way as evidenced by their support of the cause.'[65]
Referring to my mind-controlled involvement in Haitian operations via NCL, Casey further defined 'the cause, 'Your heartfelt mission in Haiti has helped in my World Vision quest for her people to abandon hedonistic voodoo and turn their eyes to God and Godly ways. By their own design, they have created an atmosphere of evil whereby a plague will be visited on their land. The Lord has so moved me to move men who share our goals into place, and re-move those who stand in the way of peace. It is for this reason that your mission in Haiti must be brought to a close. Baby Doc, in his tireless devotion to saving the demonically possessed cannot bear the burden of watching his people die the wretched death unleashed upon those doomed for hell. We are left with no alternative but to heed the word of God and spare him from annihilation. For this reason, we will send in the missionaries (Jesuit Mercenaries) to inoculate the population with a vaccine that will spare only the good of heart by virtue of its design. All attempts to maintain Haiti within the loop of financial gain will cease. Tourism must be stopped for the sake of the innocents visiting a plagued land. Despite our differences, Baby Doc has complied with the Vatican's orders to the test of his abilities in his demon-infesled land, and must resign his post. We owe it to him to transport him to safety. It is our duty as Americans and followers of God to obey the commands of our Lord and Master and enforce the World Vision. It is your duty as an American and follower of God to instill the understanding that God has spoken, and a plague is imminent. Baby Doc is being prepared for transition and awaits word of direction. You will provide him with that word.'
With my perceptions distorted and Catholic Jesuit programmed «understanding» instilled, I was prepared to 'religiously accept' any and all I was told. I believed that the revolution in Haiti was a holy war, never capable of realizing it was a test run battle for the minds in this 4th world country.
The devotion I felt toward the Haitian people was more than a religious understanding of these alternately Catholic-Santeria[66] voodoo worshippers. I was actually subconsciously recognizing other tortured mind-controlled slaves in this human created hell called Haiti. Consciously, I now know it was due in part to the visible stun gun/prod marks, plastic ever-present smiles that never quite reach their dead appearing eyes. The children clung to their wide-eyed mothers, as they performed their tasks in robotic servitude. I had recognized these characteristics in other slaves throughout the years, but never had I seen a whole country entranced. My compassion for the Haitian people penetrated into the realm of the spiritual, into a part of me that mind control and manipulation of religion could never touch,
Casey and I had been walking through the garden, guarded by more armed men than the President, It wasn't that I was a threat, I couldn't even think to save myself. It was that Casey and his World Vision were a threat to humanity that so many guards were needed. The men appeared to be U.S. Secret Service officers according to their attire, weapons, and earphone headsets. One guard conspicuously placed his hand to his headset, listening as though it were remote control. He walked briskly over to Casey, who signaled me to leave with an escort who instantly arrived at my side awaiting instruction.
'Take her to my chambers,' Casey told him, 'Clear her mind. I have something I need to instill,' Robotically I followed my escort into Casey's office library. The room was barren, dark, and hot — just as described in a book I had been given to read in keeping with You Are What You Read programming. It produced a sensation of having somehow stepped into the novel Chameleon by insider William Diehl. The mind scramble of the book and reality instantly commenced,
'It's warm in here,' the agent said, unbuttoning my while eyelet blouse. 'Bill (Casey) likes to keep it this way in case-he (Casey) gets a chill and his blood runs cold. Chameleons[67] are naturally cold blooded. Make yourself comfortable white I turn up the heat. Mr, Casey doesn't want to hear a peep out of you, so I'll warn you now-be Silent.' He deliberately triggered and activated the Jesuit programmed part of me that believed in my Vow of Silence[68]. The walls have ears and the plants have eyes, so your silence is tantamount to success. I'm going to leave you to reflect in Silence, Bill will be along any minute.'
Had I been capable of 'reflecting,' I would have questioned the validity of Casey's dramatic position of 'religious overtones' on Haitian policy. Like Reagan's, Casey's sincerity did not ring true considering the fruits of his labor, But then, I could not consider any more than I could reflect, and I sat in a state of what felt like suspended animation awaiting my instructions. I could not anticipate nor dread what was about to happen as futuristic thinking was left in the hands of my controllers. Had I realized the scramble of reality with William Diehl's book, I could have «psychicly» predicted what happened when Bill Casey strolled in.
Casey walked over to his highly polished, dark wood desk and opened the top drawer. Casey's desk was one of the few furnishings in the large, airy room. The dark, polished, reddish-wood paneling seemed even darker with the midnight blue carpeting curving slightly up the wall. Heavy, gothic maroon velvet drapes blacked out the sun from the windows behind his desk, 'I can see quite clearly that you have taken a Vow of Silence, Maintain it. Maintain it and Lisssten,' Casey hissed, using preset triggers. He reached into the drawer and took out a foot-long, maroon box with a diamond embossed on the top.
'I received a box, quite anonymously as I do from time to time,' Casey said in keeping with the book scramble. 'The box has your name on it. I expected to open it and find the usual pierced chameleon and found, instead, a weapon intended for one.'
He opened the box in front of me. Inside, laying on a bed of cotton, was an elaborate dagger with a handle of the same rose crystal from which the crucifix Byrd had presented me on 'our wedding night' was made. My first personal meeting with Casey promised to be torturous as I recognized Byrd's participation in the grisly ordeal.
I listened, deeply tranced, as Casey said, 'Is it a knife or a crucifix? I can't tell. Both symbolize martyrdom as far as I'm concerned. Note the rose pattern cut into the crystal. Now, I wonder who would have sent me this to give to you.'
Even under mind control I knew, as I was supposed to, that Byrd had provided him with the knife. My worst fears were confirmed when Casey began using Byrd's hypnotic induction, 'In like a knife, sharp and clean, I'll carve out what I want.' Casey sliced through the front of my bra, exposing the area between my breasts where Byrd
