make the arrangements. It is done.'
I had returned to Tennessee with a Chinese government contract for products valued at thirty-one million dollars. Stapled to it was a telex letter of credit made out to me and the company from Houston's bank connection the New York branch of the now infamous Bank of Credit and Commerce International (B.C.C.I.). The amount was one million dollars in U.S. funds. The contract was worth approximately ten million dollars in gross profit for Mr. Yoon and me.
Given the charge by the Chinese to immediately discharge Houston of his duties, I knew exactly what my plan of action would have to be. Any other approach to resolving this problem could backfire and all would be lost. And since a former, indirect employer of mine (when I worked for Capital International Airways), the CIA, was implicated, I knew one mistake and it could cost me my life. A comforting thought prevailed and I reminded myself Houston was not only corrupt, but stupid. The CIA must not have respected him either. Otherwise why would he have had to go outside his circle of powerful perverts to recruit me for an international business deal.
I drove to my office to begin the process of discovering something Houston 'must have done' that would breach the performance contract he and I had signed when we started the company. Houston was out of town supposedly doing one of his entertainment gigs, so I had complete, unobstructed access to all files, his included. As I had mentally predicted during the long flight from Hong Kong, the entire ferreting process took about fifteen minutes. It seemed that Houston and the old acquaintance who had introduced him to me were, as they say, 'selling out the back door'. I collected the shipping bills and, ironically enough, the bank deposit slip Houston had retained when he cashed and deposited the customer's check. There was even a letter copy where
Houston had specifically instructed the customer not to discuss his account with anyone at our company other than Houston himself or bis pervert friend, Ray Myers. Upon this discovery, I phoned the local Korean lawyer (whose business card I had been given by Mr. Yoon while in Hong Kong) to begin the stock transfer process. With pleasure, I wrote Houston's letter of resignation.
With this problem in the process of being resolved, I left the office to visit an old, dear friend (now deceased) who had maintained powerful U.S. and foreign intelligence connections. I needed answers I could trust with my life. This «retired» Air Force General from the Intelligence division would be my source.
The word «slavery» delivered in broken English by the Chinese Intelligence officer shouted in my ears during the short drive to a local hotel lobby, a comfortable place my «spook» pal selected for us to talk in private. In the few short minutes of the drive, I had my questions (for him) mentally noted. I wanted so much to gain the most from our meeting. The slavery word had triggered a dark question in my mind, blocking other constructive thought, as I was not comfortable with introducing the term mind control into my presentation. I knew I could speak freely about anything to this trusted friend. I wanted desperately to avoid the words mind control, not for reasons of comdemnation, but because they represented a secret I had patriotically maintained for twenty years.
After my arrival and the light chit chat of social niceties had been exchanged between us, the air changed to one of seriousness. I briefed him on my business involvement, and began a methodical line of questions concerning the file the Chinese Intelligence officer had presented on me and, especially, on Houston: shortly, my friend interrupted me in mid-sentence, smiled a toothy grin, and said, 'Flash, you're still the same, and you know damn well what I mean.' «Yes», I replied.
The spook was referring to a 70s rock ballad titled 'Still the Same' by singer Bob Segar that was assigned to me years earlier by mutual poker-playing buddies who identified with my passion for successful risk-taking. I despised gambling. My passion was 'risk management' and poker gave me a recreational outlet for it. Although my friends each paid dearly, they soon learned my poker strategy was not so much 'card counting' as it was my ability to read their body language. This included the micromuscle spasm responses around their eyes, Houston also lost to me at cards. The message the General was implying, roughly translated, was that I was once again 'lucky as hell' to have survived my brief business relationship with Alex Houston.
The discussion went down hill from that point directly into the dreaded arena of mind control. After several minutes of listening to details concerning a huge, invisible CIA slave trade going on world wide, the talk became more regionalized to Tennessee. I learned that Cathy and her little girl were victims of trauma-based mind control. They were slaves and the «soul» property of my Uncle Sam. I learned that everything I knew in theory and application about external control of the mind was fully operational and encroaching on the private sector of society.
I was growing numb. The first words out of my dry mouth were, 'How would you spring these people out of it?' He smiled and said, 'I wouldn't! What are you going to do with them if you did get them out?' Before I could answer, he interrupted and said, 'Look, you're still the same, but nothing else is with Uncle. Now most of the CIA, FBI, and the MOB (Mafia) are the same, and they're making their moves on the military.'
I responded, 'I already know that, but how do I save these two people?' He said, 'OK. Get the mother on the phone while her handler is gone. Use the usual hang up code of dial and ring twice, hang up call back, ring once, hang up and call back. Tell her you're God, Give her a biblical passage. They're all Christian based programmed around here.'
Understanding that this procedure would gain Cathy's full attention, the General continued, 'She'll do anything, and I mean anything — except toast Houston — that you command her to do. Remember, God commands. Find yourself a preacher who knows the Bible and get a double-bind verse. You know what to do — for God's sake. And, listen, if you do this, you're on your own.'
'Mark, this is nuts,' he pleaded. Go to China and take them with you, Forget about this Red, While and Blue cesspool. It'll clean up. There's lots of good guys in the inside busting their asses to stop this mess, but you're not going to save the world.'
I injected, 'No, just my ass and a couple of people who Uncle considers something other than human,' Then we briefly chatted about some fine points of the rescue and how to legally stop Houston from taking her back. I never saw this friend again.
Walking back to my car, I listened again in my mind to his haunting words. and my own life suddenly seemed like a scratched phonograph record with the needle following the same groove over and over again. The thoughts in my head were suddenly very unpatriotic — a far cry from the feelings I had expressed in China concerning Mr. Yoon's involvement in shipping Chinese missiles to Libya.
Now I felt pure rage for what my country had become during the years after I had bowed out of doing defense work. For once my own mind seemed to be my worst enemy. Hatred for everything consumed me,
I loved what my country had once represented to me, but now I was ashamed to be an American. And unbeknownst to me at the moment, soon I would be ashamed of being a male, based on Cathy and Kelly's memories.
During the long, usually boring drive to my secluded house in the wilderness southwest of Nashville, I distinctly recall considering the inherent risks in the formula I was given for «stealing» two slaves from under the coke-filled noses of the CIA. My concerns were not of whether I could do it, but related to my friend's question of, 'What are you going to do with them?'
My thoughts went blank as I muttered to myself, 'Life is getting complicated again', I then consoled myself with the old adage of 'first things first'.
Within a few days, I had played God and coordinated the move of Cathy and her 8-year-old daughter, Kelly, out of Houston's house into a nearby apartment. All of this was totally unbeknownst to Houston. As instructed, I had deliberately placed the powerful coded suggestions into Cathy's mind. These commands partially bridged her own amnestic true perceptions that Alex was going to kill her. Little did I know that the message I was provided to block Houston's former control of her was true.
Cathy and Kelly seemed to me to be very disoriented and somewhat disconnected from reality. In their new, sparsely furnished kitchen, I listened quietly to Caihy excitedly explain that 'God had sent me' to her. She «knew» this was true because her hands seemed to automatically open her King James version of the Holy Bible to Psalm, Chapter 37, verse 37, which proclaims for the literal minded, 'Mark, the perfect man'.
Not only had I placed this biblical reference by a covert suggestion in her mind while playing God on the phone, but just now in her home moments earlier, I had broken the spine on her Bible so that it would «magically» open to that page. She said, 'See, God did it again for you to see'.
Using a deprogrammer's language trick, I replied in a «reversed» response, 'Well, I'll be damned. You are right. That's the only explanation left — that could explain all this', I was anxious to change the subject so as not to
