This is what happened the past 24 hours:
I was gathering intel on the CIA-run call girl service (or agents/assets posing as high-priced escorts) after I received this photo from the Super Solider Summit, showing MKUltra victim/super solider Max Spiers (who was “twin-ritual” bonded with James Casbolt when they were kids, a curious Satanic Cabal projects ceremony) with the prostitute/asset in question to the left:
(Note the orb by his face.)
She looked very familiar but I could not place her in my memory. I ran a face recog on her and found her code name, Lady R, who works for a Cabal-run escort service out of L.A., Vegas, Dallas and Phoenix (that is, she is flown out to clients in these cities, commands a $5K a night price, but all are CIA missions or, as a Project Monarch graduate, for use free-of-price by politicians and bankers of the Cabal). I found her name, or a name she uses, but I will not reveal that just yet. I remember her being assigned to a colleague of mine who was at Lockheed-Martin working with new alien tech handed over by the NRO and ONI, acting as a friend of his 19-year-old daughter, she was actually reporting on him and seduced him, and he later vanished. Lady R was younger (and probably underage) and had brunette hair, so this was why I could not place her at first,
I contacted a former asset of mine from the ONI days, a double-agent who worked for the same escort service but now under a new name, because she had been in Monarch with Lady R. I needed to know what she had on her fellow sex slave. My asset, whom I will call Lady Buttercup, said she would only tell me in person at a public place. (The photo to the left is ten ir eight years old and she has since had plastic surgery and does not look like this anymore.)
I was in Barcelona and she is in San Francisco but that was no problem, I said I could meet her in two hours. She mentioned a restaurant on Russian Hill that I knew and had outdoors seating.
I saw her waiting. Something did not feel right but I sat down anyway. “I’m sorry,” is all she said, “they kidnapped my son and made me do it.” Half a dozen cammo dudes with guns drawn surrounded me, plus an agent in a black suit appeared using teleportation and placed a gun to Lady B’s head. He told me, “Shift out and she dies, and so does her kid.”
I was indeed going to shift to 5D and get the hell out of dodge but I knew he would kill her and probably put her son in the programs or give the boy to a Draco to eat, so I remained still. My curiosity got the best of me as well. A second suit guy (I hate to use the term “man in black”) appeared by my side and slipped a damper collar around my neck — this collar kept my body vibrating at 3D…if I attempted to shift, it would tighten so hard my head would be severed. I know, because I have used the same collar on aliens.
I was ushered away and blindfolded and taken onto a vessel that I am pretty sure was some sort of TR-3, perhaps the E or G Tier 2 model.
BTW, there was a small news item about my apprehension:
MID-AFTERNOON SHOCK AND AWE!
Man abducted by military seems real
Customers having lunch at a Russian Hill restaurant were shocked and awed when a military unit of seven heavily armed men converged on a couple in the outdoors patio and arrested both. The man was led away in handcuffs and what appeared to be a collar around his neck and the woman was also cuffed.
Alongside the soldiers were two men in dark suits and sunglasses looking every part the mysterious government men-in-black types.
And playing the part was what it was all about. When asked about the incident, the public information office of the SFPD stated, “That was a scene from a movie being filmed in the city. The scene called for the action to be caught on a cell phone by an on-looker and, wanting it to appear realistic, with real public reaction, no one was told a film was being shot.”
The PIO did not know the name of the film but stated, “We will just have to look for it in theaters next year.”
A waitress at the restaurant said, “I’m pretty sure the man who was arrested was Clive Owen, when he walked in I even thought, Hey that guy looks like Clive Owen.”
The flight was five minutes but I could have been taken anywhere. I knew wherever we landed, the platform went below ground based on the sound. I was escorted to a room, hit in the stomach by te butt of a gun, and handcuffed to a chair. I sat there for eight hours, never fed or given water, a Geneva Conventon violation if I might say.
The blindfold was taken off and the two suit guys stood there plus an armed guardby the door.
“If you’re going to fuck me,” I said, “I expect you buy me dinner first.”
The suits did not have a sense of humor.
“We finally got you,” one said, “Mr. Former White Hat…did you think you could really elude us? Did you really think it would be that easy?”
“You know,” I said, “for a while, I did.”
“You’re in for a universe of hell, F.W. Hat.”
I turned to the other suit guy and said, “Can I ask you a serious question? When you got your dick in his mouth, does he talk away like that? It must be really annoying: you’re getting a blowjob from your MiB partner and he won’t shut up…”
I didn’t finish because two technicians in lab coats and a tray came in. They took my fingerprints, blood and hair samples, and performed a retinal scan.
“We’ll know your true identity soon,” said talky suit guy, “and then we’ll grow a few good clones and infiltrate your group of alien pals.”
“Don’t you know,” I replied, “I’m a Rothschild bastard. Like Hitler.”
“Funny guy,” said suit.
When the techies left with my DNA, a four star general entered the room, along with a pudgy and short woman with a deep French Canadian accent. I knew her instantly: Lady Dragon.
“You have been a pain in the ass, Former White Hat,” said Lady Dragon.
“I’m sorry,” I said to her, “I don’t remember having anal sex with you.”
“It was only a matter of time before we got you,” said the four-star general.
“And who are you, sir?” I asked. “I would salute you, sir, being former military, but my hands are oppressed from following protocol.”
“It does not matter my name, Hat,” said the general, “just know I am the one who will give the green light on the mass arrests.” He smiled.
“You are Drake’s Pentagon contact,” I said.
“And we have had that clone spilling the bullshit to the public. A nifty game.”
“What did you do with original?”
“He is safely tucked away,” said Lady Dragon.
“A wonderful plan devised by Hilary Clinton and Poppy Bush,” said the general. “You have this sincere-sounding old solider talking about freedom and mass arrests, he gets the militias worked up, the people pissed off, you keep holding off the arrest dates so they will get so mad they will do it themselves; then you give a green light, arrest a few bankers and congressmen of no great consequence, you ask the militias to head out, and things look fishy, a few planned terrorist attacks, a war brewing in the Middle East, and the President declares martial law, and we move in without none of this Constitutional rights baloney. Riots and civil unrest starts up –”
“And then Project Strawman and Op 711 goes green light,” I said, feeling defeated.
He smiled broadly. “You are looking at the man who has the codes to activate millions of clones out there: women, children, men of all stripe and strata. This was Hilary’s design, the bitch has some brains.”
“And a fat ass,” Lady Dragon chortled.
“You shouldn’t talk,” I said.
“Fuck you, Ex-White Hat!” she snapped. “I say we kill him now.”
“Not just yet,” the general said.
“Are you going to murder me,” I asked, “or bore me to death with useless banter?”
“Let’s see how smart-mouthed you are when we have you on the torture table,” said Lady Dragon. “What witty retorts will you utter when your fingers are being cut off and a hot metal rod is shoved up your skinny butt?”
“I imagine I will say ‘ouch,’” I said. To the general: “Why tell me all this crap? If you’re going to torture me, get on with it. At least something interesting will be happening.”
“I wanted you to know,” he said, “that we will send your clone out, your clone will back Drake up, will post online anything we want, and we will get your Plejaran and Procyonian friends reigned in.”
“You do know my friends can detect a clone,” I said.
“We have perfected the tech,” he informed me, “where a high-grade clone cannot be discerned from the original, and can live up to 10 years.”
“Wow,” I said, “progress of western civilization.”
“And you will –”
But he did not finish because an alarm sounded off. Outside the room were the sounds of explosions and men screaming from laser fire.
“What the heck is going on?!” cried Lady Dragon.
The guard stood read, the general pulled out his 9 mm. He looked worried as further sounds of explosions, laser and gun fire, and screams were heard.
I smiled. “Did you consider that if I did not check in, my ‘friends’ would know something was wrong? And that I have a Plejaran friend whom I am always in telepathic contact with?”
“We are here,” I heard Asket in my mind.
“I’m just kicking back, been waiting for the Calvary,” I replied to her.
Lady Dragon said, “Holy shit, Procyon warriors!”
“Did you really think grabbing me would be that easy?” I said.
The general came after me just as the door exploded open. The guard was vaporized instantly and screamed.
The Procyon warrior MONGOOSE came in, along with my female counterpart from the GAL-Universe, dressed in a black jumpsuit and combat face. They both wielded laser cannons.
“I surrender!” screeched Lady Dragon, falling to her knees, hands up. “Please don’t kill me!”
The general had it in his mind to use me as a shield, put the gun to my head and bargain his way out. But I jumped up, turned, slammed him with the metal chair I was strapped to. I kicked the gun out of his hand and head butted his face, breaking his nose.
“Miss me?” asked my counterpart.
“Could you have waited thirty seconds?” I said. “I was just having fun.”
Aaron McCollum then came in with one of the suit guys, bloodied, by the neck tie. “Release him,” Aaron said, nodding to me.
The suit guy, not so talkative now, used a small electronic device that released the damper on my neck, and then the cuffs.
“Nothing to say?” I asked him.
“Suck my willy,” he muttered.
I punched him in the mouth and teeth flew everywhere. He fell down next to the general, who was trying to keep a stream of blood from flowing out of his broken nose.
Feeling like Chuck Norris, I said, “I would say ‘sorry’ about the physical damage, sir, but I never apologize to anyone.”
“You always have to have the last word,” said my counterpart, “you remind me of me.”
“Where are we?” I asked. “Where and what is this facility?”
“Just one of many of those nasty underground bases in Colorado,” she told me.
The base was taken by 20 Procyon fighters. All the guards were killed, the military personnel and technicians taken prisoner. The first thing I did was destroy the fingerprints and blood nd hair samples they took from me.
They found, in stasis chambers, numerous clones of Bobby Joe Fannin, Bill Brockbrader, Drake, Benjamin Fulford, and Max Spiers. All were destroyed.
Asket was waiting in her beamship.
“The Calvary,” I said.
“Have fun?” she said.
Since I never had lunch in Frisco and had been in the base ten hours without food or water, I said, “Pizza and iced-tea sure sounds lovely right now.”
“You know how to use the food replicator,” Asket said, “but no replicated anchovies or salami.”
Extra cheese and pineapple was my choice.
As we left the base, the Colorado wildfires raged around us. A perfect camouflage, I thought, burn the above ground and no one will suspect the center of the phony mass arrests and clone activation was right below…
So, we have the general (I will release his name later) and Lady Dragon in custody…but this Lady Dragon is a clone. There is still an original, and maybe more clones, out there. Apparently this Lady Dragon did not know she was a clone and broke down in malfunction.
We got the mass clone activation codes from the general but he said, “You won’t stop it. Hilary also has the codes. Operation 7-11 will happen!”
But not the mass arrests. This general was Drake’s contact, and this general was to give the order of the fake mass arrests. That will not happen — but what about July 11? We need to still stop that.
ALSO: I am not ruling out this was a set-up. Something still does not feel right here. They had to know that I would have been rescued if I did not check in, and they never drugged me to block any telepathic communication, which seems odd. And why the small base and not the Pentagon or off-planet where it would have been more difficult to spring me? I have to be suspicious that I was intentionally fed false information or that this was an operation to see how effective the Procyon ground forces are at extraction. Don’t worry, I have been tested and I am not a clone, and now we have data on their new upgraded clones who are hard to detect.