Thursday, February 23, 2017
A Serial Killer and His Wife
Who I’ve known most of my life
1) About 1963, when JFK was killed: Hopkinsville, KY
Faith Lutheran Church Pastor Lossner's wife: My Communist adopted mother Fritzi Schalk Hyatt Clark (She had “Honey trapped” US Army Sgt. Art Hyatt because he unknowingly stood for an inheritance from Great Aunt Katherine Lunt Hyatt in Madison, WI, as told to us by Uncle Baxter, a long story) visited Mrs. Lossner for coffee, we returned home, Fritzi got a phone call, and we had to return (I now believe she was in contact several times with Condit throughout the years). As she went in the front door a young person with a very evil demeanor came from around the back, had an argument with a neighbor about parking, then drove away quickly in a large gray American car.
His demeanor and evil stare at me was enough, even at that age, to just instinctively roll up the windows and lock the doors as he approached.
Fritzi Schalk Hyatt Clark (Undoubtedly on FBI espionage files - She REALLY wanted control over that inheritance for more than greed- Espionage purposes, as well) came back out to tell me that Mrs. Lossner had taken too many tranquilizers and the Police were coming. She wouldn't let them talk with me, however I did overhear that a trash bag had been used to smother Mrs. Losner.
I have an eidetic memory, and Gary Condit's face comes back to me clearly. He would have been when just old enough to get a Kansas DL. I believe the real reason Fritzi took me along was to associate with the Lossner’s kids. They shot neighborhood pet squirrels, and made a homemade bomb had blown up on them. She was always setting me for getting into trouble in pursuit of that inheritance, put into Court seal on 10/13/1961 when she arranged for Sgt. Art Hyatt to find her in bed with another soldier, Sgt. Thomas Clark, in order to do the same with Hyatt. She divorced US Army Sgt. Art Hyatt and married Sgt. Thomas Clark upon the advice of a Donna Hansen, her Agent Handler and connection to what I later learned was East German MFS Agent Markus Wolf.
2) Same time frame:
She had bought me a .22 single shot rifle, encouraged me to go play with it, and I was shooting it at a trash dump about where Donna Drive would be now (According to Google Maps) when I heard shots down the slope by the North Fork Little River, and then Condit in that car came roaring out of the bushes with that same evil look on his face. Not knowing what had happened, but as I read in the paper later, that a shot had been fired at this kid I’d had a run-in with and the shot went through a glass panel door and landed just under his head in the bedstand.
But I had then went home on my bike to get my new shotgun for target practice as I’d run out of .22’s.
I was stopped by a police officer who let me go when he saw I had a shotgun and not a smaller caliber. In sheer terror, I simply returned home.
Sgt. "Pierre" Clark had taken us on an unusual shopping trip in the central town and we were stuck in an unusual traffic jam down in front of the Indian Hills Bowling Alley and we witnessed an unusual event.
That spot was known to most kids as it had an interesting acoustic effect. Whatever was yelled from the downslope highway was echoed and seemed to be coming up from the Bowling Alley. When that bully from the Billiards Hall had cussed at me from a passing car, I yelled a returning insult saying that I was up at the Bowling Alley and was waiting for him and I guess the younger one jumped out. I thought it would be funny to see him climb the hill and find me not there.
But he had apparently had jumped out of his family’s car and run across the road being deliberately run over by Condit in waiting. The Clarks were somehow in on this.
Stranger things have happened in Espionage, I have since learned.
The kid's family moved to Kansas City, I believe, and think they were the ones tortured to death by TWO men with guns in their bedroom while two sons survived locked in their bathroom according to what I’ve read on the internet about the BTK killer. (Strangulation) Condit grew up south of there and has other connections to Dennis Rader.
3) About 1968
We were suddenly transferred to Camp Zama, Japan. Fritzi insisted I get a job as a busboy at the Officer's Club. The first day, the Japanese bartender tried to make homosexual advances on me after offering me gluten-rich Kirin beer. (Homosexuality is rather common in Japan, but I think he was set up to do what he did.) Shibata-san, the manager, and Mama-san, the dish buser, thankfully interceded with his master key and I was told to never go into the bar again.
Later, one day, Sato-san, another busboy, rushed in to tell me (Through a waitress translator) that the bartender had been found chopped to death and wanted to know if I knew any Yakuza from the pool hall in Sagamihara I frequented.
Later, I was told to meet an "Investigator" outside the loading dock about it. He dismissed the driver and had me climb in the Army pickup. He openly used his name, "Gary Condit," said he was an "Australian Serial Killer Specialist" and feigned that accent. He showed me a diagram and asked if I knew what it was. I was learning Japanese, so thought maybe it could be a misspelling in Kanji of "Ni-Hon” (Japan), looking like “I-Hon” (One Book) in which made no sense to me but I distinctly remember that.
My adopted mother, Fritzi, announced one day that I must leave my leave my Kawasaki motorcycle at home and take the bus instead to classes at Camp Zama High School that day as an “Investigator” had called to have me interviewed at the school, and I might not be driving it back. I think I drove it anyway, from our housing at Sagami Depot. (I believe now that she had direct contact with Condit.)
I went to the Vice Principal's office, which sported an ornate counter desk that dated back to the WWII days of the building having been a Japanese Intelligence Training School.
I have read where it has been in sealed storage since. Perhaps also for fingerprints, Condit’s.
The school day before, a student, Lynn *** had played a scam on me, going by me openly at the crosswalk speaking of being Lynn but deriding his supposed brother, “Lynn,” who was queer because of his given name having influenced his upbringing. He quickly changed shirts just inside the building, coming out as “Gay Lynn.” It was typical Condit M.O., getting someone to “Help Investigate my Sexual Orientation.”
When I tried the VP’s door, I heard a voice inside as it was unlocked. It was the openly gay and not well received typing teacher, Mr. Preice, who I had been assigned classes with. Condit shouted at him to not open it, but to allow me to, I guess for fingerprints. He’d been enlisted by Condit to participate in this continued attempted frame-up of me. Condit threw Lynn about as a show, finally handcuffing him and loading him into a Army Suburban he’d backed up over the curb to the exit. I guess to hide the seeming responsible.
Again, as I left, Condit stopped Preice from opening the door for me. I just shrugged my head, thinking that they could have my fingerprints all’s they wanted to.
I went upstairs to English class, as Mrs. Kennedy (Yes, related to JFK) had demanded her class be held in spite of the rest of the school didn’t. When it was over, we descended the staircase to see Police tape all over, and most amazingly, the doorknob was gone. The other classmates could be contacted through the Zama American High School Alumni Association.
That was the last time anybody saw the gay Typing Teacher Preice, to my knowledge. I also do know that he tried to pinch my ass while serving him at the “O” Club, him making remarks that such was what it stood for.
He “Disappeared” from what I heard. I went into my standard denial memory mode I’d learned from my childhood abuse from Fritzi. But I remember it now, a product of male menopause and age. The Primordial urge to survive now longer serves a purpose for me, but getting the record straight doesl
We were suddenly transferred to Okinawa. (Later I was told that Dennis Rader had gotten himself transferred there then while in the Air Force.)
Sgt. Clark bought me a clunker that had no brakes yet one weekend took us to Moon Beach in his car, remote enough to drink beer without the MP's bothering one, and one could camp out.
He also told me in a "Fatherly way" that one could procure the services of prostitutes up the street from our concrete bunker home at the Soba Noodle Restaurant. I ignored that, but in search of a Japanese delicacy I'd grown fond of, "Tendon," I ate there. Leaving a tip, a waitress ran after me, not being familiar with the American tradition of leaving tips to give me the money back. She also offered her services for $5, thinking that’s why I’d left the money, but when I later took her up on it, told me she had the crabs.
There were times in my life where I now recognize that I’d been surreptitiously fed aphrodisiacs by Fritzi. Of course, Viagra had not yet been made cheap enough for the public, but I learned while in US Army MI that such could be had from R&D research by major Intelligence Agencies. Like, for example, MFS HvA Gen Markus Wolf, who was basically Fritzi’s Agent Handler through an American woman named Donna Hansen.
Unfortunately, I still yet did not know that sex involved vaginal penetration, so only had skin-to-skin contact with her. But it was enough to get me the crabs, as well, and see the Army doctors for it.
Having been brought up to drink beer (Long story) I took the planted suggestions and camped one night at Moon Beach. A young soldier type in only jeans approached me, I thought, to bum a beer, but instead offered to pick me up another six-pack from town. I visually remember that lanky figure. It was Condit. When he got back, one of the Lucky X beer bottles was half-full, and he said he wanted to taste it. I decided not to drink it, but the others were so good (I have Celiac’s Disease, and I now know gluten ingestion is stronger than morphine for me) that I drank it anyway.
The opened one was mickeyed and I passed out to be awoken in the night by he to be showed a nearby hill of sand. Condit uncovered the dead waitress and showed me that her tongue had been cut out, wanting to know "Why I had done it." In horror at the sight of her also lifeless eyes, I passed out again, to be awoken at dawn by Navy Investigators. It was then that I met what would be my later long-term Agent Handlers, Navy Captain Barry Born (Later a Maui MPD Lt. who was given a “Deal” to do so or be prosecuted for having forced a sailor to give him oral sex), and Army Psychiatrist Capt. Timothy Berigan (Later playing the role of “Clay Carrier” at the Saratoga Inn, WY, Baron’s Fine Dining Restaurant where my Legend Wife insisted I work at..) They said on Moon Beach that a young man in a pickup had been identified who claimed to be an "Investigator," so had been let through the MP roadblock. There had been no fingerprints on the steering wheel of the truck at the motor pool.
A CID Officer later came by and wanted Sgt. Clark and I to go out and see this hastily built sign and wanted us to take a photo of him for posterity.
An Internet photo of Moon Beach showing a hotel that was only in planning stages at the time. There is more info on a small boat that was deliberately grounded that night and became the Aircraft Carrier’s Admiral’s personal craft after that for a long time.
Later, Sgt. Clark said that the CID had approached him about the other waitress, who apparently had met the same fate, and did I know anything about it? Of course I did not, but the issue simply added to the same kind of “Twilight Zone” kind of life I was being made to live.
An unusual anomaly happened while at Kubasaki High School. I was in a German Language Class, and I am sure the teacher was the same woman who had been my Kindergarten teacher when at Augsburg, Germany when I was five.
She was an avowed Communist.
She said she was going to use the copier to make copies of “Die Gedanken sind Frei” and would be right back. But some salesman had spilt all the toner, and we had to copy it off the chalk board. I memorized the gibberish, and sang same the next day. Several of the students suddenly left, saying that I was going to be hypnotized or something and wanted no part of it. A backhoe appeared and dug up a broken fence that protected an old cave where it was rumored that a teacher was abusing students. I am visually sure that “Salesman” was Markus Wolf, whom I later personally met in Germany in 1977. He was also the “Tall clown on stilts” who I met on the aforementioned Kindergarten park bench when he promised Fritzi he would arrange big money for her in 1959.
Analysis: Wolf probably had contact with Condit in Okinawa and they worked to merge the two themes of serial killing and homosexual abuse for future court action.
We were again suddenly transferred to Schofield Barracks, Oahu, HI, where Sgt. Clark could retire. More importantly, at the time, Hawaii was the first of places to demand photo ID for airline passengers, which Condit wouldn’t want, so I think that was my safety.
I once had a fling with a P.X. worker, who invited me to pick her up on base. She told me that place could be found by the sign in front. It was in some bushes, and to look for “The Bush in the Bushes.”
We did the usual teenager thing at the Kam III Drive In, and a security guard documented that. As always, the mnemonic, “3” has always been the linchpin for me to remember. This event made it look as if that Intelligence Officer would find ways to make my life miserable.
1975: Defense Language Institute, Monterey, CA.
I was eventually swept up into joining the US Army and asking for training in German. This involved working at First Hawaiian Bank on the same floor as across the way, where “Bishop, Dillingham, Rewald and Wong” had their big CIA disinformation campaign. Asking for German training guaranteed that I would end up in M.I., and the game continued.
While at the Defense Language Institute in `, CA, several changes were made. My initial class with other enlisted men (Meaning I’d be head of the class with my past training) was suddenly canceled, and I mowed lawns for a month. One was for some “Visiting General,” who was having private lessons in German at his house BAQ and my own method of cleaning the driveway with the mower made some kind of documentation. I believe that was actually documenting GHWB’s training there with a private tutor at the same time.
I was given an “Out” if I wanted to become a desk clerk and get a promotion, but I opted to continue training and eventual Germany assignment. A “Legend” was being created for me.
The new class I was assigned to had a West Point Lt. and his wife, a few SF Sgts, a Gunny, and PFC Ted Kaczinski as fellow classmates. He came to read his “Manifesto,” and impressed the others, but in the end, he did things pursuant to the deal he’d made with authorities to take responsibility for unknown and hidden individuals who were sending the real mail bombs.
That is “Frank” second from the left, Ted third from left, then with the parade hat, the ASA guy who would later be the one who tape-recorded all that happened in these weekend sessions at the Consulate.
They put Tedhim in Supermax, the safest place to hide one and could tell stories, particularly the one about the DLI Director and his wife. He apparently was bisexual, and while being issued the newly “Classified” textbooks (One dialogue involved “Unter Dem Brandenburger Tor” which was still in Communist control at that time, so how could such conversation exist?) he managed to caress my hand, and others noticed my reddening face. He’d been prompted to do so, but by who?
One reville, I was ordered to report to the Gunny and Kaczynski, who told me to substitute a word for “Hot Dog” for “Schwanzstücke‘ (“Penis” in German) in the dialogue that day. These orders were given me in the rain, in full view of the school, on a day where being tardy had recently been declared a real bad thing.
One of the SF Sgts, named “Frank” was a Native American, who accepted his career as of going to ground by getting committed, just to prove that he would “Awaken” and reveal secret details on a certain date. He made big of the new SF song, with it's hidden in plain sight of the mnemonic, “3.”
The teacher, the wife of the murdered DLI Director, almost fainted on the spot. It was explained that her husband had been mutilated to death, and his penis found in this body’s mouth.
I’m not sure, but I think she was later also found in a similar manner.
I believe it was Capt. Timothy Berigan who played the part of “Security Officer” at that time who asked me some questions about the matter so there should be documentation.
I was assigned training at Fort Huachuca, AZ, as a M.I. Analyst, and scored highest in my class, except for a sudden change of listing which made me only second. I’d been assigned to be the subject of an Interrogation School trainee, Brian Larkin, who apparently was a security breach risk as a homosexual. So he had great motivation to find ways to try and prove that, instead, I was one, instead of himself. An old FBI trick used rarely to counter-run the dirty.
And again, learned much at the 4th PSYOPS at the JFK Center for Special Warfare at Ft. Bragg, where an in-depth background investigation of myself was conducted. But aside from a really deep background investigation, and being made the study subject of the Manchurian Candidate/Celiac’s Disease connection by glutenous diet, not that much happened there.
1976: Transfer to 66th MI Group, TDY assignment Düsseldorf Consulate
As such, I was given complimentary BAQ housing on the nearby Royal Army Airbase. All was fine, excepting that I was also given free breakfasts in what was called the NCO Mess Hall. US Soldiers are promoted a lot faster than their British counterparts, so they would continuously rib me about being a “Bloody Yank.”
Also what started right away were embarrassing references to homosexuality and how, at times, I would be called for duty at the Consulate on the weekends where nobody was there - Except my Agent Handler, Dir. GHWB, his aide “From the Office of Economic Opportunity,” (Purportedly “GS-12 John Willms, Dir. 66th M.I. Grp, Munich.” There was actually a real GS-12 Willms there, whose resources, funding, transportation, etc., could be tapped by Dir. Bush when he was in country.)
Similarly, my day-to-day boss was “GS-12 Günther Hein,” but in reality spoke of having been in the fledgling OSS, working behind German lines, having been awarded the Croix de Guerre, carrying a .38, etc., actually former CIA Dir. William Colby, there to give me OJT training in being like he, a “Gray Man.”
There was, on one occasion, a Communist demonstration outside on Labor Day, and I was ordered by phone to let in Markus Wolf, Gary Condit, and Dir. Bush, who had his own keys at the time, anyway. They went into the Ambassador’s office, to which I did not have the key, there was the sound of a breaking mirror, and I believe that the wall safe behind it was breached, creating another Security Breach to be found by the known subsequent administrations of the Clintons and Obamas.
And there was always Dick Cheney, as Bush’s borrowed aide from the White House, under the cover of Office of Economic Security from the Bonn Embassy, but in reality, the daily security doorman a the IRCD, a German-run safe house in Cologne I would go to daily.
While there were intensely choreographed as-if homosexual scenes played out for the benefit of the detected eavesdropping devices found in the LLO Office, and the KGB Business front next door, there was actually none of the sort. Such simply added to the long term Legend they built for me.
Yet once, I was ordered to memorize a conversation that would take place when Cheney came back into the room, and to remember the person as the highest ranking mole I would be worked against. Bush subsequently thanked him for “Cleaning up his past” as since the times of Nixon, anything could be used. He asked Cheney if he could be on his Cabinet once he assumed the Presidency after some time as VP to establish name recognition with the public.
As an aside, I was worked against many suspected moles. Hein’s secretary, a “Frau Ross,” was known to be a KGB plant who’d married the US Commander of a nearby missile base, for example.
This is a photo of “Sgt. Ray Johnson” aka Sgt. Clyde Lee Conrad in the role of my NCOIC at the Consulate. He didn’t take the bait of stealing classified info common to us both, but later attended DLI and came back to Germany to do so.
There was also the CIA Officer from the Bonn Embassy who shared adjoining offices with mine at IRCD, but he did take advantage, was interrogated, and counter-run.
I later saw him on Maui posing as a lawyer, and I guess did his time at MCCC.
But at the British NCO Mess and also frequently at the NCO Club, I was told the same “Joke,” over and over again. It concerned the known coming homosexual PSYOPS in our media at the time regarding Batman and Robin. In that scene where the two are climbing a rope up the side of a building, the lines go”
“What’s that up my ass, Batman?”
The Cockrobin is a familiar country songbird in England.
I was also later told that the sidekick’s name was chosen by the KGB on the basis of the psychological pain it would cause Bush, as his little daughter, Robin, had died an unusual death.
I was told that joke that morning and then told that an openly gay British soldier (“Ron?”) would join us for breakfast. How the British Army allowed him to wear read panties under his uniform. How, as a man facing sex offence trials, he’d been offered a deal, a suicide mission.
He wasn’t married, and he could spare this parents the grief of such, and that there would be life insurance policy for them if he agreed.
Their jokes were so biting, to this day I don’t know if the two on the outside were real comedians or not. That could well be Don Rickles on the left, myself, and the aforementioned gay soldier.
He arrived, and said the same, and said they’d told him that it would probably be very painful, as well, but the alternative was worse for him. I went into denial mode,which is also memorization mode for me,so it stands out in my eidetic memories.
Back to the main, subject, one day I’d gotten a new roommate, who said he was an SAS Officer on medical leave to recover from injuries received while operating undercover against a British group. Hence, he said, he wore a British Army sweater, but without rank, name, nor insignia.
That is his son, Chad, in those photos on the desk, and I guess planted suggestions of my future destination with the photos of humpback whales behind him. He later said to his wife that he didn’t know why he’d named him “Chad,” but that it had something to do with some future Florida elections, whatever that means.
He openly used his own name again, as “Gary Condit,” and he was manipulated into inviting me - And the gay soldier, separately - to visit his home in (Ipswich,) England over a 3-day weekend.
Surveillance in those days entailed a 10 or greater number of cars guided by a central radio car, so Condit was hard to track in his little fast red MG.
On the ferry over, he said we should go topside to the bar, for one day, he said, the ferry would take on water from the left-open doors and would sink. And that actually did come to pass.
There were other British NCO’s, one of them being the Security Sergeant and Condit bought me a beer. He had been told and knew some things about me, like my drugged-like reactions to gluten. In any event, he took my Visa and his to the bartender, who doubled as the Customs officer, mine having a 50 pound note in it, I guess to get my drink mickey’d.
He saw “Ron,” I think his name was, and told me to go say Hi to him, but to not invite him to join us.
Ron had a peculiar look on his face when he “It’s going to be a spicy sex party, eh?” Or something to that effect. The Brit Security Sergeant drew Condit off for a conversation, and to me the beer was overwhelmingly delicious, so I got another, and I guess the bartender took the liberty of mickeying it, too.
We were to sleep overnight in his car, and I certainly had passed out only waking up to see the sight of the Ipswich traffic circle turnabout. Condit was muttering to himself about being sure to take the Old London Road and not the new one or we’d bypass his house.
Then about finding Linnet Road, for Robin Road would be too far and we’d be trapped in the city proper. I guess they had just acquired it.
I was later told to find and locate his home on 3-day weekends, once with Brian Larkin, but he hid his mother-and-law and kids from seeing me.
I was able to get this photo of the townhouse by going to Google Maps, and not much has changed. He had backed his MG up to the sidewalk to the first flat, the closest path for carrying the remains for disposal.
How well I remember the living room with a small two-person couch on the right facing a TV set. Going straight back led to a set of stairs to the upstairs bedrooms, and the kitchen dinette bar with the sink and fridge behind it. The building below has been painted over in the front and was only red brick when I was there. Further, Condit later spoke of some movie offer, which I saw on TV one day. The plot was one of a kidnapping, where the police had to bomb out a connecting wall, and wanted to use their flat for the setting. He was worried about any potential DNA or other evidence that might still be there, but he agreed so as to look good.
Further details of the experience of how it was like to hear that since we’d been delayed, “Ron” had showed up early, and dispatched by Caroline Condit is detailed here: Is this how Chandra and others were killed? But I will provide a free PDF for police departments that request.
Somewhere in this timeline, it was suggested to me to visit a German castle, and I did. I met a pretty woman who said that her Lutheran Church group in Kansas had obtained Congressional Funding to visit Europe, and was there to find out if a bejeweled cross she had had any history to it. As she’d just broken up with her boyfriend, she was open to getting together and we did.
But her old boyfriend showed up and they got back together.
But I wanted to see her one last time and used my Visa to visit where their bus would stop in Belgium. I tried to find her, but a friend, approached me to beg for her DL and bejeweled cross back “Because that investigator roommate of yours said you have it.”
I had no idea what she was talking about and only wanted to see her.
The friend said she especially wanted her DL because she wouldn’t be able to drive from the airport when she got back.
Suddenly Condit showed up saying “I found this in his car,” and gave the items to her. I didn’t what to make of that, but just decided to get away from him.
When the “BTK” issue got public, I started reading about it and found that Vickie Wegerle was one of his purported victims, and had been mutilated viciously. I’m really sure that was her based on her long neck and manner This photo from the internet.
Also I can remember a odd incident on my way in 1975 from DLI to Fort Bragg, as I’d chosen a southerly route. But someone that apparently knew the mnemonic phrase to put me under suggested that I take I-80 and drive through Kansas City. For some reason, I took a turnoff and stopped at a payphone only to be told that a house across the way had importance of some kind. And that’s Celiac’s Disease, and its potential of hypnosis for you and how Condit’s tried to exploit such.
I can’t be really sure, but I think her husband became my SWIFT Driver Manager, and Condit’s influence was the reason I was repeatedly sent to Modesto like the day Laci Peterson disappeared and why I finally just turned in my truck.
They usually operate as a team, sticking to the same M.O., but can use strangulation as well, or operate independently if necessary.
Thus I believe his cover of being a “Serial Killer Investigator” stood him in good stead with the British Security NCO to be able to become my “Roommate.” (And untold murders for corrupt politicians since.)And to convince others of what he wanted them to believe I was.
One evening I was hit up by a British WAC and we went to her place to have sex, only to be informed that Condit had asked her to investigate my sexual orientation, as such would be a security breach. Besides, she told me, she didn’t like men and was a Lesbian. We had a one night stand anyway.
The bartenders at the NCO Club were a civilian British couple and the male I guess was prompted to tell that Batman joke every time I came there. One day, he disappeared and his disparaged wife tearfully asked if I had anything to do with it.
I had not, and had been gone for a while having a (Unneeded) hernia surgery at the SHAPE hospital in Mons, coming back to my BAQ only to leave for the Oktoberfest over the weekend. I had been requested by my German counterparts to go there and look for a particular “Tent,” the Ochsenbraterei one.
This photo was taken for posterity, and I think to prove I was there and not in Duesseldorf, as it looked like Condit was going to try and frame me again. They had arraigned an earlier ETS date for me and had told me I must go to Maui, where my adopted mother then was.
The point of that was to be a “Sting” on the Clark family, a story unto itself.
Shortly thereafter, the man I had known as “Herr Krapp,” the German administrator of IRCD, came up to me on the sidewalk and offered me this picture for free, as he claimed it had been misdated. It should be “1977,” not “1976.”
From left to right, it is Dir. GHWB (With head cut off), MFS Dir. Erich Mielke, Dr. Aribert “Death” Heim of SS Concentration Camp Mauthausen (And probably the guy who designed the Condit’s and Raders’ methods), Rainer Rupp’s (““Topas,”) mother-in-law and wife, ”Turquoise,” others, HvA Dir. Markus Wolf (“Herr Krapp”) behind me having been given beer and bread (Note the wheat and hops logo) to indicate my Celiac’s Disease, having been given it by the “German Waitress” to my left, but inasmuch that she’d failed German at DLI hadn’t understood what the word “Brot” meant in English, had to ask, is another of Wolf’s “Family Jewels,” Sarah Palin.
While not being central to this writing about the Condits (“Diamond” I believe), he used his rank and office to locate appropriate women who also had his Celiac’s Disease, the key ingredient in the production of a “Manchurian Candidate.” Because I was so demoralized on my last day at IRCD, when “Frau Schneider” told me of who his code-name jewels are, I don’t remember them well. But they include Barry Soetoro and the Clintons as well.
To return to the issue at hand, when I returned to the BAQ and went to the NCO Club, I was told that the bartender’s wife had disappeared as well.
On one of my ordered visits to Condit’s flat he had bragged how he had traded his British Army sweater for my Army field jacket and a throwing knife from a set I had. He told his wife that he had dumped one of the woman’s body in a dumpster (As pretty much the case), and had left my jacket with my name on it there, too. But to heighten the effect, he had found out from his sources what her blood type was; his was the same, so he’d splashed the jacket with it. His wife had complained that DNA was in the works and that he messed up their M.O. by using the dull throwing knife, instead of her sharp scalpels. She thought it funny to confuse the police’s attempts to identify the knife used by being so surgical at the joints of dismemberment.
His reply had been to say, “Ah, just chop them up like chickens, you and your damn scalpels!”
Therefore, that cold case’s DNA evidence is definite corroboration of my story and can be found. I was told by my German counterparts that I would probably be able to experience a 3rd Oktoberfest as murder has no statute of limitations in Germany. I was later told while working for Swift Transportation that I could not go to Canada as I’m listed on INTERPOL and I believe this is the reason why.
As I left for ETS, I tried to sell my VW for what I owed the bank. I had no idea I’d been ripped off by “Sgt. Johnson.” The Lesbian WAC I’d had that fling with wanted to buy it so I sold it to her and paid the bank with the funds.
But then she accosted me about the price and Condit appeared saying that he’d take care of it. The British Security NCO came out to scream that he’d have no soldiers left if this kept up and what did we have to do with it?
He screamed at Condit that he’d found out that he was no investigator at all but a “Bloody American Politician.” I went into total denial mode, and yet I can still remember Condit and she driving off-base with he furtively looking around to see if there were witnesses to that.
It was not long after that I out-processed at Fort Dix, and my DD Form 214 was altered by the Director. I had actually been promoted to Warrant Officer at the Consulate and have been approached for promotions twice since, by retired Maui forensics pathologist Bert Friedland, also a new Justice of the Peace, who had me sign papers during the “Wedding” he performed for me and Legend Wife in Iao Valley.
And then again by the aforementioned forensics psychiatrist and doctor (Captain/Colonel) Tim Berigan when I was surreptitiously sent to TAMC in 1993 by HI Judge Komo - At the request of now Secret Service Agent Brian Larkin.
During a “Sentencing Hearing” for a crime I’d been ACQUITTED OF he gave the court a report to be sealed in the Federal Phoenix Court (Having to do with an inheritance also put in seal concerning the Swift Transportation, also based there) on Gary Condit, a Waiver I’d been tricked into signing, prompting the Judge to marvel that my “In Situ Study of a Serial Killer” was Congressionally funded. Also my Warrant Officer Contract, and of all things, a copy of mine and “Some Indonesian guy named Barry Soetoro’s whoever he is” birth certificates.
Pondering why, he’d briefly studied them to say, “Oh, same father for some reason. Hmm. I wonder who Markus Wolf is.”
Condit always picks his targets pursuant to his interest in me as a person heir to a grand fortune, and as such, a prime espionage target; If only I could be driven mad, caught up in a honey trap, or somehow just committed, there is a legal loophole that could permit greedy and Communist relatives to “Communize” the inheritance, leading to precedence for our Capitalism to erode to a Communism, and destroy America. My being counter-run is in exact opposition to Red China’s long-term warfare upon us from within and the timing of these last elections.
If they had succeeded in completely demoralizing us by a takeover at the top, and making heads of household hopeless in building capital, their next step would nuking our cities to create the chaos of war.
Condit kept up his efforts to get me framed after I moved here to Wyoming, and are detailed in the above Kindle link. That I was made to move here to Wyoming from Maui by my (2nd) Legend Wife undoubtedly harks to the fact that this is, after all, Dick Cheney Land.
The absolute reason I’ve been kept in this lifestyle is because of what the End Result will be. The numbers of corrupt politicians, particularly Congressmen, that have contracted the Condits’ “Disposal” services for must be phenomenal. Not to mention how many of them are actually Wolf’s “Manchurian Candidates,” and the reason we have this permanent Congress. As the Director had once told me, Oh, there’ll be a ‘Royal Flush’ of Congress one day, I promise you.”
No mistake I made JFK Center for Special Warfare Soldier of the Month in 1975.
Aaron Breitbart on loan from the Simon Wiesenthal Center at the 4th PSYOPS Group told me that I’d be sent to Germany to lure out Markus Wolf and SS Concentration Camp Doktor Arbert Heim based on his research of the methods used on the bodies that had been framed on me. Once again, note the previous Oktoberfest photo. Deliberately dated autos were collected from servicemen to be in this photo and the white van had surveillance men inside taking photos that should be on record.
Our study group at 4th PSYOPS at a gathering with Major Latimer in charge.
The Condits' bragged details, and how I can with my experiences connect that to Chandra, Jonbennet, and Laci.
Guess who else could have just been old enough to get a Kansas DL in 1963, but the “Badgeman on the Grassy Knoll?” And still a lousy shot with a .22? This is one major thing the Director had ordered me to remember, repress, and repeat.