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| Rick A Hyatt Espionage Albulm |
Send an email to rickahyatt@gmail.com
Crazy, isn't it? The idea of a CIA-sponsored "Human Bomb Study?"
Yet I was made to be just that. There were many reasons I had to "Go To Ground," that is, be put "On Ice" for most of my adult life from 1977, on, and important reasons they were, too.
So I got "Volunteered" for what was known to be, even at that time, the up-and-coming idea of human beings as bombs. Not just strapping on a suicide belt, but MUCH more insidious. This came about from what the CIA had observed to be a new surge of breast and even penile silicone implants, as if some kind of political move. As if to create a mountain of straws to hide some particular pins.
Well, it DOES make some sense, right? If such silicone could be impregnated, with, say, micropellet plastique pellets, then it would surely be enough to go "KABOOM!" At the right time and place, right? Perhaps... Even a repository for microfiche-type documents, since, after all, CIA vaults themselves were known to not going to be safe during such administrations as the Clintons...
The very goal of espionage is to infiltrate a buxom "Sexy Secretary" into some high-ranking politician's office and boudoir, anyway, right? Or, as was Spymaster Markus Wolf's expertise, a male "Secretary" the same way? As Wolf called them, "Romeos."
In fact, there was a deliberate set-up of sort that can be verified towards just this: After the following procedures (As you will read) I was set up to visit a Maui Council Meeting. A woman came up to me and deliberately "Borrowed my pen," and I could tell, switched it with another. Such could well have been a trigger mechanism in real life, and there is also another true news event of the time: Some Indian politician got blown up by a woman "Presenting roses she'd been given to offer." But the article hinted that it was more than strap-on stuff.
Yes, I've lived with this a very long time.
The event with the Maui Politician was deliberately made to be a matter of record, for he publicly admonished me for bringing a US Flag flown upside down, as if I were some kind of traitor.
When it was explained to him what such actually represented, was he forced to resign. It's a matter of public record.
My own speciality is my Celiac's Disease, which makes for the perfect "Manchurian Candidate," anyway. (See the Home Page for more explanation.) Undiagnosed Celiac's is highly sought after by Intel Agencies in undercover agents, because it makes one look "Retarded," and yet makes one VERY susceptible to hypnotic control, and the like, another Intel Methods and Means.
So I was made into a "Double Blind Study of the Manchurian Candidate Effect," too.
So I remember well the hypnotic behavioral programming that took place while I was overseas, mainly at the safe and secure Duesseldorf Consulate of the time.
I was told to remember, repress, and one day regurgitate untold secrets and identities.
I was told to remember mnemonics, things that would help me remember. Scenes, themes, nursery rhymes, verses from the Bible, even (Ronald Reagan) movies. Lyrics of songs the Director would later have commissioned, like Randy Travis's "Points Of Light," for example.
But one special scene had to do with me to remember this: How the heavy file safes had been moved, and there was me laying on an gurney, instead. There was conversation about how heavy the doctor's bag was, and he said, "Yes, about thirty points of the stuff."
He had tubes he was going to use to insert this with. He'd checked, and, indeed, I still had two scars under my chin from surfboard accidents that could be used. And, yes, the bellybutton is just that, too, scar tissue.
There were other places that some of such could be inserted. It would all blow when one of them did, anyway. That, when I got to be 30 or so, your typical male had a pouch under the chin, a "Beer Belly," and, yes... Hemorrhoids, even internal ones. (Which US Army Capt. Doctor Tim Berigan later told me I had at Tripler Army Medical Center... But he ignored my "Belly...")
There was a certain horrific scene with an agent I would know in the future, an Indonesian turn-coat by the name of Ronald Mitchel. Indeed, he turned out to be pretty much my Agent Handler when I went to where I was ordered to go, the island of Maui.
But it was many years later, after a marriage with a woman who would fill my empty hand with a beer every time it was empty, and buy beer when I did not.
The endless beer, and her suggested BBQ recipes contained much Celiac-Symptomatic gluten, keeping me "Dumbed Down" for the duration, to be sure. And, very susceptible to suggestion - That is, her control over myself. She is a "Contractual Agent."
So, one day, she suggested that I must see her dentist (Who she'd paid for her massive gold teeth in favor of a closed session or two with the dentist... Or so the receptionist made a point of "Letting me know.") for in that my mouth smelled terrible, and I had a white spot in it.
Oddly enough, I'd been to see him before, and he'd insisted upon a "Tongue Cleaning." He'd used a long Q-tip to rub the right side of my tongue.
"Doctor Kehoe, aren't you going to clean the left side, too?" I had asked.
"No..." He said with a leer. "You wouldn't want BOTH SIDES cleaned..."
So I came up with this big white patch on my right side of my tongue. When I went to see him as suggested, again, he'd told me I must see an oral surgeon.
He suggested a certain former US Army surgeon, a Dr. McCurdy, but the line was long when I got there, so went next door to see another oral surgeon.
Who promptly snipped it off, saying it could be anything: Chemical burn, leukoplakia, anything.
But I got an odd and ominous call saying it was "Definitely oral cancer," and that I must go to see the originally suggested oral surgeon, instead.
He insisted upon a "Partial hemiglossatomy," cutting out a third or so of my tongue.
(A very odd event of the time was that the two were filmed on TV having a fight at the airport, for some reason - Of future reference, perhaps?)
That brought back memories, for back when I'd worked overseas, undercover, I'd also worked undercover at a German Safehouse, where I'd input much material into their computer system, and sometimes read from it.
I'd read of one "Independent Agent" who sold to both sides. He'd had such a similar surgery, and had openly stated that "In espionage, anything could be made to happen," and the message he'd been sent to forever and moment-to-moment remember was the idea of his "Tongue being cut out."
The way certain individuals have been silenced throughout history. To... "Not talk...."
So I stayed at my mother's apartment on Oahu to meet my 3-Day-Weekend appointment with a Kailua Hospital. It was a chamber of horrors of sorts.
I remember getting a valium shot, first, reminding me of my (False and unneeded) hernia surgery while in US Army enlisted service, overseas, at the Mons SHAPE Hospital in '77. (Read more on what that was all about in the leading chapter of my ebook, "Sapphire.")
I'd been seated in a typical dentist's chair, but I briefly awoke to see a nurse and a doctor standing there - But the "Doctor" seemed every so much as if MPD Detective (And former US Navy Captain) Barry Born, one of my "Agent Handlers" from Maui!
"Nurse, hold his tongue hard with that guaze and pull it out so I can cut. THERE WILL BE LOTS AND LOTS OF BLOOD, SO HAVE THE SUCTION READY."
Like at the SHAPE Hospital surgery, MUCH was being told to me while "Under" to plant such pain, ect. into my subconscious state. The real idea was to associate, in my mind, the trauma of it all to the site, so as to want to repress, rather than to remember anything from the event.
The last thing I remembered before I passed out was the sound and the feeling of the gauze being cut by surgical scissors, but it seemed as if not my tongue...
But then it was as if I'd awoken to see my main Agent Handler from my Duesseldorf days, former CIA Director of Operations, George HW Bush, and his "Friend," Llyod Bensen, there both in suits. (No OR garb.) Like they'd done back in Mons.
And they'd discussed "How well things were going with me," and the like. That my activation was working properly.
Yes, I know. You think I stole this scene from "The Manchurian Candidate," but I have not. That it mirrors same simply proves that's the way it works. Occasional staged medically-based "Check up's" on the "Manchurian Candidate" in question are part and parcel of it all.
I blacked out again, to awaken to a nurse coming into my room.
"Oh, I see you're awake, now. Good! How did you enjoy your trip to the military base?" She asked.
I mumbled, of course, but ask her what she was talking about.
"Oh, well, they took you by ambulance to Kaneohe Marine Base, to let the military specialists see you. You were gone an entire day. How did it go?"
I was baffled by what she was talking about, so asked what the date was. It was one extra day to my planned stay, and I was immensely confused.
She went out, and the doctor came in. He was very concerned, and immediately came to look at my chin, where I had a scab on one side, and a stitch on the other. He carefully snipped the stitch off, saying, "Sorry, you were bleeding so much that we had to tie a tube to your mouth and chin to irrigate the blood."
I was in so much indescribable pain that I couldn't believe it. My whole face, but mainly my chin and mouth were swollen beyond belief.
Yet I could hardly understand that: Why not use tape to hold a suction tube? Why the two cuts on both sides of my chin - Where my old surfboard scars were?
Why!? Did my belly hurt so bad! I'd hoped to lose some weight while on liquids, why did my stomach feel so swollen! AND JUST WHAT KIND OF IRRIGATION HAD BEEN NECESSARY THAT MY ASS**** HURT LIKE THAT?
My Mother walked in and nearly fainted. We finally went to the pharmacy, and while I waited, I punched out a telephone pole just to try and alleviate the pain, somehow.
Of course, being a person trained in Karate to take pain - That did no good with all the subconscious input to make me believe all the more in how painful it would be... It made such worse.
"Someone was calling the cops on you. They thought you might be crazy, or something." Something SO APPROPRIATE from my Mother...
I arrived at Maui Airport, to have the cab shoo'd away, and MPD Lt. Born and MPD Auxillary Cop (I was told he was actually NSA, believe it or not) Ron Mitchel pick me up in Born's jeep. They even paid the cab driver, just to make a deliberate scene for that Mob Group to note and remember.
They dropped me off at my house at 911 Kuialua Street in Lahaina (Yes, a very deliberate set-up to live there, a very special arrangement with the Post Office with the odd street numbers at this new corrupt subdivision, at 9/11 Ku-Ia-Lua, "God of War" in Hawaiian, Street) and Mitchel made a point of opening the door with his own set of keys. Wanting me to know he had his own set.
Standing there was "My wife..." Simply combing her hair in front of the mirror, but... Somehow "Not my wife..." What was this, a study of Double Switches, like former CIA Director William Colby had claimed had happened to his own daughter?
In this new very populated world, could finding, training, and placing same in an espionage spot not be possible?
I do remember that the Hyatt Regency Maui Management went through some kind of investigative deal with my "Wife," with some claiming that she... "Wasn't the same..."
Ah... But for ME to say such, as a Celiac Symptomatic, thought to be a "Nut Case..." Well, just doesn't ever get far.
To this day I don't truly know. But such are CIA, APA, Wyoming Dept. of "Health," and University of Wyoming Psychology Department Studies that so closely mirror NAZI type Jewish experiments, don't you think?
The Director then showed up and instructed me on several things: To make my closet into a gun storage closet, to always have my .38 handy (Such has saved my and my sons' lives innumerable times), and especially always so while taking a shower. Other stuff, like growing a tall Hibiscus hedge out front with the instruction I could make an obvious "Red Flag," if I were to "Cut down the Bushes," "Turned," an espionage thing. So I always let them grow tall, and only trimmed them.
But the main thing was in going back to work as a taxi driver. My "Wife" had to go to the Salvation Army to buy me new shirts because of my new girth. She has, by the way, many, many times, verified the above actions and events above to me. Whether she has, or ever will, tell the authorities the same is another matter.
When I went to the Hyatt Regency Taxi Stand, John Rasmussen, Darlene Johnson and Holly Ozan openly made fun of me, as he put it, "It looks like he's had a REVERSE liposuction!"
One of my first fares thereafter were a couple of men that identified themselves as FBI Agents, and I told them my story. They seemed concerned, but just wanted me to know that it "Didn't affect my speech that much."
Yeah, right.
Over the years, I would get bumps, like pimples, on the back of my neck, when squeezed, would ooze gooey clear liquid. I hardly have the glob under my chin, any longer.
But this "Beer Belly," all "Thirty pounds?" Of it, really doesn't go away, no matter how much exercise I try to get in. I have dropped my previous 260 pounds to my current 210, but the "Beer Belly" stays.
Hypothetical Question: "Could I still blow?"
Of course, I'm not eager to find out, and this is no "Psychological Episode," giving the Mentals some kind of excuse to cut me open, or just pry my brain loose, as they'd like to do so badly.
It is, in the end, a request to all involved to please help me get my past promised Army pay, rank, status, and (Medical) benefits given to me.
Instead of this never-ending hell as perpetuated by Judges Richard Komo and Stebner... Having so much fun, as the Social(ist) Agencies do, in having me as a "GI JOE Toy Doll" to play with...
Their kind would almost make the (in)famous Dr. Aribert Heim proud.
I mean, hell! If I'm carrying around experimental US Army demolitions, I WANT TO GIVE IT BACK! PRONTO!
The alternative being: This all was done to my head to make me appear "Crazy," so as to promote my cover and negative social perception of myself.
It could just be plain silicone. It could just be orchestration and hypnosis. Either way, I've did what I was ordered to do - SO WHERE'S MY PAY!
And release! From this Saratoga APA-Designed "Perfect (Doll House) Enviroment," so designed TO DRIVE ME NUTS!
A more perfect "Cover-Up" could not be arranged in Soviet Gulags.
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