Denver 2016. Life under FBI surveillance, April to December
Undercover FBI agent Samantha Corente, Undercover FBI agent Coy Ebell, US State Department Diplomat in Residence, Rocky Mountain Region, Stewart Devine, MI6 agent Adrian Terris, CIA agent Jim Connell Jr., MI6 agent Rev Stiiv Knower and another.
While in Denver residing at Skyline1801 the office manager an FBI gal named Samantha Corente was particularly cruel. She had a job to as did I.
Hers was police entrapment. They call that being a conspirator.
Mine was raising a young man. They call that being dad.
She would send emails from a psy ops angle starting her missives 'Hey Herbert' designed to make me feel awkward as that name once did.
Another time she asked pointedly about my siblings and why we were not close. I thought this odd as I had never told her about my family.
They never briefed Samantha as to why Adam Stanhope had drugged me as my mother died. Had they I wonder how she would sleep at night. What would she tell her kids?
And if she knew that my son had been sent across the ocean like a missile by his mother and her lover what then?
Ah Samantha, I barely knew thee. The world is not what your FBI bosses told you.
And Coy Ebell then like me also a resident of Skyline1801, also former enlisted like me, oddly trying to become friends while he worked at Trump campaign in Denver.
Coy Ebell, likely undercover FBI, sent me photos of his short self with Rudy Giuliani, once mayor of New York, with Trump's son. Coys 'tells' massive. I took him to dinner once to get a sense of the boy attenpting ro present himself as a man. After our evening out we went back to his flat one floor above the one I had rented. All night he kept pulling out his invitation to the Trump inauguration. So unnatural. So forced. Tell after tell beaming from his young face and body. The training he had received inadequate to the task at hand.
I am grateful. I pushed myself to dig myself out of a sort of grave that these FBI and similar sorts had tried into which to wedge me.
Under Coys 'guidance' and that of a US State Dept Diolomat in Residence for the Rocky Mountain region named Stewart Devine, the black man who claimed to have met me at a job fair that I had not attended, I was invited to an office at the University of Denver where Stewart has a small office, where exmilitary sorts of folk giving off tells were surrounded by literature propsing that the readers of such materials come work for the CIA. I picked up some literature, was polite, and wondered was this a psy op or had my relentless willingness to use self as bait, and correlating that which I had learnee to realize that I had been targeted by CIA long ago to become a patsy or a lone shooter as descibed ad naseum in this blog.
I took a few flyers, carried on with inocuous conversation about their interest in me to apply to the US State Department for a role as a consular officer, the stated teason for my time with Stewart.
I enjoyed Stewart though he was clearly nervous and with 'tells' off the scale. He had retired from the military before joining State Dept and had I think something over 30 years of such employment. He was bright and shiny and gave a good presentation some minutes later to a conference room full of students interested in applying for work as diplomats.
I went home. Thanked Stewart. Went for beer with Coy Ebell who was extremely nervous. By then I had told Coy realizing he was FBI and had been surveilling me and working on the team that sought to entrap, jail me, shank me, and to in such manner close this story to discuss this idea of joining CIA as I had already told him I was in a few days moving back to Russia. Coy was clearly uncomfortable. I wasn't sure how to read him but there was something bad and he was of it aware. We drank our beers. He spoke highly of CIA. We discussed Trump's presidential victory and that his campaigning out to help his young political career. Recall Coy had stated when we first met he wanted to change Colorado from a Democratic blue state to a Republican red one.
We discussed opportunities that might be available for him at the EPA. The way he mentioned EPA slowly and awkwardly made me think perhaps he was speaking in code meaning CIA. We continued our beers. I now realize looking back that my having avoided getting arrested in Colorado as the FBI sent my son drugs in the mail with perverse hope I would overindulge and cross some legal line, this by leaving the state for an impromptu tour of the American West, caused them to move to plan B.
They wanted me back in Russia with mind clouded as work possibilities with the State Department as a diplomat or with the CIA as an agent, so as to miss other signals in the noise. The true ones. The ones with meaning. Those leading up to wife and son engaging in bizarre street theater in our Russian kitchen on January 24th, 2017 leading to their attempt to murder me. She had laid out the knife. He picked it up and stabbed my left arm severing my artery blood gushing in manner unbelievable all oily and dark.
So that was the plan. That was the reason Coy was so nervous as we shared beers for he knew the FSB plan for my destruction upon my return to Russia. Wife would be found innocent and son at 16 treated as a minor in what would be clearly seen by Russian police as an accident, perhaps alcohol related as at that 8 a.m. stabbing both son and wife claimed they had been up for hours drinking a bottle of scotch I had recently bought. They did not seem drunk to me.
Back to Denver for a second after the night of beers with Coy and discussion of potential employment at CIA.
I went to my apartment, number 205 and cried. It had built up to this moment from mid 2011 and actually far earlier though of that I was unaware. I wanted to learn why I had been picked as a child to be in this fiendish MK Ultra program. I wanted to learn what had happened to my pilot father in Operation Magic Carpet and how he killed an Arab in the middle east. I wanted to belong to an organization of bright and focused people again something I had missed since retreating from Russia under false death threat in October 2013.
I dried my tears and got online and made my application. I wrote a strong cover letter about how at great cost to self had uncovered a plot to assassinate a renowned Western leader and had done it without drawing blood. As I got to the section in the application on drug use I entered honest answers. Interesting how after I admitted Marijuana use this a thing now in our society far more acceptable than it had been in my youth I began to describe my use of other harder drugs. And there the online application for kept clearing my answers to zero and moving me forward. Life under surveillance indeed. I figured if they did want me in CIA for my unique set of experiences, my ability to train others, it was going to happen in any case.
I applied for work at CIA.
Why? Again:
1. I wanted to be briefed on what had happened to my father while employed by OSS in the Middle East just after the second world war.
And
2. I wanted to be amongst the best and the brightest.
And
3. To be useful.
Having understood now they were simply playing more psy ops games raising up hopes so as to dash them and to keep me distracted from what was actually planned, my death in manner dramatic.
In similar manner expats I had known in Russia and some who would be to me new, both types who I know knew to be in on this failed 2014 plot to kill Obama, install Biden and blame me; these included Adrian Terris, the MI6 Scotsman who I had known 20 years who invited me to attend with him the Anglican church in Saint Petersburg, Russia so that I would meet senior US State Department and likely CIA agent supposed MIA hunter, 77 year old James Connell Jr, and an retired Anglican priest residing in Tallinn, Stiiv Knowers, him likely MI6, and a young man from the American West a pastor named Jeremy Dianikov-something or other, perhaps in the employ of Langley, might vet me and if they were successful manipulate me in accordance with MK Ultra protocols.
I soon learned in chat with linely CIA agent Jeff Letino that Langley wouldn't hire me in any case. How do you maintain the loyalty of an agent whose parents you surreptitiously murdered? It's a fair question no doubt.
Coy Ebell Undercover FBI Agent of Denver
Samantha Corente undercover FBI agent of Denver
While in Denver residing at Skyline1801 the office manager an FBI gal named Samantha Corente was particularly cruel. She had a job to as did I.
Hers was police entrapment. They call that being a conspirator.
Mine was raising a young man. They call that being dad.
She would send emails from a psy ops angle starting her missives 'Hey Herbert' designed to make me feel awkward as that name once did.
Another time she asked pointedly about my siblings and why we were not close. I thought this odd as I had never told her about my family.
They never briefed Samantha as to why Adam Stanhope had drugged me as my mother died. Had they I wonder how she would sleep at night. What would she tell her kids?
And if she knew that my son had been sent across the ocean like a missile by his mother and her lover what then?
Ah Samantha, I barely knew thee. The world is not what your FBI bosses told you.
And Coy Ebell then like me also a resident of Skyline1801, also former enlisted like me, oddly trying to become friends while he worked at Trump campaign in Denver.
Coy Ebell, likely undercover FBI, sent me photos of his short self with Rudy Giuliani, once mayor of New York, with Trump's son. Coys 'tells' massive. I took him to dinner once to get a sense of the boy attenpting ro present himself as a man. After our evening out we went back to his flat one floor above the one I had rented. All night he kept pulling out his invitation to the Trump inauguration. So unnatural. So forced. Tell after tell beaming from his young face and body. The training he had received inadequate to the task at hand.
I am grateful. I pushed myself to dig myself out of a sort of grave that these FBI and similar sorts had tried into which to wedge me.
Under Coys 'guidance' and that of a US State Dept Diolomat in Residence for the Rocky Mountain region named Stewart Devine, the black man who claimed to have met me at a job fair that I had not attended, I was invited to an office at the University of Denver where Stewart has a small office, where exmilitary sorts of folk giving off tells were surrounded by literature propsing that the readers of such materials come work for the CIA. I picked up some literature, was polite, and wondered was this a psy op or had my relentless willingness to use self as bait, and correlating that which I had learnee to realize that I had been targeted by CIA long ago to become a patsy or a lone shooter as descibed ad naseum in this blog.
I took a few flyers, carried on with inocuous conversation about their interest in me to apply to the US State Department for a role as a consular officer, the stated teason for my time with Stewart.
I enjoyed Stewart though he was clearly nervous and with 'tells' off the scale. He had retired from the military before joining State Dept and had I think something over 30 years of such employment. He was bright and shiny and gave a good presentation some minutes later to a conference room full of students interested in applying for work as diplomats.
I went home. Thanked Stewart. Went for beer with Coy Ebell who was extremely nervous. By then I had told Coy realizing he was FBI and had been surveilling me and working on the team that sought to entrap, jail me, shank me, and to in such manner close this story to discuss this idea of joining CIA as I had already told him I was in a few days moving back to Russia. Coy was clearly uncomfortable. I wasn't sure how to read him but there was something bad and he was of it aware. We drank our beers. He spoke highly of CIA. We discussed Trump's presidential victory and that his campaigning out to help his young political career. Recall Coy had stated when we first met he wanted to change Colorado from a Democratic blue state to a Republican red one.
We discussed opportunities that might be available for him at the EPA. The way he mentioned EPA slowly and awkwardly made me think perhaps he was speaking in code meaning CIA. We continued our beers. I now realize looking back that my having avoided getting arrested in Colorado as the FBI sent my son drugs in the mail with perverse hope I would overindulge and cross some legal line, this by leaving the state for an impromptu tour of the American West, caused them to move to plan B.
They wanted me back in Russia with mind clouded as work possibilities with the State Department as a diplomat or with the CIA as an agent, so as to miss other signals in the noise. The true ones. The ones with meaning. Those leading up to wife and son engaging in bizarre street theater in our Russian kitchen on January 24th, 2017 leading to their attempt to murder me. She had laid out the knife. He picked it up and stabbed my left arm severing my artery blood gushing in manner unbelievable all oily and dark.
So that was the plan. That was the reason Coy was so nervous as we shared beers for he knew the FSB plan for my destruction upon my return to Russia. Wife would be found innocent and son at 16 treated as a minor in what would be clearly seen by Russian police as an accident, perhaps alcohol related as at that 8 a.m. stabbing both son and wife claimed they had been up for hours drinking a bottle of scotch I had recently bought. They did not seem drunk to me.
Back to Denver for a second after the night of beers with Coy and discussion of potential employment at CIA.
I went to my apartment, number 205 and cried. It had built up to this moment from mid 2011 and actually far earlier though of that I was unaware. I wanted to learn why I had been picked as a child to be in this fiendish MK Ultra program. I wanted to learn what had happened to my pilot father in Operation Magic Carpet and how he killed an Arab in the middle east. I wanted to belong to an organization of bright and focused people again something I had missed since retreating from Russia under false death threat in October 2013.
I dried my tears and got online and made my application. I wrote a strong cover letter about how at great cost to self had uncovered a plot to assassinate a renowned Western leader and had done it without drawing blood. As I got to the section in the application on drug use I entered honest answers. Interesting how after I admitted Marijuana use this a thing now in our society far more acceptable than it had been in my youth I began to describe my use of other harder drugs. And there the online application for kept clearing my answers to zero and moving me forward. Life under surveillance indeed. I figured if they did want me in CIA for my unique set of experiences, my ability to train others, it was going to happen in any case.
I applied for work at CIA.
Why? Again:
1. I wanted to be briefed on what had happened to my father while employed by OSS in the Middle East just after the second world war.
And
2. I wanted to be amongst the best and the brightest.
And
3. To be useful.
Having understood now they were simply playing more psy ops games raising up hopes so as to dash them and to keep me distracted from what was actually planned, my death in manner dramatic.
In similar manner expats I had known in Russia and some who would be to me new, both types who I know knew to be in on this failed 2014 plot to kill Obama, install Biden and blame me; these included Adrian Terris, the MI6 Scotsman who I had known 20 years who invited me to attend with him the Anglican church in Saint Petersburg, Russia so that I would meet senior US State Department and likely CIA agent supposed MIA hunter, 77 year old James Connell Jr, and an retired Anglican priest residing in Tallinn, Stiiv Knowers, him likely MI6, and a young man from the American West a pastor named Jeremy Dianikov-something or other, perhaps in the employ of Langley, might vet me and if they were successful manipulate me in accordance with MK Ultra protocols.
I soon learned in chat with linely CIA agent Jeff Letino that Langley wouldn't hire me in any case. How do you maintain the loyalty of an agent whose parents you surreptitiously murdered? It's a fair question no doubt.
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