Russian Spy Anna Chapman & Gangstalking Gals from CIA Obama Assassination Plot that Failed in 2014
Russian Spy Anna Chapman & Gangstalking Gals
Where to begin? Should this blog post be in the form of a list or a narrative? Don't know, not sure.
Let's throw up some names like blobs of paint, see where they hit and go from there.
My whole life apparently a virtual reality of sort due to my targeting from birth.
Upon my move to Saint Petersburg, Russia on April 2, 1998 just like a frog in the proverbial pot of water the heat began to rise.
My then ex-wife Svetlana Macy in December 2015 asked me "Rick didn't you know that 80% of your expat friends in Russia were intelligence agents?"
The following are key female gangstalkers with whom I interacted subsequent to my move to Saint Petersburg, Russia.
Olga Zaravueva, Saint Petersburg Russia
Olga Zaravueva was introduced to me by Adrian Terris, a likely MI6 operative in Saint Petersburg, Russia and my predecessor as CEO of Saint Petersburg Yellow Pages where he was employed for approximately ten years.
The event had been a 'Hash Hound Harriers' drinking get together. My then girlfriend Svetlana Chuloshnikova was away seeing family in Nizhniy Novgorod, was pregnant with our son, and it was the spring of 2000.
Olga was a petite brunette with an outstanding figure though not nearly as pretty as Svetlana.
We drank, chatted, went dancing at a club now gone called Konyushenniy Dvor or as we knew it Marstall's.
We danced quite close, made out more than a little. Heady stuff and headed back to my corporate apartment on Millionaya street where I resided with Svetlana. At that point Svetlana and I had been residing together from the fall of 1997 and were considered a couple.
Things began to heat up with Olga, and I decided to stop. I didn't need an affair with another woman.
Svetlana was pregnant.
And there was a vibe from Olga that in some way I was years away from understanding that put me off. I called her a cab. She expressed disappointment. I apologized and said she needed to go and I needed to sleep.
We were done or so I thought. I began to receive in the office handwritten letters that seemed crazy with textual descriptions of her raping me on the metro and other oddities.
I expressed this to Adrian Terris as I thought he ought to know so as to temper whatever relationship social, cordial, or more he might have in the future with this young lady as he, like I, was unmarried in those days.
Adrian Terris responded that she had reacted the same way to him as they had done the deed, slept together and that she had also slept with and sent crazy letters to a young American diplomat whom we both knew named Alden Greene. Alden is now stationed in Morocco.
Alden likely CIA just as Adrian likely MI6. And likely neither either slept with Olga. This sort of thing is termed a 'psy op'.
Adrian Terris told me shortly thereafter somehow he had managed to involve the authorities and get Olga Zaravueva admitted for a month to a psychiatric hospital, a process I myself would endure under fraudulent means 18 years later. That wasted month due to Russian wife and son conspiring yet again most likely. Another story for another time. Oh the places you'll go.
I was, how to put it, excited or pleased to be one of three respectable gents whom this wild cat of a girl Olga had begun to draft and remit letters most unsound. Seemed kind of cool. The stuff of movies. What fun.
I left St. Petersburg for Moscow and then for Rochester NY before returning to replace Adrian Terris as CEO of the Saint Petersburg Yellow Pages in early 2006.
One day a package arrived from Olga Zaravueva with a 12 page hand written letter with more of the 'I'll rape you on the metro' imagery. I threw it all away and thought how odd. But again oddly thrilled that I merited such crazy attention six years later. I told no one, for Adrian Terris and I were not then on speaking terms, all part of the amazing fraud he and the CIA and bit players Yellow Pages owners Tony Czura and Nick Thornton had played upon me to manuever me willingly into taking on that CEO role. The plot complex and detailed in this blog in other posts.
My conclusion on Ms. Zaravueva is first - I am grateful I had the judgment not to sleep with her and second - that her attentions with the letters were intended as psy ops dark manipulations with all their descriptions of rape and sex and that she was to be part of the back story had the Obama assassination of 2014 succeeded and I a dead patsy.
Adrian and Alden, stand up fellows, pillars of their respective communities, would have been considered reliable witnesses and would have reported that my affair with Olga just as my son was gestating soon to be born would have marked me as a fellow quite unlikable, self centered, foul, and worse.
This would have provided a solid foundation for what was planned to happen next when Russian spy Anna Chapman came on to me in Moscow, two years after my last letter from Olga Zaravueva.
The plan so dark was to have the public believe me to have been a deranged individual sex crazed, drug addled, bad husband, and awful father, a man with race issues and finally a presidential lone shooter type assassin.
With friends like these.... (Adrian and Alden)
Anna Chapman, Russian Spy, Moscow
Anna Chapman, Moscow
Anna Chapman showed up at my office of Yellow Pages Russia on Tverskaya Street in Moscow uninvited. The year was 2008. Tony Czura, Nick Thornton, David Fleming and I had all just sold our shares in the Saint Petersburg Yellow Pages to a Swedish company called KontaktEast funded largely by the wealthy Swedish Lundin family and headed by CEO Filip Engelbert.
I was pleased as I had been retained by the new owners to be CEO of the new larger company. Saint Petersburg Yellow Pages had been active in three markets, Saint Petersburg, Moscow and Perm, with Saint Petersburg and Perm being quite profitable while the Moscow business was a money loser and had been for four years.
Our buyers, KontaktEast had paid US $23,000,000, a 10x EBITDA multiple for these businesses. They owned the leading Moscow Yellow Pages business, itself profitable with operations in another nine cities including Saint Petersburg, where our market positions were reversed, we as number one, and they in second place.
My task was to merge these disparate companies into a new healthier whole and to grow that new business 25% in the first year post merger. We never had a chance. ))
In the previous two years we had grown Saint Petersburg Yellow Pages 20% per year mostly by raising prices while keeping the customer base the same. Russia was booming in 2006, 7, and 8 and so we got away with it.
In my first year with Saint Petersburg Yellow Pages I personally sold the two biggest contracts in company history, our database to Google for 45,000 euros a year and two front page reverse full page ads to national cell phone company Megafon for $20,000.
I was busy. The former CEO of their Moscow business was reportedly busy leaving the company in bad form. He had not returned his company car, we found ghost employees on the books, a black pr page had been started about Yellow Pages though with special venom towards me by a Live Journal account holder 'Puzzloy', and one of Moscow sales teams left for a competing directory owned by SviazInvest Media.
Anna Chapman presented herself as a 24 year old executive running an online property company, supposedly focused on the Russian market.
The vibe from Anna was intense and foul. Her breasts large, this her natural competitive advantage, for compared to the Russian beauties I had seen up to that point she was at best average.
Having lived in Russia for at that point ten years, I was relatively immune to her or for that matter most women's charms.
Anna gave me her business card. Her owning company was Kit Finance from Saint Petersburg. I accepted it politely and recall thinking she must have a sugar daddy. I lacked imagination to think it a three letter organization.
She left. I went about my day not thinking of Anna until two years later when she was arrested by the FBI for being a Russian spy in New York. I was dumfounded.
Why had she come on to me? I wondered briefly and let it go. Not until 2014 did I understand why she had been sent at me like bait. Bait that I thankfully ignored.
Had I taken that red haired bait, I suspect we would have had an affair that was to end with me a broken man and divorced. This happened four years later when another, younger honeypot trap named Evgeniya Viktorovna Kosheleva, a poisoning, a menage-a-trois, a supposed beating, all came at me in late 2011.
In the years before and after 2011 they, the FSB, in agreement with CIA sent two other bits of bait at me, Ksenia Bezrukova now Velazquez in 2013 and now living married to a US Marine enlisted man residing in Las Vegas and Polina Panfilova with whom I had an affair from 2008 to 2009 before I broke it off.
Anna I never knew you. And for this I remain grateful.
Anna Chapman LinkedIn Page (1 of 2)
Anna Chapman LinkedIn (Page 2 of 2)
Amanda Kay, then New Hampshire, now Albany NY
Amanda Kay
Amanda was a girl I met via Chuck Jensen, with whom I served in the US Navy in 1989. I had made a comment to a Facebook post and she 'liked' it, saying she found it witty. We began to chat and sometime in the late 2000s we slept together in Portland Maine while I was on a Russian visa trip to the US.
I didn't know she was a heroine addict then.
That came later. All I knew is she was tall, had played basketball in high school, enjoyed the Boston Celtics and marijuana. And for the version of me in those days, that was enough for me.
We rented a cheap hotel room, smoked pot, had sex, watched the Celtics on TV and talked a bit. Back then before I learned I was a 'targeted individual' cheating on my Russian wife was no big deal as we were on most days so estranged we ought to have been divorced. That came later in the fall of 2012.
And only on June 20, 2014 would I learn the reason I had rejected Svetlana, she had been untrue and unfaithful from the very beginning of our relationship for she was and remains a Russian FSB honeypot trap, a 'sparrow'. I've posted here in this blog of her revelations of that day.
Upon leaving Russia under fraudulent death threat, this organized by my ex-wife Svetlana Macy, her lover Alexander Tregubov, Egish Khachatrian, Genya Kosheleva and others I spent time at my brothers in Portland Maine where I became reacquainted with Amanda Kay, took her to dinner, saw the Joaquin Phoenix flick 'Her', and spent four days smoking MDPV in a hotel room with her.
That was New Years Ever 2014. Heck of a way to start the year. Amanda had brought the narcotics with her. She told me how her brother sold heroine in New Hampshire and how she had become addicted. We walked around the downtown Portland area.
Amanda's first tell, her giveaway was as we sat at dinner before the movie, looked into my eyes and lied saying that she loved me. This after we discussed possibly moving into a trailer park and finding another girl, bisexual, for us to get our groove on.
After our four day binge, my sense of direction was demolished and Amanda seemed pretty wrecked as well. She called me some time after we parted, she had left Maine and entered New Hampshire, fallen asleep at the wheel, been picked up by cops and made to enter a rehab program. She promised she kept my name out of it. This I doubt.
I also recall she had a camera and as we were looking through the photos as it was digital she stopped me from seeing the last two photos without explanation which made me wary. The I love you lie turned my suspicion meter through the roof.
Amanda was cousin of Randee Jensen an alcoholic ICU nurse married to the aforementioned Chuck Jensen. Chuck and Randee told me a few weeks later they were out of contact with Amanda as she had stolen several hundred dollars from them to support her ongoing drug habit.
In late 2018, I reestablished contact with Amanda for a few days, learned she was off narcotics, had a boyfriend, was without work and had moved to the outskirts of Albany in New York state. The reestablish mentioned was unintentional, I had clicked on a LinkedIn 'invite all' function from my email list and thus had included Amanda. She accepted and in our initial chat when I made clear my view that she had been a 'gangstalker' she replied 'a rose by any other name would smell as sweet' confirming that which I had learned in the intervening years from New Years 2014 to New Years 2019.
Amanda and I chatted a bit and I wondered were her gangstalking days behind her. I learned they weren't when she sent me supposed covert videos of her arguing with her boyfriend. He repeated the term 'your vagina' repeatedly, unnaturally, while arguing that she was lazy sitting at home while he worked. I found it immediately odd that she had made videos of him as he shouted at her, his voice sounded somehow forced and unnatural. I took the view this was more psy ops crap, as no normal person would take such videos and share them with someone in such manner from 5 years earlier especially after confirming her interest in me had been as a gangstalker. I blocked her on all platforms thereafter.
Randee Jensen, Levant, Maine
Randee Jensen, Levant, ME
Elena Globa Boyce, Saint Petersburg Russia and Virginia Beach, VA
Elena Boyce, Sandbridge, Virginia Beach
Elena Boyce, Sandbridge, Virginia Beach
Darlene Robertson, Denver CO
Darlene Robertson, Denver CO
Darlene Robertson and I became acquainted via an online dating site after my son Nick and I moved to Denver.
We agreed to meet for lunch on 16th street.
Two things came up that indicated she had been by police briefed on my 'parallel construction' file.
She asked unasked are you a racist?
Nick and I had taken a trip to Knoxville, Tennessee some months earlier where we stayed as houseguests of Navy shipmate Steve Thompson and his wife Glenda. Driving my son around the area, he played a sound he found amusing called 'Nigger, Nigger, Nigger'. The song while offensive was insightful and funny. We sang to the song loudly, of course with our windows up for we were white and thus was America where political correctness is a big deal. The only reason Darlene would have had to ask that question was had the FBI been surveilling my son and I in my car as they had in my Victor, NY house and again at the Skylin1801 apartment complex in downtown Denver.
Similarly, why on earth would anyone make such a forthright comment about my then 16 year old son needing therapy as we hadnt discussed him nor had she met him.
This recalled police officer Doug Smith coming into my home mid September 2015 with a search warrant telling me I needed mental help before searching my home or meeting me. I was under surveillance and he had been broefed. And so had Darlene.
I had noticed one time while going to Nick's one time high school in Victor, NY, when hearing a school administrator say excitedly in hushed tones "He's here!" as I presented my drivers license for a badge. I was only one of several parents coming into the school at that time. What had made me so special? Corrupt FBI who had under CIA guidance wither knowingly or unwittingly made a file on me based on 'parallel construction' to justify their keeping me under constant surveillance for the three years I resided in the US from October 2013 to December 2016.
This administrator's excited blurting out of "He's here" recalled my July 2014 encounter with then landlady Shari Faller, when I quietly returned to 3205 Sandfiddler Road in Virginia Beach after my harrowing pursuit by up to 40 unmarked FBI vehicles to Asheville, NC, to Maryland and back to Virginia Beach.
I could not shake my freewheeling FBI undercover gangstalkers.
As I quietly entered the bedroom I had rented, I overheard Shari Faller on the phone with parties unknown saying in a stern voice, "The tenant has returned". I was one of three tenants at that time. I was the only one who was returning from a week or more away.
Shari Faller had been similarly briefed via a 'parallel construction' file by FBI as they worked to push my buttons using gangstalking and psy ops into, a la Myron May, making me in the words of Egish Khachatrian, "this generation's Lee Harvey Oswald", a patsy for a presidential assassination attempt on Obama that failed in 2014.
On September 19th 2014 Omar Gonzalez got into the White House after scrambling over the fence. The press called him a disturbed individual with PSTD who had heard voices. Had Omar been pushed by FBI and its subcontractors via psy ops and gangstalking to that moment? I suspect yes.
Darlene liked to Tango I learned. As our lunch progressed her vibe changed from keen interest and subdued excitement at meeting me, the target, to full on discomfort and we were both glad when lunch was finished agreeing to never meet again. I learned a lot in that lunch. Even picked up the bill.
Taylor Kamaka (False Identity, see Rhae Birmingham below for more detail).
Rhae Birmingham - Hawaiian one day, American Indian the next, Boulder, CO
Rhae Birmingham, Boulder, CO
Rhae Birmingham, Boulder, CO
And so my 16 year old son Nicholas and I made our way to Denver from Victor, NY (I put my house on the market prior to leaving on April 19, 2016) and I made a date with a woman online, one of those dating apps, which one I don’t recall.
I don't recall her name, it wasn't Rhae Birmingham. I do recall her lies and that she claimed employment with the police in some support role. She was a brunette and slightly overweight. She claimed Hawaiian heritage. We had dinner and walked around the town.
The next day we spoke again by phone and she boldly told me she had lied the night before, her name was Rhae Birmingham and she was of American Indian heritage and not Hawaiian.
I also wanted to test a theory as to police manipulation of the internet. They had done it to me in 2014 as I searched online with one hand on my cheap cellphone for a hotel in the Springfield VA area, believing at any moment, NCIS and self admitted ex-CIA agent Doug Boyce would rush in like the cavalry to rescue me from what had to be Russian spies. In this paradigm I was wrong, though it would cost me much to learn all was CIA and the cars pursuing me were FBI and weren’t relates to Russia.
I recall having abandoned Asheville NC, and my motel room at the Mountaineer all paid for when two preppy looking individuals drove into the parking lot near midnight as I bore watch in a cheap plastic chair between my motel room and car. They had driven a van, unmarked, with few windows. As they approached, looking to be in their early 30s, the woman poured a liquid unknown into a rag, handed that rag to her male compatriot, and doused a similar rag that she kept as they calmly walked towards me.
That was enough for me. I gathered my bag, left on the cheap motel bed, got in my car and drove away, spooked and scared. I know now that which I did not know then, they were undercover FBI gangstalkers. I drove that night through NC to Virginia, entered the DC beltway, pursued by up to 40 cars, making abrupt left turns and driving fast, taking pictures with one hand while the other was on the wheel. NCIS agent Doug Boyce had advised me to do this and to send him the pictures for his ‘analysis’.
Since arriving as his houseguest a few weeks earlier, I had chosen to confide in him, thinking he had access to resources and will to use them, learning of my tale. Leaving Russia under death threat in October 2013, this a fraud played upon me by FSB trained exwife Svetlana Macy, her boyfrjend Alexander Tregubov, Egish Khachatrian, Evgeniya Kosheleva and a few others. Escaping Silk Road drug dealer NAWLINS, Adam Stanhope, and his attempt to involve me in his illegal online business as part of a complex trap, reasons then not het understood.
Learning my car had been broken into while guest of Chuck and Randee Jensen in Levant Maine, just prior to my trip to Virginia Beach and chemicals unknown sprayed all over the steering wheel and dashboard. Never liked cleaning much, on that morning, Formula 409 spray cleaner, a roll of heavy duty paper towels, and I became good friends as I made an exception, cleaning out of desperate self interest.
Doug had told me he was CIA when we met in Russia in 1999. He was now a senior agent, GS15 at NCIS. He had access to folk who could sort out Adam Stanhope, resolve my issues with regard to my retreat from Russia, or so I believed. So I took his advice. Drive fast. Take left turns. Take pictures. Send them by email to Doug for his ‘analysis’. Simple stuff.
By the time I got to Springfield Va, I needed a bathroom break and if while on the highway in the hills of North Carolina, I could stop at rest areas, now back in a highly populated area I needed respite. I needed a hotel. Top of search results said Holiday Inn. I called, got a room.
Pulled in. And immediately next to me pulled in an undercover FBI vehicle with a woman perhaps 2/3rds my age, with bearing of a low ranking military officer pulled up beside me. Lieutenant had likely been her rank, if Navy, Captain otherwise. I spoke with her, rather, at her, asking do you know that you are working for the Russians. She kept mum, locked her car, kept her military bearing, her vibe off the scale. I was scared. My life wasn’t supposed to be like this, some strange spy novel.
It would be a year before I connected meeting Russian spy Anna Chapman in Moscow in 2008, Doug Boyce’s CIA membership revelation, and a mysterious Notre Dame like fire on the roof of my apartment building in Saint Petersburg, Russia on JFK’s birthday, May 29 in 2009. This connection told me unasked by an American I had met in Russia, Jason Smolek, likely CIA just as Doug Boyce.
I checked into the hotel. Got my room. Relieved myself. Took a shower. Noticed that when looking in the hallway others checking in had that vibe and an ex-military look. My room had a connecting door to the next room. Oddly both were unlocked and a bit of trash in the small space between these doors. I cleaned the trash, locked my door. Sat perturbed.
Before leaving Virginia Beach for Asheville NC my 3205 Sandfiddler Road, Virginia Beach landlady, and also an FBI gangstalker, as I would learn in time though did not then know, Shari Faller played a novel bit of ‘street theater’ with me. Rather upon me.
Back in August 2011 I had been poisoned by Alexander Tregubov. The poison, unknown, in a beer and in a cheap banya in Saint Petersburg, Russia. In December 2013 Alexander tried to misdirect me claiming unasked that Genya Kosheleva had poisoned me in our intial meeting, wherein we engaged in a bit of Roman tomfoolery, a menage-a-trois. At the time I was thrilled. Now in retrospect, less so.
Having drunk the spiked beer, over the next month I lost 35 pounds. Having left Russia under a death threat, having had Adam Stanhope tell me as I left his father’s home where I had been guest for a few weeks in October and November of 2013, “Rick, what did you expect? I’m a criminal!”, and having NCIS agent Doug Boyce telling me unasked that he had been a CIA agent years before whe we met in Russia in 1999, I wondered the impossible, were all these matters related? To me at that time it seemed crazy.
My ex-wife had only days earlier explained to me that she had conspired with Alexander Tregubov and Evgeniya Kosheleva. I had already known for a few days as Genya’s older half brother Vladimir Solovoev and Albina Taptiga both at separate times via Skype told me they had witnessed Svetlana and Alexander Tregubov together in my Russian apartment when I was elsewhere and were in the presence of these others affectionate to each other. What a thrill it must have been. To be so deceitful for so long.
Alexander told me in that initial meeting just prior to our engaging in sex together with one young woman at the same time, Evgeniya Kosheleva, that he was infertile due to his military service in Chechnya on behalf of Holy Mother Russia, and a nearby explosion. He was pleased to comment that his equipment worked well, simply he could not father children.
I thought that an odd thing to share with someone just met.
He went further, based on his military experience and sharedd hjs view on how easy it was for one man to kill another. I thought that stranger still. Especially as he seemed so oddly enthusiastic to tell me, this American he had just met, these two points most unexpected.
Alexander and Svetlana were confident, perhaps overconfident, that due to my being baited by Adam Stanhope into trying the synthetic cathinone stimulant MDPV that I would not choose to think rationally, detect that which had been hidden, and act ultimately in my own best interest, unknowing of the troubled waters in which I treaded.
Svetlana claimed that Alexander called her on our son’s cell phone that October of 2013, and had made it clear to her, he was out to kill me for having persuaded his whore Genya Kosheleva to abandon her life in a Saint Petersburg bordello as a prostitute.
I had supposedly interfered in his percentage, paid to him by the bordello for her services. The whores made a 50/50 split with bordello management, what % paid to human traffickers who brought in such women, unknown to me.
After I left, Svetlana never joined me in America. As I left, we agreed she would. After all we had a 13 year old son, and even divorced, this death threat, a wake up call for us to move forward, together as a family. To leave Russia and to put this soap opera drama behind us. And we would reconcile, though only in three years time, and by then we would choose to remain in Saint Petersburg.
In summer of 2014, I had much more detecting and discovering ahead. That, a misdemeanor arrest, and narcotics I would never have touched in a million years, consumed so as to use self as bait to learn who was my antics watching and witnessing.
Why had I thought I was under surveillance? Fair question. Good question. The right question. Just prior to leaving Russia, perhaps it was September 2013, I received an unexpected message on the Russian social network, vKontakte.
A picture of me taken remotely via my tablet, while in the office I once rented and sometimes occupied at Nevskiy 95.
This had then shocked me, for if folk had the capability and the interest to take such a photo remotely and to share it with me, they would have been quite aware of my visits to Genya at a Marata Street bordello, use of amphetamine sulfate, hashish, and participation in group sex sessions with men and women under controlled circumstances via my ‘acquaintance’ Sergey the bisexual orgy guy at another nearby Marata Street address. Oh dear.
And so Svetlana and Alexander were confident. I understand now from where that confidence sprang. Alexander had at least a suitcase full of negative emotions towards me. Not so juch for my actions regarding Genya, it was more about Svetlana, with whom he had years earliier had an affair, was an adequate, though controlling lover, and had most likely been her conduit for a time as a pro, a prostitute.
Prostitutes needed police for access to hotels like the Oktybrskaya in Nizhniy Novgorod, where for $100 Svetlana and I became acquainted and intimate.
She was porn star quality and 21. A Slavic beauty. I was reportedly the last of her 75 clients. True or not, I can’t say, for FSB trained honey pot traps or ‘sparrows’ are taught to recite upon demand their false pasts, their ‘legends’.
I can say that Svetlana told me she had earned $15,000 in this manner at $100 a pop plus tips. I don’t begrudge her this experience, indeed for a time I found it exciting. What I do begrudge, then as now, is her dishonesty. She had the will to pay her own way for a trip to Tenerife and there get taken in to buy a time share.
I fell for this Soviet girl, grown up all poor with divorced parents, an overweight mother and an alcoholic father.
What did their overconfidence reveal? The simplest of things. She had let him post a comment that most would deem affectionate and a like beneath a selfie on Russian social network vKontakte. This a clear contradiction from the man, this Alexander Tregubov, whom she had claimed made a death threat against the father of her son, the man she called husband for 11 years, and had shared a bed with for 14 years.
As part of the fraudulent divorce, she had reported him to the police for his inclusion in the creation of a report that she would use in divorce court in order to divorce me, gain half of my downtown Saint Petersburg apartment, and a monthly child support stipend of $1700. How had she known how to report him? The ‘street theater’ played upon me by supposed lovers, prostitute and pimp, Genya Kosheleva and Alexander Tregubov, included Genya, in a supposed fit of jealousy having gone into my cellphone while I slept, called my wife and shared that number with Alexander, resulting in retrospectively Russian soap opera drama, that while criminal in intent and in realization, now seeming somewhat darkly comedic.
Further, after claiming Alexander had called on our sons phone, she changed her story and said he had called to her phone. I even recall that number as it is now and will likely forever be etched in my memory +7 921 097 1193. I don’t know about you, but if a supposed murderous pimp called my number, I’d get a new number. So why hadn’t she? She and he, they, had gotten lazy, not caring about keeping up with appearances having succeeded in getting me to divorce court, gaining for a time, sole custody of my son, and causing me to flee Russia.
Who could blame them?
Especially as I dug deep and found out that their portion, their roles, were actually quite small in a much larger and more foul conspiracy. One begun on American shores, not Russian.
A giveaway or rather a ‘tell’ in the supposed lover/pimp and prostitute relationship between Genya Kosheleva and Alexander Tregubov was that once I left Russia she had no more to do with him. I recall with accuracy the shows of ‘street theater’ the number of times we were all three present together. My poisoning in August 2011, later at a coffee shop on the first floor of the Russian apartment building on Marata Street that housed her 5th floor bordello.
Svetlana Chuloshnikova Macy, Nizhniy Novgorod, Russia, St. Petersburg, Russia, Moscow, Russia, Victor, NY
Ksenia Bezrukova Velazquez, Moscow, Russia, Las Vegas NV and almost Bangkok, Thailand
Ksenia Bezrukova Velazquez
Ksenia Bezrukova was working in a Russian massage parlor not far from a metro station. I went with an American expat I has met in Russia named Mike Hammond who might or might not have been CIA.
Ksenia was remarkable compared to the other young women working at the massage salon. Ethnically half Russian and half Turkmen she possessed a certain Asian beauty I found at least as attractive as Svetlana Chuloshnikova and likely moreso. She as breathtaking.
Ksenia's hair was cut short with highlights in the front.
She was young perhaps 19 or so and I selected her for my massage with happy ending.
Her body, her scent, her raspy voice and best of all her attitude attracted me and set her apart from the others. We met a few more times at the massage parlor.
The next time I was her client, I explored our sexuality and ordered another girl and laid on the bed with them as they masturbated each other. Very hot as I recall.
On that day I ended up penetrating Ksenia though this unintended and wonderful.
We emailed from time to time, met for sex in her flat and one time at a flat lent to me by J. Christian Moore, an American lawyer in Moscow likely CIA and part of the plot to kill Obama.
Ksenia achieved a level of notoriety in Russia appearing topless on Dom 2 (House 2), a Russian reality TV show in the mid 2000s.
Ksenia took a wealthy Spaniard as a lover for a time, though became impregnated by a US Marine, a Sergeant Velazquez while he was stationed in Moscow. Ksenia called me out of the blue to ask my advice on how to ensure his financial support as she new I was former US military. I was mildly surprised.
I was more surprised when Ksenia contacted me again after the birth of her daughter while I was in Thailand six years ago this month, June 2013. Ksenia offered to abandon her new born daughter to her mother and to join me in a new life in Bangkok. I thanked her and refused. It seemed odd, the vibe, her vibe, unnatural.
Ksenia is now married to that Velazquez and resides in Las Vegas. Was she an FSB trained Russian honey pot trap, a 'sparrow' destined to be aimed at a foreigner? I think so, and know more than a little in that area.
Polina Panfilova, Kemerovo, Russia and Moscow Russia
Evgenyia Viktorovna Kosheleva, Saint Petersburg, Russia
Albina Taptiga Putilina, Saint Petersburg, Russia and Podmoskovskiy, Russia
Bisexual amphetamine sulfate snorting tattooed prostitute now mother of a little boy.
Evgenyia Kritova, Saint Petersburg, Russia
Bisexual amphetamine sulfate snorting, hashish smoking lover of above mentioned Albina
Natalia Mishanova, Saint Petersburg, Russia
Katya Erokhina, Saint Petersburg, Russia
Viktoria Shatskaya, Saint Petersburg, Russia
Viktoria was and remains an attractive petite brunette Russis prostitute who worked under the name Maiya with Evgeniya Kosheleva at Marata Street 54. Viktoria still works part time as a prostitute out of her apartment having developed a loyal customer base.
We had sex one night at my place in early 2012 at no charge. Soft skin as I recall. Younger than Evgeniya but in no way hopeless as I incorrectly perceived Genya to be. Therefore I was not inclined to be driven to save her as I was with Ms Kosheleva.
Upon my return to Russia Viktoria and I met for coffee and she confirmed my suspicions as her role as a gangstalker by suggesting in manner off the cuff and unprompted, she'd like to die by a heroin overdose while driving a motorcyle at top speed.
This an attempt at planting a 'suicide' suggestion. Been there. Done that. A lot. Thanks to Canadian intelligence agent in Russia, Kyle Patching. Kyle Patching, Canadian CIA. CSIS. Mother of Christ.
Viktoria then made her next move attempting to nudge my mind in the direction of sex and drugs where when she again unprompted inquired as to my interest in a private movie theater, poppers, and cocaine while feigning enthusiastic interest in all three. Later when I inquired had she experience with the latter two of that list she said that she had only tried poppers once and hadn't really liked it.
We are amicable on What's App these days, exchanging cat photos, and I remain very, very wary of Viktoria.
Sue Nerwin, Stong Road, Victor, NY
Sue Nerwin was my realtor for the purchase, sale of a home at 1636 Shallow Creek Trail, Webster NY and another purchase at 1235 Honeysuckle Pass, Victor, NY.
Her husband Herb, a dentist who enjoys skiing with his son in Colorado, he from an earlier marriage, gave me a clue in late 2014 as I was leaving their lovely home.
As we walked on the stone driveway, Herb seemed excited wanting to share something juicy. He seemed barely able to constrain himself.
Herb made to me a comment out of blue about how one is better off screwing one sheep than many of them. He was so excited to share this point of view with me as though it were good gossip.
I had felt earlier from him a vibe that suggested he was overly excited that I had arrived as a guest in their home to see wife Sue.
This was an offhand reference to the approximately 400 women and several men I slept with in my 15 years in Russia up to that time. Herb had been briefed as had Sue with a 'parallel construction' by police in order to justify my gangstalking.
Sue also on two occassions attempted to persuade me that my former two time boss at Harris, Dana Mehnert had quit the company and gone elsewhere for employment. This was a fabrication as Dana remained with Harris and is now President of their Communications Division and enjoyed compensation of over $3,000,000 last year in salart, bonuses, and stock. And yes, Dana also a corrupt gangstalker. Ive posted about him separately in this blog. You can decide. I already know.
Sue Nerwin
Sue Nerwin
Alice Calabrese, Rochester, NY
Alice Calabrese, CEO Lollypop Farm, Fairport, NY
Alice was my last tenant at 1235 Honeysuckle Pass, Victor, NY in the two story, 3200 square feet home I once owned on 2 acres atop a hill just South of Rochester NY.
Alice, then as now, was CEO of Lollypop Farm, a dog and cat shelter that destroys unwanted animals while provides for option those that are wanted.
Alice had rented my home with her romantic partner Dylan Chase, a short man who for a time held a small ownership percentage in the Iron Butterfly, a Victor, NY Health Club now owned by Planet Fitness.
While in Virginia Beach, Nick Glamack, a Rochester NY area realtor who had been working as my property manager while I was away in Russia (this based on our gentleman's agreement that he would be my realtor in the event that I sold the property) called me to inform me that he had been contacted by the police and that they claimed Dylan Chase was a felon.
I thanked Nick, didn't really know what to make of this information, though did ask Nick for the police officer's contact information, this Nick had neglected to gather.
Dylan Chase, Felon
https://www.rochesterfirst.com/news/victor-man-under-arrest-for-impersonating-an-spca-officer/190148632
https://www.democratandchronicle.com/story/news/2014/04/16/dylan-chase-victor/7790239/
I left Virginia Beach in late July 2014 pursued by approximately 40 undercover FBI vehicles all the way through Maryland, Pennsylvania and into Western New York.
I arrived at the home I owned at 1235 Honeysuckle Pass in Victor NY and was met by Alice Calabrese my tenant, CEO of Lollypop Farm. The vibe was intense and weird.
In the rental contract I had agreed to two dogs and two cats on the premises and was met by five dogs and three cats, one blind.
Prudence Thomas Pease, Vermont
Prudence Thomas Pease
Prudence Thomas Pease
Prudence Thomas Pease
Prudence Pease was an Assistant Judge sitting in the Vermont Superior Court, Orange Unit, Orange County, Vermont.[1] She lost a bid for re-election in 2010 and will leave the court on January 31, 2011.[2][3]
Pease, an independent candidate, was defeated by Joyce Mckeeman and Victoria Weiss in the general election on November 2, 2010.[2][4]
https://www.ourherald.com/articles/legislators-demand-action-on-judge-prudence-pease/
https://www.ourherald.com/articles/judicial-conduct-board-disciplines-judge-pease/
Now let's get creepy. This goes back to Sacred Heart and a gal named Prudence Thomas. Later she got married and now has a last name of Pease. She was for a time elected as a judge in the State of Vermont.
As shown in the links above, you can find her on the internet, and besides the truths about her that I learned that are fairly dark and corrupt there is a side to Prudence that seems to want to help disadvantaged folk as she once was when in her teens and twenties.
I don't know too much about that, I do know about 2013 when she came at me hard.
In the fall of 2013, Prudence unexpectedly reached out to me by email and then by phone.
As the FBI was gangstalking me they made these calendar posts show up via remote control on a newly purchased Samsung tablet I had bought in Virginia. I was quite frightened at the time. I couldnt believe I was the subject of any sort of targeting, for who was I? In a few years I learned I am and have always been a manchurian candidate, programmed unsuccessfully by corrupt CIA and FBI to become a Timothy McVeigh like terror actor, in my case, and in the words of Egish Khachatrian, "Rick we will make you into this generation's Lee Harvey Oswald. We will get you and Obama too!"
Prudence and I during that winter of my discontent, 2013/14 had several what I considered intimate phone calls.
They were not.
It was simply more police entrapment. She would tell me things about how she saw my aura, drugs, and more all while offering that which a man apparently needs so much, sex. I suppose as regards gangstalking and entrapment, the classics are the best.
I didn't take the bait, though Prudence invited me to visit her in her Vermont home. Oddly she was and I believe remains married to a man now for reasons unknown to me an invalid. Weird scenes behind the gold mine, certainly.
Feeling a negative vibe I couldnt understand, I cut off all contact with Prudense Pease in late 2013. Not a moment too soon. Bet the FBI didnt tell her what they were really up to, bet they told her I was a really bad guy using a file based on 'parallel construction'.
FISA courts apparently work like that. Its a great business model. A little 9/11, and bang much bigger budgets to create the ultimate police state that is what Amerika is well on the road to becoming IMHO.
And I should know. I've done the hard yards.
Later in 2014, feeling I was under surveillance while renting a room at 3205 Sandfiddler Road, Virginia Beach from another FBI gangstalker, twice bankrupt, divorced, disabled Shari Faller, I bought a new Android Samsung tablet.
Immediately on the schedule meetings appeared for 'Pru', this short for Prudence in Odessa, Texas.
This a classic misdirect from FBI to get me looking in the wrong places. Those boys can hack anything I have since learned and so use no encryption, proton mail, etc. Its all a joke when they really want to watch you as they really want to watch me. Sometimes I put on a show for them to see what moves, where reactions come from.
I don't do that so much now, but can give credit to the Robert B. Parker novels I read as a kid featuring detective Spenser.
His tactic? Provoke the bad guys and see what happens. And this is what I did. And I found the bad guys. CIA. FBI. MI6. FSB. And more. And yes, Prudence Thomas Pease.
Kristen Mattson Johnson, Rochester, NY and Green Bay WI
Backpage girl from Rochester NY. I drove her home to Green Bay, WI compelled by two driving reasons. One, I wanted to make whoever watching me think I would visit the man who introduced me to MDMA, Mark Brady in Iron River, WI. The idea being to demonstrate how strong a hold the drugs Mark and Adam Stanhope had introduced me to had on me so as to get this opposing side, then unknown to me: criminals, Russian FSB, corrupt US officials to give them a sense of overconfidence so they might make their move and reveal themselves. Also I expected Svetlana to deliver on her Alexander Tregubov described plan of getting my US assets by sending my son to me as a weapon.
The other guiding force was compassion to remove this ocaine smoking, heroin injecting prostitute out of the bad part of Rochester and back to her parents in Green Bay.
Kristen had a boyfriend in jail and had scabs that she explained that she enjoyed picking at, and that as art of her sex work, she simply liked to watch while high.
She promised to go into a rehab should I agree to take her home. Heck of a drive there. Educational. Heck of a drive back a few days later.
Tara Parsons, Rochester, NY
Tara Parsons Backpage Photo, Rochester NY
Tara Parsons, Rochester NY Obituary
Samantha Corente, Denver CO
Andre'a last name forgotten, Denver, CO
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