Feelings, Thoughts and Memories and a Failed Assassination Attempt

Feelings, Thoughts and Memories and a Failed Assassination Attempt

My heart is broken and has been for several years.

Why?

I learned that my poisoning in August 2011 while in a Russian banya by Alexander Valerievich Tregubov was not an isolated incident but part of a larger and somewhat unbelievable transnational psy op.  I was targeted and gangstalked to be manipulated into the role of patsy for a presidential assassination attempt that failed.  The attempt was planned, plotted to occur between 2011 and 2014.  The big idea was kill Obama, install Biden, and blame me.  Yes, I know what that sounds like.  When you have been on this path, my path, you learn to speak the truth regardless of your feelings and all else.  There is no other way to survive, no half measures, no lies.

Alexander Valerievich Tregubov

He poisoned me in Russia in August 2011

Think about it, why didn't Biden run?  The answer I believe in is that he didn't think he'd have to.  Not that politicians convenient lie about the death of his son.  Recall Joe Biden was the buffoon who presented the Patriot Act bill before 9/11.  Not a nice man by most jeasures, certainly by mine.

I learned I've been targeted from birth by CIA and their sister agencies, and I admit this revelation was unfun.  Long story.  So many stories.  Some of which I share here, with you, in this, my blog. This blog, a result of being banned by facebook nine times, each time for thirty days.  Funny, since I started my blog a few months back, no more facebook bans....

I moved to Russia in 1996 after a short, though arguably a successful career at Harris Corp. as an international sales manager, achieving sales in 1996 of $6.5 million, making me the number two international sales manager as measured in this manner.  I was pursing a woman, this as men sometimes do, a Russian beauty named Svetlana Borisovna Chuloshnikova, born and raised poor, as many Soviets were, in Gorkiy, USSR.  We met when Svetlana knocked on my hotel room door and offered herself to me, at 21, for the meager price of $100. And thus began our relationship now stretching over 20 years, and a son.  I also learned from our divorce, a fake death threat and a revealing phone call of June 20, 2014 that as we began our relationship, she nadn't loved me, but wanted a child, and her preferred suitor, the aforementioned Tregubov could not impregnate her, this due to a war wound he suffered in Chechnya, as he told me on that fateful day when he poisoned me.  As to the poisoning, nothing fatal, just a psy op, one that had me lose 40 pounds in a month.  I thought I was dying, for my paradigms of what was and had been going on in my life were wildly innacurate.

Svetlana Borisovna Chuloshnikva Macy and Me

This poisoning and my holding my 79 year old mother's hand as she died the next month, September 2011, due to complications due to COPD, pushed my buttons hard, so hard.  Due to these two events I decided to save or rescue another prostitute, this one even poorer than Svetlana had been, as she grew up on the dangerous outskirts of what was once tbe Soviet empire, in Angren, Uzbekistan.  Her name was and remains Evgeniya Viktorovna Kosheleva.  And we met in a bordello.  And for a time, I was madly in love with her and with her desperation.

At first I had no problems seeing her once a week, payjng 2000 rubles and fucking her and my brains out.  Loved it, if to speak honestly, and that is the only way I can speak, knowing what I know, trying to share all that I learned.  She was 19, slim, tight body, snarky attitude, and desperate, just as I apparently preferred my women in those days.  We met in the late summer of 2010 in a bordello within walking distance of the Saint Petersburg Russia Sennaya Ploschad metro station.

Evgeniya, of Genya as I came to know her, had moved there from Uzbekistan where she and her family were desperately poor, screwed for her supper, lived at the bordello, and sent remittances back to her mother Elena to assist in the care and feeding of her young son, Andrei, whom she birthed at about 15, the result supposedly of her whoring in Tashkent at that young age.

Evgeniya Viktorovna Kosheleva of Angren, Uzbekistan

All this of course beyond the pale for most middle class Americans, those raised like me on 'Gilligan's Island' and 'Hogan's Heroes' reruns.  I got over my upbringing by joining the Navy, seeing the world, and later working in the American defense industry, these things leading me to what some might consider a successul career in Russian telecommunications. Along the way, I made some money, enjoyed sex, became a father, and became more than a little jaded.

Little did I know, I was little more than a pigeon following breadcrumbs, those breadcrumbs having been laid out by the CIA, in order to, a la Timothy McVeigh or Myron May, to turn me into a patsy for a horrible terror event.  Google Ole Dammegard YouTube for some good presentations on this topic.  Ole is correct, I found out.  Wish I hadn't.

Back in 2008 in Moscow, while I worked as CEO of the Yellow Pages of Russia a large breasted redheaded girl arrived uninvited and unannounced to my office and came on to me.   Her name was Anna Chapman, and in two years time she was arrested by the FBI in New York City, accused of being a Russian spy.  Anna was later traded for Sergei Skrivopal who was later poisoned while in the UK, novichok was the poison he was fed.

Poisons.  A nasty business.  I still don't know what poison Alexander Valerievich Tregubov fed me in the beer he cheerfully offered me in August 2011.  I do know that senior NCIS agent Doug Boyce confirmed to me in 2014 that I had been poisoned by Mr. Tregubov.  Doug confirmed this to me via his fellow veteran Daniel Mead, Head of Security for the Marsh and McClellan London office via his contacts with the Saint Petersburg Russia poloce department.  Doug then offered for the sum of $3000 I could interest those same police in pursuing and arresting Mr. Tregubov.  However, by then, I had understood that Doug Boyce was not what he attempted to appear to be.

A few weeks earlier in 2014 NCIS agent Doug Boyce announced to me in his garage, unasked, that he had been an American spy in Russia where we had become acquainted in 1999, 15 years earlier.  In telling me this, Doug went against two rules with which I was familiar, due to my time in the service, where I had held a Secret clearance.  Doug told me he was a spy.  Certainly this was classified and I had 1. neither an active security clearance, nor 2. a 'need to know'.  This bothered me.  The question as to why he had told me this, being at that time a GS15 in the Naval Investigative Service, sat in my head, until some weeks after my fateful two phone calls back to Russia from Virginia Beach.

The first was with an Armenian Russian I had met in Saint Petersburg Russia named Egish Kharchatrian.  In that phone call he told me, "Rick we will turn you into this generation's Lee Harvey Oswald.  We will get you and Obama too!" Imagine my surprise.  And my horror.  The second phone call was with my then exwife Svetlana, the girl who had knocked on my hotel room door in Nizhniy Novgorod in the summer of 1995.  She told me that she had never loved me, she had only been with me as I could impregnate her while her preferred suitor Alexander Valerievich Tregubov could not, and that they had been monitoring my whereabouts, e-mails, internet access, and phone calls since my move to Russia in 1996.  I was simultaneously relieved and horrified for so many questions as to our failed relationship had been answered in a moment.  My thoughts were a jamble, all over the place as it was as if I had stepped out of my life and into a bad spy novel.

The day after my phone call with Svetlana I began to be pursued and harrassed by what I learned in time were ten FBI undercover vehicles.  The next day this increased to twenty and the day after, forty.  Sounds unbelievable?  I thought so too, though in retrospect, and with knowlege gained in the years after those horrifying days of summer 2014, understand now how FBI gangstalks targets under the authorization of the 'Patriot Act', this legislation based on the complex lie that had been 9/11.  I didn't know it then, but know it now, only all too well, that I was then as now, under corrupt police surveillance.

I then understood how and why she, Svetlana, Kharchatrian, and Tregubov, with support from Ms. Kosheleva, who had helped lead me to 2012 divorce, had made that October 2013 false death threat against me, resulting in my running from Russia for the States that month.

Svetlana had let it slip that Tregubov had graduated from one of the four FSB academies of Moscow specializing in psy ops.  This, at the time I could not understand, for it sounded as though she admired him.  She was proud as her local Nizhniy Novgorod boyfriend had escaped her hometown for the bright lights of Moscow.  He portrayed himself to be the lover and pimp of Ms. Kosheleva, the whore for whom I had fallen, and had sworn in my desperation having lost my mother in that fall of 2011 to rescue from life in a bordello and prostitution.  I had been played, magnificently.

As I unwound all that had been wound so tightly,  I learned that I was far deeper in the muck than I understood, as all my American, British, Canadian, German, Norwegian, and New Zealand ex-pat pals, had been far different than I had understood living in Russia from 1996 to 2003, and again from 2006 to 2013, were in the employ of various national security agencies, CIA, MI6, CSIS and others.  Svetlana confirmed this in December 2015 in our first Skype video phone call for quite some time as she asked me with a smile, "Rick didn't you know that 80% of your expat friends in Russia were intelligence agents?"

I didn't.

I learned they were as I began to receive NLP coded suicide messages from fat Canadian pal and likely CSIS agent in Russia, Kyle Patching, and from likely CIA agent Paul Leonard.  My world had been turned upside down.  To date only Doug Boyce has admitted to me being a spy who had targeted me.  NCIS agent Doug Boyce confirmed this the morning he called me after I spent the night in his 313 Sage Road, Virginia Beach, VA driveway, when he told me first, that he was a policeman, that I hadn't been being followed by 40 undercover FBI agents (this an attempt to misdirect me), and that I had misperceived much of my entire life.

Doug had a few weeks earlier posed the question that still rings in my head, 'What juice is worth the squeeze?' as I shared with him in confidence what Egish and Svetlana had told me, that and that I was being pursued by forty vehicles of then unknown origin.  Doug told me to drive fast, take frequent left turns, and take pictures of these pursuing vehicles and e-mail those photos to him for his 'analysis'.  And so I did.

Along the way, two other likely CIA agents I had met in Russia, Jason Smolek and Jeff Letino, offered their services in assisting me to locate my then 13 year old son, Nicholas, missing along with my then ex-wife Svetlana.  She had taken him to Malta without my knowledge, having threatened to extort from me the half of my Russian apartment that she had not been awarded in our 2012 divorce.  Her threat was simple, give her the other half or never see my son again.  She threatened to disappear into the wilds of Russia.  A wonderful misdirect as she then made her way to the Mediterranean isle of Malta, and attempted to pursuade him to move there, and thereby disappear from my purview.

Jason came out of the blue, offering to go into Russia in an effort to locate them.  I had met Jason in Moscow a few years earlier while he worked as an analyst for J'son and Partners, a Moscow based consulting company, set up by Swede Karl Johannson.  Jason, though I didn't take him up on his offer, gave me a nugget which I hold on to this day.  And what was that?  The relevance of the date May 29, 2009.  This was the date of a mysterious and as yet unsolved roof fire in the building at Kamennoosteovskiy Prospekt 35 in Saint Petersburg Russia.

Jason told me this was JFK's birthday.  Oh my God.  This clicked.  I was being set up.  Oh my God.  It all then fell into place rapidly.  I was to be set up, this fire, a la Notre Dame, which happened a few years later, but like that fire had been set by scurrilous security forces, and was to be blamed on me, posthumously.  Damn.

The final piece that came into play was the event in the White House in the fall of 2014, when Army veteran, Omar Gonzalez, scrambled over the fence at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue to make his way, knife in pocket into the White House.  I had my answer to Doug Boyce's question, 'What juice is worth the squeeze?'  It all made sense, became clear and was horrifying beyond measure.  I had been victimized to become a patsy in a US presidential assassination attempt.  My God.

I had dodged, weaved, and learned.  I lived under FBI surveillance in the US from October 2013 to December 2016.  And I had survived, amd live to tell you this tale.  I learned of the paradigm of the targeted individual and gangstalkers, terms like 'street theater', 'directed conversation', 'parallel construction' and 'managed aggression'.  I was arrested on a fraudulent child endangerment charge, the charge since discharged, my record remaining clean.  I escaped corrupt FBI coverup attempts in Denver, Colorado in 2016, met undercover agent, masquerading as a fervent Trump campaigner Coy Ebell and others.  Memories indeed.

Feelings, thoughts, and memories remain, as do I.  ))