Summer of 2014
I remember that summer of 2014. I had left Russia under a fraudulent death threat some months earlier, back in October of 2013.
Recently I was interviewed as to what I believe was and remains a larger matter. The interview was on YouTube and carried live. It brought back memories and with them of course, emotions. Fear. Wonder. Other stuff as well no doubt should I care to consider it further.
The matter we discussed online seemed fantastic to me and remains so even now nearly five years later from that most dramatic, frightening and revealing of summers, that summer of 2014.
Using self as bait, especially upon my departure from the Norfolk/Virginia Beach area late that summer, I learned of how many layers are required for our security services to create a 'patsy' for a terror event. In this case, my case, an assassination plot that failed.
You ever wonder why Joe Biden didn't run for president? I don't. I got that glimpse behind the curtain and learned that the paradigm, the narrative, espoused by Dane Ole Dammegard is accurate and reflects all that I experienced and learned in those years, especially 2014.
One woman read my high level summary online, here on fb, and used kind word, called me brave. I think she is right, that her use of this term was correct, and I appreciated that small bit of recognition contained in her post. I look back. Was I brave? I had few choices, some money in the bank, and my parents blood flowing through my veins.
I learned on June 20th 2014, that my Russian exwife had conspired with the Russian man who had poisoned me in August 2011, Alexander Valerievich Tregubov, to lead me into divorce with able assistance from other Russians, Egish Khachatrian and Evgeniya Viktorovna Kosheleva come to mind immediately, he an ethnic Armenian, and she while Russian from far away Uzbekistan.
I recall the long distance phone call in which she admitted her relationship with this Tregubov and more. I was in one sense relieved, so many questions from so many years answered in a moment. Why our relationship from the beginning to that point was doomed to fail (we have since had something resembling a reconciliation and have even remarried. How do you like them beans?)
And the day after this revelation, the next stage of the complex plan to drive me, like a fox chased by hounds, to a place unexpected. Ten cars began to follow and harass me. The next day 20 cars. The day after, twice that, forty.
My perceived savior, senior agent of the NCIS Douglas Boyce, in whom I'd confide again and again, told me take pictures of those cars and email him for his 'analysis'. And so I did. I post a few of those shots here today. Why? Sometime now in 2019 I feel like a cat with a hairball that requires coughing up. Cough. Cough.
Recently I was interviewed as to what I believe was and remains a larger matter. The interview was on YouTube and carried live. It brought back memories and with them of course, emotions. Fear. Wonder. Other stuff as well no doubt should I care to consider it further.
The matter we discussed online seemed fantastic to me and remains so even now nearly five years later from that most dramatic, frightening and revealing of summers, that summer of 2014.
Using self as bait, especially upon my departure from the Norfolk/Virginia Beach area late that summer, I learned of how many layers are required for our security services to create a 'patsy' for a terror event. In this case, my case, an assassination plot that failed.
You ever wonder why Joe Biden didn't run for president? I don't. I got that glimpse behind the curtain and learned that the paradigm, the narrative, espoused by Dane Ole Dammegard is accurate and reflects all that I experienced and learned in those years, especially 2014.
One woman read my high level summary online, here on fb, and used kind word, called me brave. I think she is right, that her use of this term was correct, and I appreciated that small bit of recognition contained in her post. I look back. Was I brave? I had few choices, some money in the bank, and my parents blood flowing through my veins.
I learned on June 20th 2014, that my Russian exwife had conspired with the Russian man who had poisoned me in August 2011, Alexander Valerievich Tregubov, to lead me into divorce with able assistance from other Russians, Egish Khachatrian and Evgeniya Viktorovna Kosheleva come to mind immediately, he an ethnic Armenian, and she while Russian from far away Uzbekistan.
I recall the long distance phone call in which she admitted her relationship with this Tregubov and more. I was in one sense relieved, so many questions from so many years answered in a moment. Why our relationship from the beginning to that point was doomed to fail (we have since had something resembling a reconciliation and have even remarried. How do you like them beans?)
And the day after this revelation, the next stage of the complex plan to drive me, like a fox chased by hounds, to a place unexpected. Ten cars began to follow and harass me. The next day 20 cars. The day after, twice that, forty.
My perceived savior, senior agent of the NCIS Douglas Boyce, in whom I'd confide again and again, told me take pictures of those cars and email him for his 'analysis'. And so I did. I post a few of those shots here today. Why? Sometime now in 2019 I feel like a cat with a hairball that requires coughing up. Cough. Cough.
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