Today December 7th. Pearl Harbor Day to many, the day I set foot on my one and only US Navy ship in 1985. And today I learned my blog is mostly correct. Not that I thought it wasn't.

Long story.  How to shorten it while keeping the reader's interest. 

If you've read my blog posts about my being targeted, then you have an idea of what I have experienced. 

Goes way back.  But let's dare to venture to that summer of 1995.  I was 31, had a good job at Harris Corp. as a European Sales Manager.  

I travelled a lot, 30 to 40% of the time.  Made me a top salesman but at an ignoble cost.  Took me years to stray guiltily from my 1st wife, Christine Ryan.  She an orphan but adopted by a well off New England couple, Don and Mary Ryan.  She was the eldest of 3 adopted sisters.  We went to high school together and I got her an afterschool job at a Drive In movie theater.  Loved her and that place.

Accordingly, I developed a crush on her as she was one of the prettiest girls in our class.  She came to have interest in me only years later while serving in the Navy.  I had filled out and were my hair short.  We would write love letter back and forth.

I had put on muscle weight which kept me from becoming skinny again for roughly 20 years, when poisoned by a Russian named Alexander Valerievich Tregubov in August 2011.  Posted here.  Part of the same story.

Back to the tale at hand.  One night away on travel in Caracas, Venezuela I responded to an escort ad with great trepidation, even fear.

She arrived.  She told me she was from the Dominican Republic and I forget what I paid, and we had sex, cheap and glorious.  And filled me with guilt, self hatred for I had broken my marriage vows to Christine.  But the sex so good.

I recall Christine and my first sexual engagement in a motel in Manomet, MA.  Premarriage.  Never felt the peace I felt that evening after enjoying relations with a woman, especially one whom I loved.  Christine.  Sent red roses for ten years after I abandoned her.  I still loved her but was driven to expĺorethe world.  And explore I did; 70 countries.

We had good years together, she laughed at my jokes, we usually climaxed together, saw movies, got jobs and mortgages.

We spent Christmas at both our parents as they lived in neighboring towns, Plymouth and Kingston MA.  A good life.  But I recall thinking this is it, her bitchy mom every holiday season, no can do, must escape.

This was complicated further when I received a job offer from Harris Corp. In Rochester NY, landscape from the traffic of DC.  Christine, an AA degreed secretary easily enough found a job at Bausch and Lomb.  She hated the job.  Thought it would be different.  This hurt.  I left a job I loved, was good at it, had exchanged a warm friendly boss, Rob Busch, for a cold but more efficient boss, Dana Mehnert. And I thought to myself if Christine were always to be miserable due to work and me gone a third of the time, what was the point?  I was younger, cowardly and left for Svetlana and an exciting cell phone start up in Siberia.   Captured the imagination.  Svetlana a wild thing though beautiful growing up Soviet.  In addition to prostitution she engaged in other crimes that may well have resulted in deceased victims.  Another tale, another time.

After my 6 yearstintin the Navy, I had gotten hired as a technical trainer by the company that made the spy receiver that listened to the infamous Watergate hotel bug, the Watkins-Johnson company.  A place of legend cast off by the cruelties of M&A based capitalism.  

I loved my job as a trainer, got to train the Finnish Air Force while we still were in the Cold War of 1990.  So yes I can say I saw the USSR, what is today Estonia.  I also trained Isralis, Singaporean Chinese, and Malaysians.

That trip to Russia was remarkable for me as it was my first time in the recovering Soviet drama.  I had just been in the company of far too many men for far too long.  Prior to the Russia trip 2 weeks at HF95, a Nordic conference locaated on the Faroe Islands on the state of radio communications around the world.  We attended in the role of manufacturer.

And so back alone n Russia, I ventured back into the exciting and dangerous world of prostitution.

A gorgeous blue grey set of eyes appeared supported by dimples, luscious lips, these in comparison to Christine's rather thin set.  Her name Svetlana Borisovna Chuloshnikova. Living on Vaneeva street in Nizniy Novgorod, perhaps her 3rd largest city.

And a body for porn.  And for $100 our relationship began.  She as whore, me as John.  She was beautiful and exotic, unusually good looking by even Russian standards.

I took her to dinner at a place callled 'Houston's' on the upper bank of the Volga afterwards.

 I even had the courage to invite her to join me on a trip by train the following day to Moscow.

Funny the decisions made when full of confidence.

She agreed.  I thought I was something, certainly making up for lost time as I dedicated to my education and the Navy had little time for women.

We went to Mocow, had sex on the train.   She 20, me 31.  Parents divorced I learned and she was trained as a nurse.  Her English like my Russian nonexistent.

I fell hard.  Didn't want to cheat on Christine.  Hated Christmas with her parents though I admired her father Don.

I changed jobs from W-J to Harris foregoing the far east and 3 week business trips for European travel and shorter trips.  I wanted to be a decent husband to Christine, but meeting Svetlana in Nizhny Novgorod changed all that.

Perhaps it was the influence of 'My Fair Lady' or 'Man of La Mancha' which I still love, its rousing music.  Men saving women.  And perhaps by abandoning her, the only woman I saved in this life was Christine.

I had learned I was reportedly the final of Svetlana's 75 clients.  True or not I can't say.  Could be a legend.

I found a job in Russia, almost too easily for this was 1996.  Today the business is called Tele2.  I abandoned my wife lying it was only 2 years.  The contract was, my intent wasn't.  I was in full pursuit of Svetlana.

We moved in together, at 1st in Moscow in the winter of 1996/7, and from there to Siberia for my work.

I knew she didn't care for me, but thought in time we would know one another and love would grow.  I was wrong.  She had, unbeknownst me, masters.

In April 1998 we moved to another job in Saint Petersburg.  We had friends, were popular and I made a decent wage.

Christine ultimately divorced me for abandonment.  I was later told I had broken her heart, but I decided this path of risk to escape American middle class life.

And the people, expats mostly, I'd meet, so interesting.  Only in December 2015 would then divorced Svetala smile on Skype and ask me 'didn't you know your friends were 80% spies of differing nationalities?'

I had not even suspected, for who was I?  No one.

I have posted a list in this blog of those I believe were involved in the operation about yet which we have to speak in this post, and their national security organization employers, CIA, FBI, MI6, CSIS and more.  Google Ole Dammegard and YouTube.  His is the closest paradigm to what I experienced being targeted.

They call them red sparrows, girls like my Svetlana.  Met another of which I know, Anna Chapman in Moscow 2 years before the FBI arrested her.  

In time I knew something wasn't right.  We didnt get along apparently had different agendas.  I wanted to build a career; she a family and perhaps not with me.

To that end Christmas 1999 she removed without discussion her IUD.  Oh how we argued about abortion.  I pushed hard as I was about to dump Svetalana for reasons more sensed than understood.

We went to the clinic.  She entered the room.  I would have none of it and grabbed her by the hand to leave that foul place.

Parents we would be.  I thought in time I would somehow come to terms with that which I didn't understand in our poor relationship, thinking it cultural, not understanding till years later how wrong I was.

We called our son Nicholas, born on September 15, 2000, now 20.  He was a joy to be around and I moved him and Svetlana to New York State with my former employer Harris Corp.  We lived there in a big house on 2 acres and Nick started school.

I ended up as Director of Sales for Latin America, had no friends, one big project, and couldn't wait to leave.

Round peg, square hole I guess or something of that sort.

I started a Moscow based corporate sales training company from my basement in NY.  The business went well clearing over $120,000 in its first six months.  I trained in Russian in Russia working out things that had bothered me with teachers I considered inferior in high school.

I was highly rated in 6 dimensions by my students and averaged a 9.5 of 10.  Work wise I was happy, busy.

My concern, greatest of all was travelling so much as to be a poor father.  Svetlana made efforts, getting him in swim classes, karate, and art classes.

She spoiled him routinely, a habit I would continue after our set up 2012 divorce, and I gained custody in the US on December 4, 2014.

Within weeks I knew his mother had sent him as a secret weapon against me.  His task? Get me arrested and jailed.  There I would be shanked, Nicolas inheriting my 100s of 1000s of dollars, which as a minor would fall under Svetĺana's purview. Before leaving Russia my poisoner Alexander Valerievich Tregubov informed me fraudulently he was set to kidnap and kill me (this accounted for my vacating Russia in October 2013).  My wife told me of his call and later lied saying there was no call and I had left on my own.  Alexander also informed me that Svetlana had a plan to gain control of my US assets she did not gain in our divorce, while perhaps needed, was long term grift.  She would have what she desired, a healthy son, and the riches of a dead husband and another chance at Tregubov.

The last I saw of him was a thoughtless 8th of May congratulations in spring 2017, after we supposedly reconciled.  Made me feel the fool.  I knew returning to Russia a risk, but I had hoped we might be as never before, family. I was wrong.

Sveta set me up for visits to the psych ward when I complained of cameras in our apartment.  Nearly died from anti-depressants.   Never again.  They pushed anti-psychotics on me hard.  I refused settling for the benzo Phenezepam.  Help me sleep.

Now back to the crux of the tail.

You see on June 20, 2014 while attempting to reconcile with Svetlana and Nick, she made the unexpected confession on phone that she and Tregubov had been lovers earlier, though due to a war wound suffered in Chechnya could father no children that Svetlana so desperately wanted.  He told me this the day he poisoned my beer.  Far too cheerful in retrospect.

And in stepped I.  An unsuspecting  American target.

Svetlana admitted in this Virginia Beach to Russia long distance call, she never loved me, she wanted a child by me, and the physical comfort that I could provide.  She claimed that she and Tregubov monitored my whereabouts, phone calls, internet access from 1997.  Can't do that without being state players.  So my wife a plant and a criminal.  She denies it now.And yet she slips up.

This helped explain why Russian spy Anna Chapman came on to me in Moscow in 2008 and why senior NCIS agent Doug Boyce explained unasked that he had been an American spy in Russia when we knew each other in 1999/2000.  

But I had neither a fabled 'need to know' nor an active security clearance at that time though held Secret Clearance while in the Navy from 1984 to 1990, so my radar went off seeing something not correct in what Doug said.  But why would Doug lie?  Time would show.

This also helped me understand the unexplained fire of the roof roof our home at Kamennoostrovskiy Prospect 35/75 on May 29th, 2009.  This being JFK's birthday. Likely CIA agent Jason Smolek gave that gem in order to frighten.  This I conjecture was to be blamed on me had been successfully been set up as a patsy by our dishonorable security services. 

Further a year earlier I failed a drug test popping positive for the use of Amphetamine Sulfate.  I had never used that material at that time.  The doctor let me retake the test in some weeks.  All good.  More back story  for corrupt FBI.

In 2014 while Virginia Beach guest of aforementioned Mr. Boyce he bragged how law enforcement officials would falsify evidence if their project so required.  I suspect my false positive was to give FBI the notion I was a user or drugs.

Not until I was as mentioned above poisoned in August 2011 and my mother's passing the next month I ventured into debauchery realizing life was not so long.

I had a satisfactory and interesting corporate career, made over US1.2M as CEO of Yellow Pages Russia selling in 2008.

Back to Svetlana's deception removing her IUD without informing me, and not wanting more than one child I basically killed our sex life, a symptom of a larger disease of mistrust.  I recall the last time we had sex, 2012.

Since our 2016/2017 reconciliation knowing what I know and recall of her deception the most affection displayed in this home there occasional hug or back rub.  Sad the fruit of dishonesty.

So the 2012 divorce, brought on by a combination of mother's passing, a poor relationship with Svetlana, fears of my own mortality since my poisoning by Tregubov and 19 year old divorce bait, Genya.  

What would be my tale at those gates most golden? I had helped change this ladies life at my cost, little to her.  She had gotten pregnant at 14 or 15; the cards truly stacked against her.  In any case as to golden gates, inspired by my poisoning and my mother's death, I believed then.  I do not now.

Experience showed me what a social control crock religion and churches are.  Just like the Boy Scouts of America.

I still recall Alexander Tregubov bragging as to how easy it is to murder someone.   I thought it strange then; no better now since senior NCIS agent Doug Boyce confirmed via colleague Dan Mead, Head of Security of Marsh and McClellan's London office through his connections with the Saint Petersbug 'Crimes against Foreigners division' office that indeed Tregubov poisoned me, weighing still ingrained. The police offered to start an investigation into Tregubov for US$3000.  I paused, thought, and declined.

After my mother's passing and having made some money; I gave into my Christian upbringings.  Why I had so much and others so little, especially this waif like prostitute I had taken too, Evgeniya Victorovna Kosheleva of Angren, Uzbekistan.  I decided being miserable with Svetlana I would extend my umbrella, get her out of the whore house and into University.  Boy was I wrong.  

A middle class life and a life of poverty exhume far different mentalities, from my experience; unbridgeable.

Evgeniya had been brought to Russia by human trafficker, Egish Kharchatrian, pal of Alexander Tregubov who claimed to be Genya's lover and pimp.  Both lies I would learn in the fall of 2013 but for the fall of 2011 and all of 2012 I was played.

I would learn that Tregubov was sited twice affectionately with Svetlana in my flat.   Witnesses, Albina Tapriga and Vladimir Soloviev.

Likely MI-6 agent in Russia, Adrian Terris advised me to read 'Master and Margarita' which he said demonstrated why best not to take people at face value and be very wary.

Our apartment in Russia has been repaired many times at no cost.  I suspect Tregubov, as he runs a small construction company, in coordination with corrupt police.  Sveta this denies.

A few weeks ago I awoke at 3.  Something didn't feel right.  And on the kitchen table were two packs of cigarettes, one labelled A-PVP, the other Kent.  A trap set by wife and associates.  I miscalculated thing she had planted these drugs in order to get me a 14 year sentence in a Russian jail.  She had actually hoped I would smoke, go into psychosis and off for a month at the psychological hospital.  I miscalculated, drew a knife and decided I'd rather die than experience Russian jail.  I woke her at six to describe what I had found and in typical fashion she gaslit me, denied, and for the first time ever went out for cigarettes are 6:30 a.m. and returned ever so quickly with emergency rescue workers.   Imagine responsive Russian emergency workers.  The set up reeked.  How she knew I had locked self in bathroom and decided to end this game.  Blood everywhere.  The cops broke in, beat me into submission abandoning my death quest.  The next day Svetlana thoroughly washed the floor and changed the bed coverings without a word.

After my self inflicted wounds healed, the main psychologist, the one who gives out pills willy, said there were no drugs and I had hallucinated.  I thought how would he know? For he was not there. While my opinion of psychiatry is quite low, I quickly agreed (this a lie), thanked him in order to escape after a 33 day stay.  

For his voiced logic was if there were drugs it would have become an issue with police, unless of course the police had planted for effect as part of a long term strategy.  Seems he is unfamiliar with corruption.

Svetlana's plan was get me to the mental hospital, have oddball druggies reach out offering friendship.  For lack of anything else to do (and there is nothing but 3 meals and 10 smoke breaks) I started asking about pot but was presented with A-pvp by fellow inmate Misha Glinik.

I'll say this for the Russians they are covert, sly, and long term.

Later, after my son out of hatred for Russia tried bath salts A-pvp.  Didn't sleep 9 days.  Went psychotic.  I have my phenezepam prescription to keep me balanced. He does not.  Wife sent him to detox, good idea, then back to his third six month rehab, bad idea.  Think this time I'll not pay.

To test a theory that I live under corrupt police surveillance I purchased a gram of A-pvp from a man I do not know, got rid of his contact details.  Sure enough Sveta knew.  I followed up the next day with more of the same and just as the cigarettes had appeared my bed was covered then as now with a-pvp crystals.  

This time however Sveta admitted it and showed me points in the flat where bath salts have either been planted or a facsimile.   What a way to truth.   More to follow.  She was frightened and referred to a 'they' who could do whatever they like with our Russian apartment.

I don't like being gaslighted so much by her.  I find it hard to speak for her.  Let her keep her lies.  After all they were out to assassinate Obama, some things better off as national secrets.  

Feel for Lee Harvey Oswald, Tim McVeigh, Sirhan Sirhan, Omar Gonzalez, subtly pushed by government paid gangstalkers into the roles of what our masses consider criminals.  I suspect the truth is far more complex.  False flags on major and minor scales.  Gulf of Tonkin. JFK.  9/11.  This recent Biden Trump bit of Democratic voting corruption.  And so much more about which we know nothing.

Damn.

Damn her.