Thinking I had better get some advice about my standing within the intelligence and ops communities because of my identity being stolen by the dark side some 40 years ago (even as early as mid 1976), I put on some hundreds of miles on the vehicle late last night, and had a four hour chat about it with “The Guy,” a close friend. The only person in the world who knows as much as “The Guy” about black ops / black sites / compartmentalization of programs / and who knows what or who doesn’t have a clue is the actual Chairman of the Joint Chiefs himself (but not the others), and only because “The Guy” was able to get around to telling him about it, usually so as to have him make a decision about something. What. An. Eye. Opener. Did I ever say that nothing but nothing is ever as it seems? Oh my… So very many layers of deception and not just plausible, but real, actual deniability…
“The Guy” described in detail what it means to be red-flagged for protection (as I have been for all these decades) in a world where details about that flagging are not accessible to anyone, except perhaps two people, maybe three. Even those providing protection, ordering that protection, making it happen, haven’t a clue about why. No one would know what the real story is (whatever dumb thing I say). They don’t know if I’m a good guy or a bad guy (sometimes bad guys must also be protected at any cost). It’s ordered and it happens, usually for life. Of course, there’s a downside to all this regarding accountability. But “The Guy” mentioned who my insurance policy was, the very person who stole my identity forty years ago so as to commit crimes everywhere in my name. He said I needed to go have a chat with him, explaining the matter with a bit more clarity, making sure he knows what the stakes are, perhaps more than he could imagine. I haven’t seen this fellow in decades. The last time was in maximum security prison in Mexico. Fine. I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile…
Meanwhile, switching gears, kind of, “The Guy” said he had heard I was shooting a little to the left, a little South (my failures are famous), and so he proceeded to give me some advice about shooting. I listened with great interest, as this guy is the best shot in the world. Example: there was a normal 300 point course set up a while back, to which the best of the best shots of all the agencies and branches of the military and services and departments came. It was a competition among themselves right here in North Carolina. Mind you, the FBI, CIA, BATFE, and on down the line, all have really good shooters, really good. “The Guy” was there, but just as a spectator with the highest brass, quite the event, really. One shooter couldn’t make it, and so a General asked him to fill in, with “The Guy” complaining that he was totally out of practice and so was unprepared, but he followed orders. He easily won, especially putting them all to shame with the ten minutes for ten shots segment with the target being 100 yards out. He just pumped out ten shots in as many nano-seconds. Afterward, they all gathered around, gaping at him like he was some sort of preternatural being, asking how he did what he did, seeming not to aim at all. He responded to their inquiry by saying that he was out for the kill, not a target, and he always fires that way when it’s all about a kill. (Yikes!)
And now we have that which separates the best from the mediocre, the proper use of adrenaline. Adrenaline, it is said by instructors, is the enemy of rationality, “so just be more careful” is the advice on how to fight the effects of adrenaline. That is just so wrong. Use the effects of adrenaline. That’s why they are there. The world does crunch down to just what is before you and only in that second, so that your senses shut down and you actually momentarily lose a huge percentage of your strength (until your own firing starts). However, this is not so that you don’t think clearly, but that you concentrate everything that you have on just the matter at hand, so that even time slows down almost to a standstill. Here’s his description of a kill which, for his particular interest in questioning whatever terrorist, involves not killing, but utterly incapacitating the individual, shooting around any ballistic vest, first a leg, then a shoulder, then the other shoulder, then each hip, mixing up the order depending on circumstances, but all in just a second, before the bad guy can even fall to the ground, with the time passing seeming to be ten seconds.
And then “The Guy” gave me his Sig Sauer p226 so as to show me a few things with grip and trigger pulls and sighting and drawing and stance, so very different on so many points with what so many others have told me. What brought this all together is what we spoke about next…
We spoke of prayer. We spoke of honesty before what happens with one’s emotions during a “kill.” We spoke of prayer again. We spoke of transitioning into the “kill” zone in the nano-second that that takes, and what that takes, emotionally, physically, spiritually, instead of remaining in a mere “hit the target” zone. He described what this means for “what’s next.” There’s only a “what’s next” when your in the “kill” zone. You’ll never make it to “what’s next” if you’re in the “hit the target” zone. We spoke of prayer again. I remain deeply impressed.
Then the conversation switched back to my identity drama. If it all goes South, like my shooting (for now), he delineated what my death would be like, with the red flags disappearing some months previously, then a “heart attack” induced with a substance no coroner could trace, especially after having to fish me out of some mountain ravine burnt to a crisp in my vehicle. Never a bullet: nothing traceable. Nice. So, my job is simply to behave, and get my dark-side, the one who stole my identity so many years ago, to behave.
Oh, and on that note, he said that the reported crimes of drug running and gun running are completely, utterly, 100% guaranteed B*** S***. That was surely happening, but that was the least of it. Whatever.
By the way, just because I write all about this “for the record” and so as to figure it out, that doesn’t mean that this is what interests me in life. People interest me, those whom Jesus has redeemed. He wants to save us all from whatever. It’s friendship with God which interests me. I want that for everyone else. And I learned about that also from “The Guy.”
Holy Guardian Angels! Protect us!