May 13, 2013

PJ-91

CHAPTER 13

 

REC #3    HATONN

TUE. APR. 5, 1994      1:57 P.M.      YEAR 7, DAY 232

 

TUE., APR. 5, 1994

 

EVERYBODY'S TRYING

 

I appreciate the observations made by one of the staff this morning regarding the journals. However, we are not yet ready to throw the baby out with the bathwater. Until the legal garbage is finished we will have to handle the journals as we have been up to now. We have neither time nor resources to change.

 

Old editions of magazines remain available--most especially ones such as OR, National Geographic and others with topical subject material. I am not in favor under any circumstances, at present, to disallow readers from getting back issues which have been tied up in George Green's warehouse for two years. As it is, the value is totally reduced to less than printing costs at best--but to fail to reprint much demanded information is not accept­able for I shall not bring it forth--again. If that is a necessity--then we shall simply reprint them at regular intervals. I have no wish to print books as suggested, such as Reader's Digest who review one to three books in their reviews. Our magazines are already "reviews".

 

Thank you for your suggestions. Perhaps there is, further, a misunderstanding. I have not asked for input on the handling of my writings. I am most lenient about most things except those things for which my mission is aimed and around which my mis­sion revolves. If ones are too busy to pick up old editions for readers then we are doing something very wrong! I realize that everyone wants to tune up efficiency--but until we have some businesses which at least break-even, that luxury is not ours. Neither is our job "just to break even" nor to "make money off God's WORD". Let us not be tossing out the babe with the bath, please.

 

Perhaps the handling of the printings falls too intently on too few shoulders? I don't want our work to be a burden but I do feel that it is necessary that we not forfeit information for con­venience. There are so many subjects covered in back issues and so many new readers seeking that information that I find no easy "solution". We "title" the volumes for reference and per­haps if we can get these first editions indexed, we would be at advantage for finding past information. I repeat--I will NOT be offering the information again as such. It would behoove all--including and especially, ones who live and work here--to go back and start at the beginning and STUDY THOSE RE­LEASES!

 

Legally these editions are worthless past dating segments--but information wise--they are priceless as reference and in­formation gathering. I would hope they fit at least into the category of scientific or medically presented material for reference purposes. I don't know how else readers will know what research material to obtain.

 

I would hope that you would see that you need to intensify the "advertising" of contents of the original editions--not cast them out--for how can our readers know what they have missed if someone doesn't tell them and the CONTACT is the ONLY place they are offered to any great extent.

 

I do not wish to belabor the point but I do ask for MORE input of featuring older editions of the journals EVERY paper. Per­haps if you have not enough income for needs, there is some­thing being handled ineffectively for I cannot believe the mate­rial is not worth the offering. There is not team enough to allow for the lengthy effort of summarizing contents. But perhaps it is a very good idea if the one offering the suggestion would review at least one extra per week and give us a summary for the paper--that is what I have asked for since inception of the work. Per­haps a brief index might be offered as well.

 

Now, please, back to "Camelot".

 

I realize the difficulty and tedium with which you have to work, Dharma, to continue to write the material from Ronn Jackson as presented. I also realize that it is time consuming to have con­versations repeated, etc., but as we move into the document, es­pecially, you cannot have the impact of the author if you sum­marize instead of offer his presentation as he has seen fit to offer it.

 

In this instance you are dealing with a "typical" secret service sanction server. This means "kill" (sanction), my good typist, and unless you can grasp that "job" you cannot understand the magnitude of the story unfolding. I would rather take additional weeks to tell the story than to change it as we present it--at the least, in the beginning. I know you are tired of the long, long days, chela--but we must go on for these people we attend--are in serious danger. Ronn Jackson is in hospitalization within the prison system as we write this day--and that is SERIOUS!! It is better we be weary than our newly awakened brothers be deaded. Thank you for trying a little longer and we will see how it unfolds. Especially as concerns Ronn's work, remem­ber, there is no published book for the readers to get--this is it! Remember, chela, this was written for documentary (movie) and the conversation included sets the scenes for what took place in relationships and sequence.

 

THE DEATH OF CAMELOT, Part 3

By Ronn Jackson

 

QUOTING:

 

I went to the restroom and picked up a couple of towels. I started wiping the coffee off of the desk and the reporter took the second one, apologizing, as she wiped. I told her that it wasn't necessary but she continued to do so. I had a grin on my face and when I looked up she was looking at me. I got the im­pression she didn't like it. All I said was, "I'm just amused at your spitting all over the place."

 

"I didn't spit all over the place," she came back, in a very sharp and pointed tone.

 

I didn't want to run through what I had accomplished this day and, also, I didn't want her to think she was going to have the upper hand. "Look, maybe I should have said what I said differently. I've been trying to figure out just how to word it since I made the deal with the President. Could you tell me how I should tell someone that I have taken the lives of many people?"

"You are serious, aren't you?"

"Very"

"How many lives?"

 

I knew the question would come but I wasn't prepared for it. Well, I thought, I asked for this and I may as well get it over. "In twenty some odd years, I've had one hundred three sanctions.”

"You mean you have killed a hundred and three people?"

"I said that I've completed one hundred and three sanctions. There is a difference between assassinations and murder. I did it on the express orders of others and on several occasions more than one person was involved."

"You mean that you've killed more than a hundred and three people."

 

It was my turn to get hot and I mean I hit the boiling point-- right now. I grabbed the lip around the desk and said, "Lady, you are here because I requested you, because I thought I might have owed you something, because someone was going to get it and I thought you might appreciate it, after you've heard the entire story. I didn't ask you to pass judgement, just listen and ask questions and if you are going to be so thin skinned, hit the door. I will get someone who isn't so judgmental--maybe a man."

 

My speech was over and I relaxed and leaned back in the chair. I usually don't get this emotional but there was difference this time. My ass was on the line. I was breathing hard.

 

* * *

 

I was driving south out of New York City on highway nine. Because of where I was, it was easier to get to New Jersey this way and it was my intent to drive on into Washington, D.C. I was so sick of airplanes, I could scream. The food was terrible and there had been rough weather coming across the Atlantic. I had to take a cab to my destination from Kennedy because the line at the rental agencies were twenty deep. I had to wait three hours to make my delivery and the businessman had a smart mouth. Hell, maybe it was me! I then took a cab to get this thing I was driving and had to wait an hour for it. NO sooner than I had signed the papers one of the tires went flat. I told the attendant that if O.J. Simpson were to walk on the lot I would break his jaw. He reminded me that O.J. worked for "number one" and this was "number two". I agreed with him.

 

I hit every red light on that cow pasture highway and was about to the boiling point. When the light turned I pulled through the intersection and turned into a shopping center. I knew I need to cool down. While sitting in the car I had noticed a neon sign in the shape of a martini glass and I though that I "might as well". There were alternatives to being miserable in a compact rental car. I walked to the establishment and upon entering I stopped just inside the door. The place was loud and I waited for my eyes to adjust to the poorly lit place. There was a fight of some kind going on in front of the bar so I waited a minute as I wasn't interested in being included.

 

The bigger one of the two ended up on his back and the crowd went back to their drinking. I walked toward the bar making my way through the tables and the semi-conscious man was in my path. I started to step over him and heard the unmistakable sound of a switchblade. I jumped and felt something on my pants. When I looked down I saw that he had missed me but I now had a gash in my trousers. I looked down at the prone figure and he was just laying there with a sneer on his face, holding the knife in plain view. I thought, "another want-to-be bad-ass," and my survival instincts kicked in.  Before I realized what I was doing I moved around to his head, grabbed the hand holding the knife and bent it back which forced him to drop it. I pulled him to his feet and brought his arm down across my knee. I reached down and picked up the knife. Taking hold of it at both ends, I stepped over and broke it on his head. He stood looking at me so I grabbed him by his hair and threw a right to his forehead. He wasn't looking at anybody, now.

 

Whatever he had in his hair caused my fingers to stick to­gether. My other hand was throbbing and I thought I might have broken a knuckle or even two. I turned to the bartender and told him to pour me a scotch and water, that I was going to the restroom and wash my hands and when I came out I wanted plenty of space at the bar. The more I thought about the guy on the floor the madder I became. I looked around the bar and noted there wasn't a word being spoken.

 

That gunk that the man had in his hair was something else to get off. There was Boraxo in the dispenser and I had to do my hands twice to get the stuff off. I went back out to the bar and found that most of the patrons had left and two guys were help­ing that Jerk out. No one was at the bar and my drink was set­ting alone. I picked it up and took a good long swallow. The bartender noted that the guy I had punched out was "trouble". I finished my drink and wanted to tell him that the man was sim­ply lucky to be breathing. I threw a five on the bar and left.

 

It helped to have relieved a little steam and I felt things would be a bit better. The first stop-light was green and I was in Jer­sey in thirty minutes.

 

My first stop was a warehouse that was owned by "BCCI". Of all things, this place was supposed to contain the substance and base for talcum powder. My employers weren't interested in the material itself but it was what was contained in the bags. I had heard of coffee grounds throwing off scents in drug cases--but in thinking about it I supposed talcum powder would also work.

 

I walked across the docks and came to an open door. The place was about the size of a small gymnasium and was full of large bags stacked on pallets. I looked over the large room and the walls were of concrete, the roof was metal over steel bar joist. My employer must think I'm Clark Kent, I thought.

 

There was man on a fork-lift at the rear of the room starting to put the pallets two high. Must have a shipment coming in, I thought as I walked over to him. I told him that I was from Johnson & Johnson and we had a shipment that was late. He said the shipment was going to be even later as he closed in a few minutes and nothing was moving out until the following Monday. Suddenly I know what my problem was, the people in this area were so diplomatic and had such a way with words. I wondered how he was going to like the unemployment lines. Coming in I had noticed a plumbing riser and as I walked to­wards the exit I noticed a fairly new retro-fit system that had been installed. It was just outside the door and when I came to it I didn't see anyone around so I gave it a hard turn--breaking the seal that New Jersey's finest had put on. I opened the door all the way and I could hear the results from within as I stepped into the door. It looked like a monsoon had hit and a guy was running towards me at which point, when he arrived, I nailed him cold. I almost doubled over. I had forgotten about my knuckles. If they weren't broken before, they were now.

 

I drove over to the Jersey Turnpike and headed south. I set the cruise control as the state troopers had a reputation of being quick with the tickets. This freeway was no different than any other in the United States in that if you drove the speed limit ev­eryone passed you. If you speeded up, it was you that got the ticket, so I left the cruise engaged.

 

My second stop was in a small town where a gentleman had just closed his account at BCCI. Med-seven figures wasn't all that much but my employers were a little upset with his business methods with them. It had something to do with the treasury certificates and his inability to produce the agreed amount and numbers. I hadn't been given all the details....

 

* * *

 

I stopped in a fast food restaurant and found myself laughing at the situation that had just taken place. I knew that the water would play havoc on those burlap bags. I also knew that the contents of the bags would be protected and I also knew there was an alarm tied into the sprinkler system. I ordered a cup of ice with my food and while I ate I put my sore hand on ice. I could still move my fingers so maybe I had been lucky. I couldn't remember why I had complained about airline food as this was no better. Somehow nothing seemed to suit me today.

 

My objective this time lived on the outskirts of the town. It was thought that he was getting ready to make a move and there was little other information about that subject. He was a family man and the information I had on them was that the family was in South Carolina on vacation. He was thought to be joining them in a few days. He had a girl friend and not much was known about her. When I found his home I pulled into his driveway. There was a "Rolls" sitting in front of the garage with the top down. The house was a two-story colonial type and cost big bucks. I checked my weapon and made sure the silencer was right, put a round in the chamber and walked to the door. I knocked and there was no answer. The door was unlocked and I went in. I heard no movement, no sounds. I checked the downstairs areas and no one was around. I went upstairs and it was also empty. I found his office and there was a briefcase on the desk. I opened it and there was the money and the missing treasury notes. There were several pieces of unopened mail and as I looked them over I walked over to the window to see the back of the property. There was a pool with two people there who appeared to be sleeping. I put the mail into the briefcase and took it downstairs. I walked to the rear of the house and found the rear entrance. I put the briefcase on a hall table and quietly let myself out onto the patio that separated the house from the pool. I took out my nine millimeter and stood for a few seconds. Neither one moved so I walked over to the reclining figures and they were asleep. I completed my assigned task, making very little noise, and went back into the house. I started to open the briefcase and looked over the letters and decided to leave as I could do that later. I still had one more stop to make...

 

Back on the turnpike I turned on the radio. I found a news station and a major drug bust had been made. An industrial accident had led the authorities to the site...our good old boys in blue.

 

I took the bypass around D.C. and drove to Dulles. I turned the rental car in and rented a truck. I was more comfortable in one and considered that I might have some hauling to do a bit later. I then drove to McLean and checked in at the Holiday Inn. The last part of my job was in our nation's capitol.

 

In the room I locked the door and put on the safety chain. I closed the drapes and I really didn't expect any problems here because if the vice-president can bring his girl-friend here, there shouldn't be any problem for me.

 

Back in the briefcase there were several letters and three were from banks. I read one particular one. The letter was granting the gentlemana several million dollar line of credit and it was signed by Clark Clifford. I thought for a minute and then remembered the name. He had been in politics for many administrations and now he owned a bank. Politics must have been good. I then remembered that I had a file on him--in fact the records were in the "Hoover's files" that Casey had given me. Well, I had a little more for Mr. Clifford's file....

 

This guy I just sanctioned was really connected. There was another bank from the south, BNL, and they had given him another line of credit. He had a tax return check and an offer on a building that he had a commercial lease on. The nicest part of this situation was the case--that was mine! I didn't bother to count it but I was sure that it was the proceeds of his closing his account at the New York Bank.

 

The last part of my assignment lived in Baltimore. He was a long-time civil-servant and this was around the time that the whistle-blowing was becoming fashionable. Even though he was justified in what he was doing, one of his targets was connected to someone else and you know how the domino effect is. I put plastic explosive in the wheel-well of his car. I had only a short wait and when he was headed home I followed him. I waited until he went through the toll plaza and got onto the road on which he lived and detonated the explosive.

 

Author's note: I put all of the letters in Clifford's file. I had heard his name over the years but, like so many people, I just didn't pay any attention. When I placed them in the file I examined Hoover's papers on him. He was just as dirty as the others; fifty years in government service? As I sit here and write this I wonder if anyone is clean. (ID:060220)

 

END OF PART 3

 

* * *

 

This is enough for today. I watch you wondering why we should care very much about the health of Mr. Jackson as life certainly was of no value to him except as it paid him to dispose of it. Ours is not to judge--just to type...! Salu.

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