Compromised: Clinton, Bush and the CIA: How the Presidency w

Re: Compromised: Clinton, Bush and the CIA: How the Presiden

Postby admin » Fri Jun 03, 2016 3:38 am

Part 1 of 2


"Mommy, daddy, wake up," Duncan exclaimed that Thursday morning of January 14th, 1988. "The snow is all the way up to the windows."

Thinking her 5-year-old son was again demonstrating his father's gift of hyperbole, Janis Reed pulled the covers over her head and groaned, "Duncan, please go back to bed and let mommy sleep."

She had not slept well in a long time. In fact, neither she nor Terry had actually "slept in" since that fateful day in Kansas City back in November when they discovered they were being double-crossed by the CIA.

They were now on the run. Their journey had led them to the Sequoia National Park in California where they had checked into a rustic cabin in Grant's Grove late the previous evening. The snow had just begun to fall and the National Weather Service had predicted a "remote chance of small accumulations" over the weekend.

Duncan by now had awakened his younger brothers and was about to receive a stern scolding from his father, who, for the first time since they had taken to the road, had been able to shed his continual fear of imminent arrest. Terry peered out the frost-free spot on the window which Duncan had earlier created and realized their son was not spinning a tale.

"Janis, you better get up and look at this! He's not exaggerating. The snow is higher than the window sills," he said, in disbelief. "I can barely see the road. I think we're buried in."

Sure enough the National Weather Service, which Terry as a pilot had grown to both love and hate, had been caught with its forecasts down again. Survival was on his mind, only this time it wasn't the fear of some assassin's bullet, it was laying in enough provisions to see them through Mother Nature's wrath.

Fortunately, parked outside was one of the few four-wheel drive vehicles belonging to the vacationers who had escaped Los Angeles and the Bay Area that weekend. It was the Reed family's newly-purchased 1986 Ford Bronco that they had already affectionately named "Bronco Billy." And it was standing by, hitched to what the children had named "Tommy," a small custom-built utility trailer sporting a matching paint scheme.

"Tommy Trailer" was bulging with the survival gear they had purchased in San Diego and along their route northward. Luckily, the Reeds had all the essentials and then some. The Reed's called their home on wheels the "escape module" after the small repair vehicle in the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey. The term odyssey had become such a fitting one for their plight.

Not really believing the weather forecast, they had been lucky enough to stop in Visalia and take advantage of discounts on snow and ski suits. The area, which largely survived on the skiing and the tourism industry in the winter months, had been enduring a draught and had its slowest season in years. There had been no significant snow at all that year. At least not until the Reeds arrived.

By noon that day, as the snow continued to accumulate, the park rangers announced the park would be closing. Those wanting to leave were told to depart immediately by following the snow plow, a converted road grader, to the main entrance and the highway leading down to Visalia.

With their provisions now neatly stacked in their cabin, their shortwave radio tuned to the weather, the two gallons of "Prestone" stored under the bed, and their guns with sufficient ammunition to fend off the faceless enemy who might harm their children, the Reeds settled in for a long winter's night.

They and the other few who had elected to remain behind reminded Terry of the pioneer settlers marooned at the nearby Donner Pass until the spring thaw. From all outward appearances, no one would have guessed that the Reeds were fugitives, evading the net that had been drawn around them by the FBI, with assistance from the CIA.

Their heated log cabin was nestled in a group of rustic cabins that were a quarter-mile from the main lodge where only a skeleton crew of employees remained. Those guests stranded in the cabins would shovel a pathway there each night, and spend the evening socializing in front of the large fireplace. Luckily, the lodge was well-stocked with an ample supply of requisite essentials for the snowbound guests, namely bologna, beans and brandy.

Being snow-bound at high elevation and isolated from the chaotic world below them gave Terry a secure feeling, the first in so long he had nearly forgotten the feeling. Now was the time to mentally heal and recoup. Analyzing his plan to date, he was rather pleased. So far so good. At least they were together as a family and hadn't yet been apprehended. His mind focused on the trail of disinformation they had strewn across the United States, Mexico and into Canada. Electronic communications had played a large role in throwing curve balls to any would-be pursuers.

He was hoping that Janis' parents' phone was in fact being monitored by the FBI. That would mean that Janis' deliberately placed phone calls to them laced with mis-information should have caused the search for them to be centered in Mexico, probably around the city of Puebla.

"I hope they drink the water," Terry thought as he pictured American agents dealing with Montezuma's revenge while scouring Mexico for "The Reed Bunch". This brought a smile to his now bearded face.

The forced isolation brought on by Mother Nature gave the Reeds a sense of security. For the first time in weeks they were able to let their guard down.

"Here I am in a one room cabin in the middle of nowhere with no phone, no TV, no maid service, no amenities," Janis mused. "No one ever could have told me that this is something I would aspire to, but at this point in my life, I couldn't ask for anything more. As far as I'm concerned, I hope it doesn't stop snowing until May."

Terry and Janis had been stretched nearly to the breaking point. The sleepless nights, the stress, the fear, the paranoia, and at times the terror they lived with daily, was emotionally exhausting. But it was becoming a way of life. They felt totally removed from the "system" they had been a part of since birth. It was a strange sensation of isolation ... feeling you no longer belong to any country. They compared their feelings to that of refugees or nomads -- or, as Janis likened, gypsies.

As Terry gazed at his family that night, he thought back to the leadership manuals he had studied in ROTC and the Air Force and realized that military tacticians had never taken into account the tact and patience required to "motivate" a family on the run. Wives are not military subordinates to be motivated by fear. There was enough fear in their lives already. Terry's leadership was being put to the test. He could not outwardly show fear. Just a small mental slip on his part could precipitate the crippling release of paranoia and terror that were constantly lurking in both of them.

Just as his old flight instructor had taught him, he had to disassociate himself from his fear, compartmentalize it, and contain it.

So, in order to keep Janis on an even keel, he felt he had to feign optimism that they would somehow survive this horrendous ordeal. He knew he desperately needed Janis' support right now, and he sensed her nerves were on the verge of shattering. He needed her, and the children needed her maternal nurturing. His job was to be a husband and a daddy; to establish an aura of make-believe by pretending that everything was well and under control.

"Look, Daddy, Elliott made a reindeer shadow," Duncan exclaimed as he interrupted Terry's thoughts.

The boys were having great fun making finger shadows with the light cast by a kerosene lantern. As the storm raged on over the California Sierras four more days, the family was able to bond as they ventured outside to play daytime games in the snow and told stories by the glow of the lantern at night.

"We're just really inconspicuous, aren't we?" Janis said sardonically to her husband as she watched Macho, who was being transformed into a sled dog, attempting to pull three giggling boys through the snow drifts. Even though the rambunctious German Shepherd might have drawn some unneeded attention, both parents felt an added sense of security with him around. Having been raised from a puppy in the presence of the children, he tolerated from them all sorts of "abuse" and was exceedingly gentle. On this recent trip, Janis had found the dog in the back of the motor home, patiently allowing Duncan and Elliott to wrap an entire roll of masking tape around his legs to "fix his boo-boo".

Macho was so passive with his little charges, but Janis and Terry knew that if anyone ever attempted to lay a hand on any of the boys that he could turn instantly ferocious. He would pace and growl at any stranger who violated the boy's territory, and his sheer presence would frighten the average intruder away.

Late at night, with Macho standing guard over the sleeping family, Terry couldn't suppress the thoughts of terror that would surface from nowhere and race through his idle mind. Were they out there somewhere? Were they on his trail, or had his plan to trick them worked? Terry's mind was in a swarm. The seriousness of it all was coming to bear. The adage "what's the worst that can happen" bore no humor at all! He knew what the worst could be. He would then fight to regain control, and as a mental diversion begin contemplating their next moves, over and over and over.

He couldn't allow them to find him. He had to become another person. He needed a new identity. He had developed a numerical point system of one to 10 to grade each action as to its degree of risk. Obtaining a new identification had to be a 10 pointer. But once accomplished, it would reduce the risk associated with other actions to the level it seemed worth it. That was it. He would somehow become a different human being ... just as soon as the storm was over.

With the park now reopening and the roar of the snow plows outside their window, Terry knew they had to leave. They had been there too long. He had told the other vacationers he was combining a family vacation with a regional marketing survey. He now feared the park rangers would get suspicious if they stayed any longer. They had been there a week, and as the Bronco wound its way down the mountain and out of the Sierra Nevadas, Terry's mind drifted back to the start of their journey into anonymity. Back to the time they left Kansas City, to become "moving targets."

* * *

"What's wrong?" Janis asked nervously. She had been quietly observing her husband for the past 30 minutes as he drove westward across Kansas that dreary November night. She knew by his silence that something was eating away at him. He was behaving as if he was flying on instruments, in bad IFR weather, only this time there was no airplane involved. Perhaps, she rationalized, piloting this motor home with the children, a dog, and a Mexican maid aboard while evading shadowy pursuers might be as stressful.

She repeated, "What's wrong?" and this brought him out of his trance. It was well after midnight. The children and Macho were all asleep and Laura was in the rear reading a steamy Mexican paperback, oblivious to the Reeds' plight.

"I've got to change these plates," Terry informed, without breaking his concentration on the two lane road. "They might be looking for them by now."

He had neglected to tell her that he had "switched" license plates with another vehicle in the motel parking lot that morning while she was buying provisions. He rationalized away this act of chicanery as "trading", and not stealing, since he left the other Missouri motorist with his plates, which actually had a longer time before expiration. And hadn't he, after all, given them something of greater value?

"Terry, are you telling me you stole someone's license plates?"

"Janis, before this is over, I'm sure I'll have to do a lot of things that are not viewed highly by the law. This is an emergency and I'm gonna behave as such. Now if you're gonna sit there and bitch, I just won't tell you what I'm doing. It's your choice. You're the wife of a spook, and if the answers scare you, don't ask the questions."

It bothered her to hear her husband talking that way. But at the same time, she admired him that night for all those same reasons she had fallen in love with him. He was taking charge and doing whatever was necessary to insure the safety of the family. She, too, feared they would share the same fate as Barry Seal. She had to trust his judgment, so she decided to ask fewer questions. Maybe she didn't "have a need to know" everything her husband was doing. It was just that much more to worry about.

To Terry, this entire ordeal was turning into the equivalent of an on-board aircraft emergency. During his silence, he had been prioritizing his workload and weighing his alternatives. There were too many unanswered questions to define a true course of action right away. He had decided to confront the ordeal in the same method taught to a recovering alcoholic, one day at a time.

Right now, as he wrestled with his paranoia, his number one priority was "trading" plates again. This time he wanted to find a vehicle that would be heading eastward, back toward Kansas City, and preferably someone on vacation with an East Coast destination. That way, the switched vehicle would transport his current plates on an easterly course, opposite of their direction.

"If we head back up toward the Interstate, the map shows a rest area," he said to Janis as she poured him some coffee. "I figure if I can switch plates with an eastbound vehicle, we can rest easy until Denver."

A few minutes later, Janis held her breath as her husband bolted on their new Pennsylvania plates, which he had quietly "exchanged" from a parked RV as its occupants slept in the roadside park.

"OK, now we gotta get this bitch debugged," he told her. "If they knew we had been in Carthage, that means they had to know we'd been in Kansas City. And that means they had access to this vehicle when we weren't around it and sufficient opportunity to plant a transmitter on us. I won't rest easy until we have this thing swept."

"Now how are we going to do that?" Janis asked incredulously, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"Don't worry, this won't require anything illegal. In the morning, I'll call Jack and get some of his expert advice."

Jack was an old retired Air Force buddy of Reed's, who was an electronics genius and ham radio operator living on the East coast. The next morning near Denver, Terry was told by Jack that any good ham operator with the right equipment should be able to "sweep" his vehicle. By parking the motor home near the antenna, the operators' receiver, if run through the entire frequency spectrum, should detect a transmitter if one had been planted in or on the motor home, or so Jack said.

At Ft. Collins, Colorado, and after giving a $100 tip, Terry received the results of the electronic "sweep" of his RV.

"You're clean," they were told by the toothless, tobacco-chewing Army retiree, a "radio friend" of Jack's. "If I were you, I'd still wanna make sure I wasn't beein' optically ID'd."

The comment confused Terry. If his motorhome wasn't emitting a tell-tale electronic signal, how else, he asked the ham operator, could it be tracked?

"Visually from outer space," he answered as he spit brown tobacco juice on the white snow. "I was in satellite recon in the Army, and they got this special paint they put on things they wanna track from outer space. For war games we normally put it on the 'good guys' equipment ... tanks, armored personnel carriers, artillery ... stuff like that. Then a mobile command post sorta serves as a ground based traffic controller, givin' our guys vectors, via satellite, to find the enemy."

Reed had heard enough. Having worked in the early development stages of digital infra-red satellite reconnaissance in the Air Force, he knew that what the ham operator was telling him was within the realm of surveillance technology. He hadn't heard of this special paint though, so inquired further.

"It's clear in color and impossible ta see with the naked eye," continued the Army retiree. "It takes lacquer thinner or paint stripper and a whole lotta elbow grease ta get the shit off. If I were you, I'd do somethin' to the top of the RV, just ta be safe."

After "trading" plates again at a truck stop north of Denver, Reed put the RV through a truck wash, to clean the roof of the motor home in preparation for receiving paint. He reasoned that an even better way of insuring there was no trackable coating on their roof was to paint the RV's roof with sealer. That way, if the tell-tale coating was there, it would be covered over.

At a recreational vehicle supply house parking lot, Janis, from within the comfort of the motor home, watched her husband scale the RV's ladder and climb onto it's roof. In the chilly November air, Terry applied two gallons of the thick, silicone-based roof sealer. Only afterwards, did he begin to rest a little easier, secure in the thought they weren't being tracked by satellite.

This technology, that most people think exists only in novels and movies, he knew was real. From his trip with Seal to Panama, he knew nearly anything was possible electronically. An ELT (emergency locater transmitter) carried in the tail of an airplane was a perfect example of a tracking device that was readily available to anyone, and this technology was easily accessible to the federal government, which owns and operates the FAA's tracking satellites.

"Damn! At times, I wish I was stupid," he would say to his wife. "I'd have a lot less to worry about. A dumb shit just wouldn't know about the technology that exists that could track us."

Through knowledge, however, one can reasonably separate true fear and concern from paranoia. Paranoia includes the fear of things that might not actually exist. His fears were real. They were being pursued by professionals, or at least he had to presume they were. Even if Oliver North had intervened on his behalf with the FBI, he still didn't trust Felix Rodriguez and company. Rodriguez was capable of anything, Terry now knew. Just ask Che Guevara.

Meanwhile, Janis was desperate to learn of her father's condition. She had left Kansas City with him still in the hospital, having confided to no one in her family the true peril of their situation. No arrangements had been made to communicate securely, and she knew they could not risk a phone call from Denver.

One advantage to traveling with two gallons of "Prestone" was that money was not an issue. As the motor home sat parked in an overnight RV campground in Denver, Janis sat nervously aboard an American Airlines jet racing eastward to Chicago. The purpose of her journey was to place a phone call to her sister's place of business and to plant the devious seeds of disinformation. Janis' mission while there, besides checking on her father's condition, was to also make several strategically placed business calls that hopefully would be intercepted. Terry had instructed her to take a cab to the far north side of the city, near the Interstate, and to make her calls from there. If the Feds were tracking them by phone contacts, surely they would think the Reed's were making their way northward to Canada.

"He's getting better," said Janis' sister, Karen, by phone from her high rise office building. "But we've been worried about you. Your legal matters must have really been urgent for you guys to leave town that fast. Is everything OK?"

Standing at a pay phone, nearly shouting over the deafening roar of truck traffic adjacent to 1-94 on Chicago's north rim, Janis mustered up every ounce of inner strength she had to keep from breaking down and telling her sister of her plight. Fighting back the tears, she said with mock enthusiasm, "Oh, everything's fine. It's just all this Gomiya legal junk has got me sorta down. While we're here, Terry's going to bid on a new project which might keep us on the road longer than we'd anticipated."

A short time later she was waiting in the bustling boarding area of the O'Hare terminal waiting for her flight back to Denver. Although she knew her husband wouldn't have approved, since she was instructed to not make calls from the airport, she made a quick "get well soon, I love you call" to her father as she was preparing to depart.

Watching the passengers deplane, she had never felt more depressed. Everyone seemed so happy, and her life was destroyed, maybe forever. While deep in thought, she was startled back into her frightening reality when she heard the assumed name under which she was traveling being announced over the loud speaker.

"Sheila Walton, please report to the ticket counter immediately."

It was the phone call to her parents house! How could they have tracked her that quickly, she thought! Terry had been right. The FBI was monitoring her family's phone lines. Trembling and barely able to breathe, her feet slowly and unsteadily carried her to the ticket counter.

"Miss Walton, can you do us a big favor? Would you mind trading boarding passes with this little boy so he can sit with the rest of his family?"

Frantically fumbling for her boarding pass, she watched her hands shake violently as she presented it to the ticket agent.

"Are you all right, Miss Walton?"

"Oh, uh, yes. Flying always just makes me a little nervous."

"He's getting better," the relieved Janis told Terry as she rejoined her family at Stapleton Airport. "And I've got more good news. I worked out a secure way to communicate. I talked to Karen's secretary and was able to get her travel itinerary for the next six months. That way I can call her in places no one will surely be monitoring and can keep tabs on Dad. I can rest a little easier now." She didn't inform him until much later about the call to her father and the breach of communications security.

Back on the road again with her family, Janis knew it was time to address the educational needs of her children. Duncan was becoming suspicious since no one was trying to force learning down his throat. Home schooling took on a whole new meaning as she set up her classroom in the motor home.

Later that week, she was back in her comfortable role of "school marm", demanding that Duncan continue improving his kindergarten skills. As the little boy practiced his handwriting by making "sticks and balls" on his Big Chief tablet, he was reassured that all was back to normal. As Terry surveyed the transformation of the interior of the motor home, he too was reassured that his wife was coping with their precarious circumstances.

He frequently referred to her as a "nester" and was amazed at how cozy she could make nearly any environment. Each of the boys had their favorite stuffed animal propped atop their beds. Colorful posters of shapes, ABC's and numbers were displayed, stapled to the overhead cabinetry. She had even purchased an exact duplicate of a poster the boys had in their room in Mexico and had attached it to the closet door at the little boys' eye level. It pictured a mother panda bear cradling her young and was captioned: HOME IS WHERE YOU GET CUDDLED. She was firmly convinced that if she abided by this motto, the children would have good memories of this chapter of their lives, rather than traumatic ones.

Earlier, in Mexico, Terry had built in an overhead cabinet housing a small television and VCR. This Janis now adapted as her primary "visual aid," and 2-year-old Elliott was content to watch Sesame Street educational tapes for hours on end. This would even entertain the baby as they traveled the seemingly endless stretches of highway.

"Mommy, you're the best cooker," Duncan commented one evening. "The motor home smells like Grandma's house."

Janis had just finished baking some "slice and bake" refrigerator cookies. The aroma of baking of cookies created that "warm and fuzzy" feeling.

"I've got an idea, Duncan. Tomorrow, let's get a cookie jar for the motor home. My new goal will be to keep it full of home-made cookies." That, and to evade our pursuers she thought to herself. What a paradox. She couldn't believe she was thinking of baking cookies and evading Federal agents all in the same thought process! One day at a time, she thought, I've got to take it one day at a time.

Terry had insisted their attitudes about the "system" did not spill over onto the children. Even though he was now deathly afraid of the U.S. Government and the unbridled power it could wield against them, he sought to ensure that Duncan did not become alienated by his parent's feelings of a government gone mad. He insisted that Janis place the standard classroom portrait of George Washington directly over the center cabinet door of the overhead storage. The one that was locked. The one that contained the guns and ammunition. He felt that America's true rebel, George, would have approved of his picture's location and what it was concealing.

Janis, while in Chicago, had done as instructed and tried, although unsuccessfully, to call Mitch Marr in Ajijic. The inability to find Terry's old handler and consummate the exchange bothered them both immensely. This should have been Marr's number one priority. What could be more important than sewing up this one last loose end?

Either it had by now become unimportant to communicate with the Reeds; perhaps they knew all along where the evidence had been stored; or was it something else? Maybe the Feds were one step ahead of him all the time. Maybe he was the mouse and the cat was only toying with him. He had to put this fear out of his mind and seek sanctuary.

Desko! I've got to get to Desko, Terry thought.

There would be extreme risk in communicating with him by phone. But less risk, Terry calculated, if he approached him in person without spending any time "loitering" in Albuquerque. Since the RV was now sporting California license plates, it occurred to him that Santa Fe would be the perfect place to go. They would fit right in with all the tourists and still be only a short drive from Desko's.

Two major priorities had made their way to the top of his mental checklist by now. First -- disinformation.

They had left Chapala pretending to be only going north on an extended business trip/vacation. If they didn't return soon, people down there would become suspicious, especially since the Reeds had left many of their high value belongings there.

Somehow, they had to give the appearance of permanently leaving the Chapala area and moving to a false location. Terry knew there had to be government informants living within the expatriate community. If he could create the proper illusion of moving somewhere else within Mexico, it might buy them more time and take care of the problem of vacating their leased home.

There was no way around it. He would have to go back to Mexico to create that illusion. If he were to return for just one day, vacate his residence and create the right cover story of moving the family to another Mexican city, the ruse might work. It might make the CIA think he was not a threat and was only seeking to reassemble his life and return to his old occupation of consulting for factory automation.

Yeah! That's it! The Volkswagen factory in Puebla was upgrading its capabilities to machine engine heads for the Beetle. He knew that was an on-going project. He would return and say he was moving the family to Puebla to work on the VW modernization project. That could create the proper illusion, if he handled it properly, especially if he was seen there in the Chapala area. But it would be risky. He could only stay one day. He would want to be in and out of Guadalajara during daylight hours. Surely they wouldn't make an attempt on his life if he stayed in crowded public places. But who could he use as a bearer of this disinformation? Who would be sure to spread it all over the Chapala area?

Then, while driving south out of Alamosa, Colorado, it came to him. Laura, of course! Mexican maids and nannies blab everything about their foreign bosses to everyone. Their gossip network would be the perfect vehicle to spread the seeds of deceit. It would be better than taking out a full-page ad in the Chapala news bulletin, Ojo del Logo.

Perfect! This would be an ideal way to implement the plan and his predators might be fooled into thinking they were in Canada and Mexico at the same time. It could even create the illusion that the Reeds had split up, with Janis heading for Canada and Terry southward across the Rio Grande. The CIA would then be confronted with the same problem Hitler faced, a two-front war!

"God damn," he thought. "I'm gonna use what THEY taught me on them. After all, he had scored 95 in his class on disinformation."

After five days in New Mexico, and having discreetly contacted Desko, he felt rested but pressured to continue with his plan of appearing to be in two places at the same time.

Contributing to this pressure and growing sense of urgency was the fact that two days earlier he had discovered the telephone number at the FBI's office in Buffalo, which he had earlier used to contact North, was now strangely "out of order".

To ensure his New Mexico location was not compromised from a telephone link intercept, Terry had hopped aboard Southwest Airlines and flown to Dallas in order to "reach out" for Carlucci one more time.

In Dallas, after listening to the telephone company's recording signifying the emergency phone number for Carlucci/Cathey/North was not in service, a montage of thoughts crept into his mind. Had the number been disconnected for security reasons and to prevent him from re-contacting North? Or was the Agency distancing itself even further from Senor Estrella? Terry rationalized he didn't dare call Buffalo information and contact the FBI through their published number for fear the call would be traced automatically through 911 technology. If his Southwest location was detected, it would destroy all the previous effort in creating the appearance of being in Chicago or Canada. He couldn't risk the call. It was best to continue on his existing "flight plan" and he decided to return at once to his nervous family awaiting in New Mexico.

His old friend let it be known the offer he made to him in Mexico was still good. "The desert can swallow you up," Desko had told him. It was a source of comfort to Terry, knowing that a fall-back plan was available as a last resort option. He again compared it to flying. Just as a good pilot always has an "alternate air field selected" he had an alternative if the going got too rough.

But there were still loose ends to tie up. He figured the excess baggage he was carrying, namely the highly-visible motor home and the nanny, could be used to his advantage. They would make perfect decoys to further throw off any pursuers. Just as in the movies, you leave a trail, but not one that leads to you.

If he was going to take up Desko on his offer, he wanted to return to New Mexico "clean" and more low-profile. Hopefully, the FBI now thought he was in Canada, or at least headed that way. The last place they would look for him was along the southern border, or so Terry calculated.

"Always do the unexpected," he could still hear his Denver intelligence instructor advising.

Yeah, he figured, with the concentration of law enforcement along the border, they would never believe he would head there, the place he had just fled and the place he feared the most. Go where your fear is! They won't look for you there. For this reason, he headed south out of Albuquerque on 1-25 with an undecided destination, probably some large city along the border. A plan was beginning to take shape by the time they approached the outskirts of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. This was an apropos place to get an idea, he concluded.

First, he would drive right into the heart of either L.A. or San Diego. Both were near enough to the Mexican border to implement his plan. The upside was, they were now within striking range of California. The downside was, they were in the worst place in America to be traveling with a Mexican: the Southwest. The border states were dotted not only with immigration checkpoints on every major highway, but also had roadblocks with agriculture inspectors' prying eyes seeking .... fruit flies!!!! On all traffic arteries crossing into Arizona and California there were inspection stations looking for untaxed fresh fruit and vegetables, wetbacks and fugitives, and insects.

Number one priority -- the nanny had to go back to Mexico before someone questioned her about her immigration status. He figured they could use her for a decoy, however, before terminating her employment.

Then, there was the second priority -- sanitized transportation.

Even though Terry now felt sure the motor home was not carrying a tracking device, he knew that each "requisitioning" of new license plates was a high-risk maneuver. An estimated "six pointer" on the Reed Risk Scale. Sooner or later, he was sure to run into a roadblock or, worse, have an accident or get a ticket for a moving violation that could lead to police running his license number through their computer. And when this happened, the authorities were certain to find the vehicle didn't match the plates it was carrying. End of trip!

But how could he purchase a car and register it so that his or Janis' name didn't appear on the registration. The only secure way they could travel would be in a vehicle whose registration was in no way tied to them. The motor home they were traveling in was registered to his corporation. He found solace in that thought but was fearful there was an APB out for them. If this were the case, local police had probably been given a description of their vehicle since they had been surveiled in Terry's home town. And beyond that fear, he knew the level of sophistication of police vehicle registration computers gave them the ability to interrogate their computers for vehicles registered to an individual or corporation. This meant they could search for vehicles owned by any company which was tied to Reed, provided they knew the company's name.

The Agency certainly knew of his old company, Applied Technologies, Inc. He had no way of knowing if they were smart enough to research the motor vehicle records in order to tie the motor home to a company instead of him, thereby figuring out how the Reeds had been able to cross the border without being apprehended. All of these unanswered questions helped formulate contingencies that would neutralize his lack of information. He would have to form a corporation in which neither he nor Janis could be linked, and it in turn could own a vehicle that was unknown to the Feds. That's what he would do, just as soon as he executed the Mexican Disinformation Phase of the plan.

Terry had kept his electronic link to the outside world intact by keeping Applied Technologies' answering service in Little Rock. Janis called the service weekly to see of anyone was "reaching out" to them. It was strange, no one was calling and this added to their paranoia and confusion. Perhaps North had "fixed it all" and he had been forced to cut all ties to the FBI afterwards. Maybe that was why the FBI's phone number in Buffalo no longer worked. He just didn't know. It was like flying in solid instrument conditions after having experienced a total communications failure. Just follow the flight plan. That's all you can do.

"Janis, I've been thinking about this for the past 500 miles," he said as they drove west across Arizona toward California. "We've got to start a new corporation. If we put a 'clean' vehicle under a new company's name ... a company we're in no way tied to personally ... they would have no way of tracking us. That's what we have to do. Form a new company."

She made no comment, and continued with her classroom duties in the back of the RV. The pressure was beginning to mount again ... he could tell by the tense look on her forehead. He had not shared with Janis his plans for his one-day, round-trip back to Mexico. He knew she would worry. But as they pulled into San Diego, he had no choice. It was time to let her in on it.

"Day after tomorrow," he said while grilling chicken at an RV campground between San Diego and the Mexican border, "I'll take Laura with me and fly back to Guadalajara on Mexicana Airlines from Tijuana. She and I can walk across the border into Mexico and won't have to show any type of identification. We'll just pretend to be tourists. I'll escort her home and return the same day. Then, I'll just walk back across the border and rejoin you guys."

As he outlined the significance of the disinformation he would be spreading, Janis saw the beauty of the plan, but also saw a major weakness.

"It's a great idea, honey, but it doesn't make sense for you to go. There's probably an APB out for you. And if Rodriguez' people were to apprehend you, they would probably kill you. We can't take that risk. I need to be the one that goes. Surely they wouldn't kill me. They don't see me as a threat like they do you," Janis said convincingly, knowing she was right. "I can spread the same rumors and I can tell Richard [Tingen] and Diana [Aguilar] about Puebla and say that you're already over there working for Volkswagen. And, if I accidentally bump into Mitch Marr I can tell him the same thing."

"Besides," she added after seeing he was digesting what she had said, "you need to be here guarding the boys. I wouldn't do that nearly as well as you can."

Terry had to give serious thought to her offer. He did not like the thought of his wife traveling to Mexico with the threat of danger looming over them, but on the other hand, there was merit to what she was saying. They may not even be looking for her. Rodriguez had been present that night in the bunker in Little Rock when Terry was told not to share operational knowledge with her, and they had no way of knowing exactly what she knew. She was his wife and not necessarily a liability to them, alive. But if she died under mysterious circumstances, an investigation and unwanted publicity would ensue. Gringos who die on Mexican soil were always given preferential treatment, not only by the State Department, but Mexican authorities as well.

The downside would be a kidnapping. But, he reasoned, if she were to arrive unexpectedly in Chapala during daylight hours, stay in a public place and depart the same day, the chances of that would be minimal. And again, a kidnapping would bring unwanted police and media scrutiny, too. He hated to admit it, but she was right. She should be the one to go. It took a lot of courage on her part to put herself willingly at risk. But was the disinformation plan worth putting her in danger? He would sleep on that.

"OK, you win," he reluctantly conceded the next morning, "I'll never forgive myself if this goes haywire. But if you're still up for it, I really think it's something we should risk. You stay here and get your things together. I've already told Laura she's going home and she's insisting she has to do some shopping before she returns."

"Oh, that's great," Janis responded testily, "why don't you take Laura to the mall while I stay here and do laundry and pack. Ever since she crossed the border she thinks she's been on vacation. I'm getting pretty fed up with this Mexican maid crap."

The next morning, as they sat outside the motor home drinking coffee and having breakfast, the "snow birds" in the lavish and well-groomed RV park surrounding them would never have guessed the stressful discussion the Reeds were having. Terry knew his wife was uptight but insisted on grilling her extensively on the details of their battle plan he had formulated and she had committed to memory.

To Terry it was the equivalent of a "pre-strike" briefing in Southeast Asia. To Janis, it was as if she were going to solo a 747 Jumbo Jet for the first time. The tension was high.

Janis was to leave on the 8 AM Mexicana flight from Tijuana the next morning. She would fly to Guadalajara, take an airport taxi directly to Chapala, return Laura to her home, execute the equivalent of a Mexican power-of-attorney to Richard Tingen so that he could handle their financial affairs, sow the false seeds, be highly visible, telephone both her sister and parents to inform them the entire Reed family was back in Mexico but were moving to Puebla, and return back on the 5 PM flight to Tijuana. If all went as planned, Janis would be back to enjoy a barbecue dinner with the family at the RV park.

But Terry had worked out alternative contingencies as well. "I know, you should always have three plans," she said, tiring of his insistence to plan for every unexpected event. "That means I have to memorize two other plans, just in case. I don't know if my brain, or my intestines are up for all of this." Her husband's attention to detail tended to drive her crazy, but right now, she knew she had better pay close attention to his alternatives since their lives depended on them ... literally.

The contingencies included all of the things they would rather not have thought about -- the "what ifs". These had few pleasant consequences, but realistically they had to be dealt with. What if Janis was arrested? What if she was detained in Mexico and couldn't return as scheduled? What if Terry had to flee the campground? Where would they rendezvous? If Terry found it necessary to surrender, who would take care of the children?

They packed in three envelopes the necessary instructions and copies of the children's passports to cover all three contingencies. Inconspicuously labeled A, B and C, each contained cryptic essentials of all three plans and took into account elements such as secure communications, rendezvous procedures, bank account and phone numbers. These would serve as checklists since Terry knew from his military experience that in times of stress, people forget simple things and make stupid mistakes. Nothing was left to chance.

As they lay sleeplessly holding each other in bed that night, neither communicated to the other the true fear building inside them. It was best just to cling to each other, hoping for the best and conjuring images of someday recounting this ordeal to their children -- and preferably not from prison.

Janis and Laura buckled their seat belts on the Mexicana Airlines 737 the next morning, right on schedule. Janis was not in a good mood. She had kissed her sleeping boys good-bye that morning wondering if she would ever see them again. She and Laura had taken a cab to the border and walked across the bridge into Tijuana. Janis had dressed comfortably for the trip in slacks and loafers, but her maid, who had never flown before, took this opportunity to wear her new red, mini, "disco dress" and the three-inch black patent heels she had purchased the previous day. Her hair which was normally in a tight braid, was loose and flowing to her waist. She had allured enough attention at the border crossing that she had several muchachos falling all over themselves with offers to carry the bulky and unwieldy suitcase Janis had loaned her. Janis carried her own.

Using the same "Sheila Walton," the alias she had utilized before, she was attempting to get mentally prepared for what lay ahead as she sat tensely awaiting take-off.

"Senora Walton," a male voice boomed from the front of the plane. "Senora Sheila Walton, identify yourself, por favor."

Janis watched in terror as two Mexican uniformed men accompanied by a female civilian marched down the aisle. Being one of the few gringas on the plane, she knew she was easily-identifiable. There was no way out.

Her ears were ringing and her eyesight began to blur. It's over, they found her. But how? She must have been followed since the alias hadn't thrown off the authorities. Janis realized she had stupidly used the same alias after it was probably compromised during the phone call to her father. Back at the campground, Terry was surely in custody. Her worst fears were being realized. She was under arrest! Slowly, she rose from her seat. Laura, who was sitting next to her, was too pre-occupied flirting with one of the male flight attendants to notice what was taking place.

"You will have to deplane," the woman told her firmly. "You need to report to Mexican Customs. Your luggage is waiting for you. I'm sorry, that is all I have been told."
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Re: Compromised: Clinton, Bush and the CIA: How the Presiden

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Part 2 of 2

As she and Laura exited the aircraft and walked down the portable boarding stairs, another uniformed official was waiting on the tarmac. The entourage of uniforms accompanied Janis and the nonplussed Laura across what seemed a never-ending runway as the jet taxied away for take-off.

A uniformed customs official, with the usual Third World arrogance, silently escorted them to a room that appeared to be an interrogation center.

"Senora, do you have a confession to make? I can make things much more pleasant for you if you do."

Trembling within, she looked at the burly Mexican who was displaying his medals on his uniformed chest, no doubt evidence of years of faithful devotion to duty. She had to maintain her composure and go on the offense, she thought.

With all the courage she could muster, she said indignantly and in her best Spanish, "Que es la problema? Necisitamos ir a Guadalajara ahorita! Esta es muy ridiculoso!"

In response to her outburst, the Custom's agent dramatically threw open the luggage Laura had packed and dumped its contents onto the table. In the midst of clothing, toiletries, and American candy bars, three brand new Sony Walkmans surfaced.

Janis' Spanish left her. Could it be? Had this whole experience resulted from "smuggling" Japanese radios into Mexico without paying the duty? She knew for a fact this was something Mexican Customs takes very seriously.

Janis looked at Laura.

"Lo siento, Senora," (I'm sorry), Laura whined.

Janis felt no change in her adrenalin level. She now wanted to strangle Laura. But her throat began to relax. She could finally speak normally.

"How much?" she asked with disgust and composure.

"One hundred U.S. dollars," the customs man replied without a millisecond's hesitation.

Now was no time to haggle, Janis thought. With the rapidity of her response as she handed him the $100 bill, the customs inspector probably wished he had asked for $200.

It was over. Janis arranged for the next available flight at noon.

Terry was pacing the campground. His wife had not returned the previous evening as scheduled. He had spent a sleepless night with the children, wondering what could have gone wrong. He had to call Chapala Realty and find out. After driving northward and locating the center of the Hispanic squalor near downtown Los Angeles, he found a pay phone situated in a barrio and took the risk of calling Mexico.

"Yeah, she's here," Diana Aguilar said in her usual "don't sweat anything" tone. "I saw her this morning. She and Richard were going to see an attorney to get some papers signed. She said to tell you she would be returning this afternoon and that everything is OK. By the way, congratulations on landing the project in Puebla. We will miss you all."

A tremendous feeling of relief swept over his body. Terry's anxiety shifted to the Chicanos who were eyeballing the hub caps on the motor home. He had purposely driven to a point in Los Angeles where he figured any pursuing FBI personnel that showed up would be mugged. Chicanos, he figured, also knew how to spot undercover federales by the tiny hub caps and antennas on their cars, and knew how to deal with them too.

When a taxi pulled up in front of the motor home that evening, the entire family rushed out to greet Janis.

"What in the hell happened?" Terry implored, shaking his head and hugging her at the same time. "You had me worried sick."

He felt like a parent whose errant child had just dashed across the street and missed getting hit by a passing car. His emotions were overwhelming him. His relief at seeing her safely back in the U.S. was mixed with the anguish he felt from her decision to change the plan without informing him.

"You didn't get my message I left at the campground office?" she asked incredulously. "I called for you from the airport and told them it was urgent to let you know we were delayed in departing."

"No, I did not get any message. Do you know how worried I've been about you? Why didn't you call back?"

"Terry, I'm in no mood for a lecture. You have no idea what I went through. Now calm down and I'll tell you about my trip ... over a drink," she admonished.

The objectives had been accomplished, she told him. She was certain she had not been followed while leaving Guadalajara. In fact, as planned, she had flown first to Mexico City and then to the border, taking flights with no advance reservations. And the good news was Marr had returned to Ajijic and she had given Aguilar the "envelope" with the diagram Terry had drawn which would lead Marr to the hidden "evidence." With any luck, the entire Chapala community, by this time, would think the Reeds were in Puebla ... and the CIA as well if they were monitoring international telephone calls.

Janis recapped that she had spoken by long distance to both her parents and her sister, informed them of their new business opportunity in Mexico and that for now, they could continue sending mail to Chapala Realty which would eventually be forwarded to their soon-to-be determined new address in Puebla. To add to Janis' peace of mind, her father was much improved. He was now ambulatory and apologetic for lousing up their vacation in Kansas City.

"Let's not stay here," Terry said of the RV park. "I'm all packed and I want to get out of here. This RV is the only thing standing between us and anonymity. While you were gone, I've worked out a plan to get rid of it."

"That's what I was afraid of. Another plan," Janis sighed.

It was two days before Thanksgiving, and in a sense, they felt thankful. After moving the RV to a beachside campground north of San Diego, and while snuggling with her children later that night, she thought how happy she was to have her family back to just the five of them. She'd had it with hired help!

* * *

"Please take good care of my Bronco," the nurse in San Diego, California pleaded. "I bought it new in Arizona and my husband and I have really babied it. We've never even had it in four-wheel drive."

It was mid-December and Terry was taking delivery of the keys to the Ford Bronco he had just purchased. All that stood between him and vehicular anonymity was for the DMV computer terminal in San Diego to spit out the new title and registration showing his newly-formed California corporation as the vehicle's owner.

It had been a busy three weeks since Janis' return from Mexico. They were living in a condominium in the Old Town section of the city while processing the necessary incorporation papers, which was an essential part of his plan to escape the system. To be able to hide behind the corporation's name would give him the ability to not only register a car, but do banking and purchase insurance for the Bronco as well.

With the self-incorporation kit in hand and the aid of a portable, electric typewriter, Janis and Terry had on paper created a marketing analysis firm that would give them the cover to travel coast to coast on "company business." The company's address was a post office box, complete with a registered service agent approved by the state.

The motor home had been sold to a school teacher who fell absolutely in love with the vehicle after seeing the way Janis had decorated its interior and how meticulously Terry had maintained it mechanically. Under construction at a local welding shop was an angle-iron frame-work that would soon take the shape of a utility trailer Terry had personally designed and customized to fit the Bronco's dimensions and color schemes. The more professional and business-like you looked, they reasoned, the less chance of drawing attention and avoiding prying questions from nosey police.

To the outside world, they would appear to be a family on a working vacation -- a wife and teacher simply traveling with her husband and family as he performed in-depth marketing analysis on some non-existent product for a mythical client. They were off to see this great land, they would say, and to teach their five-year-old about geography. Before the trip would end, Duncan would be the proud owner of 34 state patches and the Bronco Billy's odometer would indicate 35,000 additional miles.

They were traveling down the twisting mountain roads from the snow bound Sequoia National Park and onto the endless, flat irrigated farmlands south of Fresno, heading north with no set plan. In fact, the plan, at times, was to have no plan at all. Using the logic that a plan you don't possess can't be compromised, they simply prepared to wander aimlessly from one tourist point to another destroying any logic employed by a pursuer.

"The way I have this figured, Janis, if we don't know where the hell we're going, they can't be waiting for us when we get there," Terry assured.

Zigzagging their way through California, the Reeds could not shake the haunting fear they had about being stopped for a moving violation or being involved in an accident. Either scenario would force Terry to produce a driver's license, showing his real name.

For this reason, they had initially decided that Janis would do all the driving. Terry was the one the authorities were sure to be looking for. Janis' status was still unknown, and surely she wasn't on a "most wanted" list. But after about three days of pure torture for both of them, they rescinded this idea. Janis' driving made Terry a nervous wreck.

"Well, if you wouldn't be so critical of my driving, I wouldn't be so tense and I'd do a better job! All you do is tell me what I'm doing wrong. Quit acting like a damn flight instructor! I'm no student pilot! I don't care if the right front tire hits a damn curb. Since I'm so incompetent, you drive!" She pulled the vehicle to the side of the road, jerked to a stop, and jumped out. "In fact, I'll just walk!"

Terry got behind the wheel and eased on up the road. "All right, Janis. Get in. You made your point."

She reluctantly got back in. She knew she was being childish. The tension was getting to her.

"Why did you come after me if I'm such a horrible driver and worthless human being?" she snapped, still angry.

"Because I find you sexy when you're mad ... and your ass looks great when you stomp away like that."

After they had traveled several miles, Terry broke the silence, "Janis, we've taken care of disinformation, we now have vehicle anonymity and a new corporation to boot, but I have to become another person".

They had just passed through a state police roadblock west of Reno, Nevada, set up to insure motorists had either chains or snow tires to safely negotiate the hazardous snow-packed winter road. The fear that could surface from nowhere at the sight of a police car's lights was unnerving. All it took to destroy the mood of each day was the sight of police cars parked innocently by the road. Their sole purpose could be traffic safety, but to Janis and Terry, visions of being apprehended would flash through their minds. Every peering set of eyes behind the wheel of a possible undercover car triggered terror. The wave of fear that would sweep over him from out of nowhere, and at the least-expected moment, was wearing him down.

"I've got to go back to Carthage," he said. "I know it's risky but I don't think they'll think I would ever go back there. And now that we have Bronco Billy, we can go to Missouri in a vehicle no one is looking for."

"Why do we have to go back there?" she asked.

"I have to assume the identity of a dead man."

* * *

Janis paced nervously in the motel in Joplin, Missouri. Her husband had been gone several hours and should have been back by now. Now she was learning what it felt like to have a plan go off-schedule and be in the dark about what was happening. Her fear was again surfacing and she had to control it. The children were watching Mr. Rogers on the motel's TV and she was hoping they couldn't feel her anxiety.

"It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, a beautiful day in the neighborhood," Mr. Rogers droned that dreadful song her children adored, "Won't you be my neighbor."

Janis still had intense waves of denial and depression as she observed the rest of the world go on as if they had nothing to worry about. She felt she was on the outside looking in. How could people be so happy when her life was destroyed? Some days, she felt her only raison d'etre was her children and such trivialities as telling them time and again to brush their teeth.

Terry had been nagging her to read parts of his "Bible." She went for the Jeppesen-Sanderson Private Pilot Manual, turning to page 11-20 he had marked for her, the section headed "Anxiety and Stress." She began reading.

"Since a pilot in his aviation environment, is required to continually evaluate information, perform complex tasks, and make decisions, aviation psychology deals with a pilot's performance during various emotional states. Two of these states -- stress and anxiety -- may have adverse effects on pilot performance. The causes of emotional stress are many and varied. They can be divided into two categories. The first includes those situations not specifically related to flying such as family problems, financial or business considerations, or the demands of a pressing schedule.

"The second category involves situations directly related to flight: for instance, apprehension about adverse weather conditions, malfunctioning equipment, or the lack of confidence on the part of the pilot.

"Fear is a normal, protective emotion which can build some stress or anxiety. Fear progressing to panic, however, is certainly undesirable. Panic can be avoided or overcome by forcible maintaining or re-establishing self-control. A person who completely understands a situation can maintain control of his emotions, think more clearly and reason properly. Once reason and logic are applied to the facts, the proper decision can be made and the appropriate action taken."

Damn! She threw the book down. That's a bunch of crap! Maybe it works for pilots, but it's so clinical and calculated! Whoever wrote it couldn't have experienced real panic, she was convinced.

The phone rang, interrupting her outburst.

"Hi. It's me. I'm leaving Carthage and headed your way. I got what I needed. You're talking to the future Mr. _____ _____."

"I hate that name. I never did like it. I knew a real creepy guy in school named ______."

"Then, you can call me _____ if you like, that's his middle name."

While earlier driving across the desert Southwest and thinking about the problems associated with assuming a new identity, Terry focused on the pitfalls. What if you're questioned in detail about your past? What if someone really tries to get into your mind about your background, your hometown, your relatives and the rest. From what he'd read, this is where people normally assuming a new identity are tripped up. They make one little slip-up about a geographical location or some past significant event that they should have remembered.

For this reason, Terry had zeroed in on an ex-high school classmate. Not only had he gone to school with him, but they had worked together at the same grocery store while attending high school, both had attended ROTC together, and their birthdays were one day apart. Terry knew from friends that he had died very mysteriously after a very short illness in 1977. There was no better way, he thought, to be sure he didn't make those common errors about past events than to assume the identity of an individual you were raised with. In this way, he had the proper database to build his new identity.

In researching the "do's and don't's" in attaining someone else's identity, he had gone the extra mile by contacting the Office of Vital Statistics in Oklahoma to prepare himself for the questions that might be asked of him while getting a dead man's birth certificate. In that conversation, he had learned that most states were going through their death records and notifying the Social Security Administration to retire those individuals' numbers from the active files.

For fear this may be the case with his departed friend, Terry had decided all he really needed was a driver's license bearing another individuals name, but with Terry's photo on it. He had no intention of working and paying social security taxes under the dead man's name, for fear that the Social Security account had in fact been flagged as deceased.

On that morning in January, 1988, when he left his family in the Joplin motel room, all he knew for sure was that the dead man was probably buried in the largest cemetery in Carthage, Park Cemetery. After locating the gravesite, with the assistance of the caretaker, he then had the date of death from the tombstone. A quick trip to the local newspaper library gave him the published death notice, surviving relatives names and most importantly, the name of the funeral home that had handled the burial. He had been told it was a matter of normal business policy for undertakers to keep records on vital statistics of "clients."

Bingo ... he had hit pay dirt. Not only did the funeral home have the record of the death in its files, but the record also contained the dead man's Social Security number as well.

Blind luck then struck! What caught his eye on the funeral home's ledger was the notation of the dead man's place of birth ... the Panama Canal Zone. Now that he knew the exact place of birth, it would no longer be necessary to obtain a death certificate in order to extract that one piece of critical information. One phone call to the Pentagon gave him the phone number of the records section at the only Army hospital in the Canal Zone that could have delivered a dependent child in 1948. Terry now had in hand the Social Security number, a date and place of birth, the father's and mother's name and a money order for $25. From this he was able to obtain a certified copy of his friend's birth certificate.

With the certificate, he was allowed to take a driver's test in another state, and walk out a "new man."

It was now late January and the Reeds breathed a deeper sigh of relief as they motored eastward, secure in the knowledge that if stopped for a traffic violation, Terry had in his possession a foolproof new identity that could even get him a passport if needed.

But back in Kansas City, something strange was going on. Actually, nothing was going on, that was why it was strange. No one seemed to be looking for them. Janis had discreetly earlier obtained her sister's travel schedule and had been able to make contact with her while she was at an out-of-state seminar.

She asked Karen how their father was recuperating and if she was aware of anyone attempting to contact them through her parents, knowing that her sister would be fully informed since the family was close. She "pretexted" the question around a scenario of an old client of Terry's who was wanting to move to Mexico who perhaps had only her parents' address and phone number with which to contact them.

After being reassured that her father was recuperating nicely, Janis was relieved to be informed that there had been no callers or visitors asking questions. Most significant and yet curious to Terry was the fact no insurance investigator had been around asking questions. Wouldn't the insurance company, he reasoned, be the one most anxious to question him and demand their money back if in fact it was his stolen airplane N2982M that had been recovered from his hangar? And wouldn't it be logical that the company would have filed a lawsuit against Terry by now, seeking restitution. The only conclusion he could draw was that the insurance company, which had held the policy on his stolen plane, must have been an Agency proprietary involved in "Project Donation."

Maybe, he thought, North had intervened. It made no sense to Terry for the CIA to allow Felix Rodriguez and the others involved in the cocaine trafficking to bring attention to "Screw Worm" by setting him up and bringing prosecution under phony criminal charges.

But he felt it was too soon to ease off and let his guard down. He remembered North's instructions to lay low. Now that Terry was a new man, and driving a vehicle no one was looking for and having created the illusion of being in two foreign countries at the same time, they felt free to wander as they contemplated their dilemma. But the dread never left them, because, in the end, it was not the law they feared as much as the ruthless assassins like the ones who killed Barry Seal. Amiram Nir's admission of Rodriguez's boasting about having knowledge pertaining to Seal's and Emile Camp's deaths never left Terry's mind.

A favorite movie of Terry's, The President's Analyst with James Coburn, played over and over in his mind. It was the sterile attitude captured in the scene where the government agent, his .357 magnum in hand and displaying no emotion, had come to kill the hero solely because he had a signed death warrant authorizing the assassination. "Eliminate with extreme prejudice," is the clinical terminology the intelligence agencies use to mask the assassinations they later deny any knowledge of. "We don't do that," is always the response from the official spokesmen. "The United States does not condone such behavior."

Terry's fear was not based on a movie, however, it was based on first-hand experience. He had learned in Arkansas that he had inadvertently helped train an assassination team. He had unwittingly participated in the hypocrisy of his government. Their stated policies, he knew, were not the policies they practiced. After all, hadn't the world learned of the CIA assassination manual found in Nicaragua?

As they drove from motel to motel across the country, the terror never left them. The children were never allowed out of their well-armed parents' sight. It was never their intention to participate in a Bonnie and Clyde type shootout with the law since the Reeds had agreed early on to surrender themselves without resistance to law enforcement if the time ever came. They felt the weapons were necessary to protect their children from the spineless kidnappers who might be lurking in the shadows.

To the "Reedlets" as Terry and Janis affectionately called their little boys, it had all become a giant, on-going adventure, state to state, town to town, a sightseeing extravaganza. Nearly every night of their journey while east of the Mississippi, they checked into a different Red Roof Inn. Janis liked the concept that every room looked alike ... every bedspread, every lamp, every end table ... they were alike all across the country. Each night when they checked in, the boys were in familiar surroundings. It was home to them.

Although living with a perpetual sense of dread, each day took on a familiar monotony. They pushed themselves relentlessly, always up and on the road at day break, driving until dusk to a destination seldom predetermined.

Janis spent the mornings schooling her children. Two-year-old Elliott was infatuated with his Once Upon a Potty book and Janis was thrilled when he expressed a desire to imitate the main character, Joshua. Terry was less than thrilled with Janis' suggestion of a potty seat in the car.

"I can't believe I'm trying to potty train a two year old in a car! What am I supposed to do?"

"Hey, he can learn to go in a bottle. He'll be advanced for his age," Terry responded. "I'm not dragging around a damn latrine along with everything else."

One morning Janis found Duncan diligently writing in his Big Chief Tablet.

"What are you working on, Duncan?" she asked.

Very proudly he replied, "Look, Mommy, I can spell!"

He presented her with his tablet and said, "I can read too! Listen."

Methodically he pointed to each of the five words he had written: ice, men, women, gas, coke.

"Duncan, you're so smart! I didn't know you could spell so many words!"

"It's easy, Mommy," he confided. "All the gas stations have the same words outside."

She had to laugh. This wasn't a traditional education, but at least he was learning. She had taught him about wagon trains, pioneers, Lewis and Clark, the Grand Canyon and the Continental Divide as they wound their way across the country. As they drove through Texas and Oklahoma, Terry would explain to his ever-inquisitive son all about oil wells and pumping jacks and centrifugal force. But, one of his little co-pilot's favorite subjects was weather, and he impressed his father by pointing out all the cloud types.

"Cumulo nimbus is my favorite, Daddy. That means it might rain and they tear up airplanes, right?"

The Reedlets were amazingly good travelers. But every afternoon as if on cue Baxter, also known as the "Round Mound of Sound" by his brothers, delighted in hearing himself squeal for miles on end. The family could only stand so much of this torture and discovered quite by accident one day that a spin around a grocery store in a grocery cart was all he needed to calm down. This became an afternoon tradition for the family and a much anticipated break from the monotonous travel.

As the afternoon faded to evening, it was always a game to see who could spot the Red Roof Inn first. As Janis and Terry watched their children cheerfully clamor out of the Bronco each evening with their back packs, their dog, and their favorite toy, they knew their children were having a wonderful adventure, but the facade was so difficult for them to maintain. Janis found herself frequently on the verge of tears, tormented by her plight.

She worried constantly if they were being followed. She worried about her parents and her father's health. She worried about Duncan not being in school. She worried that they were spending too much money. She worried about having a car wreck. She worried about the safety of her children. She had a perpetual knot in her stomach and had to force herself to eat.

One day while Terry was paying for gas and she was studying a map, Duncan screamed, "Mommy, Elliott swallowed my tooth fairy money. My quarter's gone!"

"What?! How could that have happened?" she exclaimed as she inspected the empty mouth of the wide-eyed Elliott. "Are you sure he swallowed a quarter?"

"Not really."

Janis breathed a sigh of relief.

"Maybe it was a nickel."

Twenty minutes later, after a thorough search turned up the missing quarter in Baxter's diaper bag, Janis sighed, "I can't take this anymore."

Terry said nothing. He knew that one little slip-up in their routine could alter their future dramatically. He didn't know how much longer he could take this either.

By late March, their trip led them to the easternmost region of Maine, where an old friend of Janis' from Oklahoma City was living. After spending several days with her and her family on the rock-bound Atlantic coast, they were beginning to feel the wanderlust.

They couldn't keep doing this forever, or could they? Before their troubles beset them, they had dreamed of finding time and money to do nothing but travel. But like all good things in life, they must be taken in moderation. It was starting to get old. They sat on the beach listening to the seagulls and the pounding surf and discussed their plight. They felt as if they were in limbo. Some state of suspended animation. What, if anything, was the government up to. The question gnawed at them incessantly.

They didn't, for a minute, dare assume their problems had vanished and that they could look forward to a normal life. They did not allow themselves the luxury of letting their guard down.

"Let's go to New Mexico," Terry said one day while throwing bread to the seagulls. "I love the high-elevation desert and I feel comfortable with Desko nearby. Let's serpentine our way slowly west. And if no one has contacted your parents by Easter, let's just ease our way down to Albuquerque and figure out how we can blend into the surroundings there."

* * *

"Terry, I just got off the phone with my mother," a panic stricken Janis was saying by phone to the Reeds' home in Placitas, New Mexico, on July 29, 1988. "I've got real bad news. The FBI has been to my parents home. They say you've been indicted and that you're now considered a fugitive."

This time it was Terry's turn to develop tunnel vision and ringing ears. His old friend, fear, immediately consumed him. He could swallow, yet the yellow bile from his stomach was rising through his esophagus and attempting to erupt from his mouth. His stomach was pushing hard against his diaphragm, causing shortness of breath.

Shit! he thought. He rushed to the window preparing to see a SWAT team around his compound. But no one was there and Macho wasn't barking. Damn! I've got to get hold of myself, he thought. "I've got to think," he said out loud. Prioritize! Go through your check list, he shouted to himself as he paced like a caged animal trying to deal with this intangible catastrophe as if it were an aviation emergency. He roamed the house looking outside for signs of movement, any visual clue to forewarn of pending disaster. He finally tired, regained control and just sat, expecting to be arrested at any moment. All he could think of was, why? Why would the CIA bring attention to all of this? Hadn't he figured it all out? Wasn't his plan working, up to now? It made no sense. WHY NOW? He had proved he was no threat to them. He could be trusted. He hadn't gone to the press or Congress.

Here it was August ... almost a year from the date he had met with Felix Rodriguez in San Miguel. Just as he was starting to get things sorted out and look at some business opportunities in automation in New Mexico ... shit! How could this be happening now?

After all, he thought, Iran-Contra by now was a politically dead issue in the on-going Presidential race. The election was only three months away and the Democrats had not successfully fired one major Iran-Contra salvo at the Republicans, who were at the heart of the scandal. Terry rationalized both parties were probably compromised since each had aided and abetted the CIA in Arkansas while the White House and the Agency violated the Constitution. So it made no sense for the government to bring an unnecessary indictment and unwanted attention to the issue. Or was he a political pawn? Who could be using him, and for what purpose?

Or was this a way to guarantee his silence? He knew he HAD to be a liability to both parties and their candidates.

His serene world in the New Mexican desert began spinning around, topsy-turvy, end over end. He could almost hear voices uttering phrases he never thought would apply to him. Phrases like:

"Freeze! You're under arrest!"

"Book him ..."

"You have the right to remain silent, if you give up that right, what you say, can and will, be used against you .... "

After Janis returned home, they had to deal with the fact Terry was a wanted man. They had quietly joined the community of Placitas 20 miles north of Albuquerque and had been attempting to become productive members of the local community. Duncan was pre-enrolled in the first grade. Elliott, who had been diagnosed with a speech and hearing disorder, was seeing a much-needed specialist.

The Reeds were so convinced that North had "fixed" things and they were no longer being pursued, their household goods, which had been in storage in Arkansas since the summer of 1986, were now in New Mexico where they had set up housekeeping. They were living under their own names. A quiet, but productive lifestyle. They were even hoping to build an energy efficient solar adobe home on the beautiful and sandy foothills that led up to the Sandia Ridge overlooking Albuquerque.

Just as their life was appearing to get back to normal, they had been dealt what seemed a death blow.

Calls to the federal courthouse in Wichita, Kansas revealed a situation even worse than feared. The FBI agents who had been to Janis' parents house had lied! It was not only Terry who had been indicted, but Janis as well. The indictments had been handed up by a grand jury in Wichita and both were charged with four counts of mail fraud stemming from the theft of Terry's old plane back in Joplin in 1983.

He was learning that the grand jury had convened on June 1st, 1988 and his case was the first to be heard that day, for good reason. Only three days later, on June 4th, the statute of limitations would have run out on any activity involving the theft of that aircraft or the alleged defrauding of the insurance company.

Having never been involved in the Federal Criminal Justice System, the Reeds sought out and retained an attorney to counsel them on their rights and their legal status. Even the attorney was somewhat confused as to why they hadn't been already arrested. Terry was confused. Either he had been awfully successful in confusing them as to his whereabouts or they were still toying with him. He had been overtly living in New Mexico for almost five months.

But one thing was certain, he felt he was under direct frontal attack. And it wasn't he alone being attacked. While negotiating with an attorney in Kansas to represent them during the surrender process, he learned through his sister that his 72-year-old mother had been hospitalized.

"I don't know what's going on, Terry," his frantic sister told him over the phone. "But two FBI agents have been to mom's house twice and the sons of bitches have got her so shaken she's in the hospital. I think she's dying. She may have had a heart attack. Terry, I don't know what you did, but these guys want you real bad."

And they wanted him bad enough to have created a computer profile that would tempt even the most timid of law enforcement officers to come out of his police car with guns-a-blazin' hoping to receive credit for apprehending or felling such a seasoned desperado.


Young had further served as judge and jury over Reed by concluding he was guilty of the crime eight and a half months before the Grand Jury handed up the indictment. Young's "verdict" was stored in a computer file at the DEA's El Paso Intelligence Center (EPIC).

EPIC is a federal intelligence center specializing in storing information about border trafficking and other surveillance activity by police and federal agencies. It is operated by the DEA but many federal agencies maintain offices there, including the CIA. Young's insertion into the computerized records maintained at EPIC read as follows:

"On October 16, 1987, it was reported to EPIC that the Arkansas State Police, Little Rock, Arkansas, reported aircraft N2982M was recovered on October 16, 1987, from a hangar in North Little Rock, Arkansas where the owner Kent T. Reed (aka Terry Reed) hid the aircraft to collect the $33,000 insurance claim."

Young's form of justice moved swiftly.

Even more disturbing was a "profile enhancement" to affect the way police officers behave when apprehending a suspect. It was listed on an FBI AIRTEL message dated 5-5-88 from the FBI in Kansas City sent to FBI field offices in Little Rock, Memphis, and Oklahoma City. Its purpose was to classify Reed as "instant matter now being carried as armed and dangerous due to information developed by the Little Rock division".

Reed's paranoia was not.

The Reeds were fugitives. The FBI and CIA just never go away ... if you're an asset that becomes a liability.



* For Americans traveling into the interior of Mexico, the only requirement is to prove U.S. citizenship. Acceptable for this purpose are a U.S. passport, a birth certificate or voter registration card. No ID is necessary to enter the trading zone along the border. Once on Mexican soil, a person may board an airliner for interior points with no identification.
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Re: Compromised: Clinton, Bush and the CIA: How the Presiden

Postby admin » Fri Jun 03, 2016 3:40 am

Part 1 of 4


"Mr. Reed, you are not to leave the State of New Mexico without permission from this court. You are not to carry or be near a firearm. You are not to associate with any known felons and you are not to consume alcohol. These conditions plus a $50,000 bail are the conditions of your release pending trial on four felony counts of mail fraud. "

As U.S. Magistrate John Wooley finished Terry Reed's bail hearing on August 24th, 1988, visions of the bullets ripping through Barry Seal's body raced through Terry's mind.

He couldn't erase the thought from his mind. Confined to a specified area and unarmed. This is just how they "eliminated" Barry!

Marilyn Trubey put down her pencil, removed her glasses and wiped her eyes as she surveyed the three yellow legal pads she had just filled with notes from Terry Reed's marathon narrative, detailing his life from 1980 to that day in 1988 when she had been assigned his case.

"Is that all?" she asked.

"Isn't that enough?" Terry responded.

She put the cap back on her pen, stacked the pads neatly one atop the other and looked at him intently.

"It looks like your friends did you in, Terry," she said, looking up from the stack of shorthand notes on her desk. It had taken him over six hours to outline the series of events to Trubey.

Strangely, for the first time since his indictment, Terry somehow felt secure. This prim, stoic lawyer sitting back in her swivel-chair in the Federal Public Defender's Office rekindled in him feelings akin to those of his childhood, when his parents put his frail health into the hands of the old family doctor who always eased his pain and fears. She reminded him of a young Barbara Stanwyck, cool and radiating self confidence.

He had learned a lot about her, he felt, just by reading a framed inscription hanging on the wall above her desk that read: "Capital punishment means them without the capital gets the punishment."

The federal charges against the Reeds were "capital related." Janis and Terry were each charged specifically with four counts of mail fraud, a crime that carries upon conviction a maximum five-year prison sentence on each count. The indictment charged that Reed stole his own airplane and then hid it in his hangar to fraudulently collect the $33,000 in insurance. Janis was charged with aiding and abetting him, though just how she did that was never spelled out. The mail fraud statute, a law federal prosecutors use as a catch-all when no other charge fits, or when they are desperate to make something stick, was invoked due to the insurance transaction being handled through the mail.

Terry was told by an Arkansas attorney he knew, "Be extremely careful with mail fraud charges, they are difficult to defend and can really 'bite ya in the ass' if not taken seriously. Mail fraud is sorta like steppin' on a rusty nail. If ya don't treat it right, ya can die from infection. Oh, yeah, one more thing ... get ready ta spend a lotta money defendin' it."

It was October 11th and the leaves of the trees that day in Wichita, Kansas, had only begun their fall transformation. Terry had told his story over and over again and by now he was tired of re-telling it. It was, to almost everyone who had heard it, an unbelievable tale. To no avail, he had spent three days the previous month in Washington with an attorney for Senator John Kerry's Subcommittee on Terrorism, Narcotics and International Operations.

There seemed to have been plenty of interest in Washington in the Reeds' story. "It all fits," they were told by subcommittee investigator Jack Blum. "It confirms our suspicions about Felix Rodriguez and what we suspected was really going on. Go back and tell your attorney to draft a proffer (a formal statement). I'm sure that either [Independent Counsel Lawrence] Walsh or Senator Kerry will want to question you under oath. You'll be hearing from us soon." Trubey drafted the proffer, but there was never a call from Blum, Kerry, Walsh or anyone else. *

And prior to the Washington debriefing, there had been the man billed as the second best defense attorney in the State of Kansas -- Steve Robison, a former federal prosecutor. Terry had quickly determined Robison belonged to the "grab-a-fee, cop-a-plea" school of expensive and fast-moving attorneys who liked to clean up cases in a hurry. Lawyers, for the most part, feel that time spent in court is time lost from the pursuit of profit and Robison had honed that philosophy to a razor's edge.

After spending four hours on the night of their first meeting, Terry covered the high points of his ordeal and Robison comforted him with his $250-an hour advice by saying, "Hey, relax. So you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar. It happens all the time to good people. They charged you with four counts, but my advice is to plead guilty to one. You'll get two years, but you'll only serve six months. After all, it's only your first offense."

After rejecting Robison's plea advice, Terry and Janis would look with despair at their monthly statements. Robison was courteous enough to reduce his $250 an hour rate to his "discount rate" of $125 an hour for time spent reading select Iran-Contra books. Robison called it "research." His favorite book turned out to be Leslie Cockburn's, Out of Control. After finishing that one, he called Terry and asked, "Did Iran-Contra really happen? Or did the media just make up all this shit?"

After realizing that Robison wasn't the type of counsel he needed, Terry set about attorney shopping. He was beginning to feel like the victim of a car accident as he went from firm to firm trying to locate one that had the "correct talent, expertise and proper track record" to repair his legal problems. Just as one is wise to get three repair estimates on a wrecked car, Terry did likewise for his pending criminal ordeal.

While still under the by-the-hour care of Robison and prior to exhausting his legal expenses reserve, Terry took his case to a well-known Washington legal scholar who told him, "it sounds like your Wichita attorney needs an attorney." During that interview, Terry was told that it would take an "estimated" $450,000 to bring in the CIA and defend the case properly. It was also this man's off-the-record advice to, "declare yourself indigent and force the government to appoint you an attorney. That's all that will stop your financial blood-letting. You're dealing with the fucking U.S. Government, Terry. They've outspent better men than you. They've got the deficit on their side," he noted cynically.

He had obtained another estimate from an attorney in Kansas who said he would take the case for $250,000, if defense strategy was kept very simple and the CIA was not implicated.

Still another, who was seeking to make a name for himself offered, "I'll blow it out for $125,000 but you gotta pay me up front in cash and I get to keep the money regardless of what happens."

Does anyone honestly believe he risked this kind of legal exposure over a $33,000 insurance claim that netted him a "profit" of $2,500, after retiring the loan and covering his expenses, he asked? Unless you're a lawyer, he was finding, crime certainly does not pay.

Terry was emotionally numb. He was getting a crash course about the legal system and its prohibitive costs to a defendant facing a criminal charge. He was feeling outrage and despair. There oughta be a law, he said to himself.

And he was beginning to learn what anyone who observes the criminal justice system for any length of time learns: It only serves itself.

"This is a fucking industry," he told Janis after an "attorney shopping trip". "It has nothing to do with justice. All it has to do with is money, and the power and prestige money will buy you."

On their trip to Washington to "interview" for Senator Kerry's committee, Terry and Janis visited the Vietnam War Memorial for the first time. It was a very emotional experience for both of them. Looking at the wall, Terry began to think that the men whose names were etched into the marble were the lucky ones.

"They wouldn't want to see the way this country has turned into shit," Terry said to his wife, who quietly sobbed, overcome with emotion as she gazed at the memorial with the Capitol Dome looming in the background. "They probably died thinking they were still fighting for something." He was sure the country had lost its soul. He had fought for what he was told was "truth, justice and the American way." But he had found through working with the CIA, there was no truth and now he was learning the hard way there was also no justice.

"So, this must be the American way," he said to his wife.

Unlike aerial combat, which has some honor in it, there were no rules of engagement in this war game he was playing. The Bill of Rights, which supposedly defined the rules, was honored more in the breach than in reality and had become to the judges just a nuisance on the way to conviction.

... fuck Congress ...

-- Compromised: Clinton, Bush and the CIA: How the Presidency was Co-opted by the CIA, by Terry Reed & John Cummings

This "Dial 1-800-RAT FINK" mentality that the government encourages by reporting everything to the police was undermining the value system Terry had built his life around. There was no "Duty, Honor, Country" in this war, fought in plushly carpeted, mahogany paneled offices and marble shrines built as monuments to power.

It was a faceless, heartless entity that was after the Reeds, seeking to destroy their family and their lives. It had no shape, no form, nothing a person could grab and wrestle with. Their attacker could only be defined by twenty-five letters neatly embossed from a typewriter, emblazoned atop the documents that now controlled their lives and had robbed them of their freedom of movement as surely as the paper shackles that had bound Barry Seal; THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT.

Just as a trim tab on an airplane wing can slowly correct a plane's heading, my involvement with the secret cabal, designed to operate outside of the main body of government, attempted to correct the heading of the country.

-- Compromised: Clinton, Bush and the CIA: How the Presidency was Co-opted by the CIA, by Terry Reed & John Cummings

Back in New Mexico, from their Placitas homesite view of the desert mesa region south of Sante Fe, Terry and Janis would "dig in for the duration" and took little comfort in the fact their address and phone number were "allegedly" not available to the public through court records back in Wichita. Trubey had successfully argued to Judge Theis that the Reed's lives were possibly in danger, and Theis had ordered the Reed's whereabouts be sealed and their address held in abeyance by the court, only to be opened in the event of noncompliance with a mandatory court appearance. [Reed later learned that the CIA had his New Mexico address the entire time.]

Terry had little faith in a system that had access to documents in which the "enemy" controlled. The government was saying that the government couldn't have access.

Surrounded once again by fear and paranoia, pinned down and unable to evade their possible pursuers, they huddled with their children and just stared at their arrest warrants neatly typed on U.S. Government Form "A0-142 (Rev. 5/85)."

They couldn't believe their names were written under the heading "United States of America versus Terry and Janice (sic) Reed". It was so impersonal and overwhelming seeing the words "United States of America" (an entire nation!) against the two of them. Some GS clerk-typist who prepared this would be critiqued on his or her spacing, spelling and neatness. Had it been the same way in Germany when Jews' names were typed neatly on Nazi extermination orders by some faceless bureaucrat? Terry wondered, was there a form number for an execution order? He knew the answer was yes!

Then, they would read their FBI file and see the words "armed and dangerous" next to their names, along with the notation "Reed may be involved in Mexican and/or South American drug trafficking and may now be residing in Guadalajara, Mexico." Preposterous, Terry thought, this is what he had caught the CIA doing! In intelligence parlance, this is called "transference," a technique of making a "pre-emptive strike" on someone to neutralize damaging information he might possess. You simply accuse the other person of doing what you've done. It was killing him knowing what they were doing. And where were these faceless accusers? Hidden behind the FBI reports the government had based its case on that read "Source says...".

"What justice," he screamed! "Felix fucking Rodriguez or just who? They won't dare come out in the open and fight like men. Just remain cowards hidden behind redacted FBI form 302s."

The case was packed with neatly-collected fabrications and half-truths the government had constructed to discredit the Reeds. Things people had said, like Janis' former friend, Cherryl Hall.

"Cherryl Hall," the FBI report said," advised that the last house they [The Reeds] moved into in Maumelle was a $200,000 home ... [she] felt this strange in that she did not think they could afford a $200,000 home. Cherryl Hall also advised that the Reeds seemed to act mysteriously when they moved into this last home in the middle of the night."

Janis was aghast. "What is this supposed to mean, 'we moved into the house in the middle of the night?' Why would we do that?" she shrieked. "Where are these lies coming from?"

Seth Ward, who had blackmailed his way into the arms loop in Arkansas, told an FBI agent interviewing him at the Capital Club, an exclusive men's club in the Worthen Bank Building in Little Rock, that Terry was "a swindler and an individual unworthy of trust."

Mark McAfee, who fled Arkansas after declaring bankruptcy and was the man who sicced the FBI on Aki Sawahata, "described Terry Reed as a devious individual, unworthy of trust. He further stated he knew Terry Kent Reed to carry a gun and felt that Reed was just unstable enough to use it." McAfee also told the FBI "that Terry Reed had asked him how hard he felt it would be to traffic illegal narcotics into the United States from Mexico."

Terry couldn't comprehend what was happening here. These were total lies and fabrications the FBI was accepting from people who were themselves guilty of violating federal laws. Did the FBI know that? Was this deliberate? Was this all being done at the CIA's behest?

Janis was stunned when she went to retrieve her FBI file that had been FedEx'd to New Mexico by her attorney. Naively expecting a business size envelope, her stomach turned over when she saw the large box that her file had arrived in.

"How could this be," she cried. "I haven't even DONE anything!" She later became physically ill after reviewing its contents. "It's all so twisted! It's all so false! But, Terry, who do we fight to straighten it out?!" she sobbed while rocking Baxter. "They're out to destroy us. And they're going to win."

When Terry noted the name of the FBI Special Agent who was leading the investigation against them, he had concrete proof, at least in his own mind, that he was being manipulated by the Agency. The man was none other than counter-intelligence Agent Mark A. Jessie. The man who had helped contain the investigation against the Agency front Overseas International and resident CIA agent Akihide Sawahata, back in 1985.

Special Agent Jessie had shown photos of Janis and Terry Reed to her former business associates when he interviewed them. Based upon what was said in Jessie's reports, the photos were grouped with the mug shots of convicts, lineup style, in order to sway the opinion of the interviewee and make the Reeds appear as if they were prior felons. It was clear from the FBI file that a profile was being created to make both Reeds look like unsavory people with connections to drug trafficking. Was he being drawn into the judicial system to be kept within their cross hairs until more charges could be filed? Or was he being set up to be killed?

True criminals, the Reeds were told, would be laughing at a mere mail fraud charge. But to the Reeds, who were the offspring of law abiding families with high religious and moral values, this "white collar crime" was equivalent to a death sentence.

Twenty years. Twenty years. This "crime" could get them both twenty years. This gnawing knowledge remained unspoken between them. To articulate it made it real. They would not discuss it. They had three little boys to raise. Although unspoken, it was always there, every minute of every waking hour.

This indictment, Terry knew, had nothing to do with justice, or even with mail fraud. There was no victim. No one had been hurt. No insurance company had ever complained. This was the CIA, the government, trying to silence him and "dirty him up." His knowledge of how they operated made him full of rage. He knew what was really going on. He had been schooled in propaganda and disinformation. The justice system, devised to protect people's rights, had been turned into an illegal weapon. And he knew who had his finger on the trigger ... Republican Presidential candidate George Bush, and the Republican Party.

Bush and the Republicans may have had their finger on the trigger, but the Democratic Party was probably passing the ammo, he figured. Terry could hear his great-grandfather laughing at him from his grave, "Got yourself in a fine fix, didn't ya boy? Both the Republicans and the Democrats want ya dead."

Terry knew that the last person who wanted him to leave Mexico in the Fall of 1988 and reveal the CIA secrets he had learned was Bush, who was running for President against Michael Dukakis. Terry's knowledge would have opened Iran-Contra all over again, exposing completely new levels of government duplicity. Bush, Terry was sure, wanted to make sure he had no real forum, and up until the trial Terry would be prohibited from saying anything, since by doing so could expose him to more charges.

And the last person who wanted Terry back in Arkansas was Bill Clinton. He, too, knew that Terry could destroy his chances of not only seeking the Presidency someday, but could probably keep him from being reelected as governor.

The Reeds, knowing they were isolated politically, took comfort from the serenity of the desert landscape that stretched for miles with its expansive views of Cabezon Mountain, the nightly sunsets, the winds, the sage brush and the dust devils.

Terry had selected the remote area in large part to be prepared to deal with the hired assassins who might try to dispose of him the way Barry Seal had been. To provide security for his family, he was ready to take whatever measures were necessary. For fear of wire taps, no telephone calls concerning court strategy were to be made from the house. He further isolated the home electronically by constructing a manual switching device that would sever all telephone lines to the house, as well as the one to the sheriff's department that controlled the burglar alarm. He knew any wire leading to the home could be used for surveillance purposes. He thought back and wished he still had the 500 pounds of C-4 plastic explosives that he had hidden for Cooper. The magistrate who had set his bail told him he couldn't have a gun, but he hadn't mentioned explosives or anti-personnel mines. So he went shopping. Lord help the unsuspecting coyote that happened to wander on the Reed property at night.

Out of fear, Terry took extreme measures to protect his family and as he contemplated their alternatives, Terry realized there was no ready refuge. In Mexico, he had been told, the local U.S. Consulate, in the event of an emergency would protect him from harm.

There is, they began to realize, no Witness Protection Program to protect people from a government that runs amuck and becomes the predator seeking to destroy those who have become liabilities.

Seated in their comfortable home in Placitas, Janis found herself withdrawing even more into their underground world. They were consumed with their quest for survival and talked of nothing else. She found her world revolving around Terry's daily trips to town and to the pay phone for discussions with Marilyn Trubey, and she would start to panic if he was gone too long.

Seven miles from their home on the banks of the northern Rio Grande was the small Hispanic community of Bernalillo, where Coronado had wintered as he traveled north from Mexico in search of gold.

On Main Street was the one and only Silva's Saloon, founded in 1933 and the site of many western movies. The second-generation owner, Felix Silva, ran a squeaky clean bar that doubled as a museum, which was filled with memorabilia of the Old West mixed with bare-breasted pin-ups. Prior to their indictment, it had become Janis and Terry's Hispanic "Cheers." Now Felix' pay phone was their communications center, and only telephone link, to the outside world. Felix had also become one of the Reeds' few confidants aware of their legal problems, and someone who offered solace when needed.

Early in their marriage Terry had told his wife that based on his intelligence involvement she should assume their phones were always tapped. But she never envisioned red stickers on her home phone that read "Don't be stupid. This phone is not secure." Even the utilities were not in their names so their address couldn't easily be discovered. And they never, never used a credit card, since they would reveal their location and could show a pattern of movement.

Terry lectured Janis continuously about computer trails that can be used to track an individual, and doctor's records, especially pharmaceutical prescription records, which are relayed via satellite and can be tapped into to determine a person's whereabouts.

In the winter of 1988 Baxter, the baby, had an ear infection and Janis took him to a local doctor. Having given the boy's vital statistics, the nurse informed her that she would have to provide her Social Security number and a photocopy of her driver's license.

"But I'm paying cash," Janis said as her breath quickened.

"It's our policy," the nurse said matter-of-factly.

The phone rang and as the nurse turned to answer it, Janis took the feverish baby and ran out the door as if running for her life. Her head was pounding violently.

Calm down, calm down, I've got to calm down, she told herself as she drove to a clinic in an Hispanic neighborhood where no questions were asked. But she couldn't calm down. She didn't know what forces were after her husband, but she knew they were forces who would be happy to see him dead and she had no idea how powerful and far-reaching this unseen enemy was.

"I am absolutely losing my mind," she thought while driving the baby home from the doctor's office. "How is this doctor's office going to be a link to the bad guys? Maybe I should have just let them copy my driver's license."

"You mean you even considered letting them Xerox your driver's license?" Terry said in astonishment after listening to his wife recount the day's events. "Haven't you heard that local pharmacy's commercial about getting your prescription filled anywhere, at anytime, in the country because they're linked via satellite? All you need is one slip up and your location will be accessible to anyone that wants it. Don't take any stupid chances," he reprimanded her.

A lecture was NOT what she needed to hear.

"Oh, sure. You tell the boys they can't get sick. They can't fall down. They can't ride a bike. Maybe they shouldn't run. Let's be sure they don't go down any slides. They might fall off and break an arm! We've got three little boys, Terry! What did you learn in spook school about hiding out a family of five! Yeah, a family of five with a German Shepherd the size of a horse! Was that in Advance Escape and Evasion? I bet you missed that chapter! You know, I think I'm coping amazingly well considering I'm pushing 40, living on the lam, have no contact with my family or friends, and can load most of my earthly possessions into a utility trailer while my ex-friends are dining at the country club and doing volunteer work for the Junior League! You're damn lucky you have me here taking care of our family, spending every waking hour of my life working on this case. Don't you think I've thought about running away from YOU?! But I won't and you know I won't because that's what they think I'm going to do. Now don't you lecture me about taking chances. You know I won't even let Duncan walk to the mail box by himself!"

Terry knew enough to say no more. Their nerves were shot. They talked to no one but each other and their attorneys, and the strain was taking its toll. They had been confused about being forced to have separate attorneys when they were first indicted. CONFLICT, they had been told. Two separate cases, two separate defenses. Now, it was starting to make sense. Conflict.

As Janis sat alone in her rocking chair in front of the fireplace that night, she was lower than she had ever been. Desperation and loneliness overwhelmed her. Would this never end? She had found herself doing strange things. She had developed a fetish about keeping her house immaculate. Was it because it was one small aspect of her life that she had control over?

Possibly. But she knew the real reason. She kept having a recurring dream that their home was invaded and agents were coming to take them away. But in her dream, she was always standing there in the doorway with her boys, and as the intruders searched the house she could overhear one of them saying, "We must have the wrong house. Look, this is a wholesome family that lives here. Let's go." As ridiculous as this dream was, she found herself meticulously arranging the toys in the children's room everyday, carefully placing the stuffed animals on their beds, displaying their Lego creations in a prominent location. "There is so much love in this family," she thought, "and they're trying to destroy us!"

As she sat there sobbing, she heard the patter of feet behind her. She turned to see three-year old Elliott scamper back out of the room, his padded pajama feet scooting across the floor. She became even more distressed that he had seen her crying since she and Terry both were so cautious about being even-tempered in front of the children.

But Elliott immediately returned. She watched as he toddled across the room with a fresh tissue in his little hand and to a flower arrangement sitting on a table. He plucked a flower from the vase and walked softly to his mother. He gently placed the flower in her lap and wiped her tears with the tissue. This beautiful expression of love melted her heart and was the turning point in her effort to fight her depression.

She took Elliott into her lap and rocked him until he fell asleep. He had given her a new strength she could feel growing within her as she rocked her small child. "I WILL NOT GIVE UP! We will survive this. We will overcome this! It could be so much worse. Look at the hostages in Beirut. What am I doing wimping around here?"

As she sat there with her sleeping child she began to re-evaluate her life. She knew she could not solely blame her husband for the mess they were in. She was always there, ready and eager to go along with his choices. She also knew she wouldn't be content with the shallow lifestyle of her old acquaintances. No, she had made a commitment to this marriage. For better or worse. Terry was certainly keeping his end of the bargain, living up to his vow: "It will never be boring."

"I could go for a small dose of boredom," she thought. She knew she was going to have to take charge of her life and she found herself thinking back to her religious upbringing she had so rebelled against. "I've just got to talk to someone," she realized.

She and Terry had made one attempt to talk to a counselor, but when their story was met with skepticism by the elderly counselor who refused to believe the government was tainted in any way, they left. Besides, they had no guarantees that their confidences would not be relayed to other sources.

But Janis realized for her own sanity that she must seek out a confidant and decided the church was the place to go. The next day she nervously approached the local minister, not knowing what to expect. "Can you please see me for just 15 minutes. I have to talk to someone," she pleaded.

Two hours later when she left she knew she was no longer alone. An enormous weight had been lifted. Instead of being condescending and judgmental as she had feared, she had found a caring and sympathetic minister who told her quite clearly that her family would find refuge within the church if need be.

He was highly knowledgeable about Iran-Contra and had been a political activist, someone she could relate to. No, he didn't think she was crazy. He admired her fortitude in fighting back.

"Few people could withstand the pressures you are experiencing, Janis," he told her. "I've seen your family here before. You obviously have done something right for you to have such happy, well-mannered little boys. If you ever fear for your family's safety, I want you to contact me immediately. This church is here to serve our community. You will be protected. No questions asked."

A burden had been lifted.

The church, she discovered, is a government, or at least a third party, a safe house willing to take you in without asking why you needed refuge. The pastor was more than willing to help them "disappear" in a modern version of the old Underground Railroad that would, if necessary, spirit them out of the country.

They both realized they had lived in the United States of America, had studied its Constitution and never fully understood the necessity for the separation of church and state until that fateful day.

They compared their plight to that of Christ -- persecuted, not prosecuted, by an undefinable foe: The U.S. Government -- whatever that is. Terry could put faces on his fears, faces like those of Felix Rodriguez and Ramon Medina. On paper it was a simple mail fraud charge, but to Terry it was a re-run of Barry Seal. Like Barry, he was pinned down where he could be found and told he could not have a gun. And now, he was forced to wait for the assassins he was sure would come.

The only two friends they could trust now were John Desko, Terry's old friend from Southeast Asia who still lived in Albuquerque, and Julie Dennison, a local realtor, who befriended Janis.

From having written war contingency plans, known as Emergency War Orders, during his Air Force days, Terry sat down to evaluate his options. Initially, he saw only three: He and his wife could flee together; they could flee separately or, last of all, something he did not want to think about, plead guilty.

"If Terry will plead guilty, I will drop the charges against Janis. That way, there will be one of them on the street to raise their children." That's what the prosecutor told both Steve Robison and Marilyn Trubey at one point. "Must be George Bush's idea of family values," Terry responded when told of the offer.

And the worst thing the Reeds were both learning was that a criminal prosecution tests not only your love and your relationship to its limits, but it also exposes all weaknesses and character flaws, not only in yourself, but in your family and friends as well. You begin seeing things about other people that would never, ever surface without them having been exploited by the professionally trained federal manipulators, who cause internal conflict within people's value systems.

Janis' family, as the Reeds had feared, had a strength that the FBI was exploiting as a weakness, namely her parents' inability to tell a lie. By reading the FBI reports given them, the Reeds learned the FBI and Arkansas State Police had interviewed her parents and exploited their religious beliefs and convictions to the point they divulged the Reeds' fictitious location in Mexico.

The only thing that had prevented the Reeds' arrest and apprehension was the parents' lack of knowledge as to their true residence. Agents of the government had put two God-fearing senior citizens into a position of being forced to choose between family or religious conviction and authority, hedged in threats of criminal prosecution if the "government" is not supplied the proper information.
How could a country that prides itself on its religious roots, family values and love of country lower itself to prey upon the very principles it pretends to promote and embrace?

This was destroying Janis. And the Reeds had no alternative. At a time when they needed family support, they had to cut themselves off from her parents. What else, the Reeds wondered, would they tell the FBI if exploited? Certainly, they were easily manipulated. Was the FBI exploiting "family values" at the instruction of George Bush's Justice Department?

Finally, they settled on another alternative, to take on and fight the legal system one a day at a time.

The first ray of hope Terry had found was in Marilyn Trubey, who had been assigned his case after he declared himself indigent. He had, without realizing it at first, turned the system on itself by fighting the government with a public defender paid by the government. And Trubey was no ordinary Public Defender.

Here was a dedicated, single woman in her late 30s who had learned the federal criminal justice system from the ground up, and inside out. Marilyn, the youngest of four children and a native of Kansas, had worked her way through law school after being employed by the Kansas State and Federal Public Defender's office. As an administrative assistant she had over thirteen years to observe the "do's and don't's" of defense and was appalled to see the errors made that literally cost people years of their lives.

But beyond the human mistakes made, she identified something more disturbing, something that would influence her decision to devote her life to attempting to rectify the injustices dealt out by the criminal justice system. Namely, it was all a game of money, she observed. She witnessed first hand how race and social status had a disproportionate share of leverage on the scales of the U.S. court system. In whatever way she could correct these inequities, she decided to commit herself and repair these injustices. Her years of devotion hadn't quite prepared her for Terry Reed, though. By the luck of the draw, a CIA spook with a big problem walked through her door and into her life, and would become a friend forever.

Now, more than a month after surrendering to face the charges, the Reeds were beginning to shake the "denial" phase of being framed and falsely accused and graduate to the "acceptance" phase of their plight. It was time to take charge of their defense.

Terry and Marilyn would become a good legal team, complementing each other's weaknesses.

He knew the intelligence world and how it worked. There were no rules on that side of the fence, he would teach her. She knew the legal world forward and backward, but still operated in a law school bubble, thinking there were rules for everything, and that they were strictly enforced. Trubey believed, then, that the judiciary could not be reached by the Executive branch or the Central Intelligence Agency.

After all, she, like most Americans, had studied about the triangular division of power within our government. Until this case, she had been convinced that the Executive, Legislative, and Judicial were separate branches that did not conspire to violate an individual's rights. She was in for a rude awakening.

The problem with lawyers, Terry was learning, is most suffer from terminal legal training and actually believe what they learn in law school -- until it's too late.

Through Terry's experience and cynicism, he could moderate Trubey's structured, rigid view of the legal world. "Marilyn, don't you get it, we only have two branches of government now, the executive has absorbed the judicial," he would say. She would moderate his cynicism and outlandish thinking with legal precedents.

"It was like a marriage," she would say later of their two-and-a-half year legal ordeal. They often fought, and then made up. They each needed the other.

Another major player in this legal game was Joe Dunlap, a solidly-built investigator resembling a linebacker who worked for the Public Defender's office and whose relationship with the Reed case took him through the looking glass into a world he never knew existed. Joe was a college graduate who had 11 years service as a dedicated Wichita police officer. Like most jobs, police work has a routine, but it's not a routine one can settle into. Dunlap had settled in and made a near fatal mistake.

One night in 1978, he did not approach a suspect "by the book" and it nearly cost him his life. He took three shots at point-blank range from a .357 Magnum while approaching in his car to "interview" a pedestrian. Fortunately, he was able to coast his car into the street where he could be found, and miraculously was discovered in time, rushed to surgery, and lived. From then on, though, he was never the same man and was afraid that he was going to overreact and kill someone while on duty, if provoked.

Dunlap became a real find for the Public Defender's office because he, unlike other former cops, was able to turn himself around to a defense mode and apply his investigative skills to proving a client's innocence, rather than guilt.

"It's not that I didn't believe you when I first heard your story. It's just that I didn't want to believe our government did this kind of thing," Dunlap said to Terry later. He, like most people who hear stories of such grievous government misconduct, was, at first, in denial.

If it hadn't been for meeting Janis and the children, Dunlap said, he would never have believed Terry's story when he first heard it. "I just fell in love with Duncan and figured anybody that could raise a family this nice couldn't be what the FBI files say they are," he said.

Dunlap was a tenacious investigator whose style reminded Terry of the actor James Garner when he starred in The Rockford Files. He was street savvy and knew how to burrow into a case until he found the missing links and obtained the desired results. Terry's case would test him and his skills to the limits, and would open his eyes forever about our government's "secret government" and its felonious behavior.

* * *

While debriefing with Trubey and Dunlap, Terry went back in time to cover the events that occurred since that fateful day he learned of the indictment. Janis first learned of the indictment through a call to her parents, and Terry cautiously began preparing to surrender himself.

No big deal, the FBI Special Agents Gary Violanti and Sandra Bungo had said while sitting on the sofa in Janis' parents' living room in Kansas City, just "a small matter of white collar crime." But they neglected to tell them that Janis had been indicted as well.

Being drawn into the criminal justice system was a brand new experience for the Reeds. They weren't sure about their legal status as indictees and sought out an attorney to advise them. But they knew one thing for certain: their lives were going to change. Once again, they considered the options: running away, disappearing or surrendering. In preparation for the third option, Terry got in touch with an attorney who told him the bad news. An indictment meant a warrant had been issued for the Reeds' arrest and if arrested outside of Kansas, they could count on a two-day drive, with overnight stops at many jails inbetween, in the U.S. Marshal's bus to Wichita.

Terry began making arrangements to voluntarily surrender by contacting his Wichita attorney, Steve Robison. The lawyer had advised him it always looks better to the U.S. Magistrate, who hopefully would allow bail, if a fugitive surrenders and doesn't force apprehension. While dealing with the details of the possibility of being immediately incarcerated and being denied bail, Terry discovered the seriousness of the charges and the savagery of those trying to find him.

He became aware through his younger sister that his mother had been hospitalized as a result of FBI harassment and interrogation. She was 72 at the time and had suffered either a mental breakdown, a heart attack or both. It was thought she was dying.

Two FBI agents, Larry Nolan and another of the government's crime fighters, had made two trips to Terry's family home in Carthage, and refused to leave until his mother would inform them of her oldest son's whereabouts. They further stated, contrary to what Janis' parents had been told, that Terry was involved in serious "illegal activities" that would send him to prison "for many, many years." They further said the mother would be arrested, too, for "harboring a fugitive" if she refused to cooperate with them.

"I don't know what's going on, Terry ..." his frantic sister had said. "They're gonna kill her if you don't do something. I ran them off after their second visit. These people are crazy and they don't care if they kill her ... I don't know what you did, but these guys want you real bad."

That same day, the FBI in Kansas City was demanding that Karen, Janis' sister, come by their office for an interrogation session. They were threatening her, too, with charges of harboring fugitives. Her sister had the name of one of the agents, Special Agent Violanti, from the Kansas City office. Terry called him, and that turned out to be a MAJOR mistake. He never actually spoke to the agent, instead he was told Violanti was too busy. A distraught Terry told the agent who picked up the phone, "I know you have a warrant for my arrest. I'm in the process of surrendering and if you guys kill my mother as a result of your searching for me, I'm gonna hold Violanti personally responsible."

"You just threatened a federal agent, buddy, so now you can add five more years to your sentence," the agent responded in an ominous tone.
Terry hung up. He had never felt so helpless. Not only had he been stripped of his self-esteem, but now he was viewed as a hardened criminal. And this for trying to protect his mother, a human, natural instinct, he was being threatened with more charges.

He felt neutered. Incapable of defending himself or his loved ones. He had become the man the FBI created in their five-inch thick file. Although he had been convicted of nothing yet, he already had been reinvented as a man with a criminal past, a drug trafficker hiding in Mexico with countless aliases and someone described as "armed and dangerous." It was as if he had no name and no rights. He was just a fugitive, at best a defendant.

On September 14, the FBI, which had known nothing about anything before the attacks, published its infamous list of nineteen hijackers. As we will soon see, the mortality rate among those supposed kamikazes was less than 100%, with no less than seven of the suspects named turning up alive and well in the days after this list was published. More importantly, this was a list prepared by the same FBI which had been responsible for the Waco massacre of men, women, and children in 1992, the agency that illegally withheld documents in the capital murder trial of Timothy McVeigh, an abuse which ought to have caused his conviction to be thrown out, but which only caused it to be delayed. This is the agency whose vaunted Crime Lab turned out to be a sewer of incompetence and corruption. This is the same FBI which clumsily attempted to entrap and frame up the innocent Richard Jewel during the 1996 Atlanta Olympic games, while the real culprit went free. This is the same FBI which persecuted the Chinese-American scientist Wen Ho Lee without any grounds, accusing him of having transferred secrets to the People’s Republic of China. This is the same FBI which permitted the Soviet mole Robert Hanssen to operate inside it for fifteen years. This is the agency which ostracized John O’Neill, and which ignored the Phoenix memorandum and Colleen Rowley’s warnings from Minneapolis. This is the same FBI which could not capture the Unabomber over decades, until his own brother turned him in. This is the same agency which, over the previous months, in the words of Governor Kean of the 9/11 Commission, “failed and failed and failed and failed and failed.” Are we then to believe that on September 14 this troubled and incompetent agency enjoyed a brief interlude of success, as represented by the list of the 19? And if they did succeed that day, they must have soon lapsed back into incompetence again, as seen in their utter failure to prevent the October 2001 anthrax attacks, or ever to identify the perpetrator, perhaps because the anthrax in question was weapons grade material which had come from a US military lab, probably Fort Detrick, Maryland. This was the same FBI whose main activity after 9/11 seemed to consist in confiscating relevant evidence and tampering with witnesses, telling them that had not seen what they knew they had. Anyone familiar with the record will have a very hard time taking seriously such allegations coming from the discredited, dysfunctional FBI.

-- 9/11 Synthetic Terror Made in USA, by Webster Griffin Tarpley

It was strange. FBI Agents in six states had been working countless man-hours, according to their own reports, on a mail fraud case involving an alleged $33,000 theft. In most federal districts, an overworked U.S. attorney would, at best, give a case like this his lowest priority, particularly since no insurance company had filed a lawsuit -- or even claimed to have been injured.

Terry's efforts to live his life by his code and never taking the easy path just weren't paying off. He was finding that much of what he had done in life was being used in some manner to create the discrediting profile. A Vietnam veteran with a pilot's license who spoke Spanish, Trubey was telling him, was automatically part of a drug trafficker's profile.

* * *
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Re: Compromised: Clinton, Bush and the CIA: How the Presiden

Postby admin » Fri Jun 03, 2016 3:41 am

Part 2 of 4

"Ms. Trubey, I probably shouldn't say this, but those guys are lying," the U.S. Marshal said, referring to the government's star witness as he left the Wichita courtroom where the Marshal was assigned. The hearing was in its second day and the Marshal, who spends his working day listening to people testify, knew the government was faring badly.

Trubey was feeling elated. Victory, she felt, was in sight. She had utterly destroyed the earlier testimony given in Arkansas by the government's two witnesses against Janis and Terry.

The judge had ordered the recess so that phone calls could be made back to Little Rock to straighten out conflicting information about the file number originally assigned to the Reed investigation. She had them on the run. Assistant U.S. Attorney Robin Fowler, the chief Government Prosecutor, was not present and Jack Williams, another government attorney, was not prepared to counter the disclosures his own witnesses were making about their falsification of key documents.

If the result of the phone calls back to Little Rock confirmed what Terry and Trubey suspected, the government had been looking for him long before his stolen airplane was discovered in Terry's old "Contra training hangar" at the North Little Rock Airport.

As the courtroom was emptying for the recess that afternoon on June 21st, 1989, and after U.S. District Court Judge Frank Theis had returned to his chambers, the marshal who had heard all the testimony, made the unusual gesture of approaching the defense table and sharing his professional observations about the false testimony he had just heard.

"I'm glad you drew that conclusion. I hope the judge does also," she told the marshal. "I owe all my evidence to my investigator, Mr. Dunlap."

Nine months earlier, when Trubey and Dunlap had been assigned to the case, all they had to go on was testimony given by an Arkansas State Police official and a private detective who were seeking a state court warrant to search an aircraft hangar in North Little Rock and seize its contents.

And "its alleged contents" was none other than Terry's airplane stolen five years earlier from the Joplin, Missouri airport. And the plane was found in the hangar Terry had rented initially at CIA Agent Akihide Sawahata's behest and the same hangar that Robert Johnson had told Terry to keep rented while he was in Mexico.

Dunlap's first visit to Little Rock in October of 1988 made him a believer about Terry's story. Not only did he find flaws in the affidavit for the state search warrant, but he discovered something much more unsettling in Arkansas -- the mindset of the police there. He was encouraged to check into a motel room that Dunlap later learned was permanently bugged electronically for prying out-of-state "agitators." The police, as if trying to hamper his freedom of movement, began shadowing him and even showing up at the bar of the motel Dunlap had chosen upon state police recommendation.

On that first trip, Dunlap couldn't quite shake his paranoia that was building from the knowledge that this case might involve some very important people in Arkansas, and this was not his turf. He was considered a meddler from the "Yankee Government" and his U.S. Government license plates were drawing a lot of attention. He had to interview some critical witnesses, two of whom were the people who had witnessed Terry's meeting with Arkansas Governor Bill Clinton at Juanita's Restaurant in Little Rock on April 19th, 1986.

These were people Terry wanted to call as defense witnesses not only to corroborate part of his story, but Trubey felt they would be needed to establish a motive for the government to set him up. If she could prove Terry possessed knowledge of Clinton's involvement in the illegal Contra operations, Clinton himself could have had motives to create a crime around Terry. And wasn't it interesting, she thought out loud, that one of the people helping to frame the Reeds was the man in charge of Clinton's security staff who had an office in the governor's mansion?

The two people Dunlap wanted to interview were Wally and Cherryl Hall, both of whom now worked at the Arkansas Democrat. On his way to the newspaper that day, Dunlap noticed a car driven by a black man, following him. After unsuccessfully trying to shake him, Dunlap gave up and went to the newspaper only to discover the Halls were unavailable. When he left the newspaper office, the man following him remained parked there as Dunlap drove off. But he saw him again a short time later in an unlikely and strange place ... in the DEA's parking lot at an office complex that houses the DEA's undercover headquarters on the west side of Little Rock.

Earlier, when Dunlap had tried to interview Arkansas State Police Sergeant Don Sanders, he had been denied access to the DEA facilities. Upon returning to the parking lot, and while sitting in his car to fill out his reports, Dunlap observed the same car with the same black driver pulling in to park. The driver, without noticing Dunlap, entered the DEA's facility. Dunlap was sure he was being followed and probably that same person was keeping tabs on the subjects of his interviews.

When Dunlap finally did get to interview the Halls, they informed him that they had indeed dined with the Reeds, but couldn't recall that particular evening. How odd, the Reeds thought, considering Cherryl's penchant for gossip and earlier excitement about Terry leaving the restaurant with Clinton and his aide that night.

What bothered Dunlap the most was the man who showed up at his motel on that first investigative trip to Little Rock. It was Lieutenant Raymond (Buddy) Young, chief of Clinton's security unit at the governor's mansion and the man who had stood outside the van in 1986 when Terry met with Clinton, as he inhaled marijuana. That night, and earlier at the Camp Robinson bunker meeting, Terry had not been introduced to Young and he had never put a name with the security man's face. Until Young walked into the courtroom in Wichita in June of 1989, Terry did not know that the man in charge of the investigation against him, and the man who stood guard for Clinton at both meetings, were one and the same.

Young was simply one of the two names appearing on the Arkansas search warrant affidavit. The other was Tommy Baker, a former State Police Sergeant, who was now a private investigator in Little Rock.

The affidavit on the surface appeared simple. Baker, a pilot, was taxiing by a row of hangars at the North Little Rock airport and "a hangar door flew open."

"I looked in to make sure nothing was damaged," he stated. "I saw an airplane in there that appeared as if it had been abandoned." Baker said he looked at the plane's N-number and it "didn't look right." He then said he called Young, an old friend and, it was revealed much later, a business associate.

"I called Lt. Young and got the 'N' number ran on it," he stated. "And the plane with the 'N' number on it is supposed to be in Germany, according to the FAA records. So, I went back and found the serial number of the plane in question here on the aileron [wing area] of the airplane and was able to trace it down through Lt. Young and NCIC (the FBI's National Crime Information Center) as being stolen from Joplin, Mo."

Young said in the same affidavit, "I checked with the FBI in Joplin, Missouri. They also have a case report on it. I have done some follow-up work and determined that it was paid off by an insurance company and that the plane is still carried as stolen and has never been recovered."

However, FBI documents recently provided to Reed under court discovery in 1993 show that Young did not tell "the whole truth" as the witness oath requires. This was Young's first sworn testimony in the Reed case and he is still telling the same story, even though the FBI telex shows it to be untrue.

The FBI telex from its Kansas City office to its Little Rock and Oklahoma City offices and dated October 13, 1987, states: "On October 9, 1987, Ken Copeland, sergeant, Joplin Missouri, Police Department, advised Lieutenant Buddy Young, Arkansas State Police, Little Rock, Arkansas, advised aircraft recovered Little Rock area in barn on or about October 7, 1987. Drug Enforcement Administration and FBI Little Rock notified."

This clearly shows that Reed was set up and the aircraft had not been discovered in Reed's hangar as Baker and Young had testified to obtain the state search warrant. It further shows that Young had discovered and recovered the plane nearly a week before ever seeking the search warrant. This was suppressed and never turned over to the defense at Reed's trial by the government as the rules of evidence require.

From their appearance before a sitting judge and from his perjured testimony, Young was issued a search and seizure warrant from "Special Judge," [an attorney who fills in for a judge] Harlan Weber, on October 14th, 1987. Later, when questioned by Trubey about the frequency of "oral affidavits" being used in Arkansas to obtain search warrants, Young testified that in his experience it was unprecedented.

As a result of his first interviews, Dunlap discovered a third person was involved in the investigation, one whose name did not appear on the affidavit. He was Arkansas State Police Sergeant Don Sanders, who was assigned to a joint federal-state drug task force. Without the key information he supplied to Baker about the registration of the aircraft found in Terry's hangar, that it had been de-registered and sold in a foreign country, there would have been no search warrant affidavit in the first place.

They would only have what they called an "abandoned" airplane in a "rented" facility, a contradiction in terms. It would be impossible for an airplane owner to "abandon" his own aircraft in his own hanger. And certainly no crime would have been established.

Dunlap returned to Wichita to digest the new and confusing information. What he had found was a shadowy third person lurking in the background, a person with connections to the federal government and the Drug Enforcement Administration. What was bothering both Trubey, Dunlap and Terry as well, was the elusive report in Terry's FBI file that he was "trafficking in narcotics in Central and/or South America." Where did all this come from? The Teletype report was not signed and had no letterhead. But it said something very interesting. It said that Young had passed on information to the FBI that Terry was trafficking in narcotics "out of Central and South America."

This smelled of a tip. And it sounded like the FBI was passing along a DEA "profile. " Could Sanders have been the conduit for a tip that emanated, Terry figured, from Rodriguez or maybe someone else in Mexico?

Secondly, Dunlap had ruled out the unlikely story about the wind blowing open the hangar door, as Baker had claimed. The hanger manufacturer provided detailed engineering data indicating the hangar and its doors were stressed to withstand over 120 knots of wind -- hurricane speeds. The highest wind gusts the day Baker said the door flew open, he had found, were about 10 miles an hour.*

Dunlap also had interviewed the hangar owner and the locksmith who maintained the hangar, and both said they had no knowledge, records or repair orders to reflect a problem with Terry's hangar or its door. But even if there had been a problem, the hangar owner faxed a receipt to the court showing adjustments and retrofits were made to all of the hangars' locks prior to October 7th. The locksmith's invoice to the hangar owner for this work was dated October 7th, 1987, the day Baker claimed the wind blew the door open.

The final blow to the wind scenario came from the hangar owner who later testified that the locksmith's work had to be performed before the 7th, since it was not his policy to invoice until the work was totally completed.

These facts proved Baker was lying about how he gained access to Reed's hangar. But why?

While driving back to Wichita, Dunlap realized that if this airplane had been discovered as the result of good detective work, as Baker had said, Dunlap would not have found these inconsistencies. Maybe, he thought, Terry was being set up. The thought that he was perhaps dealing with the CIA and the likes of Felix Rodriguez was unsettling.

On Dunlap's second trip to Little Rock on February 21, 1989, he would find no answers, only more questions. First, why had Baker visited a Piper dealership and FBO (fixed-base operator) at the North Little Rock Airport, shortly after the plane's seizure, and divulged he had discovered the plane as the result of "a tip?"

Second, why had Young hidden critical evidence in the governor's mansion for more than 16 months and not turned it over to the FBI when the case was handed off to federal authorities? What Young had held back was potentially more incriminating to Terry than the airplane. It was Terry's old flight bag that had been in his airplane, N 2982M, when it was stolen in Joplin in 1983. It contained maps, charts, log books and personal effects of Terry's, and if this was found in the aircraft in the hangar as Baker claimed, that would be the key piece of evidence that would tie Terry to the plane and assure a conviction. Why, Dunlap wondered, wasn't this turned over to the Feds?

After a search warrant is executed, police must inventory everything seized and return the inventory to the court that issued the warrant. But the itemized inventory that Young had sent back to the court made no mention of the flight bag, leading Dunlap to believe it was not in the aircraft when it was seized.

The story Young and Baker were telling was beginning to shred. The key item missing in the FBI file, which by this time had been turned over to the defense, was Young's personal investigative file. Young's name was mentioned on only two items in the FBI file. What should have been there was Young's complete investigative file that all police maintain as they work. It lists their activities, the people they questioned and what had been said.

When questioned about this by Dunlap, Young produced what appeared to be onion skin copies of unformatted reports whose dates had been "whited out." He would not give Dunlap copies of those, saying he could not do so without permission from the U.S. attorney's office in Wichita. Oddly, Young would not even allow Dunlap to inventory, or make copies of the bag's contents. Dunlap thought this whole thing was beginning to emit a peculiar odor. Dunlap analyzed what he had found to date.

1. The single piece of evidence used to indict Terry, namely the plane, had seemingly disappeared.

2. The plane had been released by the police without a court order as if they were anxious to get rid of it and prevent its being inspected. And there was certainly skepticism whether the aircraft had even been in Reed's hangar since no photographs of it were taken while it sat there in it's alleged abandoned state.

3. Critical evidence that could have been used to convict Terry had been kept from the FBI and hidden from both the prosecution and defense.

4. Necessary police reports were being kept from the defense, if they had ever been written in the first place.

5. Entry to the hangar had not been gained as Baker had alleged in his testimony.

6. Baker had been led there as the result of a tip.

7. And most importantly, a federal agent had been involved in the initial investigation, and his name had been purposely withheld from the judge issuing the search warrant.

All this subterfuge gave Marilyn Trubey the argument she needed to force a hearing to deal with these disturbing anomalies, a hearing to present evidence showing why the judge should suppress the plane as evidence. Since the plane in question was unavailable to the defense, she wanted to make it technically unavailable to the government. Without the aircraft being admitted into evidence in Terry's trial, the government would have no case and there would be no trial, or least that's what she thought.

The plane Young seized October 14, allegedly was removed from Terry's hangar. There were no photographs ever taken showing any plane in Terry's hangar. After seizure, it supposedly was stored by the Arkansas State Police in a different hangar rented in the state's name. It allegedly bore the tail number N 30489, which is the same number that was on the plane Cooper flew into Little Rock carrying the C-4. Young said the plane was removed from Terry's hangar to safeguard the aircraft because he feared this key piece of evidence would "disappear."

"I put it under my lock and my key," he later testified.

The plane did, indeed, disappear later, but as a result of Young's doing. He released it prematurely to an independent insurance adjuster, and with no court order. This was the one and only piece of evidence that had been used to indict Terry, and it would now suddenly vanish and not be available for him to use in his defense.

Much could have been learned from examining the aircraft. For example, what fingerprints would have been found? What type of insects were in the engine cowlings. Were they indigenous to a tropical climate? What frequencies and headings were set in the plane's radios and instruments? What tell-tale maintenance stickers and stamps existed on the plane and its avionics which could leave a trail of mechanical work performed, etc. And the one looming problem that still needed clarification was whether or not the alleged plane was actually N2982M, Terry's stolen plane.

The circumstances surrounding the plane's release and the motivations for doing so are still shrouded in mystery. The bottom line is that no one -- except for Young or Baker -- can place that airplane, Piper Arrow N30489, a non-turbo charged craft, in Terry's hangar, because no photographs of it were ever taken. This normally is routine police procedure, and these photos should have been submitted as evidence against Terry.

On June 21st, 1989, the suppression hearing was convened before Judge Theis. Then 81 years old, Theis was the senior judge for the District of Kansas, and had been appointed by Lyndon Baines Johnson, of whom a portrait measuring six feet by four feet hung behind Theis' desk in his luxurious chambers.

Federal judges are above political control, Terry thought cynically as he looked at Johnson's portrait. Upon being notified they had drawn Theis as their judge, Steve Robison informed, "You could've done worse, and you could've done better. I was hoping we'd draw Judge Kelly, since he's the most liberal judge we have in Kansas, and loves to catch the government misbehaving. I'm glad we didn't draw Judge Crow though; he's a conservative Republican, and in his mind the government does no wrong. The only problem with Judge Theis is he's normally not awake long enough to know what's goin' on."

Robison cautioned Terry about courtroom behavior. "When the judge falls asleep, it's real important not to make a big deal about it and embarrass him. His secretary, who he sleeps with, will notice it eventually and go over and wake him up. The judge has narcolepsy."

After meeting Theis in his courtroom for the first time, and looking at the giant, looming portrait of the judge hanging on an adjacent wall, it was clear to Terry that the judge had declined considerably since it was painted. He now had a drooping eye, probably the result of stroke, and a rambling mind normally focused on the famous Karen Silkwood Case, which he tried earlier and talked about continually.

"Sure is a pretty day," the judge said one day when entering the courtroom. "The weather sort of reminds me of the weather we had during the Silkwood trial." Theis' resume included not only the Silkwood case, involving plutonium theft from Kerr-McGee, but the tampon toxic shock syndrome case as well.

Terry threw up his hands. His life, as well as his family's, was in the hands of a droopy-eyed judge who couldn't stay awake. A man who had to be briefed by his secretary about what had occurred in the courtroom. The only positive thing he could think of was that his grandfather would have approved of Theis' political affiliation. He was a Democrat.

But contrary to the warning about narcolepsy, Theis was wide awake that first day. In fact, Robison noted, "I haven't seen the judge this perky in a long time. The name of Oliver North seems to have reignited some old fire in him." A Wichita newspaper had just printed an article saying North's name would surface in the case.

Then, there was Robin Fowler, the federal prosecutor. From the time Terry and his wife were indicted, until their first appearance in Theis' courtroom, there had been no face or voice for "the government," this elusive monster set on devouring them.

On June 21st, 1989, the monster finally had one. It was Fowler's face, an Assistant United States Attorney schooled in the East and brought in to be the personal protege of United States Attorney Benjamin L. Burgess Jr., whose supporters were distributing bumper stickers saying "Burgess for Governor." It was rumored that Fowler would be his running mate and candidate for lieutenant governor.

Fowler was 32 at the time and Terry was told his personal life was in a shambles. His wife was seeking a divorce and he was now "in the party mode" and spending most evenings cruising the Wichita singles bars.

The yuppified attorney was sporting the best in polyester suits and the latest in men's permed hairstyles, apparently not realizing that both looks were passe. Based on his protruding stomach, which shadowed a distasteful belt buckle sporting the letter "F," it was apparent from what Trubey had told Terry that Fowler wasn't spending much time at the gym, but instead probably occupied himself drinking beer and lounging around. Terry was certain from Fowler's demeanor that the government hatchet man believed every lie he had read in Reed's FBI file.

It was apparent as he faced Terry that Fowler believed he was a trafficker who had eluded justice, and the government's only chance to nail him was on petty mail fraud charges.

"Robin thinks you are real bad people," Robison said to Terry and Janis on the courthouse steps the second day of the marathon hearing. He had worked with Fowler, knew him well, and used him as a private pipeline into the prosecutor's office.

On that first day, the judge, referring to Janis said, "What's she doing here?"

"I don't know, Judge, what she's doin' here. I guess it's because she's married to him," Robison answered, referring to Terry.

The government said it intended to prove she had been Terry's accomplice, an interesting point since nothing presented to the grand jury showed that. And yet Fowler, who presented the case to the grand jury, asked for and received indictments against both. As usual, the grand jury had done what the prosecutor instructed -- administer one-sided justice by returning, on a national average, a 98 percent indictment rate.

Maybe the judge didn't know why Janis had been indicted, but Terry knew why. It had nothing to do with her being an accomplice, it was to silence her, keep her from the media, and to use her as a bargaining chip to force Terry into a plea of guilty. She was simply a pawn.

On the first day of the hearing, the government's star witness was Baker, the private detective who "found" Terry's plane. As he ambled into the courtroom, he was the epitome of the state of Arkansas, Bubba in dungarees. He looked and spoke like the stereotypical southern sheriff, and with his enormous beer gut and his waddle, it was obvious he had given up worrying about his appearance a long time ago. The blue jeans he was wearing were tight enough at the waistband to force them to ride so low on his physique they barely covered his massive derriere. To match this insulting choice of attire for an appearance in federal court, his undersized perma-press shirt was straining to cover his bulky "spare tire".

After a day on the witness stand, it was apparent that Baker was lying, not only to the judge and the attorneys on both sides, but also to the marshal in the courtroom. Baker, as his testimony continued, kept shooting himself in the foot with a total disregard for his possible peril, namely perjury charges. Perhaps, he forgot he wasn't testifying in Arkansas, a place Terry affectionately had labeled "the People's Republic of Arkansas," since it appeared the hog state protected civil rights about as aggressively as did the People's Republic of China.

It was clear the defense was dealing with a professional witness who had a convenient memory and could remember only what was beneficial to the prosecution. Trubey was hoping to show Baker as an extension of, and under the control of the police. That would make his an illegal search and accomplish her objective of forcing Theis to suppress the evidence and, therefore, dismiss the case.

By Baker's own admission, he continued his investigation of the airplane using information solely supplied by the police. As a civilian, he knew he did not need probable cause to enter the hangar as a police officer normally would.

And from his demeanor on the stand, it was obvious he was used to behaving any way he wished, undoubtedly because he was a prosecution witness. He displayed open contempt for the defense by saying he had ignored the defense request to bring his investigative file with him.

The hearing on June 21st, 1989, began with Baker emphatically saying, "I can say without any hesitation it's October 8th, yes," when asked if he was sure about the date he found the airplane. [1]

Trubey found this interesting since she had in her possession a copy of an FBI-NCIC (National Crime Information Center) report showing the Arkansas State Police investigating the crime on October 7th. This seemed to confirm what Dunlap had discovered, that Baker was working on a tip when he "found" the plane. Under cross-examination, and after saying multiple times he was certain it was the 8th, Baker began waffling and said it "could have been the 7th" when he realized the defense was attacking the validity of the date and had in its possession the NCIC supplied data, showing police activity on the 7th.

The questioning also confirmed that Baker had, in fact, been in the hangar on multiple occasions before the search warrant was issued. Each time he returned, it was as a result of being supplied more "confidential police data" by Young and Sanders that allowed him to continue his investigation.

Baker's testimony was as follows: The first N-number he had was N30489, which was stenciled on the outside of the plane. When that number was initially run for him by Young, it came back negative. It had not been reported stolen. But armed with information provided him by Sanders, namely that the number N30489 was decommissioned as a result of it being sold to a buyer in Germany, Baker returned once again. This time, he copied down the serial number embossed on an ID tag riveted on the tail.

He also said he entered the aircraft and retrieved a flight bag. In that bag, he found not only Terry's name, but another N-number, N2982M. After having Young run this information through NCIC, he determined that this was a stolen plane. To be sure it was the correct aircraft, Young wanted him to return and confirm what he believed he had found.

This time, Baker testified, he took with him someone who was an aviation expert and who pointed out to Baker a component of the plane that should bear the true serial number. By reading that number, he was sure he was dealing with N 2982M stolen from Joplin, Mo. in March, 1983 and belonging to "a Terry Reed out of Oklahoma City."

Photographs of the recovered airplane obtained from the insurance company after the plane was removed from the hangar clearly showed the left aileron was removed from the plane, as well as the engine cowling while in the possession of the Arkansas State Police. When asked if he had removed the parts, Baker testified he had not. *

This was done, he said, to disable the plane and make it incapable of flight. But when was it done? And by whom? If it was done before the search warrant was issued, and by Baker or the police, it would be illegal entry, trespassing, tampering, and theft, all violations of law, and would show the police disabling an aircraft before they had a warrant. But adding to the puzzlement, if the plane could not be flown because it had been disabled, why move it to another hangar?

As ridiculous as it was, Baker stuck with his convoluted testimony that the wind had blown open the hangar door, just as he happened to be passing by.


Toward the close of the first day of testimony, Judge Theis was alarmed enough at the inconsistencies and holes in Baker's story to summon Young and warn him and Baker not to discuss the day's testimony that night while staying over in Wichita. In spite of the warning, both left together in the same taxi and stayed at the same hotel. The day was over.

Terry and Janis felt euphoric. They were sure they had won the first skirmish, the prosecution's lead witness was leaving the courtroom with holes shot through his story large enough to fly a Piper Turbo Arrow through.

What they didn't know was, as a practical matter, only defense witnesses can commit perjury. They would learn later, to their disbelief, of federal immunity statutes that hold government witnesses harmless for civil penalties when lying under oath.

They returned to the motel where Janis' parents had arrived to care for and protect the children from potential harm. As if they didn't have enough to worry about and occupy their attention, the thought of a kidnapping attempt on their children never left their minds. The Reeds had refused to leave the children in New Mexico for fear of reprisals, mainly from Felix Rodriguez, and Terry reasoned it would probably happen while they both were making mandatory court appearances.

The next day would be Young's turn, and that of Don Sanders, if they could force his appearance. Already the term "national security" had cropped up as a result of a subpoena delivered to the Arkansas State Police demanding Sanders' appearance in Wichita. Sanders, due to his assignment working with the DEA, was being granted federal status. This meant that he could not be questioned in open court without first forcing the defense to outline in advance what they intended to ask him.

On June 22nd, it was Arkansas Governor Bill Clinton's Chief of Security who sauntered into the courtroom, took his oath, was seated, and began chatting with the judge about good fishin' holes down in Arkansas. Young was dressed more appropriately for a court appearance and a person of his position. By Young's relaxed and cocky attitude, it was apparent he was accustomed to the courtroom environment, getting his own way, and answering to no one, except Bill Clinton ... and possibly Hillary and Chelsea.

As the day wore on, it became crystal clear Young had little regard for the facts of the case -- in the legal vernacular, as Judge Theis would later write, Young demonstrated a "reckless disregard for the truth."

He ended up looking worse than Baker. He hand-delivered his elusive investigative file, the one he would not allow Joe Dunlap to copy while in the Governor's mansion in Little Rock, as well as the flight bag he had so "professionally" stored there in a closet rather than turning it over to the FBI.

When copies of Young's file were delivered in court to the defense, Terry began digesting them while Trubey questioned Young. Terry took note of the file's cover sheet and knew immediately that something was wrong. By utilizing his intelligence analyst's skills, he probably knew more about Young than Young knew about himself, by this time.

Written on the file's cover was the date, 10/08/87, the day Young said he had dictated this report. But in it, he had listed his rank as captain. Terry knew this was incorrect, recalling that on the search warrant application only six days later he listed his rank as "lieutenant."

"How long have you been a captain?" Robison asked Young.

"One year this month," he testified. That meant he had been promoted to captain in September, 1988, 10 months after he had dictated his report.

When challenged by Trubey about the authenticity of his report, as well as the date, Young had to admit his entire file had been created "sometime after" Dunlap interviewed him for the first time in October, 1988 ... more than a year after the events he described in the report. But he insisted the reports correctly reflected what had occurred.

What did this mean? To Terry and the defense attorneys, it meant that Young never expected to be testifying in a federal court about this case. Young had been pursuing a state case in which Terry would have been tried in an Arkansas court, and by the conduct he and Baker were exhibiting, the results would have been a foregone conclusion. Trubey could not understand why a man with Young's rank, stature and experience was so ill-prepared to testify. The answer, she was convinced, was unspeakable.

"Terry, I don't think they thought they would ever see you in a courtroom," Trubey told him later. "They probably would have stashed you in a cell in Arkansas, or even worse, in a grave somewhere down there."

But again when questioned, Young said, "Well it was dictated sometime later ... Everything in one of these reports may not have occurred on the date the report indicates."

Robison hammered away.

Q. Before today, have you told (the government) that you backdated this report?

A. No, sir.

Q. Did you tell anyone in the FBI?

A. No, sir.

Q. So I presume the courtroom is the first time this came out that you backdated these reports?

A. Yes, sir.

Q. Well, the day it was typed says 10/10/87. You said that's wrong. We don't know when it was typed, do we?

A. No, we don't. [2]

What, Terry wondered, would the judge be doing if this was a defense witness!

Throughout all this, Theis snoozed off and on.

Another point of interest to the defense was the internal file number assigned to the case by the Arkansas police record system. Since dates of police activity were becoming a critical issue, Robison examined Young closely about the file number and how its coded system worked. On the bottom of the cover sheet, the one with the manufactured date, was a manufactured file number. It was 64-129-87.

Young said, in decoding this, that 64 had no meaning, 129 meant this was the 129th case of the year and 87 was the year. Trubey, meanwhile, had dispatched Dunlap to call the Arkansas State Police records section to determine what date 64-129-87 was opened. She was hoping to find a date of police involvement even before October 7th.

When Dunlap called from the federal building in Wichita armed with confidential Arkansas State Police (ASP) file numbers, the chief of the ASP records section, Lieutenant James Jenkins probably confused Dunlap's official capacity with the court for someone involved in the prosecution of the case. He unwittingly passed along embarrassing and compromising information that would later lead him to claim Dunlap had tricked him into revealing further evidence of ASP conspiratorial involvement in setting up the Reeds.

To this day, the Arkansas State Police claims that Dunlap got this information under false pretenses and bears nothing but animosity and contempt for him. They even tried later to arrest him and have his private investigator's license revoked in Kansas on the grounds he had posed as a federal marshal to get the information. [3]

While Dunlap was away taping his conversation with Jenkins, Trubey homed in on the flight bag she believed had been pilfered. Key evidence that Dunlap had seen earlier in the governor's mansion was now missing. Dunlap had seen a white Spanish-language document bearing the Mexican government seal. He had asked Young about its significance and whether it had been translated into English. Young said no, and had refused to allow Dunlap to copy it.

Now, with a key document missing, things were getting interesting. Young took the following positions: "Possibly" the missing document might not have been there at all; he couldn't recall ever seeing it; but if it was missing, Young inferred, it was because Dunlap stole it.
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Re: Compromised: Clinton, Bush and the CIA: How the Presiden

Postby admin » Fri Jun 03, 2016 3:45 am

Part 3 of 4

One other interesting point was emerging. It was Young's professed desire to get rid of the case. "I didn't want to get involved in this case," Young testified. "I tried to hand it off to the FBI." This puzzled Trubey and Robison, who knew that police officers' careers are built on cases like the seizure of an aircraft linked to narcotics.

"... I waited for the FBI to come and take over," Young testified. "They didn't come, and at that point I went for a search warrant." [4] The FBI waited until the 21st of October to enter the case, 12 days after Young's first contact with the bureau. Why, they wondered? A hot airplane is a major crime in Arkansas.

This led Terry to think that Oliver North actually had intervened on his behalf, but Bush, and his Justice Department, probably turned the case back on once they realized the level of liability that was stored in Terry's head. It had, after all, been eight months from the time he had called North until an indictment was returned. And North by that time was coming up on the short end of an indictment himself. This would explain why the FBI spent so much time questioning Terry's neighbors and friends in Arkansas and Oklahoma. These people would have no knowledge of any plane theft.

But the FBI, fronting for the CIA, would want to know if Terry had revealed to these people his intelligence connections to the Arkansas training operations or any classified data related to "Jade Bridge" or "Centaur Rose."

But the most disconcerting thing to Terry personally, and which sent tremors through him, was when Young was confronted with a two-page FBI report saying Young had volunteered information that Terry might be a drug trafficker.

After reading this report into the record, Trubey asked, "Capt. Young, where did you get that information?

"I got that information from EPIC," he answered.

"From who?"

"El Paso Intelligence Center." [5]

Terry's worst fears were coming true. Up until that moment, he had no concrete evidence that anyone was truly out to get him. Now, here it was, a two-page FBI report labeling him a drug trafficker, something he definitely was not!
For that exact reason, he had turned his back on the Agency and left Mexico. They were pinning this insidious accusation on him when, in truth, they were the ones guilty of drug trafficking. The clinical intelligence term for this action is "transference," but it was now taking on a very human meaning for Terry. He was now labeled as Barry Seal had been -- a notorious drug trafficker. He felt like screaming with rage so loud it would wake up Theis.

He now knew this profile of him existed before he ever crossed the border back into the United States. That same profile labeling him "armed and dangerous" meant that someone wanted him dead, in a big way. Visions of lumbering across the Rio Grande with his innocent little children flashed through his memory bank. How fortunate they were some trigger-happy customs agent hadn't found them out and then opened fire, responding to the computer profile someone had created.

While Young was still smarting from the cross-examination, Dunlap returned after placing his call to Arkansas to inform Trubey that Lieutenant Jenkins said the file number 64-129-87 had been opened on September 30, 1987, and was not assigned to a case involving a stolen airplane, but to a totally unrelated case.

Why did the Arkansas State Police Captain, and the man who was the governor's chief of security, sit on the stand all day and lie? Terry was recalling the old Arkansas joke about the man who was such a liar he had to hire someone just to call his dog. Could it be that Raymond Young inspired that story?

This disclosure had been enough to wake the judge from his slumber. "I think we got a pie in the sky on this case number thing," Theis said, as the confused attorneys looked at one another. Theis decided to forgo further examination of Young until Arkansas authorities could respond about the mixup on the case file number. In addition, the defense had requested from NCIC in Washington a printout denoting all police computer activity surrounding tail numbers, N30489 and N2982M and Terry Reed.

Trubey felt it was necessary at this point in light of all the government's conflicting evidence and testimony to go straight to the source of records for both FBI-NCIC and DEA-EPIC. It would be a risk, but she asked the judge to demand from the government these critical intra-agency reports. The defense team held their breath for fear of what the reports might say about Terry. After all, he who controls the computer data base can insert literally anything.

Sanders finally arrived on June 22nd and reluctantly took the stand to testify. By now, he had had time to hear from Baker and Young about the credibility problem surrounding when Baker first discovered the plane.

Sanders covered for Baker and attempted to defuse the whole date issue concerning whether Baker's activity occurred before or after the initial police involvement. He testified Baker first called him for information on the 7th of October, but it was not until the following day that he could access the FAA and provide Baker with information he wanted. [6] This would further cloud the issue of when Baker actually found the plane.

It appeared Sanders had been effectively and professionally coached. His testimony had diluted the whole date issue and included action by Baker on both the 7th and the 8th. This seemingly confused the old judge, who was frantically doodling on his scratch pad.

"God, he's a great witness for the government," Robison whispered at the defense table. "He's neutralizing the date issue. And he's obviously been coached." As a former prosecutor, Robison knew how the government worked and still marveled at their dirty tricks, even when they were being used against him.

Sanders purposely lied when he said he used only the telephone to conduct his investigation. He obviously said this because he knew Trubey was going after computer records. He probably felt that if he testified he used only a state telephone, it would be difficult to trace his efforts on Baker's behalf and there would be no telltale computer trail. He was wrong.

As a result of subpoena effort in 1993 in his civil case against Young and Baker, Terry gained access to Arkansas State Police computer records showing that Sanders not only accessed computer files for Baker and Young, but was the first person at the state level to do anything pertaining to this case. One can only guess at Sanders' motive for lying and what else was done by other people still unidentified.

What did this show? It showed that Sanders was willing to perjure himself to cover Baker. But even more significant, it further substantiated federal government activity in setting up Reed occurring before either Young or Baker were involved.

Harry Barrett, the FBO (fixed base operator) and Piper airplane dealer at the North Little Rock Airport, was the only witness called by the defense in the first hearing. He testified that Baker approached him sometime after the airplane was seized from Terry's hangar and stored in the state's hangar. During this interview, Baker confided to Barrett that he had discovered the plane as the result of a "tip." [7] This testimony contradicted all the government's evidence and the original state affidavit for the search warrant.

The government was licking its wounds after the first two days, and appeared relieved when Theis adjourned the hearing.

* * *

"'Don't talk to me, I'm trying to concentrate on my driving," Joe Dunlap said nervously. "'I'm trying to stay as close to this truck as I can so oncoming traffic can't see us. Can you tell if anybody's following us?"

It was a tense afternoon on September 8th, 1989. Terry and Dunlap had received a large dose of "'Southern Hospitality" and were trying to get safely across the Arkansas State line and into Oklahoma before being arrested. It was Friday afternoon and Dunlap knew that was the worst time for anyone to be arrested. There would be no bail hearing until Monday and the thought of what would happen to them in an Arkansas jail over the weekend was not a pleasant one. Terry, trying to bring a little levity into a tense situation, began joking about the scene in the movie Deliverance in which actor Ned Beatty is sodomized by some backwoods survivalists. It didn't help.

Dunlap, from his years as a police officer, knew all too well what could happen to a prisoner the police choose not to protect while in their custody. So Terry shut up and helped Dunlap survey the traffic.

Back in Wichita, Marilyn Trubey was frantically trying to contact Robin Fowler to get him to intervene and call off the Arkansas State Police pursuit of not only her client but her investigator as well. Things had gotten a little out of hand in Little Rock, and regardless of the new face Bill Clinton's administration was trying to put on Arkansas, Dunlap was learning the hard way that the Old South was still alive and well.

Two days earlier, Dunlap and Terry had quietly and inconspicuously arrived by car in Little Rock to continue their investigation in preparation for the upcoming trial, estimated to start sometime in early Spring 1990. Several key defense witnesses had been intimidated by the FBI and state investigators, who had told the witnesses that they did not have to talk to anyone from the defense.

Terry was appalled to learn that old friends were avoiding Dunlap. From their interviews given the FBI, they had already convicted Terry in their own minds.

Trubey, as a last resort, reluctantly agreed Terry should accompany Dunlap in hope that his presence would change the witnesses' attitudes. After all, the people they wanted subpoenaed had been old friends or business associates with whom Terry had parted on good terms.

The first day, September 7th, went well. Linda Crow openly discussed her old boss and lover, Mark McAfee, and what she called his "sick, devious mind" and pent-up, vendetta-driven jealousy concerning Terry. The defense was going to have to neutralize McAfee since Robin Fowler had by now identified him as a government witness. Just what McAfee could or would testify to was unclear. But sensing that McAfee was unstable enough to say or do anything, and that he would be testifying under government granted immunity from perjury, Trubey didn't want to take any chances. And Crow had supplied them with all the ammunition Dunlap felt the defense would need, and then some!

Shelby Aaron, the locksmith who had performed all of the lock maintenance to Terry's hangar, had provided a sworn affidavit that stated, in effect, that the lock on the door of the hangar Terry rented had never required any type of repairs and, in his professional opinion, it would have been impossible for the wind to have blown it open.

Then came the trip to the Arkansas State Police Intelligence Center. After Terry's first hearing in Wichita, Major Doug Stephens, head of the criminal division, had written the Wichita court a letter attempting to explain away the file number mix-up. The letter was ridiculous in that it reflected no internal investigation of any kind and merely hypothesized about what might have happened with this key piece of evidence. After all, if the date on the front of the file folder assigned to Terry's case was correct it would show Young being involved as far back as September 30th, 1987, at least seven days earlier than he had testified. Aside from showing that Young had lied, the earlier date was crucial since it would show police involvement with Reed's plane long before Baker "stumbled" upon the so-called open hangar door. This gives substance to the defense theory that Reed had been set up from the beginning.

Dunlap, who had developed a telephone relationship earlier with Lieutenant Jenkins, the head of the records section, was hoping to speak personally with Jenkins to get to the bottom of the alleged mix-up. Terry waited outside in the car in the hot summer sun while Dunlap attempted to interview Jenkins. He returned a short time later having struck out, because low and behold, none other than Major Doug Stephens just happened to intervene in the middle of the interview.

Jenkins' friendly attitude toward Dunlap changed abruptly in Stephens' presence and the interview was prematurely terminated.

The next morning, first on the list and the highest priority was to interview Bill Canino, the owner of the North Little Rock hangar, who had said some very disconcerting things to the FBI back in 1987. Namely, that he had never met any Terry Reed, but had rented a hangar to a Terry Kerr, whom he had never seen either.

Additionally, Carol Canino, his wife, had produced copies of corporate cashiers checks that Janis, as secretary-treasurer of Applied Technologies, Inc., had used to pay the hangar rent. The defense determined from grand jury minutes that these checks and correspondence about the hangar rental supplied by the Caninos were the sole evidence used to indict Janis as an accomplice in "aiding and abetting" her husband.

It was hoped that Canino, in the presence of Terry, could explain why he had become so confused about meeting him back in 1983, when he first moved to Little Rock. Beyond the rental arrangement for the hangar, Terry had even approached Canino at one point about purchasing an Ultra-Light. It was very confusing to Terry and his defense team as to why Canino's memory was so selective. Could it have been that Canino had been pressured by the investigators? Was he guilty of something and "working off a case"? They had to know, and only in Terry's presence, they felt, would Canino "'fess up."

The first part of the interview went well. Terry had a checklist of topics to discuss with Canino, who as soon as Dunlap and Terry arrived, recanted his statement about not knowing Terry. The name mix-up, he theorized, was due to the fact that his wife, Carol, handled most of the business dealings concerning the hangar with Janis. Janis' hyphenated last name, Kerr-Reed, had probably caused her husband the problem. Mrs. Canino, Bill guessed, had confused Kerr as being the correct last name and set up the rental file under "Kerr."

But as the subject turned to an even more sensitive area, i.e. money -- cash money -- the money Bill Cooper had given Terry to rent the hangar space initially, Canino's friendly attitude quickly changed. This was obviously an area Canino did not want to discuss and, without allowing any further questions, said: "I don't want to do this. And I won't if you guys will leave right now. But I'm supposed to call in order to have you guys arrested. They know you're in town and they say he (pointing to Dunlap) has been posing as a U.S. Marshal and there's a warrant out for his arrest. And maybe you, too, Terry."

Terry was out of New Mexico without court permission since Trubey did not want Fowler to know he was going to Arkansas. This way, Fowler couldn't tip off the ASP and cause the two men to be followed, revealing defense witnesses and strategy. Linda Crow, who was turning out to be a key witness for Terry, was unknown to the state police then. The defense wanted to keep it that way.

Technically, Terry was legally in Dunlap's custody. But if Dunlap were to be arrested, this could give Terry problems with the court. And Terry was sure that Young and Baker would certainly like to conduct a weekend's interrogation of them both.

As Dunlap and Terry sped out of Canino's driveway, Terry found it interesting to witness his old companions, paranoia and fear, invading the mind of someone else for a change. With Terry as navigator, and knowing the back roads of Arkansas, they planned an escape route they hoped would keep them out of the law's hands.

Their nemesis, they feared, would be Dunlap's government license plates, which would surely lead to their doom. Dunlap rejected Terry's suggestion that they "borrow" someone else's license plates, electing instead to call Trubey for help. Terry had never seen Joe carry his weapon before. Normally he kept it in the trunk of his car, but as they drafted along in a semi's wake west of Russellville, Arkansas on 1-40, his weapon lay loaded on the car's console.

Dunlap was learning fast what serious business this was. There was a lot more involved here than just mail fraud and a stolen airplane.

Dunlap turned to Reed and asked: "Who are you, really? Why do all these people want your ass so bad." From his comments, Dunlap at long last was coming to terms with what he was dealing with.

Through it all, Terry managed to joke about Deliverance, the PRA (People's Republic of Arkansas), and appeared to be controlling his stress and fear.

"God damn pilots!" Dunlap would snap. "You're all crazy!"

A couple of tense hours later, and with a sigh of relief, they crossed the Oklahoma line and managed a quick pit stop, to phone Trubey and tell her they had "escaped." They then began their drive toward Tulsa where Terry would fly back to New Mexico. Too tired from the stress of the day to talk, Terry thought about the multitude of problems facing him and Janis as they prepared for the upcoming trial. He still couldn't accept the fact they were actually going to trial in light of all the perjured and tainted evidence from the hearings.

Their lives were literally in limbo. Looking back at the summer of 1989, which plodded on as Trubey and Dunlap's investigations continued, Terry thought of the slow, long slide into depression he and Janis had undergone. Janis, due to her indictment, was unable to gain employment in her old profession, real estate, since it was impossible to be professionally bonded, a New Mexico state requirement, while awaiting trial.

Terry, likewise, had to pass up several lucrative automation projects since bail bond requirements placed him under severe travel restrictions. This produced the added burden of not knowing how he was going to provide financially for his family. His business life was a disaster since he felt obligated to tell his potential business associates about the indictment and how it would possibly interfere with his work schedule. To them, he had the plague. His future was uncertain and they could not be assured he would even be around to fulfill contractual agreements. And like Janis he, too, required bonding unavailable to him for large projects.

As the Reeds depleted what was left of their dwindling resources, they watched their lifestyle slowly decline.
The one thing that sustained them was the love they had for their children. The thought of anything sinister happening to them was unbearable and went unspoken. The only defense for an attack on them was a well-rehearsed plan, Terry felt.

The Reeds had contingencies for everything. They had rehearsed over and over again their "battle plans" to the point at which they were prepared for almost any catastrophe.

Duncan was driven to school every day. And to prevent a kidnap attempt, the principal was given a cover story. She was told that Terry had a former wife who was unstable, could not have children of her own, and might resort to kidnapping Duncan. For this reason, his first grade teacher was instructed to allow no one to take him from school even in an "emergency."

Webster defines paranoia as "a psychiatric mental disorder characterized by systematic delusions and projection of personal conflict, that are ascribed to the supposed hostility of others." The definition fit their status with the exception of one word, the word "supposed." Trubey, Dunlap and the Reeds had plenty of "true life" events happening to separate their paranoia from reality.

Through the course of unearthing their evidence, a series of frightening events took place that would have an impact on not only Terry and Janis, but Trubey and Dunlap as well. First, there was hard evidence that their phones were being tapped. Having been trained in the Air Force about communications security, Terry was particularly wary about using unsecure phone lines to discuss the case and especially to map out defense strategy.

Trubey and Dunlap initially complied with his wishes to keep telephone communications to a minimum and communicate primarily by mail, but this was difficult to do and, over time, communications security began to erode. It came to a head one day when Dunlap asked the Federal Public Defender's office in Columbus, Ohio, to interview Barbara Williams, to whom the aircraft registration number N30489 had been assigned originally by the FAA. This was the registration number supposedly painted on the plane Baker "found" in Terry's hangar.

Dunlap had relayed the instructions for this task by phone to a female investigator in the PD's office in Columbus, Ohio, where Williams resided. And while enroute to interview Mrs. Williams, the investigator noticed she was being followed. The car, carrying two passengers, gave the appearance of an undercover police car, but it had civilian registration.

Concerned, she stopped at a phone booth and called her office to give the license plate number of the car. Her office, in turn, had the police "run the number," which automatically triggered an FBI alert system designed to protect the identity of their agents. She was, indeed, being followed by men in an FBI car.

With that, the FBI office in Columbus placed a call to the Public Defender's Office to complain about the Police Department's running one of the Bureau's undercover plates. It was then that Dunlap and the Ohio office knew that communications security had been compromised. Their office phones in Wichita, they were now sure, were being monitored by the FBI!

It was now all becoming very real to Trubey and Dunlap. Terry's paranoia was not paranoia at all but a legitimate concern. They had their phones swept, but the technician who conducted the sweep stated that the degree of sophistication for tapping available to the FBI made detection virtually impossible.

But more disturbing was the firebombing of a Volkswagen Beetle, which had been parked in front of Dunlap's house in Wichita. The car that had been firebombed belonged to a friend of Dunlap's daughter, but was identical to one owned by his oldest daughter. The fire department later determined the fire was caused by some type of incendiary device, probably thrown into the car through an open window.

Dunlap saw this as a direct threat to his family, and that he was being given a warning. He was upsetting someone because of his investigation into the Reed case. He apparently was doing too good of a job.

Shortly after that incident, his wife's car was intentionally rammed at an intersection by a hit and run driver, who by the glare his wife saw on the man's face, knew his target. Another motorist who witnessed the accident told police that the driver appeared to purposely ram Dunlap's wife's car and then casually backed up and left the scene

Dunlap's personal vehicle was not spared either. The windows of his pickup truck were smashed twice and on each occurrence, his was the only vehicle on the block to be vandalized. The Dunlap family was now on "Red Alert", just as the Reeds.

As a result of all these sinister events, Trubey had the Reeds make copies of all their important records and files needed for the trial and advised them to store the records away in a safe place away from the originals. Not even Trubey was to know the location, so that their whereabouts could not be compromised.

Terry had amassed enormous volumes of files and records. He even kept notebooks to record each day's events, even as far back as his time in the Air Force. To accommodate all this data, he rented a small, storage facility in a secure compound, under an alias in Bernalillo, New Mexico.

Easter weekend of 1990, the Reeds planned a three-day camping trip to Carlsbad Caverns, thinking it might be their last opportunity to vacation before the impending trial. While they were gone, their storage unit was burglarized, and their files pilfered. Police later told them it was the work of a professional burglar.

The unknown perpetrator had somehow penetrated the elaborate chain link fence security, eluded the German Shepherd guard dogs, and proceeded to cut the lock on the door of Reed's storage unit. From evidence taken at the crime scene, the intruder had spent hours methodically opening boxes in which records were kept, but only removing select files. It appeared he knew exactly what he was after. He had even taken time to eat as he worked. Remnants of a sandwich were found on the floor. This was most definitely not an occurrence of paranoia and manifested fear. Paranoia does not eat ham sandwiches.

Who does one complain to when being victimized by the "system"? The Department of Injustice, perhaps?

This was the revised title Terry gave the criminal justice system as a result of Judge Theis' official Opinion and Order rendered as a result of weighing and digesting the material presented in the nearly six month suppression proceedings.

The 22-page order, dated December 15th, 1989, had struck down all pending defense motions with the exception of one. The Reeds could have their grand jury minutes.

The avalanche of conflicting data that Trubey and Dunlap had developed and dumped on the court had been explained away simply by Judge Theis' and his two new law clerks as irrelevant.

The defense had wanted, in addition to the grand jury minutes, the suppression of the airplane as evidence, and separate trials for Terry and Janis. Also denied was critical discovery involving Iran-Contra that could prove the theory of the defense, that Reed had been set up as a result of him becoming a liability to some very important people.

Their list of requests from the government included:

1. A list of all of Oliver North's aliases;

2. All documentation relating to Oliver North's involvement with the Donor Program;

3. All documentation relating to the Donor Program, including, but not limited to, the date of conception, all persons involved in the program, agreements between the United States Government and insurance companies, a list of persons who contributed to the Donor Program and the items contributed, documentation relating to how the donated items were used, and any and all other documentation relating to the Donor Program;

4. A list of all other litigation, both civil and criminal, pertaining to the Donor Program;

5. All phone records, travel plans, notes, etc., relating to Oliver North's activities on Feb. 18, 1982; Feb. 24, 1982 to October, 1982; March 11, 1983 to March 22, 1983; November of 1984; and July 19, 1985;

6. Oliver North's notebooks and diaries from 1982 to 1987;

7. All documentation concerning the relationship between the CIA and Southern Air Transport, Richard Secord, and William Cooper.

In denying all this to the Reeds and his attorney, Theis fell back on the argument that all this information and material was outside the possession, custody or control of the U.S. Attorney's office. He further held that if, in fact, the material existed and was in possession of the special prosecutor's office or congressional investigators, the U.S. attorney had no right to these. Therefore, this information was "undiscoverable."

The motion seeking suppression was denied on the grounds the defense had fallen short of proving Baker acted on Young's instructions. To the dismay of the defense, Theis put no significance on the one major piece of evidence discovered between the first court session in June 1989, and the second in October.

After months of labor and research, Theis dismissed this key piece of evidence as "not particularly relevant."

The "smoking gun" that Trubey found that would shoot holes through all of the Baker and Young's perjured testimony was the computer printout from NCIC (National Crime Information Center) in Washington. Baker's story was built around his "discovery" of an airplane stenciled N30489. He claimed to have taken that number to Young and had it run through NCIC to determine if it was stolen.

Young said the first NCIC check showed it was not stolen. Baker, being "one heck of a detective," as he called himself, returned at a later date (by his own testimony, the next day or later) found another number N2982M, and had that number run by Young. [8] If that scenario was true, the NCIC printout from Washington, which was a record of law enforcement accessing, should have shown 30489 being run before 2982M.

It did not.

Not only did it show just the opposite, it showed something even worse. Both numbers were run within ONE minute of the each other. The significance of this information was that Young was in possession of the stolen airplane number from the beginning. This backed up the "tip" theory. Terry had been set up, plain and simple. But why couldn't Theis see that? Or did he?

Young had not "found" his way to the "fruits of a crime" as he had testified. But instead, he knew he had a crime from the very beginning. This meant there was a preponderance of evidence that Young had instructed Baker from the very beginning to develop probable cause for entering the hangar. Trubey felt confident this single piece of information would cast a reasonable doubt on Young's testimony and make the judge dismiss the case.

As far as Young's investigative files being "manufactured" 18 months after the fact, Theis wrote: "Young did damage his credibility by his admission that he prepared his case reports between nine and 18 months after the events in October, 1987. Young's explanation for his failure to timely dictate a report is reasonable ... The court in no way condones Young's behavior, but does not find it seriously damaging to his credibility." [9]

Another great statement surpassing the explanation of the term "ambiguity", the Reeds thought!

Theis also explained away the perjured testimony in the state affidavit for the search warrant and taught the Reeds a lot about the law all in one fell swoop. Namely, the government is allowed to extract lies from an affidavit and then analyze what's left and if sufficient material is left, then it's all right to proceed. Somehow, in Theis' reasoning and the Reed's shock, this does not reflect upon the credibility of the person making the perjured statement.

Theis, referring to this, wrote: "In the present case, the court will assume that statements made by Baker and Young in the oral affidavit were made with at least a reckless disregard for the truth." [10] In the language of Terry's mule-trading great-grandfather, this would have been reduced to more simple terms: "These sons of bitches are lying and can't be trusted, and should be strung up." Oh where are those innocent days, Terry wondered?

As for the motion to sever, or separate the Reeds' trials?

Denied, on the grounds that the trial jury would be able to separate "and compartmentalize" evidence and the defendants. This, in light of the fact that Janis' attorney, Steve Robison, alleged prejudice in the following areas:

1. An absence of evidence against her regarding the theft of the airplane, the submission of documents or statements regarding the insurance claim, and the receipt or presentation of the insurance draft;

2. The assertion of an alibi defense for the date the airplane was stolen;

3. the probable use of statements by Terry Reed containing hearsay against Janis Reed;

4. Terry Reed will testify on Janis Reed's behalf at a separate trial;

5. A disparity of evidence between Terry Reed and Janis Reed;

6. The probability of guilt by association due to the relationship between the defendants.

The Reeds did get access to their grand jury minutes, but these were useless except to show that only oral testimony was presented and given by one FBI agent who was not the case agent nor the one who was the main investigator in Arkansas. The agent, Lawrence Nolan, did, however, attempt to taint the minds of the grand jurors with cryptic remarks about the Reeds that hinted at drug trafficking.

He tried to make them appear as criminals. "These individuals thereafter, it appears, left Little Rock in approximately December, 1986, after pulling some type of scam with Gomex (sic) Industries ... and they fled to Mexico, and as far as we know have been in Guadalajara ever since," Nolan said. [11]

Theis did give Trubey two additional crumbs of discovery, which she had asked for verbally. These were records maintained at the FAA Intelligence Center in Oklahoma City (AC700 unit) and records from the El Paso Intelligence Center to confirm this Agency was the source of information Young said he had received and was in fact on file there. This latter discovery request was one Terry and Trubey almost wished Theis had denied. They were nervous about what it might contain. Felix Rodriguez probably had friends there, they theorized, since the CIA officed in the same building.

After Theis' 22-page decree, things were plain and simple .. .the Reeds were going to trial. Theis now would have Oliver North in his courtroom, evidence notwithstanding. Forget Silkwood and the Dalkon Shield! He now had a case that was serving as an elixir for his "attention deficit disorder".

* * *

"Terry, we're not going to trial on June 3rd," Marilyn Trubey said from her office in Topeka, Kansas. "I just got off the phone with Robin Fowler and the government is going to invoke national security procedures. I think that's good news. What do you think?"

It was Trubey's feeling this was a grudging acknowledgement by the government of Terry's intelligence linkage. After all, she reasoned, they wouldn't be invoking national security unless what he had been saying was true.

Terry, however, was furious and Janis was in disbelief as he briefed her after hanging up the phone. It was June 1st, 1990, they were just two days from trial, and their life was in a shambles. Preparation for the trial, which had been scheduled to begin in two days, had totally consumed them. Just as athletes totally immerse themselves in training, the couple had dialed out everything but the preparation of their defense. Their lives and future were hanging in the balance, in the scales held by the blindfolded woman.

But Terry was learning the truth about the criminal justice system: the blindfolded woman with the sword and scales was peeking. Theis' earlier ruling had made Terry very apprehensive about getting a fair trial. Theis was ignoring Trubey's evidence and continually aligning himself with the government. From what he had been learning he now realized this is the way it works, that judges are there to help the government convict you. Judges, he gleaned, don't like to make tough decisions, they want to leave that to juries or appeal courts. As far as the whole criminal "injustice" system was concerned, Terry figured, you're guilty just because you're there.

The Reeds couldn't combat these mind-sets, so they had fallen back on their life experiences and education and had taken the only course available to them.

Prepare, prepare, prepare for trial. Now, Terry realized, a jury was his only hope. He had been slow to catch on to how the game is really played, still operating from his "Perry Mason mentality." The judges on TV always seemed to play fair ... and stay awake.

What was gnawing away at him and Janis was the element of time applied to this game called justice. Judges, to his surprise, don't rule in court, or quickly. It had taken months between each hearing for Theis to weigh the evidence. He would vacation each winter in Florida, and ultimately rule against the Reeds. It had been two years since they had been indicted. To them, they were winning the skirmishes, but losing the war.

In the Air Force, Terry trained continuously under real and simulated combat conditions. But there, things made sense. You fire a salvo of missiles at your enemy and the success of the strike, or lack of it, and the need for a second attack, were relayed immediately from the battlefield. Here, it was months between salvos. They would wait weeks to find out they scored a direct hit, but the judge would then rule, through a sterile court decree, the missiles were duds.

The one "war-game rule" that Theis could remember was "Brady." This was a U.S. Supreme Court ruling that held the government must turn over to the defense everything in its possession that tends to show innocence on the part of a defendant.

The judge, who liked to appear in court and on the record as a civil libertarian, cited Brady continuously, but then it seemed he had his law clerks find some precedent to negate it. This became legal double-speak and somehow always accrued to the benefit of the government, which after all, pays his inflated salary and guarantees him lifetime employment.

It had been an uphill battle all the way, causing the Reeds to spend countless hours organizing their files and developing cross-reference systems so they could feed Trubey the legal ammunition she would need while engaged in battle.

As the Reeds looked around the mass of file boxes on the basement floor of Janis' parents' home in Kansas City, Terry was emotionally numb. Janis was coming down from the emotional high of having her indictment dismissed "with prejudice" (meaning the government could not renew these charges) four days earlier on May 28th. It worried her to see her husband in this continuing state of suspended animation. It was as if they were toying with him. The government was a gigantic, carnivorous cat, and he was a crafty little mouse. But every time he prepared to launch an offensive and attempted to escape, the cat would simply stand on the mouse's tail. Janis was fearful that the cat may now be tiring of the game and preparing to devour its prey, her husband.

They had prepared for the worst. All of their household goods were in storage. They were now homeless.

They had left New Mexico two weeks earlier, towing Tommy Trailer loaded to the roof with court data, records and essential personal effects and clothing to get them through what was predicted to be a six-week trial. Janis was schooling Duncan at home once again, having had to take him out of school for the trial. Terry had asked, and was denied, the only extension of time he had requested since being indicted. His only true opportunity to earn a badly-needed income had surfaced early in the year and would require his involvement in a project in South Carolina through the month of June. Theis denied the request, citing "this is the oldest case on my docket." Justice can be swift when it's the defendant who suffers, the Reeds were learning.

Although they dared not articulate it to each other, the Reeds had put their financial affairs in order for what Terry felt in his heart was a certainty ... he was going to prison.

Trubey had begun counseling Terry like a doctor before major surgery, telling him to think positively, but prepare for the worst. She had warned Janis that, among other things, a conviction for Terry would destroy her credit rating. This was alien to her. She had been a successful businesswoman with a perfect credit rating, ever since leaving college. But now she was being told that somehow her husband's character would be factored into her financial status, simply because she was his wife.

Another discovery Terry had made throughout all of this was that a whole new service industry had grown up, composed of convicted attorneys who "counseled" clients on prison life and how it affects the family. They performed this service at half their old hourly rate, since they could no longer practice law. This seemed to him the only type of service industry the Republicans were capable of creating in the 10 years of the Reagan-Bush "law and order" policies.

The Reeds had already decided secretly, while both under indictment and without either attorney knowing, that Terry would plead guilty if they saw the trial going badly, hoping that they could bargain his plea for his wife's freedom.

Then Fowler, suddenly and without warning even to Robison who socialized with the prosecutor, walked into the final hearing on May 28th -- the eleventh hour -- and moved to dismiss Janis' indictment. He had held her hostage as long as he could. He had no evidence against her and probably knew it all along.

Fowler didn't know that he had played his trump card before Terry could play his. The trump card was Janis, she was the mutual pawn. This was unbelievably wonderful news, but it cut two ways. Janis was free, but now Terry had no bargaining chip. He would have to fight as aggressively as Amiram Nir had once described, "with your back to the sea." With Nir's words in mind, Terry had set out with Trubey and Dunlap's help, to develop his final battle plan. The way he viewed what was about to happen was a new application of his military training, to build nuclear war contingencies.

All nuclear war damage projections are based upon the two 75 kiloton weapons dropped on Japan in World War II. Not being familiar with the game he was now playing, he had decided to go into his personal arsenal and summon enough "yield" to vaporize his enemy. He might go down, he thought, but only after inflicting major damage and casualties.

Trubey's first salvo in mid-May 1990 consisted of more than 50 subpoenas directed at such targets as the CIA, the FBI, DEA, EPIC, FAA Intelligence and the Arkansas State Police. The missiles had "left the hole" and were streaking silently toward their targets when Robin Fowler's phone rang reporting the first "hit."

Fowler, from his command post in Wichita, was relaying to Trubey's battle station in Topeka the "bomb damage assessment" of the weapon that had impacted on the neon pig, the savings and loan logo, sitting atop FBI headquarters in Oklahoma City.

Trubey relayed to Terry, "Robin just got a call from FBI Agent Wayne Barlow in Oklahoma City. This is great news, Terry. Not only does Barlow say he knows you, but his contact with you involved classified information that he won't discuss over Robin's unsecure phone. He made Robin go over to the FBI office in Wichita in order to discuss it on a secure line. Terry, I think we got 'em on the run."

That subpoena, which had triggered the first "secondary explosion," had been loaded with high explosive ammunition. Barlow's subpoena ordered him to appear in Wichita on June 11 and bring: "Complete files on: Northwest Industries, Inc.; Technoimpex; Barcorp Corporation; Emery L. West, a/k/a Veda; Reed Kane and Associates; Janis Kerr Reed; Terry K. Reed; Joseph (Jozsef) Bona; 1978 Piper Arrow PA-28 N2982M."

Barlow, by admitting he knew Terry, and saying his contacts with him involved classified information, was the crack in the wall of silence that had been built around the intelligence community. The silence up to this point, had been interpreted by Fowler as a denial of Terry's involvement with the intelligence world, and an unspoken approval to take Terry down.

The remainder of that day, the day that Fowler's case began to unravel, centered on "damage reports" from various federal agencies offering "regrets" and saying, in effect, they couldn't appear in court. Classified material was involved, they all said.

That day, another legal title had appeared in Terry's growing anthology of new legal terms. It was called the Classified Information Procedures Act, which the government was now invoking, two days before Terry's scheduled trial.

The law was enacted in October, 1980, and from the application of it came the term "graymail." From what Terry learned, the law was normally used to prevent government agents who had been indicted from blackmailing the government into dropping the charges against them by threatening to disclose classified material during the trial.

It prohibits "unauthorized disclosure for reasons of national security and any restricted data." It defines national security as encompassing "national defense and foreign relations of the United States." Trubey and Terry found this definition interesting because his involvement in intelligence did, in fact, involve the USSR, Mexico, Israel, Hungary, Japan, China ... and Arkansas.

What the law says is that a defendant must notify the government in advance of a trial about any classified information that they plan to use or which might surface during the trial. If the defense fails to do that, the court can bar its use during the trial.

Up to this point, Theis had denied almost all of Terry's discovery demands. He had no classified information in his possession, and the government agencies contacted by Dunlap had refused to cooperate or admit knowing of any involvement by Terry in any intelligence operation. For this reason, the defense was preparing to go to trial with only unclassified material. All it had was Terry's story, him as a witness, and 50 subpoenas.

But this eleventh-hour move by the government not only gave Terry the credibility he needed, but in essence proved that the government had not been cooperating with either the defense, or the prosecution -- an old story in cases like this. The CIA and the intelligence community has lied to the government's own attorneys on numerous occasions. *

Fowler was quickly learning that the fast track to a career change was for a government attorney to blindly accept a case on face value. He had clearly ignored a U.S. attorney's first responsibility: To be the brake that stops an unjust prosecution.

One could conclude by the government's actions during that presidential election year of 1988 and, now, by invoking the Classified Information Procedures Act (CIPA) in 1990, the criminal justice system had been perverted to silence an asset with embarrassing political knowledge. The use of the judicial system to gag him had worked up until now. But since Terry at last had subpoena power and could pry behind the layers of deceit that shrouded the truth, it was time for the government to re-trench and hide behind "national security," leaving Fowler to take the heat and the judge's wrath alone.

While Fowler filled out his DD Form 398 detailing his life's history in an attempt to get his security clearance in order to be able to talk directly with the federal agencies involved, Terry felt he was being jerked around once more by the government.

Terry would later read the results of the telephonic hearing, which occurred June 1st, 1990, between Fowler, Trubey and Judge Theis as Fowler outlined areas of classified information that were certain to come out in the trial.

"There are a number of areas, your honor, that I'm concerned about," Fowler said. "I'd like to just briefly go through those for the record. I'm concerned with the potential testimony of Wayne Barlow, an FBI agent out of Oklahoma City. He has, in fact, told me that some of his prior contacts with Mr. Terry involved classified information. There are a number of other areas I'd like to just very briefly mention.

"The second area of concern is information accepted from the F.A.A. Intelligence Division. A third area of concern involves information accepted from the D.E.A.'s EPIC organization. The fourth, information potentially that would be brought out on direct or cross, particularly that of Oliver North, Jack Bloom (sic) and Robert Johnson, particular there's concern for information that the director of the C.I.A. has been ordered to produce in regard to certain files and information from the National Security Archives and finally, there's the possible testimony of the defendant which may or may not implicate classified information.
I think there are a number of areas which it's reasonably expected at that point the classified information might be -- that might come out at trial and I'm concerned enough about that to raise the issue here." [12]

By June 6th, Terry had had a chance to absorb what was happening. His frustration turned to rage! The subpoenas they had fought so hard to have served, were officially "on hold." The time for legal protocol was over. It was time, he decided, to take matters into his own hands. After thoroughly reading the CIPA act, he perceived it as a ploy to make him play out in advance to the court and prosecutor his entire defense strategy. The CIPA law was forcing Trubey to itemize all elements of evidence they planned to put into play, so they could be screened for possible classified material, which he did not knowingly have. This would give the Justice Department a chance to neutralize anything embarrassing to the government.

The letter he wrote and filed with the court, without Trubey's knowledge or approval, was entitled "Statement of Position of Defendant, Terry K. Reed." He had decided that the only way to bypass the entire judicial system and communicate directly was through the court file, which he was sure the Agency was monitoring. He had no way to penetrate the dark world and "reach out and touch someone," since he was now persona non grata to the intelligence community. He still felt his plight had been brought on by a few selfish agents involved in "Screw Worm," with the situation escalating to its present state because of the breakdown in communications. It was as if the war had knocked down the telephone lines, so he decided to send a "carrier pigeon" to deliver the message. He was under attack and if the provocations continued, he would be forced to protect himself any way he could. Even if that meant exposing classified material and agents. (See chapter end.)

He wanted them to know he wasn't picking the fight. He was being boxed in by the "In-Justice Department" and wanted the Agency to intervene. Surely, he thought, if they realized he wasn't a threat and would quietly go away, they would possibly put an end to this madness.

Why, Terry asked in the letter, was the burden on him rather than the government, to outline possible areas of sensitive or classified information? By doing so, he said, he might be needlessly exposing something that should be kept secret.

Terry didn't know what effect, if any, the letter had on the CIA. He was quick to find out, however, its effect on the court. Theis was unhappy. He informed Trubey that he didn't appreciate such behavior by a "defendant." If Trubey could not control him, Theis said he would have his bail revoked and Terry could spend the remainder of his trial preparation time in jail.

Legal protocol had been violated, after all. That was much more important, they were discovering, than attention being given to the travesty of justice that was being acted out in Theis' courtroom.

It was 1968 all over again, he thought. Terry had been a young airman in Okinawa and LBJ had the North Vietnamese on the run. As the Air Force's B-52s relentlessly pounded Hanoi to the brink of oblivion, Terry and his fellow intelligence analysts sat in shock when they heard the bombing had been halted. Yeah, this was how he felt as he sat in his in-laws' basement with no job, or home to return to in New Mexico. The subpoenas they had fought so hard to have served were on official hold, just like the bombs that were piled up by the runway in Okinawa, unable to go to their intended targets. They just wouldn't let him win ... again!
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Re: Compromised: Clinton, Bush and the CIA: How the Presiden

Postby admin » Mon Jun 06, 2016 7:26 pm

Part 4 of 4

The intended targets of the subpoenas read like the who's who of Iran-Contra. At the top of the list was Oliver North, who through his attorney Brendan Sullivan, was already saying North would take the Fifth Amendment if forced to testify.

And then, there was Felix Rodriguez, the macho commie-fighter, who had hidden in his house in Miami for two days trying to avoid Dunlap's effort to serve his subpoena. Trubey finally had to get a court order from Theis to get Rodriguez' phone number so that he could be called.
Rodriguez agreed to talk with Dunlap after communicating with him through Rodriguez' uncle, an attorney, who was his registered service agent.

And the uncle agreed only after being told that continued evasion would result in a U.S. Marshal arresting his nephew. When Dunlap finally gained access to Rodriguez' house, he said it looked to him like a "memorial" to Felix' world-wide campaign of chasing Communists. Grisly photographs adorned the walls and included some of a dead Che Guevara and photos of his severed hands.

In the subsequent interview, Rodriguez denied ever knowing "a Terry Reed" and told Dunlap he had never been to Mexico, even though Dunlap would later note that Felix' book, "Shadow Warrior," reflects the contrary. In the book, Rodriguez refers to living in Mexico City with his parents after Fidel Castro's takeover. While in Mexico, he had written, he became active in Cuban exile groups operating there. [13]

The subpoena of Jack Blum, Special Counsel to the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, was being blocked by the counsel to the Senate on grounds that Blum had given his information about Terry to Independent Counsel Lawrence Walsh. The argument was that this put Blum outside the reach of a court subpoena. This was still being argued on the day CIPA was invoked by the government. Terry and Janis had met with and been interviewed by Blum for three days in 1988 in Washington. Trubey wanted to know, in Blum's own words, why Congress and Walsh weren't motivated to act on Terry's information.

And then there was Arif Durrani, a Pakistani-American businessman then serving time in a federal prison for illegally selling weapons to Iran during the arms embargo. He claimed to have been recruited for this activity by North and had knowledge of "Project Donation."

The defense also had some "secret weapons" they had "discovered" within government files and which Trubey was hoping to "drop" during the trial. El Paso Intelligence Center had responded to the court order to produce the files that Young had claimed identified Terry as a drug trafficker.

EPIC's attorney notified the court that no such records on Terry existed. Not only did this cause Trubey and Dunlap to breath a sigh of relief, but the rest of the report was interesting as well.

The report said the only record of inquiries into Terry or the stolen airplane found in Little Rock, N2982M, had occurred on October 16th, 1987. This inquiry was not to retrieve data, as Young had testified, but rather to insert data into the EPIC's computer system. The entry read: "On Oct. 16, 1987, it reported to EPIC that the Arkansas State Police, Little Rock, Arkansas, reported aircraft N2982M, was recovered on Oct. 16, 1987, from a hangar in Little Rock, Arkansas, where the owner Kent T. Reed (aka Terry Reed) hid the aircraft to collect the $33,000 insurance claim. EPIC records reflect no other inquiries in connection with Terry Kent Reed and aircraft N2982M."[/ ]

Young had lied when he testified that EPIC files portrayed Terry as a drug trafficker. Trubey found it interesting that Young didn't need the justice system to "convict" Reed, only two days after he had executed the search warrant.

Young had lied.

Why would a man of Young's stature, a man so close to Bill Clinton, perjure himself so blatantly? They were hoping to find the answer during the trial, since Young and Baker had been subpoenaed as well.

[b]As for FAA intelligence, they were screaming national security to Fowler when all they had been asked to produce were the official FAA records on N30489 and N2982M, the tail numbers connected to the plane "found" in the North Little Rock Hangar. In addition to this, Trubey had added to the subpoena a request to "state whether either plane appears on the list of aircraft used covertly in the Contra operation in Nicaragua."

Direct hit!

If this simple request was triggering cries of "national security," then Terry's suspicions had to be true. His old airplane, the one Bill Cooper had been flying, or the one from Ohio that was supposed to be in Germany, must have been "donated" to the Contra cause in Nicaragua. And in addition, an FAA Computer report showed the FBI in Oklahoma City targeting N2982M as being the subject of a narcotics investigation on May 19, 1988, one month after Young released the plane to the insurance company without a court order.

It was Trubey's feeling this proved either one of two things: The insurance company was an Agency front company involved in narcotics trafficking or perhaps there was more than one plane with the number, N2982M, flying around.

Throughout June, after returning to New Mexico to break out their household goods once again from storage to continue their life of limbo, Janis and Terry watched their savings evaporate. As they contemplated their dire financial condition, they were once again thrust back into deep depression. While Fowler and everyone else involved in the judicial system were getting their biweekly federal paychecks, embossed with the Statue of Liberty, such was not the case for the Reed household. To them, everyone they had met since getting indicted, with the exception of the Public Defender system, was simply devouring them, a bite at a time. It was consuming not only them personally, but their family and their lifestyle, as well.

They were locked in a seemingly endless struggle with this hydra-headed monster called the criminal justice system. They were learning it could only be kept at bay by feeding it money ... lots of money ... which it insatiably devoured. This monster didn't breathe fire, however, it wore three-piece suits, had college degrees, tie bars, wing-tipped shoes, carried expensive gold plated fountain pens, and even had its own sterile vocabulary.

Courtroom combat, they saw, was fought between social parasites "dressed for success" who worked in marble "palaces" with mahogany paneled walls. The "war games umpire", referred to as "Judge", sits perched on his throne and quibbles over the foundation of each argument or impresses the contestants with the word of the day. A word probably selected at random, just prior to court proceedings, that is chosen to dutifully impress the assembled humble subjects.

Terry, the defendant, if mentioned at all, was referred to in impersonal, third person pronouns as if no name or face or body was attached. And what were the stakes??? Simply winning! Who was keeping score, the Reeds wondered? If the prosecutor wins, a human being is taken from his loved ones and goes to a urine-infested cage for "rehabilitation".

Terry and Janis were consumed with thoughts of raising their children without a father, and how this justice system gone mad, led by Mr. Law and Order, Robin Fowler, didn't seem to care if the Reed family produced three juvenile delinquents as a result of Terry's incarceration.

* * *

"You put that away," Judge Theis snapped in his chambers as he pointed his finger at Robin Fowler. "It's your office's fault that we're here today. All you should be carin' about is comin' out of this smellin' good!"

"Yes sir," the contrite Fowler said as he put the letter back inside the coat pocket of his polyester suit.

The letter Fowler was carrying was a written position statement from his office that he wanted to read into the record of the upcoming proceeding.

Terry, who was sitting on the judge's maroon leather tuck-and button sofa felt embarrassed for Fowler as the judge finished admonishing the government's attorney. Theis then turned to Terry to outline the scenario for what was about to happen shortly in his courtroom.

"Mr. Reed, do you understand exactly what's happening here?" Theis asked from behind his elevated desk, which resembled a pulpit. The office was plush, Terry thought, with its thick salmon-colored carpet, its built-in bookcases and the large portrait of Lyndon B. Johnson.

"It's my understanding from Ms. Trubey that if I waive my right to a jury trial that you will acquit me ... find me not guilty," Terry said crisply.

"Yep, that's about it," the judge said as he leaned back and surveyed the group assembled in his chambers,
then asked, "What I want to know is, though, who alerted the press? I noticed there are some out there in the courtroom." The question was answered with silence.

With that, Terry signed his jury waiver and the entourage consisting of Terry, Trubey, Assistant U.S. Attorneys Fowler and Jack Williams, the judge's two law clerks and Chief Federal Public Defender Charles Anderson left the chambers and filed into the courtroom.

The proceedings lasted less than 15 minutes. Terry sat impassively, not believing that the culmination of this two-and-a-half year ordeal was coming to such an anti-climactic end.

Theis, true to his word, 10 minutes into the session said: "... It's my opinion that no reasonable jury could really have found beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant was guilty ... and I do find, on the basis of stipulation of facts, that the defendant would be entitled to a verdict of acquittal in the case, and I'm going to so rule ... I do know that no reasonable jury would have found him guilty under those tenebrous facts that the government's (sic) had."

What Theis was really saying, in polite language, was that the government had perpetrated a travesty of justice against Terry and Janis. Fowler had gone to the judge and admitted that the "evidence" he had presented to the grand jury in 1988 was all he had, and which had failed to show any complicity by the Reeds in the alleged fraud. After two and a half years, Fowler was now admitting, he had no case ... and never did.

And what about the grand jury, that supposed bulwark against injustice, that panel of 23 citizens that is supposed to stand between a venal prosecutor and the individual? Once again, it had done what most grand juries do -- acted like sheep and rubber stamped what prosecutors present to them.

Theis had one final thought:.

"... I might say I entered this [decision] with some regret because I think it would have been an interesting trial for the court to sit on. Had some of the defense's evidence developed and had some the -- if they were able to prove part of things they thought they were going to be able to prove, it would have gone far beyond the confines of just a simple insurance fraud case. But, in view of that, we'll just have to read the adventure books and wonder what would have happened." [14]

In 1992, in an interview with co-author John Cummings, Theis added a postscript. The government's case against the Reeds, the judge said, "had a high odor to it."

The impossible had been accomplished. The conviction rate for federal indictees was more than 98 per cent. The Public Defender's Office in Kansas had just beaten the CIA and the massive government machinery behind it.
David had actually slain Goliath.

Marilyn Trubey, by dissecting the government's case with a well-planned strategy, was victorious. Joe Dunlap, from vapor, had found evidence that made a shambles of the government's witnesses.

Terry, who had become an equal partner with this defense team, was relieved but angered at the result. He felt he had been robbed, cheated of his chance to show a jury his evidence, to win his way, to completely vindicate himself and send those who had perjured themselves to prison; those same people who had kept him in the jaws of the legal monster.

During the two and a half years spent in preparation for this day, all that kept him going was the conjured image of triumphantly leaving a courtroom filled with spectators, to face the waiting television cameras and reporters, eager to know how he felt in victory. Against all odds, he would be celebrated by the little people, people like him who had fought back and won.

But this was denied him. An ebullient Trubey hugged him and whispered, "We did it, Terry." He felt empty, and by the expression on his face she knew the disappointment he was feeling.

They had won, all right, but only because the government was not going to allow Terry to light up dark corners and expose the total hypocrisy of government policies. Revealing the seamy story of an Intelligence Agency trafficking secretly in drugs, while dedicated lawyers like Trubey defend young adults whose lives are being destroyed by the criminal justice system that nearly devoured the Reeds -- not by the drugs being sold on the street corner.

As Trubey drove Terry from Wichita to Topeka where they would celebrate this hollow victory, Terry's mind went back to the day when the tide turned in his favor. The day the government invoked CIPA.

After accepting once again a government implemented court delay, the Reeds had returned to Placitas to settle in, temporarily. But as the summer wore on it became clear the government had total disregard for filing deadlines, mandated by the law. Terry came once again to the realization that the government does not have to follow its own laws and that there would be no immediate end to this game of injustice.

Insomnia was wearing him out. He had acquired a fear of the darkness. His uneasiness about the night was upsetting his biological clock to the degree that he had reversed his days and nights. Only in daylight hours did he feel secure enough to sleep. The government was winning, and he and Janis knew it. Time was on his persecutor's side. The wait for the battle to start was wreaking havoc. His weight had dropped to 155 pounds. Nights were filled with pacing and dry heaves, trying to vomit some uneaten meal. Janis would wake in the night to find no one beside her. Outside she would find her husband patrolling, pacing, guarding against some faceless enemy.

Janis identified that the idleness was killing them, that the mask of normality they were wearing for the children's sake was becoming transparent, and they knew it. They had to do something. They desperately needed a change of scenery and lifestyle. By now, the beautiful New Mexican landscape only reminded them of the anguish and pain they had suffered since their indictment over two years ago.

As September neared, they were feeling economic pressure and Duncan's education was becoming a major concern. The boy already had been taken prematurely from the first grade as they traveled to prepare for their summer trial in Kansas. How, they wondered, did this nomadic, gypsy behavior affect a six-year-old? In desperation, they sought to put down roots. But where? They were tired of the endless moving and yanking their children from school.

Terry had developed business contacts in the El Paso area that serviced the expanding twin-plant manufacturing concept that was developing along the Mexican border. He felt there was opportunity there for him. Janis, with her case now dismissed, was able to reinstate her New Mexico real estate license and was successful in getting a job opportunity in the New Mexico real estate market bordering El Paso, allowing them to move to the border.

Trubey, fearful for Terry's life while living along the border, went to Theis and won his approval to have the Reeds' new location kept secret from the government and to allow his travel into the border area of Mexico. She successfully argued that he was not a "risk for flight," he had been in the court system for more than two years and had not vanished yet.

With the advent of Fall, Terry still felt in business limbo and was having difficulty applying himself fully in his newly-found work in Juarez, Mexico. Knowing he would need at least eight weeks away from work for the trial was disrupting any hope of long-term manufacturing projects. Janis, meanwhile, was suffering through the usual adjustment period associated with starting afresh in a new real estate environment.

No matter how hard they tried, they just didn't fit in. At least, they thought, the children seemed happy. Duncan and Elliott were taking root quickly in the New Mexican elementary school near their home in Santa Teresa.

A short distance down the road from their community, situated near the New Mexico-Texas state line, was La Tuna federal prison. Since the children were being absorbed into the culture and welcomed into their new environment, Terry and Janis had quietly selected this prison, if the unspeakable need arose.

From the highway it looked like an old Spanish mission with its white adobe walls and arched entranceway. If given a choice, Terry preferred to be imprisoned within La Tuna's walls, if he was going to be forced to live in a four-by-eight foot cage. But Trubey had told him there would be no guarantee of that. And probably, she had said, the government out of vengeance would send Terry to some remote location as they had in other cases she had handled.

Sitting on the floor of their New Mexico home with the children tucked in and asleep, Terry and Janis stared at the computer print-out Trubey had sent them.

"Janis, don't cry. Be strong. This is something we need to do and be prepared for," Terry soothed, as they looked over the list of federal prisons as if selecting a college. Amenities like college courses were even listed for those wishing to continue their education or work in a trade shop to obtain a skill. He would wake in the night to his wife's sobbing and he too would go outside and cry.

There were times he couldn't bear to look at them, knowing that prison life would kill him and that someone else would raise his children.

So, on the afternoon of November 8th, the last thing Terry expected to hear was Marilyn Trubey's voice exclaiming, "Terry, I just got off the phone with Judge Theis. He wants you here by noon tomorrow. If you'll waive your right to a jury trial, and promise not to talk to the media for 30 days, he'll acquit you."

Terry sat in his office in silence and disbelief. It took only a few moments for the anger to well up inside him. He was already formulating questions Trubey didn't want to hear. To her, Terry's position, by refusing the judge's offer, was like looking a gift horse in the mouth.

"No, Marilyn, I think I'll pass on that one," Terry said emphatically. "I want my day in court with a jury of my peers."

"Terry, listen to me. There's no better status to end all this than an acquittal," she replied.

Terry saw it differently and, besides, by this time he didn't trust anything the government or the court had to say. He had seen Judge Theis fall asleep as his life swung in the balance and then read the written results concocted by ill-equipped law clerks. And the government that denied him was no different than having a pet rattlesnake. It could only be handled with thick, leather gloves and could never be trusted. Why should we trust them now, he thought? And as much as he respected and admired Marilyn Trubey, there were times she still acted very naively about the system she served.

Marilyn broke from her stoic Barbara Stanwyck manner, lost her composure and snapped, "If you don't take this acquittal, you'll have to find another attorney. It just won't get any better than this, Terry."

The next day, as his jet airliner streaked toward Wichita to meet the noon deadline the judge had mandated, his mind was racked with rage. How could this be happening? He had found that the justice system didn't expose the truth, it contained it. How much dirty laundry was hidden behind the guise of national security? He felt betrayed.

At a time he should be joyful, he was at one of the lowest points of his life. They were even robbing him of his chance to share his promised acquittal with Janis. They had been through this two-and-a-half year nightmare side by side, every step of the way, and because of Theis' unyielding demand to appear immediately, Terry went alone.

The time spent enroute was occupied with filling the pages of the yellow legal pad in front of him. They were overflowing with the explosions of thoughts and anger he wanted to express to the judge, this senile manipulated remnant of a judicial system that had been devoured by an imperial Presidency and the real power behind that ... the CIA.

Was he the only one who could see it for what it was? Why wasn't there a public outcry? Were they ALL brain dead?
Behind the marble walls of the federal building in Wichita the serpent was putting on its bib and preparing to swallow the truth. Visions of the monster Jaba in Return of the Jedi [the third part of the Star Wars trilogy], sitting in slime and swallowing small creatures, came to mind as Terry compared this mental image to the criminal injustice system. How many people like him does it take to keep the monster full? They were sending him to his mental gallows, to be silenced and gagged.

Trubey didn't know what was happening in his mind that day when the jet landed. But a burning ember deep inside was beginning to glow. They hadn't killed it yet, but they had certainly fucking tried.

"Terry, what's important is for you to go in there, agree to the judge's conditions and don't rub the government's nose in all this," Charles Anderson had told him in his office. It was 1 PM, November 9th, 1990, and the Public Defender's office was awaiting notice from Theis' office that the paperwork was complete for the Reed trial.

Terry didn't like what he was hearing. Anderson had told him not only to avoid the media that was on its way to the courthouse, but that Anderson's office didn't want Terry reading his statement into the court record either. The terms Anderson and Trubey had hammered out with Theis were beginning to sound to him like a plea bargain.

"Charlie, it was my understanding I was coming here for an acquittal. I can't talk to anyone about this for 30 days and now you're telling me I don't even get to speak at my trial. I'm about ready to get back on the plane and go home."

"If you do that, the judge will just dismiss your case and you'll be walkin' around with a cloud over ya' the rest of your life," Anderson replied. "At least this way, you're being found not guilty." Terry felt he was being appeased.

"Terry, I know you've been through a lot. But think of your family. You need to get on with your life. Just put this down and go home. My advise to ya' is don't be pokin' no sticks at no tigers."

Oliver North wouldn't be coming to Theis' courtroom after all.

* * *

"All you and your office should be carin' about is comin' out of this smellin' good!" Theis' scolding of Fowler had even occurred in front of the defendant.

As Marilyn Trubey and Terry Reed motored east on 1-35 that victorious evening, the last element of the Benjamin Burgess political machine was biting the dust in Wichita, Kansas.

November 9th 1990 would become known in criminal defense circles in Wichita as "Robin Fowler Flame-Out Day." That was the day Theis not only acquitted Reed, but had lectured Robin Fowler in front of the chief public defender for the state of Kansas.

He had been disgraced. He had been cruelly toying with the lives of two innocent people. His actions of keeping the Reeds mercilessly locked in the criminal justice system for over two and a half years had tarnished not only his record, but the U.S. Attorney's office as well.

If the prosecutor was not venal, then his only excuse was stupidity. Fowler never seemed to question anything the government told him. The Classified Information Procedures Act, way back in June -- that should have been the clue. That's when he should have known that the day had come to dump the Reed case.

That was the day FBI Special Agent Wayne Barlow had called him. Up until that day he was just doing his job, prosecuting a simple mail fraud case. Or so his superiors had told him. From that point on, this case had been running him instead of him running it. Fowler had even been forced to get a security clearance just to stay on the case and be able to talk to his own department. How was he to know Reed was an intelligence asset if they didn't tell him?

How was he to know Reed had worked for the FBI and CIA? How was he to know Reed had become a pawn in a political "dirty-up job"? Before he got this case, he wasn't even sure if Iran-Contra really happened. After all, Wichita is a long way from Washington. Fowler even naively called KTOK-AM investigative reporter Jerry Bohnen in Oklahoma City and asked him if Iran-Contra had really happened, and for a list of books to read on the subject.

And then the FBI had continued to investigate the Reeds for the entire time they had them under indictment. If they had sufficient evidence for a conviction, what did they need to investigate? The FBI must have been desperate to get them charged with something else. Why had the FBI in Oklahoma City gone to the trouble of interviewing Reed's old neighbors and the family that bought his home way back in 1983, talking about events that occurred long before the airplane was stolen? Were they checking on the government's exposure?

And those three Keystone cops out of Arkansas: Young, Baker and Don Sanders. They had lied so frequently on the stand that Fowler had been forced to "recreate" the order of their individual involvement. And Baker and Young did not get even one date straight on anything that happened.

And yet the prosecutor went along with it all. The U.S. attorney not only prosecutes the guilty, he is supposed to protect the innocent person from overzealous investigators. He should have stopped the whole proceeding right then and walked out, right after the first suppression hearing.

Yet, on two different occasions, in court motions, Fowler tried to rearrange the chain of events and tried to claim that it was Don Sanders who had first gotten involved with the plane.

Then there was Colonel Goodwin, the commander of the Arkansas State Police, the man who reported directly to Bill Clinton. He had refused to comply with Theis' order to produce the Mena files. Trubey asked Theis to hold Goodwin in contempt. Fowler today doesn't know what's in those sealed files, even though Trubey had said in court Reed was working for the CIA and training Contra pilots in Mena. Why hadn't he listened?

Joe Dunlap had certainly been through a lot on this case being chased out of Arkansas and almost arrested. And then occasionally, when Fowler and Dunlap met in the halls of the Federal building, Fowler just couldn't help but play mind games with Dunlap and try to convince him that Reed was just a sleazy drug trafficker.

Another clue that Fowler ignored was a tactic well known in all fields of endeavor as the "lateral pass."

The U.S. Attorney in Springfield, Missouri, when he passed the whole thing off to Fowler in April, 1988, called it "a good case." If so, why didn't he prosecute it?

And in the end, what happened? Fowler had to go to Judge Theis and admit that he couldn't get a conviction. After keeping Reed and his wife in the "system" for over two years and then forced to admit he couldn't "produce" what he had promised the Grand Jury -- Reed's head -- that hadn't gone down too well with Theis.

And the way he had told Janis Reed to cop-out on her husband in exchange for her freedom -- what a terrible trauma to put her through.

But the worst part was that Fowler lied and suppressed critical discovery that Trubey had asked for, on repeated occasions. He denied her the FBI interview transcript with Baker that clearly showed it was October the 8th when Baker went into Reed's hanger after the wind allegedly blew the door open"'. [15] Plus Fowler and his associate, Jack Williams, wrongfully suppressed Baker's own investigative report that also said it was the 8th when he first went into the hangar. [16] If those documents had been admitted into court, as they should have been, the judge would have had to rule in Trubey's favor. It would have all been over right then and there. The judge would have thrown the case out, 18 months earlier in June of 1989.

What could Fowler do now? After all, he was 34 years old, divorced, horribly out of shape, and with his personal life in shambles. Ben Burgess, the man who had brought him to Kansas, was gone. Fowler was all alone in defeat.

With Desert Shield in full swing that November night, Robin Fowler decided on a new course of action, one that people would perceive as noble, and redeeming. He would resign his position with the government and volunteer to do something completely different. He would join the United States Army!

And it wasn't some cushy office job in the Judge Advocate-General's division he would seek. No, something more challenging than that. Something that would test him, something adventuresome and dangerous.

He would become a paratrooper.

By January, 1991, as Terry Reed wrestled with getting his life back in order, Robin Fowler would be wrestling with basic training as an enlisted grunt. Sweating out of his body those endless calories from too many happy hours in Wichita bars. Ultimately he would waddle his way through boot camp with young men 14 years his junior. And he would make it. He would be transformed from an attorney into a soldier -- a paratrooper -- and serve with the US Army airborne forces in Korea. At time of discharge in May, 1993, Fowler's official title was:

Army Specialist Robin D. Fowler 243023944
82nd Airborne
D 21504 PIR
Fort Bragg, NC 28307

Jack Williams told Terry Reed in 1992 that Fowler resigned from the prosecutor's office and joined the Army "because Robin's very patriotic, you know, and he wanted to serve his country during time of war." One of the authors interviewed Fowler in June of 1993 and discovered he had made a grand total of five airborne jumps in his 28 months of Army service. For someone who now claims to have enlisted because, "I just always wanted to be a paratrooper"', Fowler sure spent a lot more time on the ground than he did yelling "Geronimo."

Funny, Reed thought. Fowler didn't go in until January, 1991, the same month Desert Shield turned into Desert Storm and, as the "100 Hour War'" raged on, Fowler was still getting his head shaved and learning his right foot from his left.

Oh, well ... such is the case of closet patriots. At least Fowler wasn't in Wichita sending innocent people to prison.


Terry K. Reed,
Terry Reed,
A. K. Reed,
Terry Kerr;
Janice Ann Reed, nee Kerr,
Janice Reed,
Janice Kerr,
Janis Kerr
Copy to: 1 - Criminal Division, USDJ
1 - U.S. Attorney, Topeka, KS

33-1. Cover sheet of three-inch-thick FBI report showing the Reeds as "ARMED AND DANGEROUS". The list of aliases is totally preposterous.


TOMMY L. BAKER, Private Investigator, 1523 Broadway, Little Rock, Arkansas, telephone (501) 376-7770, was contacted at his place of business where, after being advised as to the identity of the interviewing Agent and the purpose of the interview, he supplied the following information:

On October 8. 1987, he had been flying with a friend and had just landed at the North Little Rock Municipal Airport in North Little Rock. Arkansas, and was taxiing the aircraft in which he had been flying to a private hangar when he noticed the door was open to hangar number 28, the hangar immediately next door to the hangar which was his destination. He noted there was a strong north wind that day and the hangar faces the north and the normal-sized door, which is the entrance to hangar number 28, had blown open. Noting the recent amount of aircraft burglaries in the Little Rock area, he decided to check inside the hangar to make sure everything was secure. When he entered the hangar, he noticed that there were no lights nor electricity and that the plane inside the hangar was profusely covered with dust and had apparently been sitting in the hangar for an extended amount of time. He became curious as to why the Piper Turbo Arrow III, which was listed in NATIONAL PUBLICATIONS as being worth as much as $40,000, had been allowed the deteriorate. Suspecting that the airplane was either involved in narcotics smuggling or was stolen, he decided to investigate. All the tires were flat and there were piles of rust under the brakes. The tail number on the airplane was N30489. It appeared to BAKER that the tail numbers had been hastily applied and did not fit the value of the aircraft. He noted that the serial number plate near the left tail section of the aircraft bore serial number 28R7887229 and plate number 008510. The model of the aircraft was PA28R201T. BAKER advised that the serial number plate had been visibly altered and it appeared to him as if the airplane had been retagged. He took ...

33-2. FBI 302, a key document illegally suppressed and kept from Terry Reed during his Wichita trial. This document, which was found in court discovery two and one half years after Reed's acquittal, proves that the private investigator working with Bill Clinton's chief of security did not "find" Reed's stolen plane until October 8, 1987, one day after the police began investigating on October 7, 1987.


TERRY K. REED, et. al.
NO. LR-C-91-424
Come the defendants, by their attorneys, and for their statement of material facts, filed in conjunction with their motion for summary judgment and pursuant to Local Rule 29, state:
1. Terry Reed claims that he was an "asset" of the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) and the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) between 1982 and 1987 and has suggested in deposition testimony that he may still be acting in that capacity. (Complaint, paragraph 8; Exhibit E, pp. 40-42)
2. Between July, 1984, and August, 1985, Reed helped train Nicaraguan nationals as pilots, (Exhibit E, pp. 46, 53) flying out of the Waldron, Arkansas, airport, having planes repaired at Mena, and generally operating out of a clandestine encampment disguised as chicken houses near Nella, Arkansas. (Exhibit E, pp. 52-59, 64)
3. Reed believes that he incurred the displeasure of the CIA when he discovered that it was using a warehouse he operated at the Guadalajara, Mexico, airport for an operation ...

33-3. List of Arkansas State Attorney General's undisputed facts in Terry Reed's lawsuit brought against Bill Clinton's chief of security and the private detective. Note that the A.G.'s office does not contest the fact that Terry Reed trained Nicaraguan Nationals at Mena, Arkansas.



33-4. Critical FBI telex which was found in 1993 during the discovery process related to Reed's civil action in Arkansas. This report cleverly proves Reed was setup and that his stolen plane was actually found in a barn, not in Reed's hangar. The report is dated one day prior to police getting the search warrant.



33.5. FBI file in which Young falsely states that Reed was a drug-trafficking suspect and that this information came from the DEA.


In response to the above-subject court order and in light of discussions between [ILLEGIBLE] and [ILLEGIBLE] Clements, an attorney on my staff, we are providing the following information which we believe is responsive to the court order and can be released to the defendant through discovery under Rule 16 of the Federal Rules of Criminal Procedure.
On May 24, 1983, EPIC was notified that the Joplin, Missouri, Police Department reported to the National Crime Information Center (NCIC) that aircraft N2982M was reported stolen on May 23, 1983, from the Joplin, Missouri, airport.
On October 16, 1983, it was reported to EPIC that the Arkansas State Police, Little Rock, Arkansas, reported aircraft N2982M was recovered on October 16, 1987, from a hangar in Little Rock, Arkansas, where the owner Kent R. Reed (aka Terry Reed) hid the aircraft to collect the $33,000 insurance claim.
EPIC records reflect no other inquiries in connection with Terry Kent Reed and aircraft N2982M.

33-6. Letter from the DEA which gives the lie to the testimony of Arkansas State Police Capt. Raymond Young, who said he received information from the DEA stating that Reed was a suspected drug trafficker. Paragraph four has information Young himself inserted into the file.


33-7. Arkansas State Police computer terminal readout showing activity at 12:04 PM on October 7, 1987 concerning the registered owner of the plane found in Reed's hangar. The date and time are significant because it proves law enforcement knowledge at least one day prior to Tommy Baker's alleged entry into Reed's hangar. This proves that all the court testimony about the discovery scenario was a lie.


33-8. Letter Reed wrote and filed with the court to "reach out" to the CIA and secretly communicate with them. It was his hope that the Agency would see that he was no threat, but would defend himself if forced to.


33-9. Subpoenas issued by Terry Reed's defense attorney, including those of Oliver North and Felix Rodriguez.


33-10. Reed's judgement of acquittal. What a defendant is awarded after winning a 30- month criminal prosecution, which nearly bankrupted the Reeds.



* While in Magistrate Wooley's court room, Terry and Janis were forced to waive their rights under the "speedy trial act", a law which guarantees defendants be put on trial within 70 days of arraignment. The Reeds had nearly needed that much time just to find an attorney qualified to deal with the case's underlying issues, namely Oliver North and the CIA.

* National Weather Service report for October 7th and 8th, 1987, recorded by the weather reporting station located at the North Little Rock Airport, Little Rock, Arkansas.

* Baker did a complete turnabout four years later in an oral deposition given in Little Rock in 1993 for Case LRC-91-414, when he admitted that he did, in fact, remove the aileron, a violation of FAA regulations and federal law.

** There was a second turnabout by Baker. He has since recanted the "wind" myth and in an affidavit subsequent to the 1993 deposition, gave a totally different version of his original story, now saying he was invited into the hangar by a friend named Rick Edwards. Edwards, in a separate affidavit, claimed he was in Reed's hangar because the lock was damaged and incapable of securing the door. The real truth may never be known.

** In 1983, former Attorney-General Ramsey Clark and Federal Judge John Curtin, a former U.S. Attorney, testified in a New York federal trial that the Central Intelligence Agency lied to them repeatedly about a case they were investigating back in the 1970s.

1. Court Transcript of Tommy Baker in the United States District Court for the District of Kansas, Case No. 88-10049-01, 6-21-89.

2. Court Transcript of Raymond Buddy Young in the United States District Court for the District of Kansas, Case No. 88-10049-01, TIME2-89.

3. Oral Deposition of James Jenkins, in the United States District Court Eastern District of Arkansas, Western Division, Case No. LRC-91-414, March 9, 1993.

4. Court Transcript of Raymond Buddy Young in the United States District Court for the District of Kansas, Case No. 88-10049-01, 6-22-89.

5. Ibid.

6. Court Transcript of Don Sanders in the United States District Court for the District of Kansas, Case No. 88-10049-01, 6-22-89.

7. Court Transcript of Harry Barrett in the United States District Court for the District of Kansas, Case No. 88-10049-01, 6-22-89.

8. Court Transcript of Tommy Baker in United States District Court for the District of Kansas, Case No. 88-10049-01, 6-21-89.

9. Opinion and Order filed 12-15-89 in the United States District Court for the District of Kansas Case No. 88-10049-01 and 02 by the Honorable Frank G. Theis, U.S. District Judge.

10. Ibid.

11. Transcript of Grand Jury Minutes dated 6-1-88 In the Matter of the Grand Jury of the United States of American Sitting in Wichita, Kansas.

12. Transcript of telephonic court proceedings, 6-1-90 in the United States District Court for the District of Kansas, Case No. 88-10049-01.

13. Rodriguez, Felix and John Wiseman, Shadow Warrior, Simon and Schuster, 1989, pp. 32-34.

14. Court proceedings (trial) in the United States District Court for the District of Kansas, Case No. 88-10049-01, 11-9-90.

15. Tommy Baker FD-302 taken 4-11-88 by SA Mark A. Jessie.

16. Tommy Baker Form 1, file no. 88-1246, Investigator's Notes dated 3-15-88.
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Re: Compromised: Clinton, Bush and the CIA: How the Presiden

Postby admin » Tue Jun 14, 2016 9:04 pm


As the Reed van moved north up Mexico Highway Route 45 toward El Paso, Terry was unusually silent and wasn't concentrating on the pot holes too well in the highway in front of him. His mind was in a swarm.

The van was laden with not only the Reed family, but opened gifts from the Christmas holiday they had shared with Patrick and Patty Juin. It was January the 5th, 1991.

It had been the first time in over two years they had been able to travel freely from state to state, country to country without first being forced to get permission from Judge Theis and then being treated as threats to society by having to maintain continual telephone contact with a court designee.

Janis had been leery of returning to Lake Chapala for fear of reprisal from the CIA or the Mexican DFS. But Terry's logic that they were now no longer perceived a threat to the Agency and that any harm that came to them would only bring unwanted attention to the residue of his work with them, must have been correct. The trip had been enjoyable and uneventful and Janis had hoped it would be a period of relaxation and healing for the Reed family. Almost two months had elapsed since Terry's acquittal on that fateful date in November, when he had been released from the jaws of the monster that had nearly devoured them.

But this had not been the case. Under the surface, he was still in turmoil. Even though they had unwound at the Manzanillo beach with the Juin family and celebrated New Year's Eve in Ajijic with old friends, Janis could tell that Terry was only paying lip service to the holiday. He was remote and disconcerted.

He had been drinking throughout the Christmas season -- way too much. This wasn't like him and was the opposite reaction she was expecting his acquittal to trigger. Surely she prayed, the three-year nightmare hadn't extinguished the flame, that hidden somewhere deep inside him was the same overly confident pilot and headstrong business man she had once known and loved enough to marry. She was afraid to interrupt his silence and ask the question. She instinctively knew what was eating away in his mind.

He had to cling to the premise that he had been forced to go through this legal orgy for a purpose. Why had he been singled out to be destroyed? Or had he been chosen for a test? One to determine his limits? If so, had he passed or failed in the eyes of his unseen master? There had to be a reason, didn't there? Was his conversion from an asset to a liability an accident ... or was it predestined? Was it intended for him to be prosecuted, persecuted, survive and then become the messenger to the American People about the corruption and inequities in the judicial system? Was it meant for him to be thrust into orbit with people like Marilyn Trubey? Was he supposed to fight the legal system from without or within?

His mind went back to the Cabal, that evening in the Arkansas bunker ... when he felt he was being "knighted. " Even after all he'd been through he still felt there was a purpose for him being selected. Had he been exposed to all this in order to be the one who screams out? Had he been thrust into the mumbo-jumbo legal world in order to expand mentally and absorb yet another dimension of our failed attempt at democracy?

Terry's thoughts went in an ever decreasing spiral until he felt his head would burst. Being engineering minded at heart, he decided on taking a new approach to solving his problem. For every plus there is a minus ... that had been a guiding principle of his since he learned it in 9th grade physics. He knew the minus ... he had been singled out, in part, due to his value system, and his life had been ripped to shreds. Now to find the plus to the equation. There is a reason for all action, that same physics teacher had told him, and backed up his teachings with Sir Isaac Newton's law: ''for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction." Perhaps that explained what he was supposed to do. They, the government, had acted and now he had to react or he would be violating a law of physics. That was it he decided! He was still a member of the Cabal ... and he had been chosen to REACT! He would go to battle! But the unanswered question was, would Janis be capable of another extended fight?

As she gazed at the flat Mexican landscape north of Chihuahua, she took a deep breath and dared to ask, "What's bothering you?"

"You know what it is, honey, " he answered without removing his stare from the road. "You know me by now. I just can't go on as if nothing happened. I feel like we've been raped and now they expect us to just pretend nothing happened. Janis, I have to fight back. You know if I don't this thing will kill me."

There was no mistaking it. Janis knew her husband meant every word. Unlike her, she knew that he had to fight back or it would destroy him. His unyielding value system was one of his qualities that drew her to him.

Quietly and without replying, Janis moved from her front seat in the van to the rear and returned with a yellow legal pad and pen. As she'd done so many times before in their nearly 10 years of marriage, she prepared to write while he drove.

The letter he dictated was to an anonymous attorney seeking help to right the wrongs done to him and his family by the United States government. He outlined their 30 month criminal prosecution, sprinkling in the proper buzz words he felt sure would summon forth the help he needed.

Halfway into the letter, Janis took an interest. She began participating, and he was glad to see that she too still had the rage and anger buried in her that they needed to harness to help them fight back. The fervency of his words tore off the scabs she had tried to grow over her unhealed and now infected wounds. As the poison from her mind drained, they had to stop by the road to hold each other and cry.

The writing of the letter had triggered the release of the pent-up emotion. Without realizing it at first, it had become their own method of therapy, and Janis realized he was right. They had to fight back, together.

The tribulation had to be ended properly to heal their minds. They had not sought psychiatric help during this painful period of their lives, reasoning that a person only goes to a therapist when they don't know what ails them. How could a therapist call off the vengeance of the CIA?

When they reached their home in Santa Teresa, they had what they thought would be the necessary documents to bring countless attorneys running to their aid in order to defend the Constitution of the United States of America. Surely they thought, their case was unique. They were only asserting that the executive branch of government had devoured the judicial branch, had it secretly under its control, and by doing so was undermining the basic freedoms upon which this country was founded.

Terry didn't realize it then, but he was locked into a mental state he would later self-diagnose as "post-indictment stress syndrome" (P.I.S.S.).

PISS, that was the cynical acronym he chose to call it. He would jokingly tell Janis that the legal system had left "emotional skid marks on his brain." Other people with whom he would come into contact, people with experience in dealing with those recently released from the criminal injustice system would say his feelings and attitudes were not uncommon. The period of relief after an end to such a traumatizing ordeal is often, they said, replaced by anger and hostility.

But it would pass, they said. Just go on about your life, and the rage would die and be replaced with feelings of apathy. Soon they said, within six months in all probability, the old Terry Reed would be back smiling as usual looking for a way to make up for lost time.

This was not going to be the case, he knew. That glowing ember deep inside, the one that re-kindled that day on the plane enroute to his trial as he captured his emotions on paper, was now turning into a raging fire. The feeling of burning up inside was giving him energy, forcing a re-awakening, and he was happy with the feeling. He was obsessed with thoughts of what he considered the moral thing to do. A way to strike back and correct the system. After all, he thought, hadn't life actually prepared him for this task? All of his training had gotten him through this ordeal. Why not now apply that survivalist mentality, that analytical aggressive attitude, to lead the attack against those who had wronged him? That Missouri stubbornness that he was sure came from his great grandfather ... that stubbornness he knew Harry Truman had ... was what he needed to muster up from deep within for the battle that lay ahead.

The battlefield he had selected was federal court! He had been analyzing for several weeks just what had happened in the final months of his 'persecution' in Wichita, and one thing was now very clear. The government did not want his story told! They didn't want the embarrassing facts spilling out of the court record and into the newspapers. They had denied him his trial! He had not had his day in court!

Court ... yes, that's where this story belonged. Go right where they least want it. There, combined with the credibility and scrutiny offered between those marbled columns, and perhaps the protection afforded him and his family by a sympathetic federal judge -- it was the perfect arena for all the seamy details of the CIA's operations that had turned him into a liability to be heard. Surely, he rationalized, court was the only forum from which to tell this story. The world and the American people must be told about their government gone mad ... their own CIA trafficking in drugs! Surely the Federal Court System was the place to expose this.

But what disturbed him even more than drug trafficking was how the CIA was hand picking and sponsoring candidates to the office of Presidency! That had to be told.

There had been, in Terry's opinion, a coup d'etat in this country. A quiet revolution with no shots fired ... or had there been? Had a young president by the name of John Fitzgerald Kennedy penetrated the CIA's veil, and discovered this earlier? Could the conspiracy theorists be right?

Only with subpoena power could he ever hope to get to the bottom of this "black" dilemma that hung over him .... and the nation for that matter. This matter belonged only in court, where the classified material that was sure to come out could be protected. He didn't want to harm other innocent agents and assets who had been able to quietly sever themselves from these black operations. That was the problem, protecting others. That's why it belonged in court, and not in the media event!

After all he and his family had been through he almost hated to admit it, but he was still patriotic. Yeah ... that was what that tight, warm glow deep inside was all about! He was still patriotic! He still loved this country! He loved his home! And after all, as his father had taught him ... it WAS worth fighting for! He had to fight ... once again! Not for the government that had misled and exploited him -- for the country that he so loved.

Back in Santa Teresa, and with Janis now firmly by his side, they prepared endless packets of material to send to all the famous legal names and law firms recognized as the flag-bearers of civil freedoms. At one point they felt their efforts surely must be subsidizing Federal Express, but few responses were forthcoming. There was no white knight arriving on a white charger.

"There's no real money in constitutional rights litigation," they were arrogantly told again and again. Or, "Haven't you heard .... since the Christie case ruling, no one in his right mind sues the government." *

To their frustration, the typical response included, "God, this looks like a great case. And I'd love to take it, but only if you're willing to pay as you go ..... Our firm doesn't do contingencies."

"I guess defending the constitution is only a capitalistic endeavor in this country, " he would cynically tell Trubey by phone,
who was stunned to believe Terry could find no one to take the case.

By now Terry and Janis were clinging desperately to economic solvency, making every effort to avoid bankruptcy, considering that their last resort. With long-standing legal bills and unpaid family loans, their financial world was in shambles, and they had no money to contribute to the estimated $250, 000 they were told was the minimum they needed to properly litigate against the government.

Frustrated, Terry turned to those who claimed they wanted to help. Those who said they had experience in bringing these matters to public attention. The only avenue he figured that would publicize their dilemma and assist in securing an attorney: The print media.

First he sought out an old acquaintance in New Mexico named Jonathan Beaty, a senior correspondent with TIME magazine. After all, it was Beaty who sought out the Reeds back in the Fall of 1988, shortly after their surrender to the Feds, wanting their story, or at least what he thought their story was.

With their attorney's permission in 1988, Terry and Janis had driven to Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, and met with Beaty and a photographer for TIME named Steve Northop.

A magazine with an investigative reporting staff as large as TIME's could certainly help prove out parts of Reed's story, which were strewn throughout several foreign countries and many U.S. states. In exchange for their help, maybe he would give them first rights to their ordeal. Or at least, that was the idea behind the meeting. A trade, pure and simple.

Beaty, Northop, Janis and Terry had sat in a local park while Beaty attempted to grasp the larger elements of Reed's story. Being a seasoned reporter and having covered elements of Iran-Contra for TIME, Beaty wanted to immediately pry back the rocks covering the involvement of John Cathey aka Oliver North. This line of questioning eventually led to Bill Cooper and Southern Air Transport.

Throughout the questioning, Beaty had remained somewhat distant and just observed the Reeds until he asked Terry who he worked with at SAT?

When Terry informed him it was a man by the name of Robert Johnson, who was purportedly in-house counsel for SAT, Beaty turned to Northop and announced, "this guy [Reed] is for real."

"I know Johnson, and that's a name that hasn't appeared in the press," Beaty revealed. Terry had passed the scrutiny test, for the time being, and the remainder of the interrogation went well.

It was Beaty who put them in contact with the senate investigator Jack Blum in Washington, D.C. Shortly afterward, however, Beaty said that his boss at the magazine had made a decision to pull him off Iran-Contra related stories since TIME considered it an old issue and the American public seemed burnt out on the subject.

Beaty did go so far as to print an article in the Grapevine section of the March 13th, 1989, issue outlining what he thought the Reed case involved. He talked of Oliver North and Project Donation and how Reed had been indicted and was awaiting a trial in Wichita, Kansas. "All for Ollie", he entitled the piece.

Jonathan had even extended a hand of kindness after seeing the dilemma the Reeds faced. They departed with what the Reeds felt was a foundation on which to build a future friendship, if they ever got out of this mess. Of course, back in 1988, Beaty did seem somewhat frustrated but understanding with the Reeds, realizing they were muzzled by the advice of their attorneys and were not talking to the media, being guided by the legal warning required under Miranda, "What you say can and will be used against you".

But now that he could talk, he was learning Iran-Contra was a dead issue. After all, it was 1991, over 4 years since the Cooper shootdown and miraculously, the Reagan-Bush White House had been able to contain the scandal that everyone had said was more significant than Watergate. It involved, people said back then, subversion of the constitution by Oliver North, Bill Casey and the CIA. But that seemed a long time ago, and Terry had been successfully silenced throughout those four years. And now, Beaty was telling him from his ranch, that the new hot topic was a money investigation he was working on that involved the Bank of Credit and Commerce International and a guy named Clark Clifford, a name Reed knew from previous administrations, and conversations.

One night, as the Reed family barbecued chicken in their backyard in Santa Teresa, Janis, realizing Terry's mounting frustration, suggested, "What about that guy in New York? You know, that writer that was working on the Barry Seal story."

She was referring to an investigative reporter and author by the name of John Cummings. Cummings was one of those guys Reed didn't know whether to trust, but he had grown to admire his bulldog attitude ... he simply wouldn't go away. But from the insatiable appetite for information Cummings demonstrated, Terry was afraid handling him might be compared to hand-feeding a cheeseburger to a lion. It might be difficult not to get swallowed up to the elbow in the process. Cummings had contacted Trubey on several occasions asking for an interview saying he only wanted to talk about Barry Seal and he was curious if Reed knew of any connection Seal had to the CIA. Cummings had even driven through New Mexico in a vain attempt to locate them once. At least he was persistent, Terry thought. He admired that in a person, but was that enough?

"I don't know if I should call him, honey. After all, he's from New York and my great grandfather always said you can't trust Yankees," Terry joked.

But the next day the call was made, and Cummings not only offered his help to find an attorney, but extended the offer to bring along an investigator who might "donate some time" to the case.


"You can call me Pierre, all my friends do," the looming investigator accompanying Cummings said upon entering the Reed home. The 60's-plus man with the six-foot, four-inch frame, gray beard, lightly stooped shoulders, and sporting a black beret certainly would have difficulty blending into a crowd if his wish was ever to travel incognito, Terry thought as they shook hands.

"Your reputation precedes you Pierre. I've been told by people who know you that you are the world's greatest investigator," Terry said, just to let Pierre know that he had been asking questions about him prior to his arrival.

"Well, I don't know about that ... but I'm at least the most expensive", he shot back with a warm, broad grin and a gleam in his eye that alerted you he would be a formidable opponent in a match of wits.

Cummings and Pierre sat in Reed's living room grilling him, no -- interrogating him for more than three days. Probing his brain for every nitty gritty dark detail they could find, and looking continuously for a flaw in his story. Pierre, Terry discovered, was a 30-year veteran United States Army investigator who spent his entire career in CID (Criminal Investigative Division). Pierre had a mind like a bear trap, and after two days of sitting quietly, taking no notes, and chain smoking unfiltered Camels, Reed realized that Pierre could recite any name, date or place from his "debriefing", verbatim.

"Holy shit!" he thought, "who is this guy? I hope he's not here to hurt me." Reed had no reason to trust anyone, let alone this guy with the photographic memory that couldn't quite articulate his motives for being there, free of charge.

Terry would only learn later that Pierre was working for Daniel Sheehan of the Christic Institute, a public interest legal group in Washington, in hopes of adding defendants to the Christic complaint. He was actually a target of Sheehan's that day. But after Pierre grew to know and like the Reed family and heard firsthand their pain and suffering, he decided to not only quietly remove Terry from the Christic "hit list," but to help them as well, free of charge!

He volunteered to attend any critical attorney interviews with the Reeds, theorizing that his presence may lend credibility to Terry and his story. Terry would grow to really like and respect this man from south of the Mason Dixon Line, who held nothing but disdain and contempt for the "Yankee fuckin' government" for which he had served for thirty years. Pierre, like Terry, felt that America's military had been misused by one President after another trying to remedy failed foreign policies. It was their common belief that the country was now being run out of Langley, Virginia, the headquarters for the CIA. And Reed knew that from what he had heard and witnessed, they weren't far off track with their views. But Terry couldn't share all his knowledge with them, yet. He had to keep them on track, if possible, and simply get his civil case to court!

And then there was Cummings. Pierre affectionately referred to Cummings as "a scribbler, " a term he had created for investigative reporter/writers. Pierre let Reed know immediately that he held the bulk of the "world of scribblers" in contempt, feeling they did more to hurt a good investigation than they helped.

[HILDEGARD] My dear Herr Haller. You've been here all this time without once coming to see us.

[HARRY] Not at all, I ... arrived only a few days ago.

[HILDEGARD] I'm sorry to hear that.

[HARRY] And I ... I've been ...

[HEFTE] Ah, here you are, mon cher. I've just been reading about this despicable namesake of yours ... this Haller.

[HARRY] Who's that? A writer?


[HEFTE] A writer? Dear me, no, a scribbler ... a wretched scribbler.

[HARRY] Uh-huh.

[HEFTE] A publicist, a rotten patriot ... and a sneak. Here, just look for yourself. It's even spelled the same way, isn't it?

[HARRY] Rather.


[HEFTE] He seems to feel that we were responsible for the war. Imagine.

[Clock chimes]


[HILDEGARD] Shall we go in, please?

[HEFTE] Yes.

[Clock ticking]

[Ticking intensifies]

[HARRY] A funny thing happened to me today.


[All laughing]

[HEFTE] Really?

[HARRY] Yes. Just after we parted at the library, by the way. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Well, I was climbing the last steps up towards Martinsgasse. When suddenly a little procession came rattling by. A funeral procession.


[HILDEGARD] [Exclaiming] Oh, my dear!

[HEFTE] Come, come, come! Seigneur.

[HARRY] No. I only mean ... I'm sorry.


[HEFTE] I'm praying for a hero to be born among us. Miraculous births not excluded. To filter the minutest detail, the contours of the very archetype within us ... apocalypse is our only hope.

[HARRY] I see.




[HARRY] I hope that Goethe didn't really look like this. This conceited air of nobility ... the great man ogling the distinguished company. His venerable pomposity is bad enough, but to portray him like this --

[HILDEGARD] Oh, no! My God!

[HEFTE] My dear, you're not ill?


[HILDEGARD] You'll have to take your coffee alone, gentleman. I have to retire.

[HEFTE] She was hurt, you know. Goethe is her dearest possession. Nobody takes our cultural heritage more seriously than my Hildegard.

[HARRY] I'm sorry.

[HEFTE] Even if you were right, you needn't have been so outspoken.


[HARRY] Well, it's a vice of mine to speak my mind. As friend Goethe did, too. At least, in his better moments. I sincerely beg your wife's pardon and your own. Please tell her I'm a schizophrenic. If you will permit me, I will take my leave.

[HEFTE] But ... But your coffee, and our talk. I am so looking forward to our discussion of Mithras, and Krishna and the others.

[HARRY] Unfortunately, my interest in Krishna has vanished, along with my passion for learned discussions. Further, I have been lying. I have not been in town for a few days only, but for months. However, I am no longer fit for decent society. I am nearly always in bad temper, afflicted with gout, and usually quite drunk.


Lastly, you grievously insulted me earlier. That rotten patriot named, oddly enough, Haller, stands before you unregenerate. In fact, it would be better for the world if the few of us who are still capable of thought, stood for reason and the love of peace ...

[HEFTE] Hold it, mon cher --

[HARRY] ... instead of driving obsessively toward a new war. Good night.


-- Steppenwolf, written and directed by Fred Haines, featuring Max Von Sydow, Dominique Sanda, and Pierre Clementi

"What they add to the world of investigating is like comparing what depth charges add to sport fishing," Pierre grinned, "With the possible exception of a few. And John Cummings here is one of those exceptions."

From what Reed had learned of Cummings, this 59-year-old man had spent over 30 years with New York's Newsday as an investigative reporter, had written several books, was an expert on the mobster John Gotti, organized crime and the underworld, and in addition had immense interest in Cuba, the Bay of Pigs, Barry Seal, and the world of intelligence. His appearance, stature, demeanor and aggressive New York attitude made Terry initially wonder if the Mob hadn't actually sent Cummings at the time of their first meeting. But as the day wore on he discovered Cummings only projected a hard facade, and that underneath, had an interesting, almost scholarly yet street-savvy that caught Reed's attention immediately. Over the course of their "sessions," Terry would discover that Cummings was a Marine Corps veteran of the Korean war and a seasoned world traveler having covered many of the 'hot spots' around the globe for Newsday. He seemed expert on geopolitics and was very cynical and opinionated, probably a result of his years of covering courts for the newspaper. His years of dogged pursuit of the truth had helped his newspaper win a Pulitzer Prize in 1970.

Terry didn't know it then, but meeting Cummings would change his life forever, and at times in the future, he would be nearly the only man to stay by his side.

Cummings and Pierre, these at first unlikely partners, departed El Paso with not only the outline of Reed's story, but with something much more important to him -- the beginnings of friendship. They were building a bond. A bond of trust. They believed him, and he believed them in that they both promised to help and not hurt him and his family. But as they departed El Paso he couldn't help but feel vulnerable and apprehensive. Terry had enlarged his circle of trust.

The spring of 1991 centered around endless telephone interviews with attorneys who Cummings and Pierre were flushing out. Document exchanges too numerous to mention were keeping Janis more than occupied as she shared her time between family, career, and her new-found job of "public relations director" for the Reed family. They were getting extremely frustrated, having seen no results from their efforts when the call came.

"Terry, I got your information. It's a hell of a story of two honest folks being wronged, and I believe I would like to take your case. I'd like to meet you and Janis first, of course, so when can you get to Jonesboro?" Steve Clark said by phone from his office in Arkansas.

Terry couldn't believe what he was hearing. After all these months of effort, here was the ex-Attorney General of the State of Arkansas offering to take the case on a contingency fee basis. Terry was ecstatic and it took no time for him, Janis and Pierre to rendezvous in Little Rock and drive to Jonesboro Saturday morning March 2nd, for a "legal audition," as Pierre called it.

The interview went well and Clark said he wanted the case. He felt the Reeds had suffered a travesty of justice and from what they had described, it would make a perfect constitutional rights violation case at the federal level. There was only one problem. Steve Clark couldn't practice law in federal court. He was limited at the time to practicing only in Arkansas state court, the result of sanctions imposed by his conviction on state fraud charges.

When the Reeds lived in Little Rock, the name Steve Clark was in the news nearly as often as the name Bill Clinton. Steve was the boy attorney general who had sought and successfully attained that office at the same time another young man from Hope, Arkansas sought and attained the office of governor. He and Bill Clinton had served their time together in state government, with the exception of the two years that Clinton was not governor, having been defeated for one term by Governor Frank White. Terry and Janis knew from their time in Little Rock that Steve Clark harbored ambitions far beyond the office of attorney general.

He had gone so far as to organize a fund-raising committee in order to build the campaign chest and network necessary to run for governor. Janis and Terry had in fact attended one of these fund raisers in early 1986 and heard Clark deliver his practice "elect me for governor" speech.

But what had gone wrong? Why was Clark an ex-attorney general as they were interviewing with him that day, and why couldn't he practice law in federal court? They even heard that Clark did announce his plans to challenge Clinton in January 1990. What happened?

He'd been convicted on state charges of misuse of his state credit card while using it for entertaining.
They would be told that Clark had done nothing previous attorneys-general and most others in state government weren't doing, namely, offsetting their horribly low state salaries by padding their expense vouchers with non-existent meals, or writing off personal business as state business. In fact, Reed was later told that this was considered one of the perks that "came with the job." But Clark had, for some reason, been caught in the act and pursued ferociously by state police investigators under the control of Bill Clinton, just as he announced his Democratic bid for governor in January, 1990.

Clark's official candidacy had lasted only 19 days! It was far too convenient, people were saying, to see Steve Clark fall from office in disgrace just at a time Bill Clinton was preparing his candidacy for the Presidency. After all, Clark would have been a shoo-in as the next governor, if Clinton left the post. He had built a solid political foundation during his nearly 12 years of dedicated service, with fighting corruption as his main issue.

No ... it was just too convenient, people were saying, for Clark to come under such attack at a time when Bill Clinton's flank would be exposed, since he would be forced to spend nearly a year out of state campaigning for the Presidency. It was being said that Clark posed such a formidable threat to Clinton that if Clinton ran unsuccessfully for President, he would probably have no governorship to return to. Clark would simply move over to fill the political vacuum left by Clinton, who would be wounded from his Presidential primary defeat, challenge Clinton, and defeat his old friend. *

Clark told the Reeds that his case was on appeal, and he felt sure his conviction would be overturned. For that reason, he was telling them, it would be necessary to have another attorney file the case, but he would stay in the background and help run it. After all, he boasted, who knew better the inner workings of state government than he? And what intrigued the Reed's the most was Clark saying he thought they had a very good case against not only the Arkansas State Police, but the state as well, and he felt confident if the case was run properly, it would expand on its own, maybe even to a federal level.

"This guy has to have not only dirty laundry on damn near everyone in the state, " Reed thought to himself, "but he's vendetta driven and was attorney general during the time of the whole Mena affair. He has to have inside knowledge. I wonder if he knows about OSI and Aki Sawahata. That's probably why he wants this case. And I'll bet he's got the real dirt on Clinton."

Prior to leaving Arkansas and heading back home that weekend, the Reeds and Pierre wanted to take time to do a little investigative work by interviewing an Arkansas man who had been in the local news of late. A man by the name of Larry Nichols. Since the Reeds had driven all the way from El Paso, they wanted to make good use of what time they would have with Pierre, and Terry was anxious to observe the world's greatest ... er, most expensive, investigator in action.

What Reed had learned of Nichols prior to the meeting, and found most interesting, was his prior work on behalf of the Contra support network and his direct connection to some pretty big names in Arkansas State government, namely Bill Clinton and Bob Nash. In fact, Nichols had quickly become a thorn in Clinton's side because of a lawsuit he had filed against the state, a lawsuit he had announced with great fanfare on the State Capitol steps in Little Rock.

At Bowen's, a family style restaurant in Conway, Arkansas, the Reeds, Pierre and Nichols sat down to breakfast, and for what turned out to be more than a morning repast.

It was interesting for Reed to observe someone else for a change that appeared to be consumed with fear and paranoia. Was this how he had come across after first being indicted? He certainly hoped not. Here was this otherwise fairly normal looking executive-type, in what appeared to be his early forties, tastefully-dressed, articulate, well-groomed and babbling about people in the Clinton administration "out to get me."

As it turned out, Nichols did in fact have a lot to fear! Here, sitting across from Reed and speaking in a whisper, was the one man, other than possibly Reed himself, who could probably single handedly keep Bill Clinton out of the White House. His political "dirt" was not only good, it was fresh and it involved many of the same players Reed had worked with in Arkansas. And most interesting, it involved Nichol's former employer, the Arkansas Development Finance Authority (ADFA), Bill Clinton's financial creation that was designed to take Arkansas out of the stone ages and into the 21st century!

Terry knew that some of ADFA's capitalization had literally "fallen from the skies" out of Barry Seal's planes and he was curious how much Nichols knew of this.

"So is ADFA responsible for a lot of Arkansas growth?" Reed began, "It was just getting up to speed about the time Janis and I moved from here."

"You mean Bill Clinton's bank, don't you?" Nichols quipped. "All it's for is to loan money to his friends. It's a farce. And the poor people of Arkansas are just subsidizing Clinton's mistakes. I'm glad I'm no longer a part of that con scheme. I was not really there to do ADFA's work anyway. I worked on other things."

Nichols had worked for Clinton's ADFA all right ... right up until he was forced to resign in 1988 for "misuse of the telephone." Nichols explained he had been in the marketing division of the state agency, responsible for attracting business to Arkansas by "selling" the attributes the state could offer to new businesses.

It seems that a state audit of long-distance telephone charges made on state government telephones had turned up a juicy tid-bit of information that was seized upon by the local media. Namely that Nichols was making phone calls to the prime Contra leaders, Adolpho and Mario Calero, two of Ronald Reagan's model "freedom fighters," men that Reagan called "the moral equivalent of our founding fathers."

The numerous calls had been made on Nichol's state supplied phone and most on state time. This information had become public, and in order for Clinton to distance himself from the ensuing media investigation demanding to know why it appeared the state was in effect secretly working with the Contras, Clinton had Nichols fired. Or at least that was what this jittery man was saying who kept looking over his shoulder throughout the course of the interview.

Nichols claimed to be involved in some sort of secret network of people operating at a very high level in Arkansas state government who were not only supporting the Freedom Fighter cause, but were doing so with full knowledge and backing of the man at the top -- the governor. When this became public, Nichols claimed, Clinton threw him to the wolves, and disavowed any knowledge of his activities. Nichols even went on to say that he had personally arranged for Retired Army General John Singlaub and the Calero brothers to have Arkansas Traveler certificates, special VIP state passes, issued them.

The three men had supposedly visited the state so frequently that they had attained sufficient air mile credits traveling to and from Arkansas that they were issued frequent flyer bonus points on American Airlines. All of this, Nichols said, was done quietly and privately in order for Clinton to show covert support for the Nicaraguan Conflict. Reed found this interesting since, he remembered at the height of the Nicaraguan debate, Clinton appeared to give lip-service that led the public to believe he was against the war. That's what he said publicly.

In conflict to that verbalized disapproval however, he did send the Arkansas National Guard on a joint military exercise, where they maneuvered dangerously close to the Nicaraguan border from Honduras.

Other governors saw this simply as an antagonistic show of force by the U.S. Government, and were fearful it could lead to an armed engagement between American troops and the Sandinistas. Mario Cuomo, the governor and the commander-in-chief of the New York National Guard, boycotted the exercise calling it "a provocation" on behalf of the Reagan Administration. Clinton sent his troops.

In reference to an incident that occurred while Nichols was the Caleros' guest, and invited to witness actual combat between Sandinista soldiers and Contra rebels, Nichols abruptly put his foot on the dining table and produced proof. "I got this wound while being an invited observer to a fire fight down there," Nichols bragged, while pulling up his pant leg in order to show the breakfasting group a scar on his leg. Janis lost her appetite at the sight of the old wound.

"Adolpho [Calero] invited me down to write a public relations report about field conditions his troops were suffering, and I got caught in the cross fire." His repeated secret travels to Nicaragua were done with full knowledge and approval of his superiors at ADFA, Nichols added.

Terry found this story very interesting indeed. Being aware of all the CIA's operations that he knew had existed in Arkansas in the mid-eighties, it certainly all fit. From what Nichols was describing, it sounded like the Agency had tapped some of it's idle resources at ADFA in order to develop a "marketing plan" to sell the war to the American people.

"I guess it was pay back time for some of the secret money the Agency pumped into ADFA," Terry would later conclude with his wife. "You see, in effect it is a form of money laundering. The CIA puts dirty money into ADFA, and then they tap guys like Nichols to help run their propaganda machine and the state of Arkansas picks up the tab. I guess it all went well until some state auditor blew the whistle. I wonder what swamp he's lying at the bottom of?" It was a grisly thought. And now that Terry was no longer an Agency insider, he was seeing how perverted it had all become. If Nichol's story was true, and he had no reason to doubt him, then democracy had actually failed! If the Agency had state governments "indebted" to them, and if state agencies like ADFA had been compromised and owed their literal existence to the intelligence community, who was in charge of this country? It definitely wasn't the people ... or even the people elected by the people. The thought saddened him.

"But my lawsuit is what has got Clinton scared," Nichols continued. "It's going to expose all the corruption that surrounds him, as well as his womanizing. I'm going to be known as the man who keeps Bill Clinton out of the White House."

Pierre and Reed had heard of Nichols' lawsuit. He had filed a pro-se complaint in state court claiming wrongful dismissal. Being a man accustomed to manipulating the media for the advantage of state government, the CIA and the Contras, Nichols had decided to put his advertising talent to work for himself, and had held a press conference on the steps of the state capital building.

The speech he delivered to the gathered media and passers-by not only covered the reasons for which he said Clinton had him wrongfully fired, but went into great detail about "extra-curricular" activities he had performed for the governor. He claimed his activities at ADFA were only one reason Clinton considered him a liability and didn't want him around any longer. He said Clinton had taken him into his confidence about a stable of other women Clinton was sleeping with ... unbeknownst to Hillary Rodham Clinton. He even read their names from a prepared list he had made. On that list was the name Gennifer Flowers.

"I was sort of like a secret personal assistant to the governor," Nichols said, smiling for the first since they had begun. "I could move around behind the scenes, and do things for him that he couldn't otherwise do."

"Like go to Nicaragua?" Reed asked.

"Yes, like going to Nicaragua, and being his eyes and ears. I'd always personally brief him at the governor's mansion when I returned. But that isn't all I did. And that's what's got him worried."

"What else did you do?" Pierre asked, sensing that Nichols was dying to tell them.

"I procured women. Classy women," Nichols grinned, and then surveyed his three listeners, apparently to see if they were shocked by his statement. That apparently hadn't generated the desired effect, so with a solemn look he continued. "And I dirtied people up for him. That's why he's afraid of me. His chief of security, Buddy Young, picked me up and took me to the mansion just the other night to discuss a settlement. They offered to buy me a house and fix me up for life if I would just drop the case and be quiet."

Pierre wanted to know more about the term "dirtied-up," and asked Nichols to expand on that, figuring that the Reeds may have been victimized by such activity.

"I worked on neutralizing political opponents, things like that. You know, digging up dirt," Nichols added. "I guess the biggest thing I ever did for him was to eliminate Steve Clark, the ex-attorney general."

Nichols had no way of knowing that he was eating with three people who had spent most of the previous day sitting in Clark's office. One condition Clark had placed on taking Reed's case was for them to keep the fact confidential for now. And here Reed was, talking to the man who had destroyed Steve Clark's political career. The man who was taking credit for "dirtying him up," and turning Clark into a convicted felon. The man who had successfully kept Clark out of the governor's mansion. What an opportunity!

Reed could barely hold back his enthusiasm! "Tell us more about that."

"I did him for Clinton. Clinton considered him a threat. He came to me and asked me to quietly dig up dirt on Clark. I zeroed in on his personal expense account and bingo, I hit pay dirt! I made copies of everything I could find that looked suspicious, and gave the file to Young. They did the rest. Clark got blindsided just as he made his announcement to run for governor." [3]

What a game, Reed thought. Lives and careers are destroyed simply because one individual becomes a threat to another. He wasn't justifying Clark's actions. Obviously, Clark had demonstrated a major lack of judgement by charging off personal entertainment expenses as business of the AG's office. Clark was wrong, but the price for his sins was the equivalent of a political execution.

And Nichols was telling the sordid story in a ruthless, cold, matter-of-fact attitude that reminded Reed of an assassin's report back to his handler. Had someone like Nichols, perhaps Young or Baker or Sanders, nonchalantly briefed Clinton like this after they set Terry up on the airplane charge. Had the beginning of his whole nightmare began with, "It's done. Reed won't be a threat to you any longer"? Terry wondered.

"So why don't you take them up on the offer of the house and the pension?" Reed asked "Just drop the case and be quiet."

"That's not enough!" Nichols snapped "I want my good name back. Clinton took that from me, and now he's going to pay. I'm going to hurt him like he hurt me. I'm going to destroy his name, and keep him out of the White House. I may even get him kicked out of the governorship. I haven't decided yet what I'm going to do. But I've got plenty of ammunition. I'm sure I'll do him just like I did Clark.

Clinton needs to feel the pain!"

This had turned out to be one hell of an impromptu education. Not only had the Reeds and Pierre discovered who helped neutralize Steve Clark, but they now knew that it sounded like Bill Clinton was in the habit of using aides ... men like Nichols and Young to do his dirty work. Reed and Trubey had always theorized that Terry's problems all stemmed from Mexico and Felix Rodriguez. But he was now focusing his suspicions on Arkansas. The thought of being literally run out of the HOG State that day with Joe Dunlap was coming to mind. Had they been getting too close to uncovering something? Was he, like Nichols, a perceived threat to Bill Clinton? Had he been "dirtied up" by Buddy Young? It certainly sounded feasible.

Reed only knew one thing for sure. Whatever Larry Nichols was afraid of ... he deserved.

"There goes a dead man or a rich man," Terry said to Janis as they watched Nichols walk to his car. "I sure wouldn't want to be living in Arkansas, and making enemies like this guy is. Bad things can happen to you down here."

Two weeks later, back in El Paso, the Reeds got even better news. Clark had found the proper counsel to not only file the case, but this same attorney was wanting to run it. His name was John Wesley Hall Jr., a famous constitutional law expert residing in Little Rock. This was too good to believe, the Reeds said to each other.

And, as it turned out, it was too good to be true.

The bulldog investigative reporter named John Cummings, who simply wouldn't go away, returned to El Paso and pressed the Reeds for more information on the life and times of Barry Seal. Only this time, he had a "carrot." He professed in their back yard while barbecuing, that he was sure their life was interesting enough to do a book. Odd, they thought, how could their lives be a book? And besides, this conflicted directly with their intentions of playing out their story in the only arena Terry felt it belonged for security reasons -- federal court. They were honored, but rejected Cummings offer.

Then came April. By now the "spooky-groupy" world, as Janis preferred to call Terry's telephone contacts to the intelligence community, was abuzz about their up-coming lawsuit. Not a day went by without a telephone call coming in to wish them good luck and cheer them on from the sidelines. For the most part, these "cheerleaders" simply occupied valuable time that Terry needed to be earning a living, but still it was nice to know there were people out there who believed in them and their cause. It was interesting to talk to most of these well wishers, composed mainly of the Walter Mitty types; the ones who were real good at coaching Reed and encouraging him to charge full speed into the cave where lived the dragon, but who lacked the courage to do the "killing" themselves.

Their conversations reminded him a lot of the aircrew briefings he had given to crew members during the war, where frightened airmen sat learning of the enemy's defenses before the day's aerial assault on Hanoi, by some expressionless intelligence briefer who couldn't identify with the terror they suppressed. Yeah, that's how he felt ... scared ... scared once again.

And then there were the calls of congratulations coming from the people who KNEW he and Trubey and Dunlap had done the impossible, that they had done what was rarely accomplished ... had slain the lion bare handed in the arena ... but to the cheers of only a few.

But Terry was leery! Hidden somewhere within this ever expanding group of telephone voices, he calculated there had to be a pipeline back to the CIA. He was most apprehensive of those who seemed to talk forever, paying no heed to what had to be horrendous long distance charges. To those he fed disinformation, and then would "reverse course" in his planned legal strategy just to confuse them. He had to make it to court! He had to make it to court! Surely, he figured, someone out there was planting land mines along his route.

It would be up to him to try and not step on one.

34-1. Terry and Janis Reeds' lawsuit against Raymond Young and Tommy Baker.

34-2. Document drawn by Terry Reed in January, 1991, and provided to co-author John Cummings. It shows Reed's inside knowledge of political relationships in Arkansas long before the media began publicizing them.



* Civil case No. 86-11-46, CIV-KING, filed in the United States District Court, Southern District of Florida, in May 1986. The complaint was filed by the Christic Institute, a non-profit, public interest legal group headquartered in Washington, D.C., and headed by attorney Daniel Sheehan. The suit was officially listed as Tony Avirgan and Martha Honey vs John Hull, Rene Corbo, ET AL, in which it was alleged that a total of 29 defendants had perpetuated a long term conspiracy in violation of U.S. racketeering statutes. The suit alleged a "secret team" of former intelligence and military personnel engaged in crimes that included murder and drug trafficking to support the Contras. The lawsuit was dismissed in June, 1988, by U.S. District Court Judge Lawrence King in Miami, with a sanction of approximately $1.2 million levied against the Christic Institute for filing a "frivolous" lawsuit. An appeals court affirmed that decision in 1991 and added another $400, 000 for filing a "frivolous" appeal. [1]

* Full-page headlines in the Arkansas Gazette on February 8th, 1990 read: CLARK DROPS OUT OF RACE. Arkansas State Attorney General Steve Clark had announced only 19 days after entering the governors race, that he was withdrawing his bid as a result of the scandal developing from the Arkansas State Police investigation into his filing "several erroneous expense claims with the state." Clark, at a televised news conference the preceding day, read a 78-word statement that included: "I have reached the conclusion that mistakes in my expense records and subsequent news coverage about those mistakes have virtually destroyed my ability to run an efficient and effective campaign for governor." [2]

1. Civil Complaint No. 86-11-46, CIV-KING, Tony Avirgan and Martha Honey vs. John Hull, Rene Corbo, ET AL. Filed in United States District Court, Southern District of Florida, Miami, May. 1986.

2. Arkansas Gazette, February 8, 1990.

3. Ibid.
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Re: Compromised: Clinton, Bush and the CIA: How the Presiden

Postby admin » Tue Jun 14, 2016 9:05 pm


On March 10th, 1991, the Reeds decided to relax with their children and do something different for a change. After all, they had lived in El Paso over eight months and still hadn't taken the kids to see the horses race at Sunland Park Racetrack, as they had promised.

The track, which was in New Mexico and only a short drive from their home in Santa Teresa, was sponsoring a special event that Sunday, a car show, something sure to get Terry's attention, being a buff on sixties muscle car restorations.

Janis had to leave the festive event early that afternoon in order to perform "office duty" at the real estate company where she was working. She was disappointed at having to leave Terry and the children since they were truly enjoying themselves for the first time in a long while. Such is the unfortunate plight of the modern liberated woman.

Terry was too engrossed in the inspection of a vintage 1967 Corvette to notice the man who had taken a seat on the park bench by his children. They were busy consuming the hot dogs he had just purchased and Terry thought this would be a good opportunity to get a closer look at the workmanship done to the car's engine.

"I've got one just like it, except it's red and is a 427," the man's voice said to him as Terry pulled his head out of the car's engine compartment. Looking up, Terry saw a hulk of a man looming beside him. He had to be at least six-foot-six, 280 pounds and didn't have an ounce of fat on him.

He had the look of a professional body builder whose biceps were barely contained by the day-glow, iridescent green Izod knit shirt he was wearing. Dressed in extremely tight fitting Wrangler blue jeans, cowboy boots and sporting a large western belt buckle that said "LET'S RODEO," Terry at first thought him to be just a car-admirer like himself. But the extremely tanned man, wearing a white cowboy hat came closer, extended his hand in a gesture of friendship and said in a raspy voice, "I'm a friend of a friend of yours."

By this time Terry was almost involuntarily shaking the hand that now enveloped his. "Oh, and who would that be?"

"He's right over there sitting by your children ... and he wants to meet with you, " the cowboy said with his face void of emotion.

Terry peered through the shrubbery that separated him from the park bench and his three boys, and could see the back of a man's head setting beside them. As he approached he could see, it was ... Felix Rodriguez!!!!!!

Fear shot through his body, just Like a bullet ... Like the bullet that he figured would be soon coming! Thoughts of JFK's head exploding like a watermelon streaked before him. His eyes swept the grandstands behind and beside them looking for the barrel of the weapon he was sure that was ready to fire! This would certainly be the perfect place to assassinate him! With all the noise from the crowd and the associated confusion no one would even notice if they used a silencer!

All of these thoughts occurred in a millisecond and reasoning finally took hold. No, he thought. If they had come to kill me, they wouldn't be talking to me. They'd just do it and I'd be dead already! Now his fear shifted to his children as he and his "escort" approached Rodriguez.

Felix rose, put his hand on Reed's shoulder and said in a relaxed, cordial tone, "Come my friend, we must talk. Don't worry about your children, they are safe. My friend will watch them while we chat over there by the cars you so admire."

He had no options, Reed figured. By this time the muscle man had taken a seat beside Baxter, who was playing contentedly with his toy cars. And Duncan and Elliott were so absorbed in the horse race they had disregarded their father's presence. There's probably more than two of them, Reed thought.

"Go on," the cowboy said. "You two have a lot to talk about ... they'll be fine."

Over by the show cars, Felix got right down to business. His quiet, reserved demeanor reminded Reed of a Cuban version of Marlon Brando in The Godfather.

"A lot has happened since our last visit in San Miguel," Felix began. "You and you family have been through a lot of suffering. Needless suffering, I might add. Terry, you are just going about this all the wrong way."

"That's it! The same phrase!" Terry thought. That was the very same language Reed had been awakened to on the telephone on at least three separate occasions! The calls had all occurred at night after moving to El Paso and after he had began earnestly shopping for an attorney for his case. They had all aroused him from a deep sleep, and the anonymous caller always relayed the same message.

"You're just going about this all the wrong way," the male voice always said, and then hung up.
But that wasn't Felix' voice, Terry recalled. It was an Anglo voice and it bore no discernible accent. He had not wanted to relay his fear to Janis, and had not told her of the caller's consistent message, only telling her that someone kept dialing the wrong number.

"What do you want?", Reed queried.

"I want you to forget about this foolish court idea," Rodriguez responded. "I now know that you did not leave Mexico with any intention of hurting the Agency. It was just that you were a perceived threat to some renegade agents who over-reacted, and then things got a little out of hand."

Rage was building within Terry! The fear had gone! His bloodstream was now switching over to pure adrenalin! His ears were ringing! He was hearing what he had always suspicioned. He had been set-up! This nightmare he and his family had been through was all because "some renegade agents" had overreacted!

Fuck! he thought. Rodriguez could reduce this entire four year ordeal to, "things got a little out of hand!"

If it hadn't have been for the welfare of his children he would have tried to strangle Rodriguez then and there! But slowly his grandfather began whispering from the grave, "choose your time and place." Terry fought back the animalistic rage! This was definitely Rodriguez' time and place. So he had better just listen. Reed remained silent, just staring at the man in white casual clothes and pilot's sunglasses.

"I have come to forgive you," were the next words to come from the Cuban's lips.

"Shit! Here we go again," Reed thought, just barely able to control himself.

"Put in the same circumstance, I may have reacted the same way," Felix continued in his godfather tone, "you were under a lot of stress and we were beginning to think you were going to spill your guts in court. But then I talked to North and he explained to me what had happened, you know ... about those idiots of Clinton's setting you up. You realize they would not have done that without Clinton's instructions. You see, you are a major threat to that man and some other very important people in Arkansas. Centaur Rose and Jade Bridge may be history now, but their liability lingers.

"Most of your worst enemies come from your own side," Rodriguez went on in his instructional monotone. "This is something I learned early on in my work with the Agency ... something that has kept me alive and out of jail. The man who trained me, my mentor, he always said, 'Keep one eye on your friends because chances are they are behind you and it is easier for them to stab you in the back.'"

"So," Terry asked, not believing that was the case, but fascinated by what he was hearing, "you are telling me that my problems all stem from my work in Arkansas and not from what happened in Mexico?" He was now glad he had not earlier strangled Rodriguez.

"That is mainly it, but it would also have made matters a lot easier if you had not acted the way you did in Mexico," Rodriguez added, now shifting to a more congenial tone. "But that is behind us now. That project was so poorly run by North and the others from the very beginning that it was destined to fail. It was never going to succeed with those Communists involved. But that is partially my fault. I should never have gone along with it. It's just that North and Johnson were in charge and they are such children when it comes to these matters. They are so naive! You may be somewhat naive also, but at least you are resourceful. Yes, for awhile people were acting in very unprofessional and dangerous ways.

"Then luckily you took matters into your own hands and wrote that letter to the court. From that point on we realized you were not out to hurt us ... you were only being pressured. So then, we got involved and eliminated that junior fucking, yuppie prosecutor that had you by the ass like an alligator in the Everglades!"

"But I was acquitted!" Terry shot back. "You just told me that Clinton's men set me up! Felix, you knew I was innocent all along! You're not telling me that the Agency had anything to do with the outcome of my trial are you?"

Terry couldn't bear the thought that he and Trubey and Dunlap had not won on their own. What was Rodriguez trying to tell him? That the CIA had fixed the case?

Felix answered Reed's question with a question and a genuinely confused look. "You do not know who Johnson really is?" He asked. "I figured you had already figured that out."

"No Felix," Reed replied still confused, "I haven't figured anything out. Who is Johnson?" Felix just stared at Reed without answering.

Reed continued, "All I know is the earth has swallowed him up. My attorney and investigator in Kansas were never able to find him in Florida or at SAT. But the prosecutor must have found him since he was claiming Johnson's testimony would be classified."

"Your investigator from Kansas is lucky to be alive. My people and I had him in our sights more than once when he was in Miami to get me served for your trial," Felix retorted, returning to more like the person Reed had heard mix words with North in the bunker.

"He's just like all the rest of those government investigators I ever met ... bar none," Felix said with a wink. "He couldn't find his ass in the dark with a flash light."

This conversation about Joe Dunlap's capabilities and his inability to locate Robert Johnson seemed to be upsetting Rodriguez. Reed decided to get the conversation back on track having assumed by now that Felix had not come to harm him, and wishing to return to his children who still hadn't missed their daddy. In fact, Baxter by now had "Frankenstein" playing with one of his cars.

"So why did you come Felix?" Terry asked. "Just to tell me that you guys got to the prosecutor? It's more than that isn't it?"

"Like I said before, you're just going about this all the wrong way," Rodriguez answered, visibly forcing himself to regain his composure. "We know about your attorney in Arkansas and your plans to sue. That's not wise. It could only lead to re-opening old wounds. I'm here to offer you a very lucrative position, if you'll come to your senses and drop all this court stuff."

Here it comes, Reed thought. The court case was the reason he was here. It would definitely open old wounds, all right. And Reed was hoping to inflict some new ones of his own. He decided to just listen and get more information.

"Go on", Terry said.

"I've picked out a very exciting and high paying job for you with one of our cut-outs up in Denver. If you're interested I'll pass your name along and they will get in touch with you. You will be compensated very well. You're already qualified for the position. It's flying ..... you like that kind of work, don't you?", Felix asked expressing a compromising attitude. "Look, I know you need money. There will be lots of money in this."

"Flying for whom or, knowing you, Felix, flying what?" Reed said baiting him.

"I'll ignore that comment. I guess I had it coming," Felix snapped. "No, this is totally legitimate. It's an aerial photography company in Denver that has a contract with the Agency to do some 'special work' in Mexico and along the border."

Rodriguez went on to explain that an asset of theirs had put together an operation that was disguised as performing ecological services working primarily in the area of pollution control. The real purpose of the firm's activities, however, was to run surveillance on poppy fields in Mexico to pinpoint their locations and provide their coordinates to both the Mexican and American DEA. Through newly developed infra-red photography technology, they would also have the capability of identifying the radiation wavelengths emitted by other illegal plants, including marijuana.

The Agency's primary interest was not necessarily the eradication of the crops, Rodriguez said. Theirs was to find and surveil the international kingpins behind the production. Rodriguez went on to explain that the Bush Administration definitely felt that this whole drug epidemic was a communist-backed conspiracy to destroy the minds of our children. Most definitely, he said, the jefes behind the production had to be communists!

To Reed, after having gone through all he had; to know what he knew; to have seen all he saw; and then to hear Rodriguez attempt to distance himself from the entire drug epidemic by calling it in effect a communist conspiracy ... well it was almost too much to stand!

Here we go again, Reed thought. Felix can build a communism sandwich around any subject matter known to man. How many more of them like him are out there he thought? With hammers and sickles emblazoned on their brains. But that wasn't it, he knew.

Felix didn't believe his own line of shit, Reed guessed! It's just a ploy! It's just a cover! It's just a job! My God, he and others like him have turned this whole commie thing into a profession.

It saddened him and gladdened him all at the same time. He could now finally see through the smoke and mirrors that had formed his life. That made him happy. It was like finally whipping an addiction ... yea, that's how he felt! Like when he ultimately whipped the demon nicotine back in 1973. When his body no longer screamed out for the 'fix' it had grown addicted to. That's how he felt.

All of this pain and suffering was perhaps what was necessary for him to finally rid his mind of the "communist demon" that his society had implanted there. It was like an exorcism, he figured, and he saw the image of the spirit leave his body that very instant. It was probably the closest Terry had ever come to a religious experience, but here he was, looking into his own reflection bouncing back from the sunglasses worn by the man who had undoubtedly killed Che Guevera. And it was Sunday afternoon.

At that very moment he hated no man. He had no fear. He simply saw how ridiculous his motivations had been. His hot buttons had been disarmed. He was going to do the right thing! Even if it hurt ... again!

"I'm through with all this communist hatred," Terry replied almost reverently. "I was wronged and no job offer in Mexico is going to correct my pain. I'm going to do whatever is necessary to right that wrong .... in court. Felix, I wish you no harm. I'm going to take my sons and go home. Vaya con Dios."

Under the glaring stare of Rodriguez and the cowboy, Terry gathered his cherished sons and walked away. They wouldn't dare shoot, he thought. They're cowards, he suddenly realized.

They're outside the system, he concluded. Without the protection and immunity from arrest afforded by being in the "system", they wouldn't bring attention to themselves. In a strange way, this was his time and his place.

[DR. SIDNEY SCHAEFER] I'm supposed to know so much.
I feel like I don't know anything.
My whole ...
My whole world is out of control, spinning.


[SNOW WHITE] Smell the earth.
Isn't it good?


[SNOW WHITE] Now is pretty.
Love now.
Love me.


[OLD WRANGLER] [Singing] The changes that keep going down
The circles, they'll all fall down
Then there's only now
If I go along with the changes
That rearrange my mind
It's so strange, my mind
I can change my mind
If I go along with the changes
A look at yourself sets you running


Afraid of you who looked at you
Changes that keep going down
And they always will
I can get my fill


If I go along with the changes
That go round and round



It's all there to see


As they come to me


If I go along with the spirals


That circle around


That I, that I just found


Like a silent sound


If I go along with the changes


That rearrange my mind



It's so strange, my mind
I can change my mind


If I go along with the changes
A look at yourself sets you running
Afraid of you who looked at you





Changes that keep going down



And they always will


I can get my fill


If I go along with the changes
That go round and round


Changes that keep going down


The circles, they'll all fall down
Then there's only now
If I go along with the changes
That rearrange my mind


It's so strange, my mind

-- The President's Analyst, written and directed by Theodore J. Flicker, starring James Coburn and Godfrey Cambridge


With his new found "religious freedom" giving him the drive to work long days and nights Terry wasted no time in setting a course he felt would lead him directly to court. His first duty was getting Steve Clark and John Hall up to speed on the case, as he saw it. He wasn't an attorney but after spending over three years surrounded by these "vultures in three-piece suits," he could now speak the language. He would spend countless hours on the phone exchanging information and strategy with Clark who was really growing to respect Terry's memory and grasp of the facts from the trial in Wichita. The document shipments to Arkansas were numerous as Clark built his files and organized the case.

The Reeds still hadn't met John Hall personally but were growing used to his monotone telephone voice. Hall had put them with his legal secretary Ruth, who Reed realized was the equivalent of Radar O'Reilly on the television series Mash. There was a tremendous amount of work to be done they all realized, and with Hall as chief legal strategist Terry and Janis set upon the tasks of rearranging their criminal case into a constitutional rights violation civil case.

By now, Terry and Janis had decided to leave El Paso as soon as school was out if opportunity elsewhere could be found. The talk of free trade combined with a recession in the automotive industry along the border was playing hell on Terry's business. And after Rodriguez' visit they were on a condition of red alert to such a degree that it was just wearing them down. They needed to get their case filed in Arkansas and then just "disappear" from the border area for security reasons. They really hated to think about leaving Santa Teresa, the children loved the school and the secure golfing community in which they lived. But Terry figured they had been a sitting target long enough, so it was once again out of the Land of Enchantment and off to the hog state.

Upon first meeting John Hall, the Reeds weren't sure if they were talking to a mad scientist or an attorney. His wild, unruly kinky hair combined with his 60's style wire-rimmed granny glasses gave him the appearance of a bespectacled Einstein. His professional, bedside demeanor consisted of an empty unfocused stare, not only betraying no emotion, but giving one the impression he wasn't even listening.

But they were confused. They had researched him in Martindale and Hubbell, the lawyer's directory, and his accomplishments were many. The sitting room leading to his office resembled a B. Dalton's bookstore due to the display racks for the law books Hall had written and which he sold there. Could this be the same man, they wondered? The famous constitutional rights expert who had successfully built case law before the U.S. Supreme Court.

Oh well, it wasn't time to be picky, and Clark was assuring them that Hall was a legal genius in disguise. When he won his appeal, Clark said, and had his conviction overturned, he would then surface as co-counsel and probably be the one who would present the case to the jury. This gave the Reeds comfort because if Clark was nothing else, he was a showman.

With this newfound legal team willing to work on a contingency basis, the Reeds immersed themselves into the "complaint development" phase of their lives. And on July 5, 1991 ..... did the impossible once again! They launched their counterattack directed toward the state officials and others who had previously wronged them. Hall's strategy as he outlined the complaint was to do what he referred to as a "reverse Christic" style case. The failure of the famous Christic Institute case was in large part due to the broadness of the scope of the complaint. They simply couldn't prove the bulk of their allegations.

Hall's remedy was to sue only the people the Reeds were certain of being able to win against and then hopefully they would "roll over" and implicate others. This would probably include the State of Arkansas and the federal government. That way the case would be self-expanding. This made sense to the Reeds, seeing as how they hoped to crack one layer at a time in order to gain access to the real discovery they knew they had to have -- material in the possession of the NSC, NSA, FBI and CIA.

The complaint, filed as a 42 USC 1983 statute violation, involved the Reeds' civil rights being denied them under the Fourth and Fourteenth Amendments. The case was assigned the number of LR-C-91-414 and read in part as follows: They were accusing Captain Raymond Young of the Arkansas State Police, who was Bill Clinton's chief of security, and private investigator Tommy L. Baker of ....

"[The] Defendants manufactured, altered, tampered, removed, and planted evidence against the plaintiffs. They also knowingly testified falsely to material matters in Pulaski County Circuit Court, submitted a report to be read to a federal grand jury, and testified falsely before a federal judge in the United States District Court for the district of Kansas. All of this was in violation of the plaintiffs' rights protected by the Fourth Amendment protection against unreasonable searches of premises and seizures of their person by a false arrest and by the Fourteenth Amendment's due process protection."

Hall went on to say "the conduct of the defendants constitutes the state tort of outrage as defined by Arkansas law in that the conduct was willfully and wantonly done and was so extreme and outrageous that it goes beyond all possible bounds of decency and should be regarded as atrocious and utterly intolerable in a civilized society."

The headlines of July 6th, 1991 in the Arkansas gazette read: "Suit alleges state link to Contra affair."

With the case now filed, Janis was anxious to depart Arkansas for friendlier territory. The state now held nothing but bad memories for her and symbolized how far this country has yet to go to guarantee personal freedom.

This was the supposed birthplace of the civil rights movement resulting in the forced integration of the schools by armed troops in 1957. But Blacks still couldn't get membership to the posh country clubs and most affluent whites simply sidestepped the whole integration issue by sending their children to expensive private schools. The Little Rock Police attitude to "shoot the black man first, and then ask questions" was what stuck in Janis' mind. Now that the Reeds had been a victim of unjust prosecution and had witnessed first hand how thin the veneer was that separated the police state from the people, Janis was always fearful of retaliation by the Arkansas State Police.

Terry would try to comfort her on their necessary trips to "The Natural State" by arguing logic. "Honey, nothing is going to happen to us there. I'm not afraid in Arkansas ... if something did happen it would prompt a major investigation. It's when we're not there that worries me."

This did little to calm her fears, however, and now just the sight of the Arkansas State Line created tension and caused old, bad memories to resurface.

As they would near Texarkana, Texas, on their trips up 1-30 heading toward Little Rock, Terry would normally kid her and announce, "Listen up! We're approaching enemy territory. We'll be behind enemy lines shortly. Those needing to relieve themselves prior to engaging the enemy had better do so in Texarkana." She found no humor in all this.

Arkansas State Police Captain Raymond Young and private investigator extraordinaire Tommy Baker likewise found no humor in Terry's actions. With their names now printed as "defendants" on federal court documents, they were being forced to seek counsel. Young, being an employee of the state, was eligible for cost free legal defense supplied by the office of Arkansas State Attorney General Winston Bryant.

Terry felt that by the AG's office representing Young, Bryant was clearly confronted with an acute case of conflict of interest. After all, Bryant had been elected to his post on a campaign pledge to get to the bottom of the controversy surrounding the unauthorized use of the Mena area by agencies of the federal government. And now Bryant was going to be defending Young, which in reality would force his office to suppress evidence of governmental wrongdoing in order to defend Young and keep him distanced from the Agency's left-over trail from Centaur Rose and Jade Bridge, which Terry knew led right into the governor's mansion, where Young worked daily.
He saw no way Bryant would be able to provide his voters with the promised thorough Mena investigation, which had been his campaign pledge. Clark, Hall and Reed saw this as an elevated personification of "conflict", and felt that eventually Bryant would have to declare it as such, thereby forcing Young to seek state paid-for, out of house counsel.

Tommy Baker, not being entitled to legitimately tap into the no-cost states' attorneys, for now at least, found it necessary to retain private counsel through an old lawyer friend of his by the name of Ray Baxter, of Benton, Arkansas. Steve Clark was elated to see Baker's choice of lawyers and likened Baxter to "an ambulance chaser type who has been know to practice law from his garage," a lawyer who had been sanctioned for ethics violations by the Arkansas Bar, and a person befitting Baker's representation.

Janis drew some minor comfort from the knowledge that Baker, at least, would be footing his share of legal expenses and not be "riding the gravy train" as Young was. Terry pointed out that now knowing Baxter's type of practice, Baker would probably just trade out investigative services for his legal bills. The Reeds bore no personal vendetta for Young and Baker, but were certainly hoping that the cost associated from being within the in-justice system could be tasted by the two of them, since it was they who had personally helped perpetuate the Reeds' agony.

With the Reeds now holding a place in the line that administers justice and knowing who were the other team's players, Terry began earnestly looking for gainful employment hoping to catch up monetarily with where he had left off years earlier. The Reed family was upbeat for a change, convinced now that all the months of effort and the endless miles they had driven seeking counsel had been worth it.

Terry had not been a Don Quixote simply charging at windmills. They were happy to find a twinkle of light radiating from the black depression that had consumed them for over four years. The tide was turning they felt.

And maybe Luck would be on their side for a change!
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Re: Compromised: Clinton, Bush and the CIA: How the Presiden

Postby admin » Tue Jun 14, 2016 9:06 pm

Part 1 of 4


"Janis, I just got off the phone with a guy who works for Yamazen Machine Tools in Arizona. He says they need a sales manager for their headquarters in L.A.," Terry shouted to Janis from the guest bedroom at his in-laws' home in Kansas City where the Reeds were visiting.

Thus began a new saga for the Reed family that hot summer month in late July of 1991.

As Bill Clinton huddled with trusted aids and advisors in mapping out his campaign strategy for the upcoming Presidential Primaries, the Reed family packed their belongings and headed to the west coast in order to do something entirely capitalistic for a change, hopefully make money.

By this time Terry and Janis' economic situation was desperate. For the entire seven months of 1991 they had been consumed with getting their case in court. Terry's work at the border had never developed as he had planned, due largely to the distraction of attorney-shopping. Janis was more than eager to pull up stakes and head for Los Angeles, just happy to see her husband's entrepreneurial spirit once again awakened.

The job Terry was taking was with one of the largest Japanese trading companies in the world, Yamazen Company, Ltd. The company's United States machine tool division, Yamazen USA, Inc., headquartered in Los Angeles, was in desperate need of some new marketing techniques. The West coast's economy was sliding from recession to depression and Yamazen's executive vice president, Joe Sakai, sensed a person with Reed's international machine tool experience was just what his ailing bottom line needed.

The job interview had gone extremely well with Sakai offering Reed a District Sales Manager's position and a promised shot at the coveted sales manager's job, if Terry could indeed assist in reversing the economic downslide his company was encountering.

For Terry it would be a totally new experience. He had been in the factory automation and machine tool world for over ten years and had sold a lot of Japanese manufactured computer numerically controlled equipment, but he had never worked directly for the Japanese.

After a whirlwind move to the Los Angeles area, Janis wrestled with the problems associated with starting up a household, getting three children enrolled in school, and pampering a husband suffering from California culture shock.

Terry enjoyed a brief honeymoon period with the new company, which included a week long product orientation seminar, and then came face to face with the reality of working in the bowels of an industry that was now nearly dominated by Japanese and Taiwanese transplant companies.

What he saw and heard, Terry did not like or approve of. At Yamazen, he discovered, there were two classes of people. The lower, working class .... the peons .... the expendables comprised mostly of the American Anglos, and then there was the ruling class, the pure blooded Japanese. They were so racist and arrogant, they even discriminated among themselves according to how "diluted" their blood line had become since their ancestors had left ancient Japan. By observing the way the executives treated some of the employees, Terry believed that in the eyes of Yamazen's Japanese management, the worst form of life seemed to be those who were the product of a "mixed marriage," with Korean ancestry being the most genetically inferior.

It was evident from the attitudes of his Japanese superiors and by the working environment within this multi-racial company, the American sales force was only considered a "necessary evil." Their job was to penetrate the American industrial base with the company's Japanese manufactured products. Through them, the American natives, a friendly face could be put on this "foreign invasion" into the American factory. At times Reed felt he was personally pulling the Trojan horse into the castle where lived the trusting civilians. The thought of helping to further undermine and contribute to the on-going destruction of America's machine tool industry, saddened him.

Oh well, he reconciled, this won't be for long. "I'll just have to hold my nose and tolerate it until our case gets to court," he told Janis in their suburban home northwest of L.A. "Maybe things will improve if they keep their promise and let me run the damn place. I certainly won't tolerate racism."


[DR. SIDNEY SCHAEFER] Hello there. I wonder if I might talk with you.


[DR. SIDNEY SCHAEFER] I'm on the president's personal staff.


[JEFF QUANTRILL] Did you break anything?

[DR. SIDNEY SCHAEFER] Oh, no, no, no, nothing like that. No, actually it's something quite special. You see, the president likes us to seek out tourists who come through the White House, a typical American family.


It's sort of a personal, confidential project.


There are all sorts of apparati for polling the public. The president feels they're all too cold, too impersonal. That they don't really contact real people. So without anyone knowing it, except the people he chooses, he reaches out to find out what you really think, what worries you, what kind of government you really want.

[JEFF QUANTRILL] You mean the president is interested in what we think, the Quantrills?

[DR. SIDNEY SCHAEFER] That's right. If I may, I'd like to stop by the hotel this afternoon to begin the interview.


[WYNN QUANTRILL] Oh! Well, we were planning to leave for home. That's Seaside Heights, New Jersey. We've got a crowded weekend, but of course ...

[JEFF QUANTRILL] We could ...

[DR. SIDNEY SCHAEFER] That's even better. The president likes us to conduct interviews on the subjects' home ground.


Right. You know, find out his interests, his hobbies, et cetera, et cetera. That is unless you object to having a guest.


[WYNN QUANTRILL] Object? We'd love it!

[JEFF QUANTRILL] I was planning pot roast bourguignon for Saturday. Would that be all right?

[WYNN QUANTRILL] Total sound!




[WYNN QUANTRILL] White House to Quantrills' in five hours, ten minutes and 51 seconds. Not bad, if I do say so myself.

[JEFF QUANTRILL] You drive too fast! You're gonna get a ticket one of these days, and that's gonna slow you down.


[WYNN QUANTRILL] Typical American home of a typical American family.


Come on in. Bing, unload the car.

[BING QUANTRILL] Gee whiz, Dad.


[JEFF QUANTRILL] Oh, look at the time. I'm gonna be late for my class. Honey, have Bing unload the car while I change.

[WYNN QUANTRILL] I just did, dear! [To Dr. Schaefer] Look real?



[WYNN QUANTRILL] Plastic. Made it in my own workshop.


[WYNN QUANTRILL] She's always at me about my driving. But don't get me wrong. She's a great wife and a good mother.


Total sound!


Want a draft beer?


[DR. SIDNEY SCHAEFER] Yes. This class she goes to, what is that?

[WYNN QUANTRILL] Her karate class.


Look at this. No decorator. Did it all herself. Now, getting back to what I was saying about us, the Quantrills, being liberals. I meant that we're liberals in the same tradition as the president. Did I tell you we voted for him?


[WYNN QUANTRILL] When I say "liberal", of course, I don't mean left-wingers or anything like that.


I mean, you know, we're for civil rights.


[WYNN QUANTRILL] Sit down. We've both done weekend picketing. As a matter of fact,


we sponsored the Negro doctor and his wife when they moved into the development.

[DR. SIDNEY SCHAEFER] Well, the president will be very pleased to hear that.

[WYNN QUANTRILL] That's great. If I do say so, it took a little courage. The Bullocks, next door, real right-wingers. American flag up every day, real fascists. Ought to be gassed. You know the type.



[WYNN QUANTRILL] Brother, the fight they put up. But I told them.


"These are liberal times."


[BING QUANTRILL] Hey, Dad. You want the Magnum .357 in the house?


[WYNN QUANTRILL] Darn it, Bing. I told you not to play around with my guns. No, I do not want that in the house. That is my car gun. My house gun is already in the house. Put that back in the glove compartment, and don't let me catch you fooling with my guns again.

[BING QUANTRILL] I'm sorry, Dad.


[DR. SIDNEY SCHAEFER] I thought you said you were an accountant.


[DR. SIDNEY SCHAEFER] Why do you have all these guns around then?

[WYNN QUANTRILL] You know ...


[JEFF QUANTRILL] Honey ... Oh. I'm sorry about the silly clothes, but we take our lessons at the police station, and they don't have facilities for us ladies to change. [Horn Honking] Now, there are the girls. Listen, I'll see you guys around 5:00. I thought we could drive into New York tonight and eat Chinks, okay?



[FRIEND] You'll grow up to be a delinquent ...

[JEFF QUANTRILL] Wait till you hear!

[FRIEND] ... do you hear me?

[FRIEND] If you ever do that again, I'll break every bone in your body.

[JEFF QUANTRILL] You guys won't believe it ...

[FRIEND] You're kidding!


[DR. SIDNEY SCHAEFER] These guns and karate, why?

[WYNN QUANTRILL] The right-wing extremists.


Disarm them, and us liberals will disarm. Right?






[BING QUANTRILL] He's gone for a little while.




[CARTER, FBR AGENT] Don't say that. Say "Chinese restaurant."


"Chinks" is bigoted.

[SULLIVAN, FBR AGENT] What restaurant?

[BING QUANTRILL] In New York. I don't know which one.

[CARTER, FBR AGENT] Don't your folks eat in the same restaurant?

[BING QUANTRILL] Mom's a gourmet. She says there's so many good restaurants, if they ate in a new one every time, they still couldn't eat in all of them. And, boy, you know what?



[BING QUANTRILL] Most of them are lousy.


[CARTER, FBR AGENT] Don't say "lousy". It's impolite. What'll we do, Sullivan?

[SULLIVAN, FBR AGENT] I don't know, Carter. They'll be back before we can hit enough places. We better wait.

[BING QUANTRILL] You gonna kill Dr. Schaefer?


[SULLIVAN, FBR AGENT] Yes, son. We're gonna kill him.



-- The President's Analyst: A Film About Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happenings, written and directed by Theodore J. Flicker, starring James Coburn and Godfrey Cambridge

It was early winter and Janis could once again see the misery building within him. She knew he had taken the job with the family in mind, hoping to amass enough financial reserves to get them through the trial period in which neither of them would be able to work. But she knew her husband, and saw his unhappiness in his eyes. He seldom complained, but she knew his heart just wasn't in it. She knew his problem .... he needed his own company once again. Terry was not used to working for someone else. He was a leader, not a follower. She had seen him work eighteen hours a day in order to build their businesses in Oklahoma and Arkansas.

Their leased home in the bedroom community of Moorpark was small but elegant, and belonged to a California State Policeman that lived two doors down the street. He flew helicopters for the state, and was a survivalist-oriented kind of guy which gave the Reeds a secure feeling. Before anyone came looking for them, Terry calculated, they would first have to go through the landlord, who was always legally armed, not to mention Macho, their German Shepherd, who lived in the fenced back yard. Terry viewed the relationship with the landlord as a free security service with a night-time guard, only the trooper wasn't aware of the arrangement. He mistakenly thought the Reeds were just your average stressed out American couple with three well behaved children and a dog.

The Reed children had quickly taken root in the secure upper middle class neighborhood and school system. They rapidly made new friends, and settled into the routine of household chores and homework. To the kids, it was another page in an adventure story, but to Janis and Terry it was a time of frugality and healing in order to prepare for another court battle.

This entire California experience was turning out to be one big sacrifice for the both of them. As they put in long hours with their work, Terry with his L.A. commute and job, and Janis with her time sharing between family and her newly-found real estate position, the only comfort they drew was that the clock was ticking in Arkansas, and they weren't bankrupt.

"Janis!", Terry yelled outside to where she was playing with the children. "I just talked to John Cummings. The spooky-groupy network in Arkansas says that our judge has ruled. She feels there is sufficient evidence to conclude a possible conspiracy, and that the statute of limitations has not expired."

The year 1992 was starting out in the Reeds' favor. It was January 5th, and Cummings had just informed Terry that his judge in Arkansas, Federal Judge Elsijane T. Roy, had ruled in his favor. For some strange reason, the case had been laying motionless in court awaiting the judge's first action. Reed and Steve Clark were beginning to suspect the worst. Namely that Reeds' case might be too politically sensitive to get to trial in an election year. Back in October, 1991, Bill Clinton had made it official. He was going to seek the Democratic nomination for President.

Already the local Little Rock media had seized on the Reed v. Young case and, for a while, not a week went by without headlines discussing the "avowed contra-trainer's" lawsuit against an Arkansas State Police officer sitting dangerously close to Bill Clinton. For the reporters there, it was a field day of wild speculation about the state's involvement in the whole Iran-Contra affair. John Hall had been deluged with questions about possible linkage between Reed's suit and the governor's office, and his lawyer's silence only fed the fires of speculation.

Terry was under instructions to lay low and save his ammunition for court. Only his immediate family, his attorneys and a few coveted friends even knew he was in California. And few of them had any way to contact him. The phone number was unlisted, and the service as well as the utilities were under a corporation's name. For all practical purposes, the Reeds had simply vanished out of Santa Teresa, and were living anonymously. This was done primarily for security for the children, since Rodriguez' visit was still fresh in their minds. And just as the teachers in New Mexico had been told, the teachers in California all thought Terry had an unstable ex-wife lurking about wanting to kidnap the kids.

The only way to readily attempt to locate Terry was through John Hall. Hall's office was under instructions to only relay messages, he wanted Terry making no statements to the press. The only official statements he had ever personally made about his involvement in the whole Mena ordeal, had occurred in a deposition Steve Clark had arranged back in May 1991. [1]

Terry had been subpoenaed into a civil lawsuit between an ABC news affiliate and Southern Air Transport (SAT), both located in Miami. Terry had been deposed in Memphis by attorneys from both sides wanting to know if he had any knowledge of SAT aircraft transporting narcotics.

He testified truthfully, but incompletely, and even put SAT's ex-CIA attorney on notice that he did not consider an open-court deposition environment to be the place where classified material is discussed. Especially material that may jeopardize the lives of active agents and assets. He told them what he knew about the July 5th, 1987, incident in Guadalajara, and the SAT L-100 aircraft that had transported the narcotics that day. In the course of that deposition Clark, who was present, allowed Terry to answer questions about the Agency's operations in Mena. At the time he found that unsettling, but Clark had explained it away as being "necessary in order to establish your credibility." Anyone reading that sworn deposition can easily tell that Terry was reluctant to discuss the Mena operation, fearful that he may be exposing classified information.

But national security and concerns of classified material being compromised hadn't stopped the media from having a feeding frenzy with Reed's deposition, once they discovered its existence. For many of the reporters involved, it was the first real piece of credible evidence to surface that indicated a CIA operation had actually gone on under the noses of the Arkansas State Police. And more importantly, under the nose of a man who was by this time preparing for the New Hampshire Democratic Primary ... Bill Clinton.

Judge Roy had strangely waited until the last day of the year to rule on a simple issue that had been pending before her since July. If she had not ruled that day, the motion would have gone to her court of appeals. It certainly would have looked odd to force a higher court to rule on something as simple as whether the statute of limitations had expired. Their son, Duncan, would ask concerning the judge's lack of action, "What's the matter, can't she count to five?"

It was, after all, just a matter of the judge subtracting the date in which Young and Baker last appeared in Wichita ... 1989 ... the date of their last known overt act in the conspiracy, from the one in which the case was filed ... 1991. To Duncan it was easy, the answer was two. The answer to this complex problem in mathematics had to be greater than five for the Reeds to not have a case.

"It took her six months to subtract those numbers?" he asked, perplexed by this "adult" behavior. It had not only confused the Reeds, but their attorneys as well. It looked as if for some strange reason the judge had delayed her action in order to push the case into the fall of 1992.

With Judge Roy's December 31st ruling on the Reed case now signed and put on public display in the court record in Little Rock, the media sharks began showing some life once again. There was definitely a faint scent of blood in the water, especially in the part of the judge's ruling that hinted a conspiracy might have existed to wrongfully prosecute the Reeds. By definition, a conspiracy can only exist if two or more people are involved in some devious scheme. The operative word for the Arkansas media being, MORE. They speculated wildly about who may have been the motivating forces behind Baker and Young.

The press knew they were on to something big, and the headline in the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette that first day of January read: "JUDGE REFUSES TO DROP MENA CASE, SAYS CONSPIRACY POSSIBLE."

As Terry sat in daily gridlock in L.A.'s bumper to bumper traffic, and tolerated the Japanese management of Yamazen, he didn't know about the depth of the notoriety he was gaining back in Arkansas. He was slowly but surely becoming the unwilling "mascot" for conspiracy-oriented student groups and organizations he'd never heard of before.

Terry was, however, aware of a student group based at the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville and named the Arkansas Committee. From what he had heard, it was just the type of left-wing do-gooder organization he needed to steer clear of. With it's unarticulated objectives, and what appeared to be a secret agenda, Terry felt that somewhere in it's enrollment lived the mind and soul of a disinformation machine.

It had all the earmarks of a group of well-intentioned people being manipulated by a few of its leaders. It was just the type of organization his old FBI counter-intelligence handler, Wayne Barlow, had been paid to penetrate back in the '60s. Barlow, back then, was undercover as a hippie style, love-and-peace college student trying to join The Students For A Democratic Society (SDS) and even worse, the bank-bombing Weathermen.

Barlow had shared with Terry what he thought these revolutionary groups had in common. Mainly charismatic leaders with hidden agendas who manipulate the masses for the advancement of their selfish and sometimes dangerous goals.

That seemed to fit the Arkansas Committee to a tee. A textbook definition he thought. At the top was a president by the name of Tom Brown. He reminded Terry of a leftover from the sixties student radical days, and he was married to a journalist named Deborah Robinson, who worked with the local press. Between the two of them, she could regularly get into print whatever conspiracy theory Brown was articulating at any given moment.

But behind them, Terry felt, was the real leader. An articulate engineering student named Mark Swaney. Although not officially in charge, Swaney appeared to be the man who steered the group in the direction he wanted it to go. And this appeared to be after Bill Clinton, and bent on destroying his chances of having a shot at the Presidency.

Swaney, in Terry's eyes, was the equivalent of Jerry Rubin, the subversive student leader from the '60s. He was the mastermind, at least on a local level. What concerned Reed the most was wondering who, or what, was behind Swaney. Somebody's private agenda was being played out here, it appeared to Terry. Somebody with power and money, and maybe even a vendetta.

In any case, Terry was sure he didn't need to be caught up in a political tug of war. Bad things can happen to innocent bystanders during a Presidential campaign, and he had enough enemies as it were. The CIA, FBI, and Felix Rodriguez were enough to keep him occupied. He certainly didn't need the Clinton campaign committee, and maybe even the Democratic Party, after him.

So when invited to address the group in June of 1991, Terry respectfully passed up the offer. He could see blood in the eyes of Swaney and others as they laid the foundation for their pursuit of Clinton's head. No, Terry didn't want any part of that fight -- not in the media, or picketing on the streets, or in the assembly halls of the University of Arkansas. He and Janis had worked too hard to risk getting derailed now. Their destination was Federal Court, he told them politely.

There, they would be more than welcome to attend and listen to the unadulterated truth spill out. There, he might not only win his just legal victory, but perhaps be monetarily compensated as well.

The Arkansas Committee's agenda that summer had come down to pretty much one main topic -- Mena, Arkansas and its professionally orchestrated cover up. They were demanding a new and independent investigation into all the dark activities that had occurred there. They claimed to have new evidence that government backed covert operations were still going on at the Mena airport, right under the noses of unsuspecting citizens.

Of course, the name Mena could not be uttered without including Barry Seal and drugs in the same breath. There was still a connection they suspected between Seal and the Arkansas State government and the Federal Government, but they just couldn't put their hands on it. It would take an insider, they knew. Someone with real nuts and bolts, inside knowledge of the operation to blow the top off the scandal. They needed what the reporters from the Washington Post found during the Watergate scandal ... another DEEP THROAT!

That's clearly what they saw in Terry Reed. They felt that he knew it all, and it was driving them crazy he would not join their crusade. He, after all, was the only person to surface with a bona fide intelligence background, and who was responsible for revealing parts of a story only because he had been forced to divulge them in court in order to protect himself. Reed's silence was only confirming his authenticity.

The decision was made. They would draft him if he wouldn't enlist. They would use him without his cooperation, and to hell with the consequences to him, his family and his personal agenda in federal court.

While the Arkansas Committee conspired to secretly induct Reed as their point man, Terry's attorney fired his first shots in court. John Wesley Hall, with the judge's ruling in hand, now had the green light to attack the state for discovery. He was making discovery demands of not only the defendants Buddy Young and Tommy Baker, but was also demanding that the Arkansas State Attorney General's office turn over their investigative files as well. Hall, with the aid of Steve Clark, had the new Attorney General Winston Bryant on the run. The headline read: "AVOWED CONTRA TRAINER IN COURT TO SEEK ACCESS TO FILES ON MENA AIRPORT." [2]

These headlines should have generated an atmosphere of celebration in John Hall's office as they finally got the Reed case moving. But such was not situation, as bad news had befallen the plaintiff's camp. Steve Clark's conviction had been upheld by the appeals court. He was now being forced to surrender his law license and pay his $10, 000 fine. Terry wasn't informed if Hall would be finding a replacement for Steve, but for now at least, Clark continued to cheer from the sidelines just like an injured athlete. It really saddened Janis and Terry to see Steve out of the "game", especially after being told that it was Larry Nichols, through a blind-sided tackle, while being coached by Bill Clinton, who had taken him out.

Hall and Clark had figured a quick way to obtain otherwise expensive discovery, was to get it from a government file. They knew there were extensive investigative files on the subject of Mena and Barry Seal, files that had taken years to develop, involving countless man-hours and no doubt hundreds of thousands of dollars. All those files that had been compiled by law enforcement agencies of nearly every variety, but from which no arrests had resulted.

How did they know those files existed? Besides Steve Clark knowing of their existence as a result of having been the state's Attorney General, the files had recently been the centerpiece of a front page newspaper article and photo in the Arkansas Gazette dated September 11, 1991. The photo showed Winston Bryant and U.S. Congressman William Alexander transporting those files to Washington, D.C. to turn them over to Iran-Contra prosecutor Lawrence Walsh.

With much media-hype and fanfare, this equivalent of a staged publicity stunt generated the illusion to the citizens of Arkansas that there was finally going to be a thorough investigation about, among other things, why the CIA and other federal agencies had gotten away with using Arkansas as their dumping ground for black operations.

Bill Clinton, Bob Nash, Oliver North, Terry Reed and a few other select individuals knew why the CIA had "gotten away with it." The state had been "rented" by the Agency, just as Laos had been.

By delivering the files to Walsh, Bryant was in essence admitting deceit and defeat. He was handing off the responsibility for the investigation he had known all along he could never undertake. Bryant had campaigned on, and had been successfully elected from, a platform that had as it's nucleus one juicy issue. Namely, why had not his opponent, U.S. Attorney Asa Hutchison, aggressively sought indictments from a grand jury investigation in the Mena Affair?

It all smacked of a Washington led cover-up, Bryant had alleged. There was sufficient evidence, literally tons of it at this point, to prove that the late Adler Berriman Seal had been running a government-backed operation out of western Arkansas. Bryant had alluded to rigged grand jury proceedings, witness tampering, and overall containment of one of Arkansas's worst scandals. All occurring while Hutchison was a U.S. Attorney and Clinton was governor.

The strategy worked. Bryant was elected. The brains behind the Bryant machine was a man by the name of Lawrence Graves. He was the campaign strategist who hired William Duncan, the 17-year veteran Internal Revenue Service Agent, who investigated Mena and then walked away from his job and his government retirement after being told to perjure himself before Congress by denying the existence of some of his more "sensitive" information. With Duncan's inside knowledge on all of the wrongdoing and lack of a thorough investigation into Mena, Hutchison had been blown out of the water.

But when Bryant had to make good on his campaign promise to aggressively investigate the whole Mena Affair, he then had a problem. He had no money and, more importantly, no power to do so. Besides having no funds for an investigation, the Attorney General's office in Arkansas has no constitutional power to initiate a grand jury investigation. That was something Bryant failed to mention during his appeal for votes.

With Bill Duncan now on Bryant's staff and assigned to the office's medicaid fraud division, all he really had to do was turn Duncan loose on the Mena case, and bill out his time to some other investigation. After all, who was going to complain if the Mena story finally erupted, and all of the dark details came flowing out?

Bill Clinton, that's who!

By this time, in February of 1992, Bill and Hillary Clinton were having a little trouble getting their message across to the voters of New Hampshire. Their plans for the country, if elected, were being drowned out by demands to know more about Bill's indiscretions -- "bimbo eruptions" as they were referred to.

Yes, Larry Nichols had made good on his promise to make Clinton feel the pain. He had blown the lid off the story about Clinton's womanizing. Gennifer Flowers' picture was now on the cover of Star, one of those supermarket tabloids, and she had greater name recognition nationally than some of the Democratic contenders for President. [3]

People magazine even ran an article on the boyfriend Flowers had maintained while sleeping with the Governor, and he was none other than Finis T. Shellnut, Seth Ward's son-in-law and the man who retrieved Seal's "green parcels" from the Drop Zone near Little Rock. [4] He was also the bond-daddy who had worked for Dan Lasater's firm which had done the "preferred" state bonding business through the Rose Law Firm, the company where Hillary Clinton practiced law, and where Shellnut's brother-in-law, Webster Hubbell, hung his law license. Lasater, who was now a convicted felon resulting from his guilty plea on cocaine charges, was also Bill's Clinton's investment banking friend who had employed his brother Roger Clinton as his chauffeur and had been "stung" by the younger Clinton, who was cooperating with the Arkansas State Police's undercover investigation back in 1985 after his bust by the ASP.

The Reeds were watching Clinton's world cave in around him, and the media had only dug deep enough to unearth the Flower's affair. What would happen when they discovered the incestuous maze that would lead them through the Ward family, the Rose Law Firm and into the questionable dealings within the bond business in Little Rock? Terry could almost hear Barry Seal laughing from his grave and saying, "He'll be lucky to get elected as a dog catcher ..."

The last thing Bill Clinton needed was for the truth to come out about his state's involvement with the CIA. If that happened, he might as well stay in New Hampshire ... permanently! Steve Clark was privately enjoying the pain being inflicted on the Clinton family. Terry had relayed to Clark the revelations told him by Nichols. When informed, Clark said nothing for a moment and only stared intensely, as if rewinding his mental cassette tape, for an instant replay of key events that led to his "timely" downfall. Terry could tell by the twitching of Steve's facial muscles that it was all he could do to contain his anger that day.

"Thanks, " he said, and walked away.

Back in California, Reed couldn't believe how dirty the primary was turning out. After the successful attack on Clinton's marital faithlessness, the remaining Democratic contestants were frantically seeking "new dirt" to dump on Clinton, hoping this next load would smother him for good. John Hall's phone was constantly ringing as a result of campaign managers and "political handlers" wanting to interview Terry to discover the mother-lode of dirt they were sure was stored within his head.

The political feeding frenzy at that time became so intense, that a California campaign aide of Senator Tom Harkin of Iowa, one of the Democratic Presidential Primary aspirants, was trying desperately to tie Clinton to the Mena scandal by sending out mailings that included sensitive court documents from Reed's criminal case. The political backers of former California Governor Jerry Brown, another candidate, intercepted one of these mailings and called Reed's attorney in Little Rock. This led to Hall's suggesting to Terry that he meet with an aide of Brown's, who lived near the Reeds in Los Angeles. Hall felt the Brown backers could somehow be of benefit to the civil case. Hall instructed Terry to "sniff things out" and find out what the Brown aide wanted while, at the same time, not revealing anything to him. A few days later, in late winter of 1992, a female Brown campaign organizer visited the Reeds home in Moorpark for a quiet meeting where it suddenly occurred to Terry just how powerful his knowledge about Clinton and the Arkansas operations was. The woman confided that the faltering Brown campaign had hired a private investigator who was then in Arkansas trying to confirm Clinton's involvement with the CIA.

Terry would never have believed that he could have risen to the number-one position on Clinton's list of liabilities. It was not a warm and fuzzy feeling, as they say, but there was little he could do about it other than to sit quietly and hope, through his media silence, the Clinton camp would not perceive him as a direct threat. His strategy was not to single out Bill Clinton, per se, since he was sure that Clinton and the Democratic Party had the awesome power to sabotage Terry's efforts to go to trial.

But although he was doing nothing to hurt Clinton directly, his attorney and Judge Roy certainly were.

The judge had scheduled the Reed case for trial on September 11th, 1992. That would give John Hall just about eight weeks to completely destroy the Democratic Party's hopes of defeating the Republican contender if Bill Clinton was to end up being their man on the ticket.

And the Little Rock newspaper had headlines that kept the residents up to date on Hall's battles for the Mena files that Bryant had turned over to Walsh's office. "FBI TIES UP DOCUMENT ON MENA-CONTRA CONNECTION," headlined the newspaper. [5] The Attorney General's office was starting to look pretty bad. It was beginning to appear that perhaps Bryant's plan had been to "hide the files" in the abyss known as the Iran-Contra investigation, at least until the election was over.

By giving the files to Walsh's office, Bryant's attorneys were arguing that that placed the material outside the scope of court discovery, since the Justice department had no right to material under Walsh's control. The AG's counsel was even asking for a protective order from the court to prevent access to the Mena files, and to make the AG and his staff immune to Reeds' subpoenas. It was like deja vu for Terry and Janis.

The Independent Counsel Law was the argument the government had used in his criminal trial, which effectively kept North's notebooks out of Reed's mail-fraud case. Was Bryant running interference for Clinton? It certainly seemed so. After all, they were both Democrats, and they were probably rallying around the party. John Hall was also a very active Democrat in Arkansas, and had announced his plans to run for Circuit Judge in a special election on the Democratic ticket in late 1992. This declaration made the Reeds uneasy. How could Hall aggressively pursue their case, and let the dirt fall where it may, if he had to be careful not to soil Democrats? Democrats were damned near all there were in Arkansas.

Hall assured the Reeds that his flirtation with seeking elected office would not interfere with their case since the trial would most likely be over before he would assume office, if he ran successfully. And even if the trial date slid into late 1992, he was confident he would still be allowed to try the case, he told them. The Reeds could only hope this posed no problem in the future, but Terry complained covertly to Janis about his doubts Hall would be able to keep his promise.

Duncan, the indefatigable former IRS investigator, was overtly complaining that there was no money for a new Mena investigation. That's what he had been promised by Bryant, his boss. There had even been a plan to assign him to the Arkansas State Police (ASP), and let him work directly under the control of the main man, Colonel Tommy Goodwin, in order to investigate Mena. That had been scrapped due to lack of funds, allegedly. Reed found it humorous that Goodwin was even giving the appearance of being interested. It was Goodwin who had ignored Judge Theis' order issued from the federal court in Wichita, the one that demanded he produce the ASP files on Mena. Goodwin, back then, acted as if he were willing to be held in contempt of court and appeared willing to stymie any attempt to re-open the state's Mena investigation. If he did allow Duncan to work under his control, Reed figured it would just be a way to further contain and control Duncan and the investigation. It never came to pass, however. A slot was never created for Duncan, again due to claims of "lack of funding."

Back in 1987, there had been an outcry for an investigation into Mena by Charles Black, the Polk County Deputy Prosecuting Attorney. Black said he had approached Clinton for state monetary help, saying that a thorough investigation would bankrupt the poor county in which Mena is located. Clinton pledged to help and there was talk that $25,000 of state funds had actually been made available to investigate the Mena scandal. When Black heard the dollar amount being allocated, he compared it to "trying to extinguish a forest fire by spitting on it."

He knew this amount wouldn't even cover the cost of helicopter fuel that would be needed to thoroughly explore the Ouchita mountains surrounding Nella for clues of Agency wrong-doing. But even more suspicious than the lack of sufficient funding, Duncan in 1992 was now being told there was no money available at all with which to investigate. This time the headline read: "$25,000 FOR MENA AIRPORT INQUIRY MISSING". [6]

Back in September, 1991, just before Bryant and Alexander delivered their "credible evidence" of federal wrongdoing to Walsh's office, Clinton was questioned once again about his state's role in the Mena investigation. Clinton responded by saying he had authorized the state police to tell local officials the state would help pay for a grand jury, which he expected would be costly because of the need to bring witnesses in from outside the state. But Black said he never saw any money. Bill Duncan was not finding any money. And yet Bill Clinton was saying the state did all it could in the Mena case. [7] Terry Reed would learn in March, 1993, through a sworn deposition of AG chief of staff Lawrence Graves that his office spent between $2,500 to $3,000 to investigate Mena. [8]

They were dealing with the most effectively orchestrated state and federal cover-up of a scandal, the magnitude of which makes Watergate appear insignificant. And the Arkansas Attorney General's office allocated approximately $3,000 to unearth it. Steve Clark, the ex-AG, could hide sums larger than that within his own expense account.

The blatant disregard by state and federal officials to respond to the public outcry for a new and thorough investigation into the government's activities at Mena, left the leaders of the cause with no recourse but to reach out to the private sector. This effort led them to Dallas, Texas, and into the offices of billionaire H. Ross Perot.

After being made aware of the results of the private probing into the Mena matter, Perot personally telephoned Little Rock, and notes taken at the session read, "Perot says he has briefed Governor Clinton and 'everybody else' and nobody can stop [the] investigation now that it's out in [the] open." When the media seized on the "briefing," the headlines read: "PEROT CALLED CLINTON ABOUT MENA INQUIRY". [9]

Clinton later acknowledged the call, and claimed he assured Perot there would be a complete and thorough state investigation.

Throughout February, the Reeds kept their noses to the grindstone, followed the Democratic Primary in the news, began organizing documents for the September trial, and longed to return to the simple life afforded them in rural New Mexico. The complexities of survival in this palm-tree lined, concrete jungle, far outweighed those of avoiding an occasional rattlesnake in the desert.

On the good side though, Terry's job had improved considerably since his arrival. He was now in charge of a newly formed division entitled "the advanced systems group." Its purpose was to pursue larger, more complex automation projects available through Fortune 500-sized companies. The division was of his own creation, and it was turning out to be a little like his own small company within this large Japanese dragon.

It was good to have his mind once again engaged with manufacturing problems. They are definable and solvable, unlike this world of courts and attorneys that had sucked his energy for so long. The ability to view the threat the Japanese pose to American industry from within, gave him new drive to automate U.S. firms and hopefully make them once again globally competitive.

This "insider knowledge" about the Japanese invasion had led him on a search of clients who could readily identify with his preachings of "automate or die." Terry's "the sky is falling" caveat penetrated welcome ears in Phoenix, Arizona. There he met an extremely logical-minded, articulate and entreprenural-driven man named Clark Ronnow. Clark was heading up a startup manufacturing firm that held patents protecting a new bicycle product that would revolutionize the bicycle industry. Ronnow's plans were to automate the new factory to such a level that the bicycle manufacturing industry could once again return to American soil and compete heads-up with their Oriental competitors.

Terry's mind was on this exciting new project and not prepared for what happened that 13th day of March. He would again learn old enemies were constantly lurking, poised for retaliation.

"Come into my office and close the door," Ted Tokudome the new Yamazen vice-president told Terry. "It is time I got to know you better."

A lot had changed within company since Terry had arrived. There had actually been a shake-up of Japanese management, probably attributed directly to the huge losses the firm was suffering. Joe Sakai, the person who had hired Reed, had been forced into early retirement, and the man who was demanding to speak with him that day, Tokudome, was Sakai's replacement, and about Terry's age. So far Tokudome had seemed impressed with Reed, and was giving him complete rein to do as he pleased in his newly-formed division.

Tokudome was a new breed of Japanese manager, however. He was part of the new wave of white collar replacements from Japan that were being sent to retire the first group of managers. The original "front line commanders," the ones who had first penetrated the American markets, were for the most part aging. Many of them were due for retirement, ready to be put out to pasture, as Reed saw it.

But something else was going on here as well. Japanese firms were reducing their dependency on American management. The older men had come to America in the '60s and '70s. For the most part, they spoke fractured English, didn't fully understand American attitudes and psyche, and relied only on the superiority of their products to establish a beachhead from which to launch their assault. These men needed Americans all around them as advisors, and front men, continuously relying upon their skills, advice and help to service the "foreign market" they were in.

But not guys like Tokudome. They had either been here since their early twenties, and learned American ways and attitudes through observation and osmosis, or many of whom had gone to college here. These were the true clones, and they no longer had to make up for their shortcomings with gaijin advisors. From what he had heard, Tokudome fell into the first category, having been with Yamazen in Houston and Chicago for many years before being promoted and sent to Los Angeles.

As Reed closed Tokudome's door and took a seat in his spartanly furnished office, he had assumed it was finally time for his "one-on-one", as the Japanese called it. It was Japanese custom for the "boss" to interview each employee privately. To learn the ills of the company and to get better acquainted. There, lying spread on Tokudome's desk, was the resume Terry had given Joe Sakai the previous year.

"I have been reviewing your resume," Tokudome said, masked with his expressionless piercing stare. "Can you explain to me why you played down your business relationship with Toshiba?"

Terry knew in an instant where this conversation was headed. Toshiba Machine Tool had been convicted in the court of world opinion in 1987 for making the world a much less safe place. They had stolen secret American nuclear submarine propeller technology, and sold it and the necessary machine tools to manufacture the advanced technology parts to the USSR. [10] In lieu of a Congressional ban on all Toshiba products, of which there are many, the company self-imposed a five-year ban on selling machine tools to the U.S.

The aftershock of the scandal led to arrests and trials of Toshiba executives in Japan. The disgrace brought to the company by it all caused the president of the machine tool division to "do the honorable thing." He killed himself, the old fashioned way ... seppuku.

"Since you had your own company and you were dealer for Toshiba, you should put Toshiba at very top of resume in big print," Tokudome chided. "Do you not agree?"

Earlier that week Reed had noticed Tokudome with a visitor in his office. He was a man Reed had seen someplace before, years ago, probably at some machine tool show. After the man left Tokudome's office, Reed had noticed some Toshiba literature left on Tokudome's desk. It was old literature dated back to the early '80s and depicted the same model of computer numerically controlled (CNC) gantry milling machine that had been illegally sold to the Russians in the early '80s. It was the same model John Cathey/Oliver North had Reed tracking for the CIA. This certainly was a lot of coincidence, and why was this subject at the top of Tokudome's list of things to discuss?

"Ted, I purposely downplayed my relationship with Toshiba since I'm not very proud of having represented them. Besides trying to cheat me out of my commissions, Toshiba did some very dishonorable things," Terry answered.

"Toshiba did nothing that Cincinnati Milacron did not do!" Tokudome snapped back. "Cincinnati sold many machines to the Russians, and they did not get into trouble!"

He was referring to the largest builder of American manufactured machine tools, or what was left of that company. Japanese competition for the world market of manufacturing machinery had driven most American builders into extinction. Cincinnati Milacron was retooling, and trying to hold on to what market share they had left. But Reed found it interesting that Tokudome was overlooking the fact that Toshiba had been caught in the act of espionage, stealing and selling American defense secrets, and selling computer controlled machine tools in violation of COCOM (the 15-nation Coordinating Committee for Export Control). Somehow, in Tokudome's Japanese mindset, this compared to Cincinnati selling to the Russians internationally approved equipment, that did not possess the restricted technology.

"The machines Cincinnati sold to the Russians, Ted, did not contain computer programs stolen from the U.S. Navy," Reed shot back without thinking.

"You seem to know a lot about this affair," Tokudome snapped. "How do you know so much?"

"I read a lot, and it was an issue that personally affected me," Reed bluffed, hoping that would satisfy him and they could maybe move on to something else. It didn't work. It only got worse.

"What do you think of a person who causes another to take his own life?"

"I don't think that is possible, Ted," Terry answered, knowing full well he was referring to the circumstances that led to the Toshiba executive's death. "Suicide is self-inflicted by definition. I don't see how someone can be accused of causing suicide. That would be a good one for the courts."

"I have also been told you are very experienced in court. And that is not on your resume either! You should put that up at top also. Terry Kent Reed. Convict ... and most of all ... traitor! I knew president of Toshiba. He was honorable man, and you helped to kill him! You and your two-faced government!"

Here Terry sat looking at what surely would have made a model World War II Japanese officer. Tokudome's hostilities were spilling out of his tight thin lips. It was as if his slanted, expressionless eyes were trying to pierce into Reed's mind to see what he was thinking.

Without a doubt his cover had been blown. Someone had thrown him to the wolves. He was again expendable! Had this been World War II, Terry would now be treated like the spy that Tokudome knew he was. He would be tortured to death! He was now angry!

"Ted, whatever it is you think I did, I did not only for the safety of my country but that of Japan's as well," Terry responded, trying to control his anger.

Tokudome only sat there in rigid silence, nostrils flared and panting with pent up rage. There was no doubt about it, Terry had been compromised. Fuck it! He wasn't going to take this shit. The silence was killing him ... might as well tell it like it is, he decided.

"Ted, Toshiba was wrong! Toshiba's president was wrong! And you are wrong! If this is the opinion of the Japanese community and Yamazen, then they are wrong! I did what was right, and I'm not going to let any ancestor of any harbor-bombing son-of-a-bitch sit here and tell me otherwise."

Well, so much for the one-on-one.

It was Friday afternoon and Terry had plenty of time to digest the meeting while sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic for the 62-mile drive back to his home west of the San Fernando Valley.

Tokudome had not actually fired him yet, or maybe he had, he wasn't sure. The meeting had ended in a strange silence with both men simply staring each other down. Tokudome, with nostrils still flared, had eventually just left the room.

Terry couldn't stand the word traitor, especially considering all he had been through for his country. But he had gotten the strange feeling that Tokudome now considered America his, and that Reed doing anything against the Japanese was somehow an act of subversion. It was a weird circumstance indeed. Maybe the Japanese did own this country, he thought as he sat looking at the endless miles of "rice burners" creeping along I-405. It had turned out to be a strange day. Being chastised for having done the right thing. For spying on behalf of the U.S. Government 10 years ago on a dirty company, a traitorous company, a company that through their own greed had brought the world a little closer to Nuclear Holocaust, he was sure he and his family would now ironically pay the price for his loyalty. How circumstances change. Once he was an insider, and now he was an outsider. Once he was a hero, and now he was a traitor. Once we Americans owned this great nation, and now he worked for the Japanese, who own it. But that wouldn't be for long now. Someone else had seen to that.

"I wonder who compromised me?", he asked himself. "Probably someone with the Agency. When will it ever end?"

It was time to do what everybody in L.A. does when stuck in traffic. Get on the cellular phone and call home. He certainly wasn't looking forward to telling Janis, but she was strong and he knew she could take it. He would have to tell her that he was a free man once again ... compliments of the intelligence community!

* * *

"Janis, you've got to call John Hall immediately!" Terry nearly shouted from a pay phone near downtown Los Angeles. "I just got off the phone with Richard fucking Behar, and he said if we don't turn over all our material to TIME, right now, that he is going to crucify me in the magazine. He said he's going to paint me as a con-man if I don't cooperate, and give him our dirt. This is blackmail. I'm not gonna take this shit!"

Janis, from her real estate office, set about frantically trying to contact Hall in Little Rock to inform him of the pending disaster. After finally reaching him and informing him that Richard Behar of TIME magazine had turned on them, and was literally blackmailing them to turn over all their evidence and court discovery, Hall's initial instructions were for Terry to cooperate with Behar.

"We certainly don't need any bad publicity at this point," were his comments to Janis.

Later that same day Hall called Janis back and reversed his earlier instructions, and told her to tell Terry to have no further contact with Behar or anyone else at TIME until he could hopefully defuse this bomb that he had a hand in building.
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Re: Compromised: Clinton, Bush and the CIA: How the Presiden

Postby admin » Tue Jun 14, 2016 9:07 pm

Part 2 of 4

The date was March 26th, 1992, and the Reeds' lives were crumbling before their eyes once again. They were under attack! This time by TIME magazine. Things had gone atrociously wrong!

To make matters worse, Terry had no job. On March 18th, just five days after their one-on-one, Reed had been summoned to Yamazen's office where Tokudome sat silently and watched Yamazen's Italian-American executioner, sales manager Mike Ghiorso, chop off Reed's head.

It seemed there had been such an immediate downturn in business that Tokudome had been forced to eliminate the Advanced Systems Group that Reed was in the process of forming. He wasn't fired ... Tokudome was smarter than that. It was simply treated as a lay-off. Ghiorso, the yes man, quietly approached Reed in the hall after the "ceremony" and with no Japanese present said, "I'm sorry about that. I was only following Ted's orders. I'll certainly recommend you highly if you need any references."

Nuremberg all over again he thought. Nobody is personally responsible, and everyone was only following orders!

A professor of anthropology at Occidental College in California, C. Scott Littleton, provided me with astonishing details of another SS ceremony which has not been corroborated by anyone else, but which may well be true. A professor friend of his, he claims, saw original Nazi depositions taken for the Nuremberg Trials, but never included in the record, which told of a periodic sacrifice wherein a fine Aryan specimen of an SS man was beheaded and the severed head made a vehicle for communion with Secret Masters in the Caucasus. These beings, presumably, were not believed to be earthly, and were looked to for guidance.

-- Gods & Beasts: The Nazis and the Occult, by Dusty Sklar

Oh well, he knew it was coming and knew why. The clown Ghiorso was probably in the dark about it all. Terry doubted seriously if the Japanese had referred to him as a traitor in Ghiorso's presence and shared their true motivation for canning him. It was best to leave quietly, but he couldn't help but think about the publicity damage he could inflict by calling the media and telling the truth behind his dismissal.

But he didn't have time for that. His world was in a swirl that day, things were truly in fast motion as he attempted to stomp out the small blazes that were erupting around him, hoping to smother them before they consumed him and his family. A job was only one of his worries as he once again fell back into the pilot mode, and attempted to prioritize his emergencies. How had it all gotten out of control?

Bill Clinton had miraculously limped out of the New Hampshire Democratic primary. He was wounded, possibly gut shot, but was still alive even after all the scandal about his unfaithfulness to his wife. Larry Nichols had helped somewhat by "mysteriously" withdrawing his lawsuit against Clinton on the eve of Bill and Hillary Clintons' televised interview on CBS's 60 Minutes. The main purpose of which was to convince the viewers that in spite of Bill's "infidelities," their marriage was solvent, and that if elected they would be sleeping in the same bedroom.

David Gergen wrote, "A chipper president would arrive at the office in the morning, almost whistling as he whipped through papers. A phone would ring. It was a call from upstairs at the residence ... his mood would darken, his attention wander, and hot words would spew out..." [4] FBI agent Gary Aldrich wrote that he heard Hillary cuss at Bill about a newspaper article. "Come back here, you asshole!" she yelled at him. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" [5]

-- Target: Caught in the Crosshairs of Bill and Hillary Clinton, by Kathleen Willey

Terry and Janis were wondering how large a house Nichols might have been promised, and debating if he would get his hush money in monthly installments or one lump sum.

But as the Clinton Campaign Committee carried Bill out of the Northeast on a stretcher, the Democratic Party and Clinton's handlers were combing the trail up ahead for other hidden "booby traps." They didn't have to look very far. The other shoe was getting ready to drop.

Alexander Cockburn, a columnist for The Nation magazine, was writing a series of articles on Clinton, the State of Arkansas and most flammable of all topics at the time ... Mena. He had somehow zeroed in on POM, the company in Russellville, Arkansas that had built weapons parts for the Contra resupply operation and was also showing a connection between it, ADFA, and the Rose Law Firm where Hillary Clinton worked.

The scandal surrounding the lack of a thorough investigation into the government's activities in Western Arkansas had spilled out of the local Arkansas media into the pages of The Nation. A major firestorm was in the brewing, and the winds of the media were fanning the flames of defeat for Presidential candidate Bill Clinton.

With Clinton now on the "critical but stable" list, the media was now focusing on the survivors of the first major skirmish. The hotel rooms in Little Rock were now overflowing with "carpet-bagging" reporters from out of state, looking for the trail of blood from Clinton's wounds.

They too didn't have to look very far. The trail led them straight to Terry Reed. Laying right there in the Federal Courthouse was a file marked REED v. YOUNG, case No. LRC-91-414. It didn't take much of a detective to be lead from there to the offices of John Wesley Hall, Jr. over on 3rd Street.

Hall, of course, was saying very little to the reporters, preferring to make his comments about the case in the form of motions to the court. And by now there were many! The Arkansas Attorney General's Office and its attorneys were really starting to "smell". They had a definite conflict of interest, and were groping with the image problems this presented. Headlines from the Arkansas Gazette read: "BRYANT'S OFFICE REPRESENTING BOTH SIDES OF MENA AIRPORT CASE". [11]

Winston Bryant was beginning to appear as somewhat of a double dealer. The Indians call it "two speaker" or someone who speaks out of both sides of his mouth.

By the Attorney General's defending Captain Raymond Young, they were being forced to suppress the Mena material Reed's lawyer was demanding. Hall hoped that somewhere in the "voluminous files" there existed information that could corroborate Reed's involvement with the CIA in Mena. By doing so, it was Hall's intent to establish motive as to why Young, Baker, the Arkansas State Police, and others had conspired to attempt to illegally convict and incarcerate Janis and Terry. They hoped to show it had all been done to destroy Terry's credibility by converting him into a felon and thereby silencing him forever.

But Bryant's efforts in keeping Reed and his attorney from the files were creating the appearance of his reneging on his campaign promise to get to the bottom of the Mena controversy, once and for all.

With this internal conflict of having dual objectives and policies, Bryant was forced to erect what his office called an internal "Chinese wall". It was supposedly an attempt to isolate the two forces within the AG's office. One was trying to expose the crime associated with Mena, and the other that was trying to contain it in order to protect Young.

Hall was having fun with the term "Chinese Wall," noting to Reed that the real wall in China built hundreds of years ago had been useless in keeping factions separated, and they had to assume this one was also. As they lobbed their mortar rounds over the wall, Lawrence Graves was forced to try to muzzle and isolate Bill Duncan. Duncan was ordered to do no further work on the Mena investigation, something laughable, since he had not been doing so because of no funding. He was also told to stop talking to the media concerning the Mena scandal. All part of the Chinese Wall, he was told.

To the Reeds, it was plain and simple. Bryant's office had joined the Clinton For President Campaign and would do anything in it's power to keep from him, the public and the media, the information he so desperately needed. Good ole boy politics was alive and well in the HOG STATE.

"Hey Bubba, have you seen the current issue of The Nation magazine?" Bill Duncan was asking Terry by telephone to California. "If not you better go find a copy. You're famous."

Duncan had called Hall's office earlier in the day, desperate to talk to Terry. The message was forwarded to Terry in California and he listened in disbelief after calling Duncan at the Arkansas State Attorney General's Office. Duncan was elated about an article appearing in the February 24th issue in the section entitled BEAT THE DEVIL.

The culmination of a three-part series by Alexander Cockburn aimed at exposing all the sin in Arkansas that could remotely be linked to the CIA was on page 222. The piece entitled "Chapters in Recent History of Arkansas" was featuring a story about a CIA asset who worked for Oliver North, aka John Cathey, and the infamous and now deceased, Barry Seal. Terry, after talking to Duncan, stood in a Book Star bookstore in the San Fernando Valley reading about himself in disbelief.

The one and a half page article pretty much said it all. It outlined his prior work with the CIA, synopsized his Wichita criminal case, and then got into the Reed v. Young case in Arkansas. He had been thrown into the fight. His story had been stolen from him and was being played out right where he did not want it ... in the media!

Anyone reading the piece would draw the conclusion Terry had given an in-depth personal interview and was anxious to add misery to Clinton's misfortunes, but this simply had not been the case. Now, by being thrown into the limelight it could be perceived that Terry was even threatening Clinton, in much the same way Larry Nichols had.

Shit! Here he stood in L.A. feeling totally defenseless. He could see the political storm brewing on the horizon and he was beginning to feel like a lonely lightening rod. How could this have happened, he and Hall wondered? Hall took Terry at his word that he wasn't the source of the article. But it was apparent that Cockburn wanted to kill Clinton politically and was using Terry as the non-participating ammunition to assassinate him.

It didn't take Reed long to find the source of the material that had been fed to Cockburn. None other than the Jerry Rubin of the Arkansas Committee -- Mark Swaney. Terry's earlier suspicions about Swaney were right. He was articulating someone else's agenda. The saboteur had even been paid by The Nation to research and piece together the various facets of Terry's story, all for $1,500, he was told. Terry and Janis had spent more than that in telephone charges while shopping for an attorney. The whole complexion of their case was now changing for $1,500. It was time to rethink their strategy, Terry concluded.

On February 23rd, a Sunday morning, Terry had gotten up early in order to watch one of his favorite shows, Sunday Today. He had special interest in watching this particular segment since Garrick Utley was hosting a 90 minute special on BCCI, the Bank of Credit and Commerce International. [12]

As the BCCI scandal unraveled over the years Terry had maintained a keen interest, always suspecting that the illegal money trail the investigators were following would eventually take them to Arkansas. Terry had not really been part of the "green flights" in Arkansas that Seal had been in charge of, but he figured sooner or later massive amounts of cash deposits would show up in the Arkansas bond or banking business.

Again, while working on a very limited discovery budget, he and Hall were hoping something major would happen to blow the whole Mena scandal wide open. If it was ever going to happen, they figured, it would have to happen now, with so many independent investigations still probing into not only Iran-Contra, but now BCCI money, which had trails into the Arkansas financial community as well.

With great interest and a note pad in hand, Terry watched the NBC special as Utley and guests described "the biggest fraud in the history of banking -- perhaps the biggest fraud in history, period. Billions of dollars -- at least 8, perhaps 10 or 12, even more were taken, stolen, were gone."

How could that be, Terry thought? You simply don't hide 8 to 12 billion dollars. And the CIA was already being implicated in the scandal. He bet he knew where part of it was. Invested in Arkansas! With Seal's operation flying in the cash ... the paper trail had been broken! There would be no record of wire transfers etc. to track ... it all made sense!

That's what had been discussed in the bunker in Little Rock! The Agency was somehow involved in all these "lost funds," and Clinton's bunch at ADFA had probably been caught skimming from the profits. The money wasn't lost ... it was right under everybody's noses. It had been re-invested in America through the issuance of industrial and municipal bonds. It was a great scheme the more he thought about it. Maybe it took all this transfusion of cash, which was being stolen from around the world, to keep our American lifestyle afloat. Maybe what Garrick Utley was describing as the biggest banking fraud in history was actually Reganomics at work!

Terry wondered?

The TV special then touched on names like Clark Clifford, Robert Altman, Bert Lance, Jimmy Carter and First American Bank. Terry thought he remembered from his time in Little Rock that there was some kind of connection between Jackson Stephens of Stephens & Company, the largest investment banker in Arkansas, and First American. This was turning out to be a really interesting show.

Utley then introduced a guest that was reporting live from Burbank, Jonathan Beaty of TIME magazine. Beaty had become an expert on the scandal, and in fact was actually single handedly responsible for overturning some of the rocks that hid the largest scoundrels found to date. If he kept turning them over in the right direction he might find a couple of the missing billion right there in the "Natural State."

Beaty began by stating, "I think that this, in the end, will be seen as a bigger cover-up than Watergate ever was." He went on to say, "... intelligence agencies from both the Eastern and Western worlds needed this bank."

Peter Truell of the Wall Street Journal was saying things like, "There are several dealings related to the bank which which come home to the Bush family." And at one point Truell said, "Everybody is trying to distance themselves from BCCI -- from the tainted scandal."

Brian Ross, an NBC journalist, said, "It's frustrating because there are limits to what journalists can do. We can't subpoena records. We can't subpoena people to come. We can't compel them to testify. It's very frustrating."

Utley closed with a personal appeal, "If there is silence, indifference, BCCI will be forgotten, and many people will breathe easier and sleep better. But if the public demands a public accounting, government will react. In the end, the choice is to stay silent or speak up."

This was amazing, Terry thought. Here was the media appealing for help in order to continue an investigation that the Justice Department should be pursuing. That statement about the Bush family probably had something to do with why the Justice Department wasn't interested in BCCI. And Terry knew that if his suspicions were correct and that Seal's airborne deliveries were linked to the missing BCCI funds, then a thorough investigation would not only expose the CIA's involvement, but would lead right up the steps of the Arkansas State Capitol building as well. Probably right into Bob Nash's office.

And from there into ADFA.

And from there into the Arkansas investment banking and bond business.

And from there, into the pockets of some mighty important people.

Was this why Seal was killed? he wondered.

Terry sat there on his sofa and tried to absorb it all. He had definitely been involved in a lot more than training Contra pilots. The Agency and Clinton probably figure he knows all the details of everything that happened during "Centaur Rose," since he not only became friendly with Seal, but had been forced to assume Aki Sawahata's duties for a while as well.

No wonder Clinton had invited him out of Arkansas back in 1986. It was starting to fully impact him for the first time. He is truly a living liability to a lot of people. He knows too much!

That BCCI special had brought nearly everything into perspective. There was still, however, a missing piece to the puzzle. In order to contain a scandal of this magnitude, someone high up in the Justice Department would have to be running interference, for not only the Bush Administration, but for the Arkansas State Government as well.

Terry thought back to the Camp Robinson bunker meeting. From that night on he knew that the Republicans and the Democrats worked together on projects that were beneficial to the CIA's objectives. It was demonstratively clear that the CIA had compromised both parties. That's why there had been no real outcry about Iran-Contra by any of the Democratic candidates. It was appearing that Iran Contra wasn't even going to be an issue for the 1992 election. George Bush and Bill Clinton, if he were to become the Democratic candidate, would certainly not be able to sling mud at each other over Mena ... that's for sure, he thought. It certainly was interesting to observe a presidential race in the making while possessing all the inside knowledge he had in his head. Watching them all maneuver, wishing they could annihilate each other, but not being able to because they're all compromised.

But what was really bothering him was wondering who in the Justice Department had been compromised in order for the CIA to be assured there would be no real BCCI investigation. He was thinking about Felix Rodriguez' comments about getting to the prosecutor. That would probably have taken someone in Justice to do that. And then what about the night in the bunker? In that meeting, there had been discussion of controlling the U.S. Attorneys in Arkansas in order to contain Mena and other things as well. He was rehashing Felix Rodriguez' comments about getting to the prosecutor when it HIT HIM!

"Shit! That's it! Johnson! Who and where is Johnson?" he said out loud, startling Janis who was now sipping coffee beside him. "That's it!" he again exclaimed.

He could now account for the true identity of everyone of importance in the bunker that night with the exception of Johnson. Cathey was North, Gomez was Rodriguez, Sawahata was ... well he figured Sawahata wasn't his real name, but that wasn't important. Aki had never behaved like an attorney, and Johnson had.

Johnson had not only said he was an attorney and talked like one, but he had been in charge that night in the bunker. He said Casey had sent him, and he was the one who shouted down Clinton that night. OK! That's solved! It's Johnson, he decided. But how does he find Johnson? Marilyn Trubey and Joe Dunlap spent months trying to find him. Even the law firm in Miami that represented ABC in the case with SAT, they looked for Johnson. No one could find him.

But wait a minute! Robin Fowler, the "yuppie prosecutor" in Wichita, strongly implied that he had found him! He had even made mention of him during the CIPA hearing!

He ran to retrieve the CIPA transcript. There it was on page 5, lines 16-23 ... [Classified] "information potentially that would be brought out on direct or cross [examination] particularly that of Oliver North, Jack Bloom, (sic) and Robert Johnson, particularly there's concern for information that the Director of the C.I.A. has been ordered to produce ..." [13]

"There it is in black and white," he yelled to Janis. "Fowler found Robert Johnson, and he was concerned about his testimony being classified."

As Terry re-read the entire CIPA transcript he became more and more convinced that Robert Johnson was the door to the "black abyss." His name was separated from reference to the Director of the CIA by only 7 printed words.

While coming down from his near euphoric state, Terry realized there was still the problem of physically locating Johnson. Even though it appeared Fowler had interviewed Johnson, he probably would not be to helpful in locating him, Terry speculated. After all, it was Reed's case that had cost Fowler his career in criminal justice.

He was at a mental dead end when a possible solution came to him. Jonathan Beaty! It was Beaty who had sat in the park in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, and talked of meeting Johnson down at SAT's offices in Miami. That's it, Beaty holds the key to the door.

And besides holding the key to locating Johnson and determining his true identity, Beaty held something else he needed. Investigative resources. John Hall was already complaining at how expensive this case could turn out to be. Terry had something Beaty and everyone else in the investigative world needed ... information. First hand information. That had to have value. Maybe he could trade his information to Beaty for his help.

That afternoon Terry was able to locate his old acquaintance Beaty by phone who maintained a residence in the L.A. area. It had been a while since they last spoke, but Beaty projected friendliness on the phone so Terry got right to the point.

"Jonathan, I just watched you on Utley's special. We need to get together soon, " Terry suggested. "I think I know where a lot of the missing BCCI money ended up. Maybe we can help each other."

A couple of days later, and with Hall's permission, Terry met with Beaty in his oceanside home in Hermosa Beach. They then drove to a favorite bar of Beaty's to discuss how they could perhaps quietly help each other. Terry outlined where he thought some of the missing BCCI money had ended up, and Beaty was quick to catch on to the genius of the Agency's plan. Their available time to spend together that day was short, but each departed on an upbeat note agreeing there were grounds to proceed with their newly-developed plan.

The plan, in essence, was for Terry to be debriefed in detail later by Beaty about the money aspects of his knowledge. Beaty, then armed with Reed's information, would direct a TIME magazine backed investigation into areas Reed led them. Beaty was fully aware where the trail might lead, and by the expression on his face, the realization excited him.

TIME magazine would in essence bear the cost of the expedition since it had the resources and access to a grand jury. Terry would be the guide and point out which rocks to turn over, and John Hall would be in charge of capturing what ever scurried out from under them. Beaty, in return, would get the story and the necessary ammunition to feed to a sitting grand jury in New York.

"Poor man's way to expensive discovery," is the way Terry described it.

John Hall had already made it clear to Terry that if he and Beaty were able to work something out that he wanted to be present for the interview. This way Hall would be assured the debriefing did not venture over into areas that might endanger the Little Rock civil case. So the first meeting was terminated with a plan to get together in Hall's presence. There was just one more pressing issue ... Robert Johnson.

"Jonathan, on our first meeting in T or C you said you had talked to a man by the name of Robert Johnson who was my contact at SAT. Do you remember that?" Terry questioned.

Beaty came across very vague about the whole issue. This confused Reed since he had grown to appreciate Beaty's mind from the times they had spent together earlier. This was odd, Terry thought, but decided not to press the subject for now. He didn't want to share the significance he was placing on Johnson's role in all this with Beaty, not just yet anyway. It would be better to wait and bring up the subject again in John Hall's presence. But he left the oceanside meeting somewhat confused by Beaty's reaction to the Johnson issue.

Back in Little Rock, John Hall was having to nearly take his telephone off the hook in order to get any work done. The encamped media was continuously calling, desperate to interview Reed as a result of his newfound publicity, courtesy of The Nation and Mark Swaney.

Hall had come to the realization that Reed's story was going to be told with or without his input. Hall said he didn't like giving this advice, but since the story was already in the media perhaps Terry should be talking to a reputable network or show. In that way, Hall deduced, the publicity could be better controlled in their favor. Hall had been turning reporters away in numbers, but when he received a call from ABC's Prime Time Live, he figured he'd better pass that one along to Terry in California.

Seated in a restaurant in the San Fernando Valley talking with Scott Shugar, a producer from Prime Time Live, Terry was getting good vibes about this guy. The clean cut, unpretentious man in his early thirties and wearing a khaki safari jacket was asking all the right questions and saying nothing stupid.

They had been there the better part of the afternoon in order to "sniff things out" and see if they could come to some sort of agreement about a Prime Time Live special Shugar was working on. It was tentatively titled "Covert Activity In Arkansas."

Terry had identified the reason he was getting along with Shugar was because he too had spent time in naval intelligence. He told Reed he had been in the U.S. Navy and his intelligence duties had put him into areas involving advanced weapons technology. Considering Terry's Air Force duty with Task Force Alpha this gave them common footing from which to build their relationship.

Shugar, he would find, was well known and respected in the world of journalism for his work on the Stealth Bomber project. He was the investigative journalist who had discovered and first reported that the Stealth bomber wasn't! Government test reports had been doctored to show the craft as being much more invisible to enemy radar than it actually was. His probing was detailed in an article in the Washington Monthly in 1991 entitled: "The Stealth bomber story you haven't heard; it doesn't work, and it'll probably crash."

Subsequently, in the summer of 1991, Shugar had been responsible for a Prime Time Live television special about the deceit surrounding the Stealth, and for his efforts he was nominated for an Emmy in 1992.

Prior to having the meeting, Hall had largely defined the conditions to which Shugar would have to agree in order to get Reed's cooperation. Shugar was planning to put together an hour-long special on intelligence activities centered in Arkansas. Hall had tentatively agreed to allow Terry to appear, provided he and his story were no more than 25 percent of the show. That way, Hall said, Shugar would be forced to thoroughly investigate the Mena Affair and would hopefully dig up information that would corroborate CIA involvement there, as well as other evidence beneficial to their case.

Shugar was way ahead on meeting Hall's requirement. As they sat and drank iced tea, Shugar was telling Reed some very exciting news. He said he had already located an Ex-Air Force Captain who had headed up a secret ground team whose job it was to help guide the black operation planes, which Reed knew were codenamed "Dodger", in and out of the U.S. to avoid radar detection. In fact, Shugar said, this was the person who originally directed his attention to Arkansas in the first place, and specifically to Mena! If this guy was authentic -- and Shugar said his source already had passed a lie-detector test -- it could prove that operation "Centaur Rose" was definitely government-backed and sponsored.

But then it got even better! Shugar said he had also found another man, living in Florida, who had performed "BLINDING SERVICES" for these black ops flights by turning off elements of the Defense Department Satellite Warning System orbiting in outer space. Visions of Barry Seal and him "flying on the darkside" flashed into his mind.

And Shugar had already found another pilot who claimed to have flown Agency flights that had penetrated America's electronic security fence without triggering an armed response. This man had even retained his CIA-supplied maps, charts, aircraft call signs, radio frequencies, etc., and had been authenticated to Shugar by then-United States Senator, Gary Hart (D-Colorado), as being "the real McCoy."

By Shugar going after the technical aspects of operation "Sea Spray" he would undoubtedly prove how all the "Screw Worm" flights were able to come and go without alerting our coastal defense system. All he needed now was for Reed to "come clean" and talk about the WHO'S involved in the operations. Shugar had already solved the HOW'S, it sounded like.

What a break, Reed thought! He'd make it to court yet. And by the time he and Hall get through putting on all the discovery evidence they had attained through Prime Time Live and TIME magazine, surely the world would acknowledge that the CIA operations at Mena were not only real ... but were one of the best kept secrets of the century.

But he hadn't factored in Strobe Talbott and Richard Behar!

Strobe Talbott is an old schoolmate and personal friend of Bill Clinton. Not only are they both Rhodes Scholars and Oxford classmates, they lived together while being schooled in England. Since graduating from the world of academia, Talbott had worked his way up the editorial ladder at TIME magazine and, in the spring of 1992, held one of the coveted top slots, EDITOR AT LARGE. Talbott's forte, for TIME, was covering and writing about political events that shape the world's future.

Richard Behar, on the other hand, was not a Rhodes Scholar, nor a graduate of Oxford, and had not roomed with Clinton. He was simply an associate editor with Time. His claim to fame with the magazine, during the time of his first meeting with Reed, was the cover story he had written for the May 6, 1991, issue attacking the Church of Scientology. The church would later reward him and the magazine with a $416,000,000 libel suit for what the church said were Behar's savage and vindictive reporting techniques.

Beaty had been unable to get back immediately with Terry, citing a pressing writing schedule related to his soon-to-be published book on the BCCI scandal. In his stead, he had sent Behar to the meeting that was to take place in Hall's presence, a pre-established condition.

As Behar and Reed sat in the coffee shop of the Reno, Nevada, airport awaiting Hall's plane, which was weather delayed, the two men just chatted and sized each other up. Terry had earlier picked Behar out of the crowd of deplaning passengers arriving from New York, identifying him from his earlier self-description.

But as they sat and talked, Terry kept wondering why Behar likened himself to the comic book character of Superman as portrayed by Christopher Reeves. Maybe, he thought, it came from the old "mild mannered reporter" verse written for the original TV series, because sitting there with his crooked front teeth, he bore very little resemblance. Terry would not have recognized him at all, had it not been for his long black coat, which he said he would be wearing, looking humorously out of place in Reno. The coat had another purpose, Terry would later discover. It concealed Behar's secret tape recording gear, which is illegal to use in Nevada.

Reed was expecting Beaty to send someone more seasoned. He had earlier described Behar as a "task force leader," but Terry was looking at a man who appeared to be in his early 30's and, after an hour's discussion, seemed to lack any in-depth knowledge of the world of intelligence. He was wishing Beaty had come. He didn't have time to baby-sit junior reporters and get them up to speed on the inter-workings of the CIA. When Reed challenged him on his seeming lack of experience and youthful attitude, he responded by saying, "I may be young, but I have an old soul."

So as they chatted and waited for Hall, Behar was reading from his hurriedly constructed notes he had made earlier as a result of Beaty's briefing. Reed listened intently, calling Behar's attention to mistakes he had made in his notes about Reed's criminal proceedings in Wichita.

"No, my case was not dismissed," Reed corrected him. "I was acquitted."

It was near midnight by the time Hall's flight arrived. Behar was just putting the final touches on his rendition of some of his earlier reporting of which he was most proud. He had described in great detail, and seeming enjoyment, the "hatchet job" he had done on the Jordache family of blue jean fame. He went on to say that a fellow journalist he had worked with, Christopher Byron, had also covered the story and was now trying to get a book published on the Jordache affair.

Behar said he was going to muddy the water in the publishing world in order to prevent his old partner from getting it published. Quite a vindictive man, Reed thought. "I'm glad he's not after me," would flit through his mind.

Hall's flight was so late that the meeting was postponed until the next day. Per Hall's suggestion, the three men then rendezvoused at Hall's hotel in Lake Tahoe, California, where Hall had come to attend a legal seminar. In Hall's room, they got down to the business for which they'd come.

In their off-the-record conversation, Terry went through the money aspects of the Mena Connection, as he understood them. Behar sat in a chair by the window with Hall taking up a position on the bed, for the rather brief private discussion. Reed outlined the key players in the Arkansas black money loop and described in detail the mechanics of it all from the inside knowledge he had attained between the years 1984 through 1986.

Behar was quick to focus on the aspects of ADFA's possible involvement in money laundering and even could see the possible trail between the Arkansas investment banking industry, the bond business and BCCI. But of greater interest to him was the possible political fallout that could definitely have an adverse affect on Bill Clinton's bid for the Presidency. Hall and Reed made it perfectly clear to Behar that they had no axe to grind with Clinton and that Reed was only giving him the inside story on Arkansas finances so that TIME could throw their resources into the investigation.

At the meeting's end, Hall felt it best for Behar to travel back to L.A. with Reed so that he could review key court documents that Terry and Janis had meticulously maintained there. Some of these documents, Behar was told, were not part of the public record from Reed's trial in Wichita, since some had been sealed by the court after the Government invoked National Security. These, Behar agreed, would go a long way toward establishing Reed's credibility.

The two men then set out on a late afternoon flight from Reno to Burbank, California. From there Terry arranged lodging for Behar at a motel in Simi Valley which was overflowing with reporters who were staked out awaiting the verdict of the Rodney King beating trial that was in progress there. During check in, when Behar realized why the motel was so crowded, he said to the female desk clerk with a grin, "If I'd remembered about the King trial being here, I would have brought my golf clubs." She didn't laugh.

Saturday morning, Behar was to rendezvous at the Reed residence in order to inspect their documents. Terry had lowered his guard and even entrusted Behar with his home address and phone number in Moorpark. It was ridiculous to be paranoid and overly protective with a person who was out to help them, he thought.

Saturday afternoon, March 8th, about three hours late, Behar arrived. He apologized for his tardiness claiming an intestinal disorder had delayed him. In the Reeds' living room Janis, Terry and Behar got down to business. They gleaned through the mammoth amount of files, with Behar flagging the ones he wanted copies of ... with John Hall's permission.

The two men talked into the afternoon about Behar's planned investigative trip to Arkansas, while Janis took files and documents to a copy center for duplication. She return with 338 duplicated pages and a bill for $29.92, which Behar gladly paid.

Terry felt it necessary to implement one precaution before giving the papers to Behar. He felt it best to send them to Hall's office in Little Rock via Federal Express later that day. In that way, he said, Hall could make the final determination on each document, before releasing them to Behar. It was agreed that Behar would go to Hall's office on Monday the 9th to review them with Hall. Behar then departed for Little Rock.

Reed's first telephone conversation with Behar after he arrived in Little Rock was to report he was staying at the Capitol Hotel. He gave Reed his room number and said he had the documents in his possession that Reed had sent to Hall. He was outlining his snooping itinerary with Reed for the next couple of days when Terry got the uneasy feeling that Behar was now modifying their game plan.

"You're not planning on just charging into ADFA and questioning Bob Nash about all this stuff, are you?" Terry questioned in disbelief. "I don't think that's the style of investigating Hall had in mind."

Behar informed Reed that he had already discussed the plan with Hall and that he had been given a green light to proceed. This didn't make much sense to Terry. That would be the equivalent of charging into the White House right after the Watergate burglary and demanding Richard Nixon to 'fess up.

"If Richard Behar had been Woodward or Bernstein, he would have published Deep Throat's true identity on the front page of the Washington Post and called him a liar," Terry sniped to Janis out of frustration over Behar's approach.

But Behar insisted that this was the only way to proceed. He said he had to break the story first. Since his arrival, he had met with Bill Duncan who had secretly supplied him with portions of the Arkansas State Attorney General's documentation that had been sent to Independent Counsel Lawrence Walsh's office. The three-inch thick file Duncan slipped him contained some of the sensitive information that Reed was unsuccessfully trying to gain access to in federal court.

If that wasn't enough to corroborate portions of Reed's Mena story and light Behar's investigative afterburner, he had also secretly zeroed in on a self-appointed watchdog of the Arkansas bond business, a man named Roy Drew.

Drew was about Reed's age, a self-employed financial consultant and a man who was making enemies of some of the biggest and most powerful names in financial circles in Arkansas. When he met with Behar he had spent over 15 years in Little Rock's investment banking industry having worked for Merrill Lynch, Stephens Inc., and E.F. Hutton.

But after becoming self-employed, Drew had decided to take aim at the incestuous relationships between Arkansas Banks, the Arkansas bond industry, Arkansas bond lawyers, Arkansas Development Finance Authority and Governor Clinton. Drew had written several newspaper articles, which much to the chagrin of people like Jackson Stephens, detailed the immense profiteering taking place at taxpayer expense. * This was the result, Drew pointed out, of sweetheart deals and lack of true outsider oversight, considering the boards of the banks, the bond houses, the law firms and ADFA, shared the same men.

Behar had sought out Drew to serve as a financial consultant to TIME as he explored the money trails that Reed had described to him on the West coast. Drew had not only agreed to work with TIME, but had provided Behar with financial documentation that would help support Reed's private allegations about money laundering in Arkansas.

From all of this new-found information, combined with the media frenzy developing around the Mena story, Behar was telling Reed that the story was getting ready to break. And in light of the burgeoning media population that was present there, he probably was fearful it was going to break without him in the pilot's seat.

He wanted to be the first to attack the money end of the scandal, he said.

So much for the plan to quietly develop data and send it to the grand jury in New York.

Behar's behavior was reminding Reed of the story about the old bull and the young bull. In the story, the inexperienced, overly energetic young bull was anxious to "run down the hill and service one" of the grazing heifers. The experienced, seasoned, calculating old bull said to the upstart; "Hold on son. Wait a minute. Let's walk down there and service them all."

Never, he thought, was the story more fitting. Behar was about to "run" into ADFA and blow the whole investigation. This surely would only send Bob Nash and the others underground and "scurrying to their shredders," now forewarned by such amateurish behavior.

Terry felt helpless, trapped in L.A. while a junior reporter was on the loose in Arkansas armed with his most sensitive information. Strangely enough, John Hall seemed to be going along with it all. It appeared as if he was "getting his jollies" by siccing his new found bulldog Behar onto the money establishment of Arkansas.

Reed could stand the isolation no longer and was scheduling his own flight to Arkansas in hopes of cutting Behar off at the pass when he heard the bad news.

Behar had already charged into ADFA and demanded that Bob Nash "come clean" on all the state's funny money business.

Armed with only his TIME magazine business card and wild accusations, he had put Nash and ADFA counsel Bill Wilson on notice that he knew the truth about what was going on there. Of course, he didn't know that Bill Wilson was among Bill Clinton's best friends and wasn't going to just cave in and spill his guts just because some Yankee reporter from TIME magazine was waving his business card at them.

So after Nash and Wilson did the honorable and logical thing to protect themselves and their political cohorts, by denying any wrongdoing, Behar retreated to his hotel room to plan his next assault.

A confrontation! That would get to the bottom of things, Behar suggested to Reed. First, he proposed a conference call to take place between Reed and Nash and he could "listen in." Nash initially agreed to the concept of a long distance confrontation, but then backed out.

Behar next proposed to have Terry flown into Arkansas to confront Nash in his presence. Nash would surely crack under such tremendous pressure, and he could scoop the story since he would be sitting there listening to Nash's secretly taped confession, Behar argued.

John Hall demonstrated some constraint and nixed that idea, telling Reed by phone that such confrontational behavior could backfire and only serve as a "rehearsal" for Nash's court appearance. But Behar wasn't through.

A polygraph! That would get to the bottom of things. He would challenge Nash to a polygraph test. He would wire up Reed and Nash in sort of an electronic duel. That would flush out the truth.

Terry, with John Hall's permission, agreed to take the test. TIME magazine agreed to have the test administered to Reed on the West Coast by a retired FBI polygraph examiner who did contract work for the magazine. Nash initially agreed to take the lie-detector test provided Reed took the test first. Terry again agreed to Nash's terms. But a short while later, Behar informed Reed that Nash had reneged on his agreement to take the test, doing so on advice of ADFA counsel Bill Wilson. The following morning, Nash abruptly left Arkansas on unexplained business and remained unavailable for the remainder of Behar's week in Little Rock.

"Well, Nash suddenly vanished," Behar informed Hall, while he covertly tape recorded the attorney. *

"Where to?", Hall asked.

"He's in Detroit ... I left a message on Friday on his machine saying, I'm ready to move forward, I got Terry flying out here, come on."

"What, and he disappeared?", an astonished Hall shot back.

"And he left a message saying, I'll [Nash] be in Wednesday. He's in Detroit," an equally baffled Behar informed.

Reed was still waiting to hear where and when to report for the polygraph when John Hall called to report he had been contacted by Ron Brown, the Chairman of the Democratic National Committee.

It was March 12th, 1992, and it had been one hell of a week for the Reeds. But the next two would be even more exciting, only they didn't know it. Terry was listening to the details of John Hall's conversation with Ron Brown. Hall seemed somehow honored to have spoken with the man, and his instructions were simple: Go home and decide how much money you would accept as a settlement.

Reed and Hall had never even discussed an amount of money that the Reeds would consider equitable to trade for the last four years of their life. He was telling Terry to put a pencil to the problem and to have a number ready for him the next day because he felt "a settlement offer was in the making." He said Brown had wanted to know how the Reed case might affect Clinton's chances at the Presidency.

In that same conversation, Hall claimed that the Arkansas Legislature, for unknown reasons and through no request by Clinton, had mysteriously increased an emergency contingency fund that the governor could use on his own initiative. Hall said he suspected that perhaps this fund was being increased so it could be used to fund a settlement for Reed.

A settlement offer was something Terry and Janis had never planned for. All along they were just being driven by the desire to do the right thing. To fight back! To correct wrongs done them! Steve Clark and many other prospective attorneys had warned them from the onset that there "just wasn't much money in civil-rights litigation and defending the Constitution."

Even though the Reeds hadn't dwelled on the thought of a settlement offer, it had been on Clark's mind at least six months earlier. In a background conversation with John Cummings on September 9, 1991, Clark expressed the opinion that any money for an out-of-court settlement paid by the State would be "reimbursed" by the federal government since it was after all Washington's dirty laundry that would be kept hidden. "Somehow, I would think, a way will be found to pass that money along without drawing attention to it," Clark said. "The government is always funneling money to states for all kinds of things."

"We're not in this for the money!" Janis shouted that night when he told her about Hall's instructions. "How can money fix what has happened to us. They can't buy our silence! It's not for sale!"

Janis was not only angered at the whole damn system of justice in this country, but she was upset by Hall not informing her of why he had wanted to urgently contact Terry that day. She's the one who had relayed the instructions from Hall for Terry to contact him. Hall, she felt, should have informed her about the Ron Brown conversation.

She didn't appreciate being considered unworthy of consultation on such an important issue. After all she argued, this injustice had happened to her too, and she was co-plaintiff in the case.

They sat up late that night discussing their alternatives. Finally, the decision was made. Janis went to the typewriter and wrote a letter to Hall dated March 13, 1992 that read in part as follows:

Dear John:

As a co-plaintiff in this case who is normally overlooked, I would like to go on the record officially with you regarding the possibility of a future settlement .

... I can't express sufficiently in words the emotion I feel when it comes to this case and the grief it has caused my family.

... But please don't think of me as a happy homemaker who wants to take the money and run so I can get on with my life and bake cookies for the PTA meetings. This has affected my life permanently and I realize I am just one person out there who has been unjustly treated. Are we supposed to accept the fact that cops lie and it's OK? ... if we don't take them to court, they will have gotten away with this and be free to continue their pursuit of corruption and deceit. I would like to continue approaching this case knowing we will see these guys in court. I am concerned that Rich [Behar] is alerting so many people to this that they will have time to contemplate their responses. I would much rather see the witnesses involved perjuring themselves under oath rather than just practicing their lies with Rich or other reporters. I am not so naive as to expect them to tell the truth. As we know, most of these guys are pros. I feel like the easy way out would be a settlement. If we do this, my idealist senses say justice was not served. Someone has to take a stand. I am prepared to see this all the way through.

With this letter now written and sent to Hall, the Reeds probably became the largest threat to Bill Clinton's candidacy. It's real hard to deal with people that have values and can't be bought off. They require special treatment ...

Coupled with all this talk about a settlement was Hall's disclosure to Terry that the United States Secret Service had contacted the attorney for background information on the Reed v. Young et al. case and on Terry Reed personally. Hall told Terry that he viewed this clandestine activity as the possible start of a secret line of communication between his law firm and Clinton, who, as a Presidential candidate, now had Secret Service protection.
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