THE CIA SPIES ON AMERICANS IN AMERICA.

BUT WHY?

 

 

                        My name is Tom Christian. I'm an engineer and I live in south Florida.

I have two degrees: an engineering degree from Cal Tech and an MS degree in Space

Science and about 10 years of college education total. Despite all of this education though,

I still can't have a job which pays me enough to survive. Apparently I'm supposed to work

hard the rest of my life and have nothing so that lazy rich people can have more. (Somehow

that year of quantum mechanics I had at Cal Tech didn't seem too useful when I was working

at K-Mart....) So much for America the land of opportunity. But I digress. Not only is the

United States NOT the land of opportunity, it also happens to be somewhat of a police state.

You see, the CIA and FBI can violate your civil liberties any way they want, any time they

want. And they do. Or at least they did to me. And apparently it's a rather casual thing for

them. And what about the congressional lawmakers who are supposed to be watching them

and protecting you?  They simply cover it up. Skeptical?  Not the United States you were

raised to believe in? Let me tell you a story. One that all Americans should hear.

                        It involves a woman named Valerie Plame and a number of her associates. You may recognize her name. It's been in the news quite a lot since July of 2003 when she was alleged to have been revealed as a CIA employee by someone in the Bush administration. Given the corrupt nature of the Bush administration I would not be surprised at all if the allegations are true. But I don't feel sorry for Valerie.  I personally do not like Karl Rove OR Valerie Plame. Why you might ask?  Allow me to give you a different perspective on Valerie Plame and her colleagues, one which most Americans donít have.

                        The following is a true story. It's an account of my experience with Valerie

Plame and her associates which began after I applied for a job at the CIA. Itís in the form

of a timeline and many of the dates are rough estimates. The writing is also in a very casual

style which I hope  the reader will excuse.

 

Tom Christian

Weston, Florida

November 20, 2005

 

 

Timeline of Events

 

March (?) 1995         

Applied to CIA.

 

Spring 1996               

No response. I was irritated. Sent a letter to the CIA complaining about their slowness and requested that they make a decision.

 

Spring 1996               

Waiting in terminal at Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood Airport for evening flight to Raleigh, NC. The entire terminal is deserted except for a tall young woman with an ancient looking green cosmetic case ( the kind your grandmother might have used) with a patch of aluminized mylar tape on the side. I walk over to her to talk with her. As I approach, she suddenly looks panicked, stands up and walks away so fast sheís practically running. As she stands up I see the name Rebecca Wolfson on the luggage tag. This is my usual luck with women but they donít normally run away THAT quickly.

 

Spring\Summer (?) 1996

                                    Iím attending Sunday mass at Saint Boniface church in Pembroke Pines. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a young Asian woman sitting behind and to the left of me. Sheís not participating in the mass, does not receive communion, does not look  familiar (which is strange, the church is small and I know most of the regulars).

                                    Occasionally I see her staring at me. Her clothes are very different from the sort of clothes that most people in Florida wear. She just looks out of place. This may be the second time I saw her. It may be the first. I later realize that this is the same woman that I would see at the local library signing her name as Eunjoo Kensinger.

                                    ( Years later, a public record search on her name would yield a number of addresses including one in Jordan:

 

KENSINGER, EUNJOO ANNE
US EMBASSY AMMAN RAO
APO, AE 09892  01/01/2003

Birthdate:          01/02/1971


KENSINGER, EUNJOO
5708 WALNUT ST #E2
PITTSBURGH, PA 15232  10/17/2004

 

KENSINGER, EUNJOO ANNE
880 HILLGATE PL
PITTSBURGH, PA 15220  09/01/2004

 

KENSINGER, EUNJOO ANNE
59 E BOND ST
CORRY, PA 16407     07/01/2001

 

KENSINGER, EUNJOO ANNE
25 ELK ST
CORRY, PA 16407  07/01/2001

 

KENSINGER, EUNJOO ANNE
5732 CENTRE AVE #2
PITTSBURGH, PA 15206  07/01/2001

 

KENSINGER, EUNJOO
5731 CENTRE AVE #2
PITTSBURGH, PA 15206  03/17/1999
Phone: (412) 441-4644

 

 

Spring\Summer (?) 1996

                                    Working out at the local gym, a short young spanish-looking guy with dark hair comes in with an FBI t-shirt and starts working out nearby. I later recognize him in Tysonís Corner, VA as the person staying in the hotel room across the hall at the Best Western WestPark Hotel. Sometime later I remember  seeing him at the local library and signing his name as Miguel Fabregas. Much later I would see him on TV at an FBI news conference announcing the break-up of the Cuban Wasp spy ring in Miami.

                                    ( Years later I was told that he was working in BogotŠ, Columbia.)

 

Spring\Summer (?) 1996

                                    Going to work in the morning I notice a white van staying behind me on the turnpike.  This is strange, I usually drive exactly the speed limit because I canít afford a speeding ticket.  People never stay behind me on the highway. Eventually the driver loses his patience, pulls around me and zooms ahead. As he drives by, I notice a direction-finding antenna array on the van. Strange.  The direction-finding array is unmistakeable. Itís usually a set of 4 (sometimes more) vertical whip antennas each located at the corner of an imaginary square. Thereís really only one purpose for such an array. You see these antenna arrays on cop cars frequently. I donít know if the police use them to home in other police cars to locate them or to home in on Lojack transmitters (or both). The direction-finding array is usually connected to a device called a doppler direction-finder or an interferometer receiver if the user has access to military grade stuff.  Doppler direction-finders are  very popular with amateur radio operators who are into direction-finding and ďtransmitter hunting contestsĒ.  About the time that the van pulls away from me, another car goes by with a black ďstealthĒ antenna in the rear window. The stealth antenna is a square flat antenna which is attached to the window of a vehicle to provide a temporary antenna without any external antennas showing on the outside. I remember seeing an ad for such an antenna and the obvious target customer was law-enforcement people conducting undercover stings. Having seen the ad for this antenna this flat black thing in the rear window with a piece of coax cable hanging from it is anything but stealthy. When I get off the turnpike at the Commercial Street toll booth, I notice the driver behind me has a big grin on his face. Heís adjusting a ďhandifinderĒ direction finder hanging from the rearview mirror. The bowtie antenna with a piece of coax cable hanging from it is unmistakeable. I later remembered seeing him at the local library and signing his name as Dave Robertson. The ďhandifinderĒ is a simple  antenna-switching circuit that usually consists of a bowtie antenna with a switching circuit that alternately connects one side of the antenna to the receiver input and then the other side of the antenna. It produces a tone in an FM receiver until the antenna is oriented such that the signal source direction is perpendicular to the plane of the antenna. Itís cheap and popular with radio amateurs who are into direction-finding.

                                                At lunchtime, I go to my car and notice a similar-appearing white van in the parking lot. A young black man is driving the vehicle.

                                                When I return home, I inspect my car. In the trunk is a black plastic box tucked behind the carpet next to the antenna motor. The box looks like a cheap project enclosure from Radio Shack.  Wires connect it to the antenna motor unit and a piece of coax cable is crudely crimped to the antenna wire.  Iím dying to take it apart, but Iím concerned that it might be equipped with some sort of anti-tamper circuitry. I decide to leave it in place.

                                                The box would disappear sometime later, after the interview.

Spring\Summer (?) 1996

                                                Sometime during this time period I notice that some of my mail has a small slit cut into the sides of the envelopes. I remember Peter Wright the former head of MI5 describing in his book Spycatcher how they would cut a slit into the side of an envelope, insert a wire into the envelope, spray the envelope with a solvent of some sort to make it transparent, and then roll the letter around in the envelope and photograph it. The printing on some of the envelopes with slits cut in them appears washed out too.

 

Spring\Summer (?) 1996

                                    The Library Incident.

                                    One day I go to the South Regional library in Pembroke Pines to read. I used to work at this library as a clerk in the periodicals department so I frequently would go into the closed-off area of the periodicals department and say hello to my former coworkers and help myself to the magazines. Sometimes I would wait on the library patrons myself to save my former coworkers the work. The procedure is that patrons fill out a request slip for the magazines or journals that they want and the staff retrieve the requested material for them.  I get to the library and while there begin waiting on patrons since my coworkers are busy.  Out in the waiting area I see several people standing together. Theyíre staring at me and talking.  Some of them look strangely familiar. They also look completely out of place.  Their clothes look more appropriate for colder weather up north. Also, most of their clothes look nice and respectable, in other words completely unlike most of the usual library clientele. This is south Florida. People are usually dressed like bums here. Occasionally one of them would come to the periodicals department window and fill out a request slip. The odd thing is they would come back in a few minutes, return the magazine apparently without having read a bit of the magazine. I remember Valerie Plame, Cheri Leberknight, Eunjoo Kensinger, Dave Robertson, Johnny Spann, and Miguel Fabregas coming to the window and filling out request slips and signing their names. Valerie Plame had striking blonde hair and I remember commenting on it to her. She looked extremely unfriendly and her lips were puckered as if she had just sucked on a lemon.  I remember thinking ďGee, What a nasty woman.Ē Later after her outing, I almost didnít recognize her in the public photos because she was actually smiling. I would see her years later in New Orleans with that same puckered look wearing  a head scarf. Cheri Leberknight I recall having a dark tan at the time. For awhile I assumed she was a Dominicana since she looked brown and plump like so many of the Dominican women I see here in Florida. Dave Robertson I remember commenting about having dental implants which seemed weird at the time. I think he was also the one wearing the turtleneck shirt. That seemed very weird. Nobody in south Florida wears turtleneck shirts! Itís just too hot. An interesting thing about John Spann is that he was reported to have left the army in 1997 (?) . Yet, in mid 1996 he walks into my libray with a handful of CIA people.

 

Spring\Summer (?) 1996

                        The Mall.

                        I went to the Pembroke Lakes Mall one day. I entered the mall by entering a department store. It was a store like JC Penneyís or Burdines; I donít recall exactly which one. As I walk through the store, a short, young blonde woman with a scarf sprays me with cologne ( or maybe a UV fluorescent marker dye?) without saying a word and quickly turns her face away from me. Sheís not wearing a store employee name tag. Sometime after my ďjob interviewĒ in Tysonís Corner I remember her as one of the people in the CIAís Tech 1 building at 901 Follin Lane in Vienna, VA sitting next to and talking with Cheri Leberknight.

 

Spring\Summer (?) 1996

                        Sometime in this time period, I recall seeing an old car across the street parked on a neighborís swale. (The streets in south Florida are usually too small for people to park their cars on the street. So people often pull onto the grass between the street and sidewalk and park.) I remember thinking this was very strange because the particular neighbor in question is extremely difficult and would harass anyone that parked there, unless of course they had the approval of the police department ( a police surveillance operation?) The trunk of the car is open and several men clothed in northern attire like the library people are staring into the trunk, messing about with something.

                        These guys look out of place and not dressed like normal people..

 

Spring\Summer (?) 1996

                        One day I pick up the telephone handset to make a call. Before I can press a button or do anything, I hear the phone ringing at the other end as if the number had already been dialed  A man answers the phone ďPembroke Pines Police DepartmentĒ, makes a strange sound and suddenly hangs up. The line goes silent. (Wow. I can dial wrong numbers now by just thinking about it!)  Ok Iím definitely under surveillance and itís intensive. Maybe that CIA application? But that whole thing was a dead-end. I wrote them months ago to request a decision and they never even responded.

 

Oct. 1996

                        The mystery of the ripped suitcase.

                        Upon return from an overseas trip I open my suitcase and discover that someone has slashed the

cloth liner of the suitcase and ripped it away from the hard shell of the suitcase, presumably looking for hidden

items between the liner and the wall. Nothing subtle about it. Somehow I doubt that this was a case of just rough

handling on the part of the ground crew. Someone owes me about $100 for a suitcase. Of course, neither

Valerie Plame nor any of her crooked coworkers at CIA will likely ever admit to this little crime.

 

Fall 1996

                        I believe I received a phone call first asking me if I would like to come up to Tysonís Corner for an interview and then I received a pre-interview package with the date, flight arrangements, interview schedule, etc. The interview is in early November I donít remember the details precisely. I believe the interview consisted of flying up on a Monday, going to the Stafford Building at 1500 Westbranch Dr. the next morning, followed by a polygraph exam that afternoon. The next day consisted of a visit to CIA HQ at McLean. The 3rd day I donít remember.

 

CIA Map of Tysonís Corner from Pre-Interview Package

 

November 1996

                        The Interview.

                        I fly up to Dulles Airport. The CIA paperwork mentions a courtesy bus from the airport to the Best Western Westpark Hotel. That sounds great. After a couple of hours waiting and a couple of phone calls I discover that there is no courtesy bus. The CIA information is apparently long out of date. And no one in their travel department ever discovered it and updated the information. Freaking idiots. I get a taxi.

                        I check into the hotel and enter my room. Iím feeling horrible, extremely sick and my head is pounding. Iím feeling extremely spaced out. Never had a cold like this. Iím guessing that I caught something during my last visit to the local nursing home with the church ladies. It figures. I want to be at my best. And I feel like dying.

                        I look around the room. It doesnít feel right for some reason. I look at a painting on the wall over the bed. Itís an undersea scene with fish in it. One of the eyes looks suspiciously glassy. Iím suspicious but the painting is bolted to the wall so I canít inspect the back. I would see this exact same painting several years later in a SuperCircuits catalog advertised as the ďCovert Picture CameraĒ, catalog number PC-76XS. The light bulb in the lamp is shattered. Not burned out, shattered. I wondered then and have wondered since if that was someoneís message to me. I knew that the FBI sometimes concealed bugs inside incandescent light bulbs that were modified to contain a bug. A call to room service got me a new bulb. The fire sprinkler head looked strange. It didnít have the normal oxidation you see on a piece of metal that has been in service a while. The clock radio seemed weird too.  Talk about a no-name brand, it didnít seem to have been manufactured by anyone. The thermostat didnít work.

 

This is a painting with a hidden video camera

exactly like the one that was in my hotel room

in the Best Western Westpark Hotel.

                       

                        I didnít know it at the time, but a CIA building was next door to the hotel.

I have to wonder if it was just CIA office space that was coincidentally located next door or if the Best Western Westpark was selected specifically so that hotel rooms could be hardwired permanently for eavesdropping and all of the telemetry from the room devices sent through short cable runs to the CIA building nearby.

                        The next day I step outside to the van and make the short ride to the Stafford Building. Riding with me is Cheri Leberknight and Miguel Fabregas, only I donít recognize them at the time. I just know they look familiar. I try to make conversation with them. They donít respond. Weird. Everyone here seems strangely nasty and unfriendly. I know where weíre going because I walked there the previous evening. The driver is a cheerful black man, maybe in his fifties. He was probably the only truly friendly person I met there. I go inside and go to the front desk where a Special Protective Officer is sitting. Nobody tells me anything. Iím just told to have a seat. I wait forever and then some occasionally glancing at the TV which is tuned to CNN. One by one other people show up. I have a strange feeling like Iíve seen these people. A few days later I realize that I have. Two of the women who have arrived and are waiting in the waiting area are talking. I look at them and have that strange feeling again. Suddenly one of the women seems to notice that I am watching them and becomes apprehensive. A few moments later she comes over and says ďWouldnít you rather sit over there where you can see the TV better?Ē Her tone of voice is the sickeningly sweet and insincere tone that an adult uses to con a child. Iím surprised by her weird behavior and answer matter of factly ďNo, Iím fine right here.Ē She looks nonplused and moves further away with her friend. Later at home in Florida I had a flashback while sitting at a traffic light. The woman asking me to move was Rebecca Wolfson, the woman from the airport months earlier. The other woman was Eunjoo Kensinger from the library and church. At the time of interview however I didnít recognize them, all I knew was that things didnít ďseem rightĒ. Gradually, as more people arrived and seemed to know each other I  realized that most if not all of these people were already employees. This was not a cattle call; it just felt like one. Eventually we were ushered to a room and told the schedule for the next few days by a very bored and humorless old guy who never spoke to me personally. Somewhere in this period we went around the corner and had  ďmedical testsĒ which were a joke. I donít remember much, but then I donít remember it being much: a vision test, a hearing test, and a blood sample all of it administered by a young woman in a nurses outfit who seemed to have the personality of a rock. While waiting I flipped through the medical folders for the 2 CIA guys ahead of me. Nothing interesting. About the same time a cleaning person came through emptying waste baskets. Right behind him was a security guard watching his every move. The security guardís name tag read James Brown. I grinned inside. ( Imagine that. I can tell everyone that I met James Brown at the CIA! This turned out to be a strange coincidence. A couple of years later while working as an orbital analyst on the Iridium project in Leesburg, Virginia I met James Brown again. He was working at the Iridium master control facility. I asked him if he had ever worked in Tysonís Corner and he suddenly looked surprised and then said no, he had never worked there. Good grief! Even the security guards were playing the covert game. Itís funny. You canít make this stuff up. And Iíll never forget meeting James Brown at the CIA.)

                        After the blood test, we were allowed to get some food at the cafeteria in the Stafford Building. Like an idiot, I followed the directions in the pre-interview package not to eat breakfast before the blood test ( fasting blood sugar test?) so I was starving. Except for a middle-aged fellow I was alone in the cafeteria. The food was horrible and the coffee worse.( This seemed to be one of the defining characteristics of Tysonís Corner. Everywhere you went the coffee was terrible, like brown water. They must have dipped the bean in twice and then boiled the water. They needed some Spanish people to show them how to make coffee!) The weather was cold and the people were even colder. I did not like the place and I did not like the people. My head was still hurting too. So far I was extremely unimpressed with the place and the people. They just seemed nasty. I was very disappointed. I had expected to eventually meet somebody in person who would greet me. (Some years later I remember reading about some of the Lost Boys from Sudan who had made it to the US. The journey of the Lost Boys is a real life epic. Fleeing from the genocidal attacks by the ďGovernment of SudanĒ these boys spent several years  trying to survive while traversing thousands of miles of hostile terrain including wild lions and crocodiles. Someone asked them what they felt when they first arrived in America. I guess the person asking them the question expected them to say something like joy or a feeling of freedom. The Sudanese boy replied that he felt lonely and sad because there was no one at the airport to greet them. At the moment I read that, I thought of my CIA interview experience and I knew exactly what he meant.) Eventually, I was back in the room with the other people and Mr. Nasty Old Guy where we filled out these asinine Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Indicator psychology tests. ( Really, even if I thought stealing was OK does anyone really think I would be stupid enough to admit to it on an employment application?) Or at least I took the test. Everyone else seemed to breeze through it in mere minutes.  Meanwhile back at the ranch Iím still conscientiously reading each question and thoughtfully answering each question to avoid any inadvertent admissions that I might steal office supplies in the future. Iím a little slow sometimes, but not that slow. The MMPI test, like a lot of things there, was a setup and nobody was taking it seriously except me.

                        After the bogus MMPI  test, I leave and board a van to the Tech 1 building at 901 Follin lane in nearby Vienna. The afternoon activity is the polygraph exam. Iím actually relieved to see that the van driver is the same happy fellow who picked us up in the morning. I think I would rather be a van driver for the CIA. They seem a lot nicer and a heck of a lot happier than the damn spy people. Yes, thatís it of course! To heck with engineering, just be a CIA van driver!

                        Upon arrival at the Tech 1 building we got to a room on the ground floor thatís barely furnished and the shades are drawn. Itís a depressing room, in that regard itís much like everything that I have encountered at the CIA. Some of the same people are there. The others Iím not sure about. Cash is dispensed to reimburse for travel expenses. Another nasty old guy is dispensing the cash. I try to make conversation with him. True to form, he doesnít respond. Is he so stupid that he doesnít realize that his behavior is rude or is it just that he doesnít give a damn? After a half million years later, box lunches arrive. Actually box snack would be a better description. The box looks like a plain cardboard container about the size of two small dictionaries. Inside is the worldís smallest bag of potato chips and another snack item which really sucked.  How could an agency like the CIA be THAT freakiní cheap? I feel like screaming.  Itís cold as can be outside. My head is pounding inside. Iím starving and I havenít had a decent cup of coffee since leaving Florida. Already Iím beginning to think ďGee. I donít like this place. Northern Virginia sucks. The people suck. The CIA people suck really badly. And still no one has personally greeted me and explained what my job here might actually be.Ē

                        I sit down next to Cheri Leberknight and a short, pretty young blonde woman. Months later, I realize that this blonde woman might be the clandestine cologne sprayer from the mall. The blond woman is talking to Cheri Leberknight and tells her a story about Barbara Bush making a visit to Germany (?). Apparently the woman was working at the US embassy in Germany at the time. During the visit Mrs. Bush lost her sunglasses and requested that the embassy staff locate them. When they asked her where she lost them her response was something to the effect of  ďI donít know. One of those castles!Ē  Miss Leberknight and the blonde woman were amused by this story. Actually so was I and for a moment I felt like a human being. I was not exactly part of the conversation but at least for a while not everyone had run away to the other corner of the room ( or out of the room entirely).

                        After the box nonlunch, it was upstairs to the 3rd floor for some more intensive waiting and being ignored. I sat down and leaned up against the wall, curled up in my jacket trying to stay warm and get some sleep. I was tired, hungry, cold, my head was still pounding, and I had yet to have anybody explain to me what the job was that I might be doing and why I should put up with being treated like dirt in order to get that job.  As usual the people in the room separated out like oil and water, me in one spot and everybody else associating with one another. I tried to sleep. After a while, a middle aged black woman came out and announced that ďweĒ would be having the polygraph exams. Of course I can never be certain, but Iíd be willing to bet that ďweĒ werenít having polygraph exams. ďWeĒ were all having the SAME polygraph exam with me sitting in the hotseat being interrogated and the rest of ďweĒ sitting on the other side of the 2 way mirror in the polygraph exam room. While making her announcement, the middle aged woman made a strange comment that everyone there seemed to get a chuckle out of. I later realized that this was a reference to a website that I had visited while websurfing.

(They had also been reading my e-mail!) I was taken back to a small room with a small desk and a cabinet in it by the polygraph examiner, a freaky looking midde-aged guy with white hair by the name of ďScottĒ. In the corner was a small coatrack with a trenchcoat hanging from it. ( Oh Puhlease! How corny. Who the hell actually wears a trench coat?) The wall behind ďScottĒ is a 2 way mirror. Iím annoyed. This is definitely unfriendly and a total setup. If I had been more alert, I would simply have picked up the chair to move it and thrown it through the 2 way mirror ďby accidentĒ. Unfortunately, I wasnít very alert . I sat meekly down into the chair for the polygraph exam. The polygraph was the usual bunch of sensors connected to a laptop computer. The exam began and Scott asked questions which became progressively more intrusive. At some point, Scott decided he ďhadĒ something and began really interrogating me on something. The guy was absolutely arrogant and condescending! These people had been violating my privacy every which way but loose for months and then I come up here and they treat me like dirt and then give me this asshole of a cretin who seems to think he has right to ask me about my private life! I was flabbergasted, astounded and furious at the same time. I held my tongue, but I wanted to tell this guy the simple truth: 

            Guy, I donít have to be here. And I donít have to take your exam. Cause I donít owe you or the CIA one damn thing. I donít work for you. If anybody owes anybody anything, you owe me for violating my privacy every way imaginable.

 

I tried to be patient with the guy. But eventually I couldnít take it anymore. Finally, I announced that the polygraph exam is over and ripped off the guys sensors. The polygraph examiner looked startled and said ďDonít do that. Youíll just have to do it all over.Ē Bingo! If this guy was trying to push my angry button, he just succeeded brilliantly! I was on my way to being the first CIA applicant to murder a polygraph examiner. I was so stunned and furious I couldnít move. I just wanted to reach through this guyís chest and pull his liver out with my bare hands!  Youíll have to take the test again? My ass! I was stunned by the arrogance of this guy! He seemed to think that I had some obligation to answer his questions. I had no such obligation at all! Again, I said nothing but I was thinking:

 

No, I donít have to take the test again. I didnít have to take it the first time.

 

Scott was surprised and scurried off and returned with a big thug with huge hambone arms. We had some words. The thug told me not to use profanity as this was a professional office! Again, I was incredulous. After what these guys had put me through THEY should be apologizing. I saw nothing professional about being a bunch of lying, thieving jerks like these CIA scumbags. I told the thug that if he didnít like my language he could leave. Asshole. He held his tongue. So I held mine.

            After signing some mysterious paperwork, I stormed out of the building and threw the visitorís badge in the lap of the SPO at the door as I walked out. I didnít know if I was supposed to sign out when I left and I didnít give a shit. I decided to walk back to the hotel because I didnít trust anything that had anything to do with the CIA assholes. I walked back to the hotel and my bugged hotel room. The first day had not gone well.

 

            At the hotel, I decided to just stay in my room for the next 2 days and then fly out on time. I wasnít sure if they really expected me to show up for the rest of the ďinterviewĒ. Wasnít sure I cared. I figured if they were interested they could come to me. Hopefully, they would come with an apology and some major explanations.

            Sometime while I was there at the hotel, I heard voices in the hallway. After a few minutes I got curious and stood inside my room at the door staring out the peephole. Eventually, the door to the room across the hall opened and Miguel Fabregas stepped out. I think this was the first moment when I realized I had seen this guy before. Immediately I got more agitated. Maybe theyíre using the room across the hall to watch the video from the hidden cameras. That would shorten the cable run to the monitors and recording devices.

            On another occasion during the stay there I looked out the window surveying the area outside the hotel. A few floors down on another wing of the hotel was a window open and sitting there in her room was Eunjoo Kensinger. I donít know if that was pure coincidence or not. The odds of that happening seem incredibly remote, yet I canít think of any reason for her to be spying on me from the window of her hotel room. After all, the place was wired to the hilt.

            On one of the remaining days in the hotel room, I crossed the busy road in front of the hotel and went to the strip mall there. Someone had told me that there was a coffee shop there and I was anxious to find a cup of coffee that actually had coffee in it. As I reached the sidewalk a couple on the sidewalk began smooching and hugging. They were wearing trenchcoats. Good grief. The trenchcoat thing again. Then the man and woman turn to me with absolutely joyous looks on their face and the man says ďWill you tell this woman I LOVE her?Ē  I smile and say ďIím sure he loves you very much!Ē I then walk on to the coffee shop thinking to myself ďand thereís my voiceprint for your records guy.Ē  What a phony! Nobody in northern Virginia acts like that. Itís totally out of character for those people. I was there a few short days and the first thing you notice about those people on the street is that they never smile, they donít act friendly, they avoid eye contact, and are suspicious of any attempts to make conversation. And then Iím supposed to believe that this happy couple wearing trenchcoats and behaving so oddly is for real. Sure.

                        I walk to the coffee shop. I pay almost $2 for a cup of coffee from a Russian guy who looks irritated to take my money. The coffee is lukewarm. It tastes like brown water. Sigh.

                        On the way back to the hotel, I look for Mr. and Mrs. Happy. No sign of them though. Thatís OK. They can catch me on the hidden video.

                        Departure day comes and I go to Dulles airport. After checking my luggage, I notice a guy staring at me while standing alone at a ticket counter nearby. Itís odd because the ticket counter appears to be closed. Heís going to be waiting a long time for that ticket. The guy is wearing what looks like a Northface mountaineering coat. In summer of 2004, I see a picture of ex-CIA agent Bob Baer who has written a couple of books since leaving the CIA. Iím surprised. I recognize him. Bob Baer was the guy at the airport. The two books he has written are  "Sleeping With The Devil" and "See No Evil". Later, while reading his book Sleeping With The Devil I run across a passage where he describes standing in line somewhere wearing his, you guessed it,  Northface jacket. Well stay warm Bob. From what I've heard, Bob Baer is pretty disgusted with the state of the government and the CIA too. Maybe we have something in common.

 

November 1996

            A week or so after the interview. I get a call from the CIA. A quiet voice on the other end asks if I still want to work for the CIA.  I say ďNo, I donít think so.Ē At this point Iím totally disgusted with them, I donít trust them and I still havenít heard any explanations or apologies from anyone. 

            I desperately need work as an engineer, but I feel like Iím selling my soul to the devil if I go to the CIA.  Plus, the thought of working in northern Virginia with those assholes seemed horrifying. For the short time I was there it seemed like a frozen hell filled with nasty people.

 

November 30, 1999

                        Cheri Leberknight is arrested by the FSB in Moscow for spying and subsequently declared persona non grata. I see the news reports which result and immediately recognize her name and picture. Later news reports mention that she was seen frequenting a Moscow night club called Galereya where she would frequently take patrons to the bathrooms and perform fellatio on them and try to obtain information.  I donít know if those reports are true, but Iím amused. They might simply be someoneís creative attempt to further smear her character. If true, they just prove that the woman knows how to use her head in a difficult situation.

 

June 2000

                        Call from CIA recruiter John Diehl.  He requests a resumť. Strange. Well who knows maybe they had a change of heart. I still need work desperately. At my age I feel enormously guilty to still be living with my parents being a burden to them. Iím also sick and tired of taking classes with the cut-throat pre-med students at FAU and the stuck-up professors there. The professors at Cal Tech were never as pretentious as the ones at FAU. They were very down-to-earth and some of them actually had Nobel prizes. Iíve been taking classes because Iíve decided that I might want to be an optometrist.

                        I send John  a resume and get back a reply:

 

From: "John Diehl" <johncd@ucia.gov>

To: <tomchristian@juno.com>

Date: Mon, 12 Jun 2000 22:22:34 -0400

Subject: RE: Resume _ Tom Christian

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Tom, Looks great, thank you. Given your background, and providing we can

match your very solid skills and expertise to our requirements, the

Directorate may want to fly you to CIA hqs for the interview.   May also

depend on the type of engineers I get from headquarters to help me in Miami.

In any case, I will stay in touch.  Again, thank you for your interest in

the CIA. John

 

In his first e-mail is his contact info.:

(704) 321-3246 Office

(704) 321-3247 FAX

(888) 798-7929 Skytel

johncd@ucia.gov

 

                        Some days later, I decide to talk to John again. I want to make it clear that Iím not going to put up with the sort of crap that I tolerated in 1996. I call his pager number. He calls me back. I ask him if they intend to put me through all of the ridiculous bullshit surveillance like they did the previous time. He seems surprised and takes the tone of someone whoís dealing with the paranoid conspiracy-buff. He says ďThey donít DO that sort of thing!Ē  Now, Iím hopping mad. The hell they donít! Now, I want to reach through the telephone line and strangle him. Iím a bit surprised though.  Heís either very ignorant or very dishonest. I canít decide which.

                        Could they possibly be so compartmentalized at the CIA that one group is totally unaware of what others are doing or have done? That would be incredibly stupid!

                        After the 9/11 attacks I realized that yes, they COULD be THAT stupid. The events of the 9/11 attacks indicated in a tragic way an excessive compartmentalization of the intelligence community and information.

                        To this day, I still donít know the truth about that little incident.

 

? 2000 -2001

                        I travel to New Orleans to meet the Jesuits. Iím considering being a priest.

I arrive at the Jesuit House in New Orleans. I look outside the window. A blonde woman is sitting in a car outside the Jesuit House with a scarf over her hair. It looks like Valerie Plame but at this distance I canít be sure. Her lips are puckered together tightly as if she were pissed off. Who the hell still wears headscarves these days? The woman sees me staring out the window, starts her car and drives away. Odd.

 

?  2000-2003

                        I have no recollection of the exact time period in which this event occurred. I wish I did.

                        Iím contacted by a headhunter named Melissa Boyle Mahle. Wow three names. She must be important. She asks me some questions about my background. I donít remember how but the topic of my CIA experience comes up. ( Maybe this is a result of the frustrated anti-CIA tirade that I inserted into my MonsterBoard resume. I knew someone at the CIA would see it since John Diehl originally called me in reference to my MonsterBoard resumť. This was my way of giving them a little headache and sending them a message that I knew what they had been doing.)

                        As she pumps me for information on my CIA experience, I can hear her chuckling, almost laughing on the other end. Strange. Headhunters are usually not that happy. In fact, they often sound a bit tired and harried, presumably sick and tired of calling the umpteenth job candidate. Even stranger, she never mentions a specific job. Thatís usually the first thing a recruiter wants to talk about. He wants to a) find out if youíre interested in the job heís trying to place and b) try to find out if you meet the clientsí job requirements. His goal is to find these 2 things out immediately so he can waste as little time as possible with you. She gives me an e-mail address to send a copy of my resumť to. 

                        In spring of 2005, I become aware that Melissa Boyle Mahle is an ex-CIA officer who has authored a book, Denial and Deception. I do a little bit of searching and find the website that sheís using to promote her book. Out of curiousity, I check the registration information for her domain name. One of the e-mail addresses on the domain registration is   foodiereader@earthlink.net, the same e-mail address to which I sent my resumť. I remember the address because when I first saw it I remember thinking ďGee. Thatís an odd one. What is a foodiereader?  You really wonder sometimes about the logic people use to pick their online names.Ē  Hmmm.

 

Nov. 28, 2001

                        John Spann is killed at Mazar-i-Sharif in Afghanistan. Again, I see the news reports and immediately recognize the name and face as being one of the ďlibrary peopleĒ. He was one of the only ones wearing normal clothes in the library, blue jeans I think.

                        Odd though, in some of the news reports itís stated that he joined the CIA from the Marine Corps in June 1999. Really?  Why was he in a library in Pembroke Pines, FL in mid 1996 standing around with Valerie Plame, Cheri Leberknight, Eunjoo Kensinger, Miguel Fabregas, and Dave Robertson?

 

April 10, 2002

                        FSB announces that an attempted spying operation has been thwarted. The FSB accuses Yunju Kensinger , a ďthird secretary in the consular division of the US Embassy in MoscowĒ,  and David Robertson of drugging a Russian Defense Ministry employee and attempting to blackmail him and gain secret information from him.

                        Again I recognize the names and have no doubts that the story is true. Wow, they just canít stay out of trouble.

 

March 2003

                        Weeklong vacation trip to Italy. Itís an escorted tour ... in more ways than one. Two of the women on the tour look like women I had seen weeks earlier at the Sawgrass Mills Mall in Plantation, FL staring at me from  a distance of about 50 yards across the parking lot.   They claim to be from Utah.  Maybe itís just a case of similar appearances. Iím beginning to wonder if Iím letting my imagination runaway with me. I talk to them on a few occasions. I donít think theyíre CIA. Theyíre not nasty enough. FBI maybe?

 

Spring 2003

                        My mom takes a message from a headhunter named Valerie Plame with an ďenergy companyĒ called Brewster-Jennings. Weird, Iíve never heard of Brewster-Jennings, but the name Valerie Plame sounds strangely familiar. I decide not to return the call. I donít want to work for an energy company. It takes me a couple of weeks before I remember who Valerie Plame is.

 

Spring 2003 Ė Days or weeks after the Valerie Plame call.

                        A woman who sounds Chinese calls. She says her name is Gail Heights and that she is a recruiter for University Services. Sounds weird. It sounds like the name of some company that provides janitorial services to the local college. The woman doesnít tell me what they do, why they need an engineer or seem to have a specific job in mind. She does pump me for information about my background. At one point she asks me ďWhat experience do you have designing wire-guided missiles?Ē  ďNone, I reply.Ē She abruptly hangs up.

 

July 2003

                        Valerie Plame is exposed. Hallelujah!  For some 7 years I have lived constantly doubting myself, wondering if I had really remembered this womanís name correctly and even wondering if I wasnít making up memories in my heard, sort of a paranoid delusion of CIA conspiracy. Oddly enough, the media is acting like itís such bad thing and portraying Valerie as if sheís some sort of hero. In the publicly released photos, she is smiling. I have trouble recognizing her with the smile on her face. The press also describes her as a counter-proliferation officer dealing in WMD. WMD? Surrrrrrrrrrre. And just where do I fit in with weapons of mass destruction?

                        I thank god for taking this evil bitch out of circulation.

 

Fall (?) 2003

                        The indictment of Gao Zhan is announced including her aliases of Gail Heights and front company University Services. Bingo!  Weird woman is a spy. Iím just guessing that as part of her cooperation deal with the government she was working with the CIA to investigate various leads.

 

(?) 2003

                        I write Senator Bob Graham to complain about the CIA conducting spy operations inside the US. Nothing happens. Guess he decided to bury it instead of doing the right thing.

 

July Ė August 2005

                        I contact Florida Senator Mel Martinezís office at least 5 times by e-mail, fax, letter and phone call to complain about the Central Intelligence Agency spying inside the US ( specifically against myself ). Nothing happens.

                        I make a similar pattern of complaints to my other senator , Senator Bill Nelson. Upon calling to inquire about the status of my complaint, Iím told that the senator has no record of my letter or e-mail. On August 25, I hand deliver a copy of my letter along with the details of the CIA surveillance to his office in Davie, FL. I hand the letter to a young black woman by the name of McClain.

                        As of  November 2, 2005, there is no response from either Senator Martinez or Nelson. I guess agencies like the CIA can abuse their power as much as they like and Congress will do nothing. Apparently, it's too much to expect from a senator that he do the job that we so generously pay him to do.

 

November 2, 2005

                        The grand jury working with special prosecutor Patrick Fitzgerald finished last week. Today, I sent a follow-up e-mail to Sen. Martinez on his senate web-site requesting that he explain what action is being taken against the CIA personnel who were spying on me. I also inform him that my complete account of events is posted on this web-site, just in case he lost the original which was sent to him on multiple occasions by different means. I'm wondering if he will ever respond. Maybe tomorrow I will send a message to Senator Bill to see if he will continue ducking his responsibility too.

 

November 3,2005

                        Sent a similar e-mail to Senator Nelson.

                        No response yet from Sen. Martinez. Perhaps on Friday .... of 2020. My experience with Senators Nelson and Martinez has pretty much proved what I have been saying.  They're not in Washington, DC to look after our interests or to do the right thing. They're just there to take care of themselves.

                        Saw an interview on CNN tonight extolling the virtues of Valerie Plame and praising her. They also mentioned that she will be vested in retirement within the next few months. I have to wonder if certain folks are deliberately stringing this out to make sure that Valerie gets to retire from life early. That kind of figures. In America the people who do the right thing get screwed and wind up working until they die. But a wicked person like Valerie Plame can get a cushy job and be able to retire at a young age just because she's pretty . I detest those crazy Al-queda freaks, but I have to say I think they got one thing right:  America is truly an evil place.

 

November 8,2005

                        It was revealed a few days ago in the media that the CIA has been running a secret network of

prisons. Or at least that's the report. I don't know of course if it's true or not. The amazing thing however is not

the news report itself but Congress's reaction to it. You would think that our Congress would be outraged by this

and take action to shut down the secret prison network and punish the CIA officials involved. You would think

that of course if you were a logical, fair-minded person. But no, our Congress is now seeking to investigate and

punish whoever whoever leaked the information!! This is asinine. They should find out who leaked the

information alright .... and then give him a medal for doing the right thing.  Then they should immediately fire

whoever at CIA is responsible for this incredible violation of human rights.

                        This is just one more example of how warped and corrupt our Congressmen have become. They

are so morally and logically impaired that they are virtually incapable of doing the right thing.

                        That reminds me. I should go see my useless senators, Senator Bill and Senator Mel,  personally

to see how they're doing investigating my complaint against the CIA.

 

Some corroborating info.:

            I haven't much to offer as proof. It's not as if I was carrying a camera about in my daily life. What I can offer is this:

            Someone should be able to prove that this security guard, James Brown,

was actually at the Stafford Building [1500 Westbranch Drive, Tysonís Corner,VA] in November 1996.  After all, how else would I know that he worked there at that time unless I was there? Also, the inside layout offers some corroboration. Again how else would I know unless I had been there? Of course, you would have to find someone who has been in the Stafford Building to offer corroboration. (And of course, it has been 9 years since I was there, so you need someone who was in the building at that time.) The building is L-shaped I believe with one leg of the L at the north end of the property ( that leg running east-west). The other leg runs north-south along the west side of the property with the corner of the building where the 2 legs meet at the northwest corner. This is just to orient you, not to try to prove anything. On the southeast corner of the leg running along the north end of the property is a conference room on the first floor. The conference room had windows overlooking the north parking lot entrance\driveway to the building. I was never anywhere in the building except the 1st floor. Also on the first floor was a metal safe with a door maybe 5-6 feet high, several feet wide. I believe the safe was built into a wall so it was like a room by itself. Also on that first floor were the machines to test your vision and audio-testing booths. The room with the safe door was located near the door to the room containing the hearing testing booths.

                        It would also be interesting to see where a number of these people say they were in early Novermber of 1996. If they say they were anywhere but northern Virginia then, they're lying and wonít be able to prove it. I know  Cheri Leberknight, Rebecca Wolfson, Eunjoo Kensinger, and the cologne sprayer from the US embassy in Germany were there. I believe I was there from Novermber 5 - 7, Tues. to Thurs.  Oh yes, I also KNOW that Bob Baer was there since I saw him in the airport. I believe Dave Robertson was there too.

                        Hopefully someone can also verify that Dave Robertson has dental implants. How else would I know that?  That was kind of a weird thing too. Assuming I remember correctly, I think it was Dave Robertson who came up to the periodicals window in the library and for some strange reason mentioned that he had dental implants. I keep wondering if that was a some sort of strange memory test to see if I would remember it later. Odd.

                        Locating Rebecca Wolfson would help. To my knowledge, she has never been mentioned in the press or ever had her picture published. Having met her though, I know that she is tall, white and has dark hair. I'm 5'10". I think she's at least 6' tall.

                        Dave Robertson I believe had dark hair and was shorter than me. I've never seen a photo of him published anywhere.

                        If anyone can get access to any construction records or contracts,they might be able to verify that the Tech 1 building at 901 Follin Lane, Vienna,VA  was being painted on the inside on the first floor at the time. I remember the strong smell of paint and seeing some unfinished walls at the time. Inside the building at 901 Follin lane at the time was the "polygraph exam room" (on the 3rd floor I think) with the 2 way mirror in it.

 

Postscript:

 

Iíve received a lot of hate e-mail from people who support Valerie Plame including this one

from Larry Johnson:

 

From     :           lcjohnso <lcjohnso@ix.netcom.com>

To         :           "tomchristian@juno.com" <tomchristian@juno.com>                   

Subject :           Re: And just like George Bush.              

Date     :           Wed, 24 Aug 2005 22:28:00 -0400 (GMT-04:00)

 

Well, I'm keeping track of you phone conversations.  Friends on the inside,

you know.  You really shouldn't be so rude to telemarketers.

 

                Shortly after the beginning of my exchange of e-mails with Larry Johnson, I began receiving

several phishing attempts per day trying to obtain my credit card information along with a lot of unsolicited

e-mails from various listservers including plenty of sexually related material, none of it very good though.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

           People have also criticized me for not supporting the CIA and described the CIA folks

as heroes. The people at the CIA are NOT heroes. They're a bunch of selfish, relatively unskilled,

uneducated people working cushy government jobs who seem to have no respect whatsoever

for their fellow Americans. Given my experience with them, they're arrogant and couldn't care

less about the rest of us. We're just the dirt that God made for them to walk on. We're here to work

hard and pay the bills so they can run around and play spy. They do it because it boosts their ego

and prevents them from having to work a real job where they might have to get tired, be truly productive

and get their hands dirty. I suspect that if being a spy paid minimum wage and involved real work,

most of them would probably quit.

        [ This seems to be a common theme in America by the way. Those who do the least, get the

most. And those who do the most, get the least. Capitalism is just a fancy word and a rationalization

for greed and  exploitation. I'm beginning to think we need a revolution in this country in order to get

a real democracy instead of this phony capitalist, "representative" democracy. Really now people,

how in the hell could you possibly have a democracy when it's run by so-called "representatives" who

only represent themselves? It's time for something like the Super Democracy concept advocated

by the late Tim Stryker of Galacticomm. Democracy sounds like a great idea. And I think it's time it came

to America. Something else that disturbs me is the sort of people who hold positions of power in the US.

They tend to be relatively uneducated, unskilled people with little expertise. Often they are people with

bullshit degrees in things like law and political "science". (Political "science". Now there's a degree that's

about as stupid as having a degree in basket-weaving. No offense to basket weavers, who probably do

real work.) This is why we have the sorts of problems that we have in America. The stupid people are

running everything. I can design half of the things on this planet yet I am stuck working menial jobs

while our president is a corrupt, halfwit history student with a C average. The mean-spiritedness and

corruption of this country never fails to amaze me. ]

            It's amazing to me that our government officials are so concerned because some CIA woman

can no longer travel overseas and squander our money doing wicked things. And they act as if some

terrible tragedy has occurred because she is now stuck working a cushy desk job at CIA headquarters

making good money and still having health insurance. She still has a good salary, a nice house, a spouse,

children, health insurance and a chance to retire some day with a pension. She has a lot more than many

Americans who have more skills, more education and have worked a lot harder than she has. In short

she still leads a pretty charmed life. I know plenty of people who would like to have that sort of tragedy.

If our government officials really want to be concerned about something important, they should be working

on creating good jobs, setting up a national health care system so some of us can actually have health care

for a change, getting affordable housing, creating a national pension fund and having the government pay for

higher education for students.

            Another problem with the CIA is that they are fundamentally cost-ineffective. The annual intelligence

budget was recently revealed to be 44 billion dollars. Think about that for a minute. Forty four billion dollars.

An astronomical sum of money. For 44 billion dollars, we could give a million dollar bribe, EVERY YEAR, to

44,000 people. We could pick out all of the major miscreants on this planet and give them a million dollar bribe

every year and probably do it a hundred times over. We wouldn't NEED intelligence on these people. They

would all be our friends. They would be eating out of hands. Face up to the facts people:  THE PEOPLE

AT CIA ARE DEAD WOOD. Get rid of them and save all of us some money. I'd rather have healthcare

than the CIA.

            Anyway, I was talking about heroes. If you want to see some real heroes take a look at the

Free Burma Rangers:

                                    http://www.freeburmarangers.org/

These people deliver relief aid and medical care and document human rights violations inside Burma.

They go into active war zones to do it.  They do a much more dangerous job than our CIA folks and

to my knowledge they don't get paid salaries or huge pensions. And they don't have a huge network

of  resources at their disposal with which to do it.

            Or if you're not into large groups, check out the life's work of Robert Ba Zahn:

                                    http://karenstruggle.20m.com/intro.html

He's probably contributed more to the cause of democracy than Valerie Plame ever will and he didn't

wind up with a cushy job and a fancy house in an expensive neighborhood.

 

 

Some Miscellaneous Info. From Public Records Search:

 

LEBERKNIGHT, CHERI J
LEBERKNIGHT, TERESA K
LEBERKNIGHT, MARY E
LEBERKNIGHT, JAMES W
Age: 38
Age: 33
Age: 64
Age: 73
DOB: 10/23/1966
DOB: 11/08/1971
DOB: 02/27/1940
DOB: 10/27/1931
2804 LAFORA CT
VIENNA, VA 22180 
07/01/2002

LEBERKNIGHT, CHERI J
Age: 38
DOB: 10/23/1966
2064 MEADOW ST
IDAHO FALLS, ID 83401 
07/01/2001

LEBERKNIGHT, CHERI J
Age: 38
DOB: 10/23/1966
BOX 6171
MC LEAN, VA 22106 
07/01/2001

LEBERKNIGHT, CHERI J
38
10/23/1966
2804 LAFORA CT
VIENNA, VA 22180
Phone: (703) 204-0787
04/01/2001

The Young Adults Ministry of Holy Comforter seeks to invite and connect people in their 20ís & 30ís through
Fellowship, Community Service and Spiritual Discernment to assist in the transformation of lives through the power of Christ.
For more information about the Young Adults Ministry or about our scheduled events, contact
Cheri Leberknight at cjknight_id@yahoo.com/ 703-846-0345 or Mike Croghan at
mike@mikeandtina.net/ 703-319-7046.
Church of the Holy Comforter is located at
543 Beulah Rd., NE,
Vienna, Virginia 22180,
just minutes from Tyson's Corner and the Capital Beltway.

Google search:
Daniel Zurita - (703) 846-0345 - 7616 Savannah St, Falls Church, VA 22043

DIEHL, JOHN C
DIEHL, JANET L
55
51
11/10/1953
4012 MANOR HOUSE DR
CHARLOTTE, NC 28270
(704) 814-9289
06/01/2004

DIEHL, JOHN C
DIEHL, CLARA V
DIEHL, DAVID
DIEHL, WALTER C
43
75
-
74
12/01/1961
08/25/1929
-
02/22/1930
4611 49TH ST NW NW
WASHINGTON, DC 20016 
06/01/2004

DIEHL, JOHN C
DIEHL, JANET L
55
51
-
11/10/1953
10628 PROVINCIAL DR #B
MANASSAS, VA 20109  09/14/2003


DIEHL, JOHN C
DIEHL, JANET L
DIEHL, KRYSTA N
DIEHL, JOHN CAIN
54
52
52
58
08/04/1950
-
12/28/1952
09/08/1946
6841 HOLLOW GLEN CT
GAINESVILLE, VA 20155 
05/26/2003


DIEHL, JOHN C
DIEHL, JANET L
55
52
-
-
10319 MASSIE ST #201
MANASSAS, VA 20110
(703) 257-5890
03/01/2002


BAER, ROBERT B
53
-
516 ARCHIBALD WALK SE SE
WASHINGTON, DC 20003 
06/01/2004


BAER, ROBERT B
-
-
516 SE ARCHIBALD WLK
WASHINGTON, DC 20003  08/01/2001

BAER, ROBERT B
52
07/11/1952
2501 K ST NW
WASHINGTON, DC 20037 
03/19/1999


GOSS, PORTER J
-
-
VILLAGE COTTAGE
WEST BABYLON, NY
11704
Phone: (631) 788-7694
09/30/2004


GOSS, PORTER J
GOSS, PETER J
-
-
-
-
FISHERS ISLAND, NY 06390
(631) 788-7347
09/30/2004


GOSS, P J
GOSS, PORTER J
GOSS, MARY ROBINSON
GOSS, LESLIE OLIVER
GOSS, GERRIT J
GOSS, VIRGINIA J
-
66
64
41
34
93
-
11/26/1938
10/17/1940
07/15/1963
04/29/1970
11/01/1911
PO BOX 248
SANIBEL, FL
33957 
11/27/2003

GOSS, PORTER J
-
-
7413 RETREAT RD
RAPIDAN, VA 22733  08/17/2003


GOSS, ROBINSON M
GOSS, PORTER J
GOSS, MARY R
GOSS, LESLIE O
GOSS, LESILE O
56
67
64
41
41
05/20/1948
-
10/17/1940
07/07/1963
07/07/1963
11888 BREYMAN AVE SW
PORTLAND, OR 97219
(503) 699-9047
03/12/2002

GOSS, PORTER J
66
11/26/1938
1822 WOODRING RD
SANIBEL, FL 33957
(941) 472-2234
07/03/2000

GOSS, PORTER J
GOSS, MARY ROBINSON
66
64
11/26/1938
10/17/1940
123 D ST SE
WASHINGTON, DC 20003
(202) 547-1274 03/19/1999

PLAME, SAMUEL
PLAME, SAMI
PLAME, DIANE
PLAME, S
PLAME, SAMUEL D
PLAME, DIANE E
84
76
04/30/1920
-
2078 WALLER DR
HUNTINGDON, PA 19006
(215) 947-1373
06/30/2004

TENET, GEORGE J
52
01/05/1953
10312 BELLS MILL TER
POTOMAC, MD 20854
(301) 983-1466
04/01/2003

TENET, JOHN
TENET, GEORGE J
TENET, GEORGE
-
52
-
-
01/05/1953
-
4228 MARATHON PKWY
LITTLE NECK, NY 11363
(718) 225-7648 03/12/2002

TENET, GEORGE J
TENET, GEORGE
52
-
01/05/1953
-
520 HURONVIEW BLVD
ANN ARBOR, MI 48103 
07/01/2001

TENET, GEORGE J
52
01/05/1953
RIVER RD #50912
POTOMAC, MD 20854 
03/20/1999

PLAME, VALERIE E
4612 CHARLESTON TER NW
WASHINGTON, DC 20007 
(202) 342-9888
09/01/2004


DONGHUA, XUE D
12731 MILL HTS CT
HERNDON, VA 20171 
09/01/2004


DONGHUA, XUE D
4936 BENTBROOK DR
MANLIUS, NY 13104 
04/01/2003

DONGHUA, XUE D
8118 AMETHYST DR
MC LEAN, VA 22102 
05/01/2002


DONGHUA, XUE D
8150 AMETHYST DR
MC LEAN, VA 22102 
02/01/2001


ROBERT, RICHER
BOX 680364
PARK CITY, UT 84068 
11/01/1994


RICE, CONDOLEEZZA
50
11/14/1954
700 NEW HAMPSHIRE AVE NW #517
WASHINGTON, DC 20037
(202) 625-7479
06/01/2004

RICE, CONDOLEEZZA
50
11/14/1954
14 PETER COUTTS CIR
STANFORD, CA 94305
(650) 813-1516
01/01/2002
 

 

Some Closing Wisdom

 

"Do not think that anyone, anywhere is of no value."

 

 

"In the US you have 'winners' and 'losers'.

The winners get a lot, but the losers get nothing."

--Lee Kwan Yew, former President of Singapore, commenting

on his visit to New York and an encounter with a homeless man.

 

 

"A good deed never goes unpunished."

 

"When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint.

When I ask why the poor have no food, they call me a communist."

-- Dom Helder Camara

 

"You can't be a Capitalist AND a Christian,

For Greed does not coexist with Compassion."

 

 

"George Bush has created lots of jobs. Just ask the Chinese."

 

 

 

Site Maintained by:

Tom Christian

z3n4428317965@yahoo.com