There was an older gray-haired, feeble looking man with a diamond pinky ring to whom I frequently reported at the MPCH. He often brought my mom a paper to sign. At times he coordinated and delivered me to different rooms or cottages to meet with different people. He told me to go inside and wait. Often Reagan was the person I was to wait for. Other times he would say, "Wait in here," and I sat in a lobby or room where a Secret Service agent came to deliver me to then-Governor Reagan. They took me often to a little housekeeping cottage to have sex and deliver messages to Reagan. Later the older man with the diamond pinky ring would come and take me back to my mother's office. He didn't even see who I was delivered to meet. The Secret Service said they liked it better that way because they said it was "once removed," so it wasn't as risky.

There were instances where my mother would pull open a file drawer in her office, remove a file and lay it on her desk for me to read and record. Displayed before me were logs of upcoming dates and times I was to meet Reagan or others at the MPCH. At other times I viewed papers full of instructions of things to say, including specific phrases, to certain people, or lists of columns of four figure numbers that I was instructed to encode and decipher.

At some meetings Reagan would practice a speech in front of me in the theatre. I'd take it all back to the Council and they would correct a line or two, give the exact wording to be used, and I'd deliver the message to Reagan again and he would modify his speech and deliver it as they dictated.

Other times I was instructed to ride my bike to the MPCH or I accompanied my mom to work when she had extra work to do and I'd say I was going outside. She never questioned me. After I started driving at 16, I was instructed to report to my mom's office and ask for money or permission to do something, be ore I went to the theatre so she wouldn't suspect anything if later someone told her they saw me. The man in the theatre who let me in during off-hours 'appeared' to be a janitor, but I guess he was a part of it. Sometimes a group of men at a round table met as I sat off to the side in "park mode," while they discussed what needed to be done with me next or they'd argue about what I was being 'exposed' to. One man ended the argument explaining, "that's what the boss ordered." The boss was Bob Hope. These men seemed to know all about me. But Bob didn't like to meet or have sex with me at the MPCH because he said, "Frankly, the people there are too old." It seemed to depress him to think about old age.

I overheard conversations where the President of the United States and other top politicians were offered the services of "escorts,"-the CIA's latest human robot technology-programmed sex and espionage slaves. They were encouraged to use these escorts to satisfy their sexual and emotional needs, instead of exposing themselves to outside individuals, because these escorts were guaranteed safe — had passed many tests to insure security, were able to provide guaranteed secrecy and were safe from venereal disease.

The presidents and others were highly discouraged by the CIA from other avenues of sexual indiscretions for fear of public exposure. This fear of the consequences of seeking «outside» sexual gratification, fear of adverse publicity or disease, and other security risks, created a heavy demand for the use of this latest human technology.

As I later learned, Project Monarch beta trained sex slaves were called "million dollar babies" referring to the large amount of money each slave would bring in from a very early age. In the 60's the use of a Project Monarch presidential model sex slave cost around $1200 for an evening. Henry called me his "million dollar machine."

My father and his controllers had done their homework, insuring I was Multiple Personality Disordered, certifiably under total and complete mind control and ready for use by certain individuals in top political and entertainment positions, by the time I was a preteen.

But what many of the CIA officials may or may not have been aware of was that a powerful group of men, whom I refer to as "The Council," secretly ran the government. They were also able to access the "mindcontrolled escorts" and program them to subversively influence top government officials in ways that benefited the Council. The CIA's latest human technology was now being used against our own government.

Wearing white sandles, a red shirt and skirt, I was flown by helicopter up near Sacramento, California to the Vacaville Prison. It was another mind control experiment only this time not on me. Mind control programs were tried out on the inmates — programs they wanted to implement with criminals, soldiers, etc., if they worked. Governor Reagan, who was busy touring the facility, wasn't around when they tortured and programmed the prisoners. He went off with a prison official while I was taken to deliver the verbal portion of the program to the men.

On one side of the walkway the inmates were left alone and on the other side they were hooked up to electrodes, with a band around their head and wrists, and were shocked. Then a guard took me to say programming phrases to them like, "I will not commit a crime. I will behave in society like a good citizen. I will no longer offend. I will not rape. I will be calm. I will be peaceful. I will not fight. I will not swear. I will be an asset to society. I will follow orders. I will obey commands. I will serve my country to the best of my ability." They even hooked up their penises to electroshock as a trauma-programming tactic. When they were tortured, the men broke out in a sweat and some even cried, and after the trauma, they had me deliver the program phrases. Whenever I was alone with them, a renegade personality within me that could relate and sympathize with their plight, slipped in the suggestion, "I will fight for my own freedom."

One man was sitting holding his head in his hands and crying. His toe was being shocked through a cuff that went around his toe. These men were writhing in pain and were emotionally broken by the time they brought them to me to deliver the program suggestions. I was told to deliver the messages slowly, distinctly and quietly so their subconscious mind would have to reach for it. Their conscious mind was way out of the way by then. Some men urinated in their cots while they were being electroshocked. Their bodies jerked, they sweated profusely and cried. A man who could still talk afterwards begged me, "Why are they doing this to me? Help me. Please help me get out of here." It was awful.

They helicoptered Reagan and I in and out. It was a top-secret project. By the time they finished with these poor men, they didn't even need to lock the jail cells. They looked and acted comatose.

At one time they said it was cheaper to keep criminals in prison than to sentence them to death. That was probably so they could further their experiments on the mind.

In the early 1970's there was a penal colony in Ottawa, Canada that Reagan corresponded and collaborated with to compare their rate of success with ours. I was flown there with Reagan in order to completely and efficiently retain all the statistical data on their inmate projects. In the early 70's the inmates were heavily targeted like the preschools were in the later 70's. Once we got to the prison location, he had to show a special clearance badge to the man at the door. It was a door inside, not the door anyone could pass through upon arriving. The area we were escorted to was maximum security, which sounded like it was labeled that because of dangerous felons, but it actually held a top security status due to the sensitive nature of the experiments that were held there. Reagan said to the guards when we passed by, "It's okay, she's with me." They usually just waved me through on his word alone. One time in one of the prisons we were in, a black guard said, "What the hell…?" when Reagan showed his badge and then tried to get me waved through.