("Quid coniuratio est?")
LIFE AS PEGASUS I Had a Dream By Gene Tatum
I had a dream. A dream so intense, a dream so real, that I could swear that it was true. Have you ever experienced such an event? I have often wondered what factors or group of events initiate such intense dreams. Perhaps media coverage of an event prompts the thought process in a particular direction, or perhaps an innocent comment heard during the course of a day initiates the dream. Some would be so bold as to boast that it was a spiritually guided premonition of events to come. After hearing of my dream, my wife told me that she thought it was the spaghetti and caramel pudding that the prison fed us for dinner that acted as the catalyst. Whatever prompted the dream, I suddenly found myself flying ten feet above the ground, in an armed military style helicopter, chasing a radio signal in southern Mexico. "Your target will be transmitting on 46.10 MHz," Lt. Col. North said as he briefed the Archer Team. "Mr. Nir (speaking of my friend Amiram "Ami" Nir) is considered a renegade by the Mossad and they have asked us to bring him down." "Are there any further questions before you depart?" Colby asked. That ended the meeting that brought four Archer members and a Pegasus(1) pilot to Southern Mexico.
The dream was getting clearer and clearer. The plan called for the team of Archers to assassinate Mr. Nir at a packing plant outside of Morelia, Mexico. Ami had scheduled a business meeting at the plant and our intelligence indicated that resistance would be minimal and access optimal. I had just dropped off "The Major" (codename for the Archer leader) and was on my way to the laager point to await the signal to return to the pick up zone for the team when the mission was complete. I smiled as I thought of the conversation I had with Ami the day after we were given the mission.
Amiram Nir was the advisor on terrorism to the Israeli Prime Minister. With those credentials it was a natural for George Bush to accept Mr. Nir as his advisor on arms trading with the terrorist nations of Iran, Iraq, and Libya. What Ami did not know was the involvement of Bush and others in the manufacturing of drugs in exchange for weapons throughout the world. As Mr. Nir worked with Vice President Bush, and Oliver North, an Assistant to the National Security Advisor to Mr. Reagan, his involvement in Bush and North's drug manufacturing enterprise, though unintentional, grew. Amiram Nir, a/k/a Pat Weber, had been involved with Mr. Bush since 1977 in various projects. It would be an understatement to say that the ex-director of the CIA and now Vice President of the United States trusted Ami.
"What made him want you dead?" I asked Ami as we planned his demise.
"I simply know too much and they're scared little boys playing with real men's toys," Ami answered as he sipped a glass of cabernet sauvignon and smiled. "Now Chip, it must look very real. Your Archers are much too good to fool easily," he bragged. "They were trained by us you know!"
"Yep," I answered. "Harari told me of the training, and offered me a slot. I passed on it though. What will you do?" I asked. "Where the hell will you go? How will you live?" I wondered out loud.
"That's my problem," he answered. "For now it's important that these documents, audios and videos, are preserved. I have made a copy of everything for you and have kept the originals. We must be patient in their use. Timing will be critical," he explained. Together we had reconned the area and found a good site to stage a plane crash. "It's important that my body is not identifiable. For this purpose I will have an assistant identify my body. I will be removed immediately and all will be well my friend," he said as I flew him back to Morelia. I offered Ami my hand as we parted, but received a hug instead.
The plans were made. A transmitter on 46.10 MHz was planted in his luggage and he planted an additional transmitter in his briefcase. He then sent the briefcase to the airport with a female assistant. She chartered a Cessna T-210 and directed it to make an emergency landing to a remote area of ranch land. As the Archers attempted to triangulate and confirm the location of the signaling device, a second signal suddenly appeared. It was moving at a high rate of speed toward an airstrip. The Major radioed me and advised me of the movement. He asked me to fly a recon and attempt to locate the source. During my recon I notified him that it seemed to be coming from any one of several people boarding a single-engine aircraft. He ordered me that if it took off, shoot it down. I rogered and flew off to the east, awaiting the departure of the Cessna T-210. I armed a rocket and waited. Ami and I had decided that I would fire a sidewinder and remotely detonate it so that the missile did not pose a threat to the T-210. But the explosion would serve its purpose to fool the Archers into thinking that the plane was downed. The aircraft departed and I took off in quick pursuit. Ten feet off the ground I nosed up and fired the sidewinder. I then leveled off and detonated the missile in mid-air. I contacted the Major and advised him that the aircraft was down. He in turn advised me they heard the explosion and ordered me to recover all teams. We flew to a high point for a physical recon of the crash site from a distance. Happy with the results, the Major ordered the mission complete. A 1988 newspaper article stated that the pilot and a passenger in the front seat were killed. The passengers' name was Pat Weber. The others aboard the aircraft survived, including a woman who had been traveling with Mr. Weber as his secretary. The bodies of Pat Weber and the pilot were removed from the wreckage and taken to local authorities where they were immediately released without being processed (ie. fingerprints, footprints, and photos). I heard Ami's laugh echo, saying it's amazing what a thousand American dollars will buy in Mexico.
Then, as dreams go, a period of time passed. More assassinations of associates involved in Iran Contra were ordered. Faces of those men floated in a dark expanse. First General Gustov Alverez, the Honduran Army Chief of Staff in charge of overseeing the cocaine manufacturing facilities in Honduras, came into focus. As he faded, the face of Enrique Bermudez floated in front of the General. Enrique was the Contra commander in charge of the "North" camps. These "North" camps were named for their creator, Oliver North, and were capable of producing three tons of high grade cocaine a month. William Casey was the next face floating in the expanse. As the Director of the CIA, it was Casey who provided a number of field agents and Langley-based personnel to support the drug facilities. Agents like Joe Fernandez, Claire George, and Dewey Clarriage were working at Casey's direction. The face Amiram Nir was next. He asked me how $50,000 per year intelligence agents could amass the fortunes that Fernandez, George, and Clarriage owned. He then smiled and asked if I was enjoying my prison food. He told me that I should offer the tapes and documents as a trade for my freedom. I, in turn, told him that I had offered the tapes and documents for a suitcase with $5 million and several "get out of jail free" cards. (Monopoly anyone?) But those who put me here were not interested. As Ami's face began to fade into the darkness, he told me it was time to show the world our little surprise. He said, speaking of the tapes, documents, and videos we had compiled through the years, "I'll see you in October my friend."
I woke up. It was so real.
Now we're back to the original question. What do you think causes these very real dreams we experience from time to time? I'm not sure. But it could very well be, in my case, the anticipation of what's to come caused by a hell of a good seed planted years before among friends and allies finally producing the first of many blooms. A dream? Or reality? I'll wait for Ami's "October Surprise".
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