At times, over the decade of involuntary testing with directed energy weapons that I have endured at the hand of Federal operatives, there have been some rather comical and bizarre encounters. I have been the target of a myriad of failed ’sting’ operations by Federal agents using women, drugs, and other illicit lures. These failed attempts to discredit me have at times been quite bizarre. Here is one rather humorous incident that occurred about three years after the harassment began.

It was an unseasonably cool, gray, mid-April Sunday afternoon. The Newark Path Train Station (Newark, NJ) was the scene of casual commuters bound for New York City. As was occasionally my custom on Sunday evenings, I had the thick Sunday Times newspaper in hand, bound for New York City. This solitary ritual included reading my favorite newspaper, a quiet meal at a New York restaurant, and perhaps a movie. I enjoyed the solitude, as it allowed me to read the newspaper at leisure without distraction.

I boarded the train at the first stop, Newark Penn Station. At Journal Square Station (the third stop), I transferred to a train bound for 33rd Street, New York City. I took a seat, and began reading as the train waited in the station.

It was at this moment that I first saw her, entering the car doors immediately to my left. To most observers, she was a young, attractive woman headed for a night of partying. She was a tall, shapely blonde, dressed in tight, suggestive clothing. However, I quickly sensed that her appearance did not reveal the true picture. She was, in fact, not just another casual commuter. It was the infamous Mata Hari (see footnote), looking for her next victim!

How could I so easily recognize a covert Federal agent in plainclothes? In the three years I had been a target of directed energy weapons torture up to that time, the ability to distinguish plainclothes operatives and Federal agents from the broad human palette that surrounds me was developing rapidly. Often, in a matter of seconds, a plainclothes operative may provide a number of clues that reveal their motives and methods. Well, Mata Hari was dripping clues like a busted water-main. Let me share what I saw. You will see why I knew, without question, that this was indeed Mata Hari!

First, I sensed by her clothing that she was a plainclothes agent. She was an attractive blonde, evidently of suburban upbringing. Yet, her clothing was “prostitute chic,” a low-cut powder blue halter top that exposed her midriff, tight low rise jeans, and high heels.

That was the first clue. I could see in her demeanor that the clothing she wore was not her normal style of dress. Suppose Martha Stewart suddenly started dressing like Brittany Spears. You would sense the incongruity, even if you saw her for the first time. The demeanor of the woman, her countenance, would be incompatible with the “trashy” style of clothing. So it was with Mata Hari. Her clothing did not fit her. It was a covert agent’s costume, not her normal way of dressing.

Here is the second clue. It was a seasonably cool, late April afternoon. No one at this time of year would think of traveling without a light coat at the minimum. Yet, Mata Hari did not wear so much as a light sweater. Clearly, she wanted to be noticed, to bait her prey. Her clothing also told me that she came from a heated environment within the train station, most likely the police station located two levels above.

Here is a third clue that drew me to that conclusion. Mata Hari was wearing freshly applied perfume. Are you familiar with the scent of perfume when it is first applied? It takes at least five minutes for the alcohol base of perfume to dissipate fully after application. You can easily smell that alcohol until body heat evaporates it. Her perfume had strong alcohol overtones as she entered the train. That told me that she applied it only minutes ago. However, she did not carry a purse or bag. That eliminates her applying it in the ladies room. The jeans she wore were too tight to hold a bottle of cologne or perfume . . . Where did she apply her perfume? There is a Transit Police station in the Journal Square station two levels above the train. Being a Federal agent, she probably applied it there, as she dressed for this assignment. No store sold perfume in this station.

As Mata Hari entered the waiting train, her eyes quickly swept the car. In doing so, she provided a fourth clue. Most persons entering a subway car look for a seat. Mata Hari was not looking for a seat, she was scanning the faces of the riders, looking for her victim. In that moment, our eyes met briefly. She quickly turned away, then glanced at me a second time. She studied my face for an instant. I knew why. She was trying to see if her provocative attire was having the desired effect upon me. Not wanting to encourage her, I kept a deadpan expression. It worked. Instead of sitting next to me, she sat one seat away. She did not see anything in my eyes that indicated I would be an easy target.

As the train lurched toward the next stop, Mata Hari began glancing at me repeatedly. I studied her actions from the corner of my eye while appearing to be engrossed in my newspaper. It was not the first time they targeted me using a female agent. However, it was the first time a female agent approached me on a train. What was her intent, her plan? I was apprehensive and a bit fearful. Yet, I wanted to know what her scheme was, adding it to the body of knowledge I had accumulated regarding my harassers over the past few years.

I decided that the best way to uncover her scheme was to make her work harder to achieve it. The harder she worked, the more obvious her motives would become. Meanwhile, Mata Hari was attracting plenty of attention from the men in that train car.

I observed her continued glances at me from the corner of my eye. Some would interpret her glances as admiring. I knew better. They were the glances of a woman with a job to do, growing increasingly impatient at my lack of response. This train ride is a short one (about twenty minutes), and time was running out. If she was going to make her move, it had to be soon.

Mata Hari’s next move seemed almost surrealistic. She suddenly began to bend forward in her seat repeatedly, apparently, to attract my attention to her derriere. It was an oddly executed rhythmic forward and backward motion. She glanced at me as she did so. I saw the expression of the fellow seated across from her change from a flirtatious stare to wide-eyed puzzlement. Her motion was neither seductive or erotic, although evidently, that was its intent. It was attracting attention for all the wrong reasons. At this point, I was working hard to control my urge to burst out in laughter. I was also becoming embarrassed, as onlookers were beginning to wonder what the connection was between this woman and me. She continued this motion for about 15 seconds or so, then stared at me. I did not respond, keeping my focus on my newspaper. So, she started her motion all over again. Now she really had everyone’s attention. I watched out of the corner of my eye, barely restraining my urge to burst out laughing. I had never imagined that an encounter with any Federal agent would become so bizarre.

Although this scene had become quite comical, I was still focused on discerning her scheme and neutralizing it. I did not need to wait long. What Mata Hari did next revealed her true motives. . .

Be sure to return and find out what happens in the next installment of this episode!

Footnote: Mata Hari was a famous female spy in the German Secret Service during World War 1. She was a beautiful Parisian dancer known for extracting secrets from foreign diplomats she was intimate with. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I am using Mata Hari as a metaphor for the female Federal agent in this story.

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