There is a “Crisis of Character’ within the Clinton’s Presidential Campaign 2016, and this is what the former secret service agent is trying to expose weeks before the expensive Democratic Nomination ceremony that has been plagued with covert maneuverings in the past, just like its Republican counterpart.
“Hillary Clinton is now poised to become the Democratic nominee for president of the United States, but she simply lacks the integrity and temperament to serve in the office. From the bottom of my soul I know this to be true. So I must speak out.
I had no animosity toward the Clintons. Out of a sense of loyalty to our First Family I even secretly disposed of sordid physical evidence that might later have been used to convict the president. The blue dress wasn’t the only evidence of his misdeeds. But I could not keep from asking myself how our nation’s leaders could be so reckless, so volatile, and so dangerous to themselves and to our nation. And yes, to me and my family.
I want you to hear my story. It’s about the men and women risking their lives to protect this nation. And more important, it’s about how the Clintons must never again be allowed to put them or you and your children—at risk.”
– Gary Byrne, ex Secret Service Agent
And just like the secrets of the US petrodollar, this revelation is carried on by some sectors of the mainstream media [here].
“What I saw in the 1990s sickened me,” Byrne explains. “I want you to hear my story.
Because I was there – in the spotlight, in the crosshairs — I realize better than most Americans that we have pretty much forgotten what an amateur-night, three-ring circus the Clinton White House was.”
In the book, Byrne provides a firsthand account of the scandals – known and unknown – and daily trials ranging from the minor to national in scale.
“Having witnessed the personal and political dysfunction of the Clinton White House – so consumed by scandal and destroying their enemies, real and imagined – Byrne came to understand that, to the Clintons, governing was an afterthought.”
The FBI has been promising heaven and earth that it will expose Hillary Clinton if in case the indictment is forestalled indefinitely. That threat against these Cabal prince and princess has yet to be formalized.
Normally, under this circumstance, the Clintons could kiss their presidential campaign goodbye, but will the Sheeples in America heed this latest first hand warnings, and reject another global bloodletting by another Clinton in the White House?
“I witnessed firsthand the Clintons’ personal and professional dysfunction: So consumed were they by scandal, so intent on destroying their real or imagined enemies, that governing became an afterthought. The First Couple wasted days obsessing over how to “kill” a forthcoming book (one alleging that Bill Clinton’s mother ran a brothel) or in squashing yet another tabloid revelation. Their machinations and their constant damage control diverted them from the nation’s real business. Good people like Leon Panetta, Betty Currie, and Evelyn Lieberman had to pick up the slack and bear it for as long as they could.
I saw how the Clinton Machine’s appalling leadership style endangered law enforcement officers, the military, and the American people in general. And with Hillary Clinton’s latest rise, I realize that her own leadership style—volcanic, impulsive, enabled by sycophants, and disdainful of the rules set for everyone else hasn’t changed a bit.
Though portrayed as the long-suffering spouse of an unfaithful husband, whose infidelities I personally observed or knew to be true, the Hillary Clinton I saw was anything but a sympathetic victim. Those loyal to her kept coming back for her volcanic eruptions.
I had no animosity toward the Clintons. Out of a sense of loyalty to our First Family I even secretly disposed of sordid physical evidence that might later have been used to convict the president. The blue dress wasn’t the only evidence of his misdeeds. But I could not keep from asking myself how our nation’s leaders could be so reckless, so volatile, and so dangerous to themselves and to our nation.
And yes, to me and my family. Only under federal subpoena—and later a ruling by U.S. Supreme Court Chief Justice William Rehnquist—did I reveal to Ken Starr’s prosecutors the true story of President Bill Clinton’s false testimony and misstatements.
One morning in late summer 1995, I entered the White House to assume my post just outside the Oval Office officially Secret Service Post E-6. Things were stirring, and I wanted to know why.
Everyone on post that night, Secret Service agents (SAs), Secret Service Uniformed Division (UD) officers like myself, the houseman, and the ushers couldn’t help but hear the First Couple arguing as sounds from their fracases traveled through the old building. Mrs. Clinton had a booming voice, and their yelling matches easily traversed the living quarters’ private elevator, vents, and staircase. Many housemen eased away, but the SAs and UD couldn’t leave their posts. This was especially a big argument that ended with a crash. SAs were obligated to respond and found its cause, a vase on the other side of the room. A houseman picked up the damage. The First Couple couldn’t just sweep up and toss out the remains because everything in the White House is logged and recorded, befitting its role as a national landmark and a veritable museum.
I peeked into the curator’s small, windowless ground-floor office across from the China Room and the Diplomatic Reception Room. It was cluttered with blueprints and history books on the every detail of the White House: fabrics, furniture, artifacts. Sure enough, there was a box containing a light blue vase smashed to bits. The rumors were true!
“Can I help you?”
The White House’s official curator looked up from what she was reading, clearly annoyed and already tired of people checking out the box. “Can I help you, Officer?” she said again.
“No thanks,” I said.
The president entered around nine. His arrival times fluctuated. I couldn’t believe my eyes: a black eye! I was well accustomed to his allergy-prone, puffy eyes. But this was a shiner, a real, live, put-a-steak-on-it black eye. I was shocked. Minutes later, I popped into the office of Betty Currie, the president’s personal secretary. Nancy Hernreich, his personal scheduler, was already there.
“What’s the black mark on the president’s face?” I asked.
I felt real tension.
“Oh, uh, he’s allergic to coffee,” said Nancy, turning toward her office.
“An allergy to coffee shows in just one eye?”
Betty smiled. She burrowed down into her work, chuckling, but looking busy. As I departed, I added, “I’m also allergic to the back of someone’s hand.”
I wanted to send a message. We knew what the mark was from, and it wasn’t right. Surely the Clintons must realize how close we are to them, I thought, how deeply we feel about our responsibilities for their safety. Didn’t they feel the same? It wasn’t just that we protected them 24/7, but we were extremely loyal. We didn’t do our job for the paychecks. Each man and woman protecting them had their reasons, but the Clintons were the focal point of every reason.
What might happen if she had sucker-punched him? Or if that vase had hit its target? If his head hit a countertop corner, my entire life’s work would have been for nothing.
Sure, seeing a president’s black eye is strange but standing at my post I couldn’t escape the sinking feeling that this didn’t make sense.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I loved my job and I believed in it, but I couldn’t make sense of any of it.
It was a circus. Yet I never lost a sense of wonder and excite- ment. Even when the First Lady hollered and cursed and demanded firing thousands of people who protected her—and we spent more hours ensuring the Clintons’ protection than we spent with our own families—I loved every minute of most every day. Law enforcement — protecting others — is my passion. Protecting a president is an incredible honor. I low, I kept asking myself, did a kid from Ridley, Pennsylvania, ever get to the White House? I wanted to stay for the rest of my life.
Reality destroyed my dream—in ways I never imagined.
On 9/11 we vowed “Never forget.” But we always somehow do. And because I was there—in the spotlight, in the crosshairs—I realize better than most Americans that we have pretty much forgotten what an amateur-night, three-ring circus the Clinton White House was. But I haven’t forgotten.
* * *
I remember Monica, sure. But I remember Hillary, too: the shortcuts she took, the methods she employed, the yelling, the screaming, her disdain for “the little people,” Bill’s black eye—the country’s black eye.
You want to know something? I wanted to forget it all myself I needed to forget it all. d had enough of the whole damned mess— the sleepless nights, the Protective Privilege bullshit, the lawyers, C-SPAN… the cuddling up at night with a loaded pistol just in case. Satchel Paige said: “Don’t look back, something might be gaining on you.” I didn’t want to look back. I wanted to move forward, to shut the door on the Clintons and their whole sordid operation.
To never look back.
But there’s another saying: “It ain’t over t ill it’s over,” and now it’s 2016, and Hillary is running for president again. I faced a choice in 1998: Would I keep silent? Or tell the truth about what I knew, what I saw?
I spoke up. I testified truthfully.
Not everybody did. Some people’s memories got really faulty. Maybe you can’t blame them. They got scared. They had mortgages and careers. They had kids.
People who swore an oath to the Constitution and the law, people who pledged to lay down their lives for principle, people who strapped iron on their hips . . . got scared. And they conveniently forgot things.
Character in leadership comes down to two questions: Would you trade places with anyone under your command? Do you hold yourself to the same level of accountability as those for whom you bear responsibility? Would Mrs. Clinton have been willing to trade places with Chris Stevens and Sean Smith?
No. She was too busy swapping gossip and classified information with Clinton loyalist Sidney Blumenthal.
Over a twenty-nine-year career serving my country in the military and in federal law enforcement, I’ve encountered both heroes and villains.
I’ve observed human character at its greatest heights and lowest depths. In any organization, character is defined at the top; it percolates down to the top executives of an organization, to the middle managers, and to the grunts at the front lines.
Hillary Clinton is now poised to become the Democratic nominee for president of the United States, but she simply lacks the integrity and temperament to serve in the office. From the bottom of my soul I know this to be true. So I must speak out.”
Should the Americans go for Donald Trump now?
Well, he just flip flopped again on the issue of Libya and Gaddafi. Now, he’s agreeing to the Clintons murder of the late strongman and the subsequent plunder of the once independent and progressive nation of Libya.
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