This is true, really.        
See:  Angus Mackenzie,     
Secrets, 1997      











Dance to the music

Sylvester Stone photographed people for the 902nd Military Intelligence Group. His fellow agents referred to him as Syl and the Family Stone, sang “Dance to the Mewzick” behind him in the office, shuffling as they imagined a black soul group would, and interrupted conversations to ask him what does “funky” mean anyway. What Stone really wanted was to photograph people for the San Francisco Domestic Contact Service Office of the Special Operations Group (SOG) of Operation MHCHAOS (MH for worldwide, CHAOS for guess what) unleashed against the Left in San Francisco in late 1967 by James Jesus Angleton, chief of CIA counterintelligence. MHCHAOS carried operational priority equal to actions against the Soviet Union and China and was so secret most CIA officers did not know it existed.

But Stone knew. Being like a son to Major Warden, he could stand around unnoticed while the grownups talked. MHCHAOS meant big time promotions and high postings but was so secret he couldn’t ask to join. He spent his days running missions for the Major, most recently against the Major’s daughter, Jennifer. He filmed her talking to young men, kissing young men, and the license plates and nameplates of those young men. He passed on pictures of her in biker bars, coffee houses, entering and leaving known drug pads, attending hippie festivals, stalking the streets South of Market, and rioting in Oakland. He kept for himself the photos of her being fucked by young men against ancient trees on the Presidio. Somehow, apparently, he'd come up with the Big One.

It was old-style telephoto stuff of Jennifer and a sturdy, handsome girl — first through a window at Mel’s Drive-In (which took skill, shooting through reflections off the glass and compensating for contrast between natural exterior and artificial interior light), then of the two women arguing in the parking lot. Finally a rear shot (nice ass) of the other girl as she reentered Mel’s and a full frontal (nice tits) as she left.

The Major freaked.

Why now and not before?

“Do you know who this woman is?” he screamed. Sylvester Stone did not. His was but to frame the shot.

“This woman is. Many things. Men are usually one thing.” He riffled documents on his desk. “She is a courier for the ChiCom leader Lin Piao. She is a card-carrying ACLU whore for the Martin Luther Coons of the Greater Bay Area. She lives in sin with a radical revolutionary whose name has appeared in the columns of Herb Caen. She seized Oakland City Hall. She has studied dance. She is a one-woman web of deceit and it goes without saying, a Jewess.”

Stone, who never doubted the Major’s most ridiculous claims, experienced a Nazi sexual fantasy of astonishing intensity.

“It is obvious from your photos that she is running my daughter.”

“That’s tragic, sir.”

Major Warden connected hard with the concept. If there were to be a Colonel Warden in a future America, many events would have to be preempted.

“Tragic is as tragic does, Corporal. I want you to follow my daughter through the scum-drenched alleys of treason. If you find her with a man who looks like this but worse,” he handed Stone a photograph of his son Stew from earlier days, “and you find where he lives and you tell me, you will have your heart’s desire, a transfer to the San Francisco Domestic Contact Service Office of the Special Operations Group of Operation MHCHAOS.”

Sylvester Stone’s life flashed before him and it was darned good.

“And you may keep your photos of her being fucked under trees in the Presidio.”

“How did you know about those, sir?”

“I thought you knew I knew everything.”

“Yes but.”

“I don’t want to wreck your sex life, Stone. If she lives long enough to marry rich, you may want to blackmail her.”