The United States Navy Judge Advocate General’s Corps at Camp Blaz has convicted of treason and murder the NIH official who oversaw an “aerosolized hemorrhagic fever and smallpox” weaponization program at the institute’s BSL-4 laboratory in Hamilton, Montanna.
As reported in December, U.S. Marines and Army CBRN specialists ransacked the laboratory of death, killing 40 NIH employees and demolishing every piece of equipment inside the 30-acre compound. They had seized the now-destroyed pathogens and laid traps to maim or kill unwary Deep Staters who would arrive at the lab the following morning. Two days later, JAG investigators arrested the NIH goon who had managed the lab, Deputy Director Alfred C. Johnson, while he was sipping cocktails at a Miami margarita bar—a taxpayer-funded vacation. As is the case with most Deep State assets, Johnson was uncooperatively obstinate and refused to talk, even after JAG investigators confronted him with the fact that they knew FEMA and the NIH had yanked homeless people off San Francisco’s streets for human experimentation.
“I know about you people. They warned us about you,” was all Johnson said during an early interrogation.
JAG flew him to Camp Blaz in mid-December, where he was held in pre-trial confinement until Thursday morning’s military tribunal. He chose to represent himself because he had said he was innocent and innocent people did not need lawyers.
When Johnson noticed that Admiral Johnathon T. Stephens was Black, he invoked the race card, marking the second time a desperate Deep Stater tried guilting the admiral to declare a mistrial based on skin color.
Johnson raised his outstretched arms and shook his shackled wrists. “Brother, I’m sorry to see you’re party to this oppression. You’re with the wrong organization, doing Trump’s bidding like a sellout. You got the power to set things right—by setting me free while your soul is still intact.”
“You must be confusing me with another person,” Admiral Stephens said. “The only colors I recognize are red, white, and blue, and the colors worn by the Armed Forces of the United States. You’ll notice two of the three officers hearing this case share our skin color—and that’s all we share—and I promise they’re not amused by your antics. Now, detainee, please take your seat.”
The admiral opened his arguments by showing the panel an SSD Marines had confiscated from the laboratory. It held, he cautioned the panel, disturbing footage depicting NIH experiments on human subjects. In clip one, an unknown narrator, on the safe side of a bio-sealed plexiglass window, aims a camera lens at a middle-aged man reposed on a hospital bed and bleeding through his eye sockets. What remained of his eyeballs were opaque marbles bulging from bloody sockets as if to burst. The man, conscious, now and then turns his head and struggles to cough, a ventilator tube jammed down his throat. Clumps of hair have fallen from his head onto a pillow tinged with blood. Ostensibly speaking to the camera, the narrator identifies the man as “Subject #1023” and says that “flooding the chamber with aerosolized Marburgvirus genomes has produced the desired effect.” Blood seeps out of the man’s nostrils, and the clip ends.
In the second clip, the same narrator is observing what he details as a “27-year old homeless woman and heroin addict whose reckless lifestyle an addiction to drugs contributed to her ineluctable fate—a life squandered and rife with formidable suffering, a suffering that would soon end as she had been exposed to aerosolized smallpox. Her shrunken face is covered with boils and blisters that ooze a congealed mixture of puss and blood. Lesions coat her naked scalp. An enormous cyst on her chest erupts, leaking viscous fluid, as the narrator, sounding almost magnanimous, says the NIH is doing her a favor by hastening the departure of a life that serves no beneficial purpose.
The third victim, or “subject #1021,” is a man in his mid-50s whom the narrator refers to as a homeless Gulf War veteran who, stricken with PTSD and a string of failed relationships, turned to the streets after he lost his job and his wife left him for another man. He is strapped to a collapsible gurney, at once sweating profusely and shivering beneath a blood-soaked bed sheet. His face is plastered with so many tumors and scars, he barely resembles a human. He mouths the words, “Help me.”
Admiral Stephens sighed heavily and shut off the video. “We have 47 more clips, but three is too many to watch. Assuming the subject numbers are sequential and were not randomly assigned, the NIH has exposed countless numbers of innocent people, kidnapped and abducted, to their experiments. As observant as you officers are, I am sure you missed the same thing I missed until I rewatched these clips in slow motion. I will pause at the right frame.”
He replayed the three clips, pausing and zooming in on a reflection in the plexiglass. The reflection showed the masked narrator and, standing alongside him, the grinning visage and frame of none other than the defendant, detainee Alfred Johnson.
“We’ve had our experts and outside analysts scrutinize the video, and their findings say the reflection in the glass is detainee Johnson.”
The defendant said he wished to raise an objection.
“I object to your very existence,” Admiral Stephens told him. “This conclusively puts you at the Montanna laboratory watching as those innocent people, later cremated by your associates, were tortured for your bioweapon programs. JAG and the Office of Military Commissions believe you are guilty of treason and murder, and now we’ll see if these good officers, having seen irrefutable evidence, share our position.”
“Guilty,” said a Marine colonel, the foreman.
“Guilty,” said a Navy Lt. commander.
“He’s guilty, and if I weren’t wearing this uniform and insignia, I’d take care of him old school style,” said a Marine lieutenant. “Pardon me, admiral, I didn’t mean to disrespect the uniform or your court.”
The admiral said he understood.
He scheduled detainee Johnson’s execution for January 24.