Someone asked me recently how my mother died. I simply responded: "She got into a delivery system and I couldn't get her out." 'Delivery system' is a term I picked up from an FBI agent. It is a euphemism for the extermination process which has begun in the U.S.A. This process--which will result in the eradication of the Jewish population--is obviously not being publicized. It is at considerable personal risk that I am attempting, through a series of articles, to expose this agenda before it is too late. It is already too late for my mother. It may not be too late for others. Therefore, I consider the risk immaterial. I have already detailed one 'delivery system' in an article posted on this web-site last month, entitled "Public Extermination Project." That piece was the first in a planned series revealing the U.S. government's plans to use the water system to "deliver" human beings to the hereafter. I became aware that our present administration had put into place several 'delivery systems' only after my beloved mother got caught in the cogs of a legal "death machine." Amalie Muriel Strauss Deren Phelan came from German Jewish stock. Born in Brooklyn, she was educated on the East Coast, receiving her M.A. from Cornell University and her Ph.D in Clinical Psychology from Syracuse University in upstate New York. At the age of 21, she married Solomon Deren, M.D., a professor of Psychiatry at S.U., and several decades her senior. Deren had escaped from Russia during the pograms in the early part of the 20th century. When he died of a heart attack seven years into their marriage, Amalie moved to Alton, Illinois, where she worked in the state psychiatric hospital. In Alton she met my father, James Phelan, who was a fledgling reporter at the Alton Evening Telegraph. Six weeks later they married, and remained so their entire lives. My father went on to considerable prominence in his field. He worked as an investigative reporter at the Saturday Evening Post, as well as publishing widely as a free-lancer in national publications. In l977, his first book, "Howard Hughes: The Hidden Years," made the cover of Time Magazine, and became an international bestseller. He went on to author two more books, the last of which he worked on while he was terminally ill with lung cancer. He received the advance copies from Random House one week before his death in the summer of 1997. He did not know at what terrible risk he left my mother. When I was a child, Amalie used to sit on my small bed at night and tell me stories about her own childhood. One story I never forgot. A young classmate had followed her home from elementary school, chanting, "Dirty Jew! Dirty Jew!' I recall experiencing enormous relief that the world I lived in had advanced to a point where I would never experience such a hateful and unprovoked attack. Little did I know at that time what lay in store for us. The particulars of how Amalie Phelan was "delivered" is an extremely personal story. It is a recounting of the absolute refusal of our system to protect her life. It is imperative that, as you read this greatly abbreviated account, you understand that at many junctures, there could have been intervention by systems put into place in our society--the courts, the police, Adult Protective Services, the District Attorney's office--which could have prevented her untimely demise. The fact that there was a blanket exodus from her situation is most telling. Amalie Phelan was one of the first victims of an underlying extermination policy which is not being publicized. Those responsible for this policy are understandably not eager to have their agenda exposed. It is my deepest hope that you read this report not as a complaint, but as an illumination of how the system was manipulated to rob an elderly, vulnerable Jewish woman of her life. There are aspects to this story that are merely circumstantial, such as the mention of my sister Judith's unprosecuted forgeries. The 'delivery system' kicked in December, 2001, when Amalie became legally entangled with agents for that system, Attorney J. David Horspool and Melodie Scott. The story then becomes as serious as murder. In 1997, when my father realized he was terminally ill, he employed Attorney Mark Anderson to draft a will and living trust. Money for his offspring, my sister Judith and myself, was to be held at the "absolute and sole discretion" of the trustee, family friend James Henderson of Riverside, California. Unbeknownst to me, my sister Judith had the trustee changed in order to further her own interests. When in 1999, this new trustee, Helen Locke, contacted me by phone, blasting me for squandering my parents' money, I was bewildered and confused. It came to light later that my sister had placed herself as co-signer on my mother's bank accounts. She had beem approaching my mother requesting "checks for Janet" several times a week. My sister then forged my endorsement on these checks and deposited them in her bank account. This did not become known until much later, at which time Amalie was so deeply entrenched in a 'delivery system' and I was at so much risk for desperately trying to aid her that it is now close to impossible to get the police to follow through on Judith's crimes. After repeated refusals by the Long Beach and Temecula Police Departments to even take this police report, I engaged an attorney to facilitate its filing with the Santa Monica Police Department. The report was then forwarded to the Temecula P.D., and assigned to Detective Dennis Winker, who has indicated enormous reluctance to follow through on an investigation. Indeed, in two months he has done nothing. In an effort to curtail the hemorrhaging of the estate, in December 2001, my mother signed up for a conservator to handle her affairs. Unbeknownst to us, Melodie Scott, president of C.A.R.E. located in Redlands, California was an agent for a 'delivery system.' Scott moved quickly.She terminted my access to family money as soon as I took Amalie for a legal consultation. She placed "aides" in my mother's home, ostensibly to care for Amalie, although none had been needed before. She began paying my sister, who resided in my mother's home rent-free, several thousands of dollars a month, which Judith referred to as "hush money." Under the care of aide Linda Garcia and my sister, my mother's cardiac medication was withheld from her for at least two months. I received a desperate phone call from Amalie in June. 2002: "I am very ill and no one is paying attention to me." Alarmed, I drove to Temecula to find my mother unable to walk unassisted. I drove her to the Emergency Room at Rancho Springs Hospital, where she was admitted and received emergency cardiac surgery. I called the Temecula P.D. A police report was filed. The situation was never investigated. When I received a copy of the report and realized that the police had made an error in the pill court, I immediately contacted the Riverside Sheriff's Department. I was told: "Don't call back." Concerned that there might be some corruption in the police force, I then contacted Special Investigations at the Riverside District Attorney's office, and made a detailed written report. This was referred to Elder Abuse A.D.A Mark Mandio, who immediately left on sabbatical. When he returned, I attempted to contact him. He left one message for me: "Please don't call." I then called Adult Protective Services, several times. No worker ever visited my mother. Three days after I took Amalie to the Emergency Room, Riverside Probate Judge Stephen Cunnison issed a Temporary Restraining Order against me, stating that I was not to interfere in my mother's care. When I showed up for my hearing on August 1st, Cunnison ignored the docket, and illegally signed the order in chambers, disallowing me my legal opportunity to defend myself with the truth: I probably saved Amalie's life. Jack Smith of West Hollywood accompanied me to the courthouse, and produced the letter in Attachment A, detailing the events of that morning in court. "There is so much corruption in Riverside," I explained to a sympathetic friend. I simply did not understand the larger picture. A family friend, journalist and author Patricia Lambert, flew in from Arizona to interview Amalie in the facility where she had been placed. Lambert prepared two reports for the court (Attachments B and C), recording Amalie's desire to end the conservatorship and resume a normal relationship with me, to whom Lambert referred to as "Amalie's lifeline." Cunnison chose to ignore the reports. Although I was permitted to visit my mother a few times under "supervision," these visits were abruptly terminated when I offered Amalie a legal document to sign, prepared by Los Angeles attorney Jeffrey Lustman. Probate Code 1863 delineates the legal right to a jury trial under conservatorship law, placing in the hands of a jury the decision whether the conservatorship should be dissolved. Amalie signed and dated this request September 25, 2002 (Attachments D and E). With a judge issuing Restraining Orders for life-saving efforts by a loving daughter, we felt that Amalie would have a better chance with a jury than with this peculiar judge. Judge Cunnison denied her request for a jury trial, violating the Probate Code. He then issued a second Restraining Order against me, dictating that I was not to contact the police, Adult Protective Services, the FBI, etc., etc. The fact that a judge cannot legally prevent a citizen from contacting the police did not seem to bother Cunnison. I was not permitted to see Amalie again until February 2004. By that time the FBI had shut down my bank account, raided my safety deposit boxes, sezied my apartment, and for a while, expunged my social security number. I was living on the streets of Santa Monica, had lost one-third of my body weight, and was nearly starving to death. Even in the face of this level of "targetting," I managed to land a job as columnist at the Santa Monica Daily Press in January 2004. That job ended abruptly in March, when Irequested from the City of Santa Monica records on water line work. I had become aware that there were plans in place to use the water system as a "delivery system," and I knew I needed documentation in order to be believed. When I could not reach my mother by phone in late April, I again contacted Adult Protective Services. Once again, no visit was paid to Amalie. After repeated phone calls by myself and others in an attempt to reach Melodie Scott or her attorney Horspool, I was informed in late May that my mother had passed away on May 4. She had been buried without notifying me. Considering the past actions of Melodie Scott, I would have called for an autopsy. As I sit on a bus bench in Santa Monica, penning these words, a stranger speeds by on a bicycle. "The FBI is watching you," he hisses at me, and rides off. I laugh, wryly. The sun is setting. From the bench I can see the blue terrain of the Pacific. Once again, light is being swallowed up by darkness. It is the story of our planet. As I remember Amalie, her grace, her intelligence, her profound sense of decency, I reaffirm one utter truth: had I known, back in 2001, that defending her life would have cost me everything I owned, I would have made the same decision again. It is possible that my efforts bought her two more years of life. She was worth it. -30- Janet. C. Phelan

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