April 30, 2021
The following story is included in the revised version of my book
Spies Ken & Erica Willis & Partners
In 2008 a middle-aged couple moved into a large two-story house near the end of our cul-de-sac. Scuttlebutt had it that they moved here from the Middle East. The couple’s presence was soon well known because of their two Doberman Pinchers’ loud barking that I could hear a block away. The couple would soon be seen walking their dogs on long retractable leads down the middle of our street and past my home. It was an intimidating sight as their Doberman Pinchers were out front leading the way as if on patrol. If I happened to be out front when they came by, Ken and Erica would reel in their dogs and stop to talk for a few minutes. It was in this manner that I gradually got to know them.
In coming years Ken and I became casual friends and he invited me out for coffee a few times. We also exchanged an occasional email. Having had many years of experience with undercover agents, plus my natural sense about people, it usually didn’t take long to form an opinion about their character, and I soon became suspicious of Ken. During our first meeting he told me he was working from home as a computer consultant. He said that before moving to Eugene he had been doing work for a Saudi Arabian bank. This was interesting. With companies like IBM and Dell providing computers and services to businesses, why would Saudi bankers hire an independent American consultant like my neighbor? While listening to Ken talk about his experience in Saudi Arabia, I was reminded of An who you might recall from my book who told me her bizarre story about working for the US government in Africa and how she got in trouble because of a banking transaction she made. According to her, the US government put her in prison, tortured her, broke her bones and nearly killed her. She survived, she said, only because she was a medical doctor specially trained in caring for trauma patients.
Ken also told me he had worked as a diver for the US military involved in the hazardous work of locating undetonated bombs from many wars. Trying to imagine Ken as a diver searching for live bombs was just as difficult as imagining him and his wife living in Saudi Arabia and him working on some bank’s computer system. Ken was fairly young so I had to wonder, if he was an IT professional capable of getting work with Saudi Arabian bankers, what was he doing as a computer consultant in a small city like Eugene? I once came across Ken at Joe’s Garage where I observed him in their office area, presumably working on their computers, which was a far cry from a Saudi Arabian bank.
Ken’s stories weren’t making much sense and I was not comfortable with something I sensed about his demeanor. He was too casual and seemed a bit of a phony. Perhaps because of their law enforcement positions and power, undercover agents I have met tended to talk as though they were of superior intelligence, and that common folks like me will believe any bullshit they have to offer. I knew I could be wrong, but from early in our relationship I was suspicious of Ken. He sounded like a storyteller and I knew I had to be careful.
Ken and Erica had been living on my street for a couple years when Ken came walking by one day accompanied by a man he introduced as his wife’s brother who he said was living with them. This man was of a quiet nature and appeared vaguely familiar, reminding me of the man who was present during FBI Agent John Ferreira’s questioning about Schwab’s claims that I had attempted to kill him. That was in 2003 after bombs were supposedly found on Schwab’s properties and Schwab reported to the FBI that I was trying to kill him. In years to come Ken occasionally talked about his brother-in-law, always referring to him as a “do nothing” who liked to leach off the family.
I was working in my front yard one day when Ken’s wife Erica came walking down the street with one of their Doberman Pinschers. She stopped to talk and we had our first opportunity to get to know each another. She initiated our conversation by telling me about her love of books and how much she enjoyed reading. I wouldn’t realize until later that she was working with Ken and this was a deliberate attempt to get me to discuss my story and my book. However it was really my curiosity about her husband Ken that motivated me to tell her I had just spent three years writing and publishing a nonfiction book. Of course, she asked what the book was about and I provided a brief overview of my story. Erica seemed genuinely interested and asked lots of questions, which every author loves. I asked if she would like a copy of my book and she said yes. So I went inside and autographed one that I then presented to her. Later on I received an email from Ken in which he told me Erica had shown him my book and he was eager to read it. A couple months later he wrote to tell me he and Erica had finished my book and he was reading it. He said they both thought I was a good writer and found my story interesting. Neither Ken or Erica have ever enquired about my battle with Schwab and the US government since.
Ken introduces me to undercover partner Ashley
I was heading out for a walk one day when I passed Ken and Erica’s home. Ken was in their garage working while a classy looking slender young woman stood watching. She had blond curly hair and was wearing a dress and high heels—a sharp contrast to Ken who was usually unkempt and wearing ugly baggy pajama bottoms and old T-shirts. She was definitely out of place in our neighborhood. I asked Ken what he was up to and he said he was assembling metal shelving units for his garage. He then turned to the young woman, “Wayne, this is my niece Ashley from Kansas City. She will be staying with us for a while.” Though I wasn’t aware of what people from Kansas City might look like, Ashley looked more like a model or movie star. Ken and Erica now had her brother and his niece living with them in their huge house. Ashley was very bubbly and friendly and asked where I lived. I explained that I was on the same side of the street just four houses away. I bid them good day and continued my walk.
I was home from my walk only a short while when the doorbell rang. When I opened the door I was surprised to find Ashley with her big friendly smile. She was a very charming young woman and her friendliness and flirtatious demeanor might cause less suspicion had I not been old enough to be her grandfather. She said, “Hi Wayne. I was thinking about moving here and wanted to talk to you about this neighborhood.” My suspicions about Ken Willis were confirmed. Since he had been living here for many years and was even on our board of directors, why would she walk down the street to talk with me about her desire to move here?
Resisting the urge to invite her in, I said, “Why don’t you talk with your uncle? He is familiar with this area and could help you find a real estate agent that could show you around.” She was okay with this, and when she saw that I was not going to invite her in she left.
Ashley was back a couple days later, this time asking if I knew the homeowner association president’s name. She said she was trying to contact him. This was puzzling and once again I wondered why she wasn’t asking her uncle Ken about these things? I told her that his being on the homeowners’ board of directors, he would surely know the president. I told Ashley honestly that I didn’t know the new president’s name and suggested she talk with Ken. At this point I was certain Ken and Ashley were undercover agents working for the FBI, Mossad, or Charles Schwab’s secret service company, and was attempting to set me up in a sting operation. I suspected Ashley would continue to lead me on until I made advances that in this modern world could be construed as sexual abuse and I would be locked up in prison for the rest of my life. So far I had survived dozens of their sting operations.
Ashley dropped by again one day and asked if I would give her a ride downtown. It wasn’t clear where she wanted to go. She was a real doll with curly blond hair, pretty dress and high heels. She was warm and friendly and I was tempted to give her a ride, but the potential consequences were too great. Reluctantly, I made an excuse as to why I wouldn’t be able to give her a ride. I felt guilty and thought about the remote possibility she might not be an undercover agent. This was real torture.
Ashley had now provided three opportunities for me to invite her inside my home or accompany her in my car downtown where we would spend time together. I was sure that if I took her up on one of her offers she would continue flirting and teasing until eventually I made advances. She would go along with it until I went too far. Then she would accuse me of sexual abuse. The FBI would arrest me and I would end up in prison. I sent Ken an email in which I played dumb and told him that Ashley was trying to get in touch with the president of our homeowners association and perhaps he could help her.
While working at my desk one day, I glanced out my window and saw Ashley coming to my front door. When I opened the door to greet her she was bubbly and sweet and said, “Wayne, I was wondering if you would give me a ride to the truck stop.” This set me back a little.
I said, “Truck stop? Why do you want to go to the truck stop?”
She said, “I want to hitch a ride home to Kansas City with a trucker so I can see my kids.” This was ridiculous. The nearest truck stop was located on Interstate I-5 about ten miles north of Eugene. I had great difficulty trying to imagine this pretty young woman hooking up with some truck driver and spending several days with him on the road. I was terribly confused. If Ashley was this desperate to go home and see her kids, why weren’t Ken and Erica helping her? I told Ashley I didn’t think it a good idea for her to be hitching a ride with some truck driver, so I wouldn’t drive her to the truck stop.
After thinking about it for a while I walked up the street to talk with Ken. He answered the door and Ashley was eagerly looking over his shoulder with her happy smile. “Hi Wayne. What you doing?” After acknowledging Ashley I asked Ken if he and I could talk in private. He excused himself and stepped outside and shut the door.
At this point I was very suspicious about what was going on. I was sure I knew the answer when I said, “Ashley’s been visiting me quite a bit and I’m wondering what’s going on. Why is she asking me for help while she has you and Erica here to help her?” He told me it would take a while to explain and it would be better if he came to my place to talk. I said that would be okay and he said he would drop by in a few minutes.
Ken showed up in his usual attire of silly looking pajama bottoms and faded T-shirt. He hadn’t shaved for a few days and appeared slovenly, which seemed normal for him. Once we were seated on the back patio he wasted no time telling me about Ashley’s troubled life. Because she was always in trouble with the law, her husband had divorced her and was awarded custody of their two kids. Now she was looking for a way to get back home to see them. I wondered, if she was this desperate to be home to see them, what was she doing here staying with Ken? Pretending to go along with his story, I asked Ken why he didn’t buy her a plane ticket or drive her to the truck stop so she could get back home to see her kids. He explained that her ex-husband didn’t want her near their kids, and authorities were afraid she would kidnap them from school. So they were watching for her and would arrest her as soon as she got off the plane. I thought her crimes must be very serious if law enforcement people were tracking her whereabouts. How would local police know which plane she was on and when it would be landing?
Ken shook his head and said, “You aren’t the only one Ashley is asking for help. She’s been pestering other neighbors for help getting home.” Without commenting, I again wondered why Ken or Erica hadn’t offered to help her. Ken’s description of Ashley’s troubled life and how she was a fugitive of the law was in sharp contrast with my perception of her. Unlike what one might expect of someone with serious problems with the law, Ashley was outgoing, friendly, and happy. Very importantly, during Ken’s long discussion about his niece’s troubled life, he did not show any empathy for her, or interest in helping her.
By the time he finished his long story, my initial suspicions about Ken a few years prior were confirmed. I now knew that he and Ashley were undercover agents attempting to trap me in a sting operation. Their intent was to temp me into becoming overly friendly with Ashley, arrest me for sexual abuse, and have me locked up the rest of my life. I tried hard not to give Ken reason to think I was suspicious of him. During our meeting and in subsequent phone calls and email exchanges I expressed lots of empathy for poor Ashley and the trouble she was in.
A few days later around 4:00 in the afternoon Ashley stopped by my house pulling a small suitcase with wheels. As usual she was all dressed up and wearing high heels that were totally out of place. Her demeanor was more serious than usual as she smiled and said, “Hi Wayne, I just wanted to stop by and let you know I am leaving and to say goodbye.” My immediate reaction was to think she was headed for the nearby bus stop to catch a ride to the Grey Hound depot downtown.
My feelings about Ashley were terribly mixed. Though I felt certain she was participating with Ken in a sting operation and attempting to put me in prison, I was worried about her wellbeing. Especially at this time of day with her dressed like a hooker, how could I just say goodbye and watch her walk away? I asked her, “Where are you going this time of day?
She said, “I’m hitchhiking to the truck stop so I can catch a ride home to see my kids.” This was bizarre. Even if she could find her way across town to I-5, and then ten miles north to the truck stop, she was going to have to find a driver who would take her to Kansas City. She then asked if I could tell her how to get across town to I-5. Ashley had only been in Eugene a few weeks and didn’t know the area. But as crazy as it sounds I went along with her story and I tried to explain how to navigate across town to I-5. The fact she wasn’t paying much attention and wasn’t writing anything down should have been a clue that she was leading meon, but I was in a dilemma. She must have read the concerned look on my face. “You don’t have to worry Wayne. I’m not asking you for a ride.” She put out her hand to shake mine and said, “Goodbye Wayne.” She then turned and started off on her journey, pulling her small suitcase. I was so taken by Ashley that the conflicts in my mind were raging. As I stood watching her walk away I knew I would never see her again.
This was becoming too much for me to handle. Though I was sure Ken and Ashley were attempting to set me up in a sting operation, there was a small chance that I was wrong and she was about to get herself in a lot of trouble. I wondered what the hell was wrong with her uncle Ken? Why wasn’t he giving her a ride to the truck stop? I called Ken and told him about Ashley’s visit. He chuckled, “Don’t listen to her Wayne. She has told others she was hitchhiking to the truck stop, but she always returns. Then he told me again why he refused to give her a ride. Because he said, “As soon as she stepped off the plane in Kansas City she would be arrested.” This was so bizarre; if indeed she was also approaching others why hadn’t someone given her a ride to the truck stop?
It turned out that Ken was right and Ashley had not left the area. The next day while driving near our neighborhood I saw her walking alone in the same direction I was traveling. As I approached her I instinctively wanted to pull over and offer her a ride, but I suspected she was out trolling for me and drove on. A couple days later I was working at my desk when I saw Ashley strolling past my home. She was wearing tight-fitting bright red pants and high heels. Slender, with curly blond hair, she was gorgeous and totally out of place in my neighborhood. Once more I had to resist the urge to step out front and talk with her. Though I was certain this was just another attempt to draw me into her trap, somewhere in the back of my mind I wanted to believe she was for real and might actually be interested in me. Once more I had to remind myself of our age difference, and that she was up to no good. This would be the last time I would see Ashley.
After not seeing or hearing from Ashley for a week, I sent Ken an email and asked how she was doing. He said. “Someone had finally given her a ride to Portland where she had been staying.” This was interesting inasmuch as she had been trying to get a ride to the truck stop and Kansas City. He went on to say, “Erica’s brother is a real softy when it comes to helping people. He drove up to Portland to help her make arrangements for her to fly to Salt Lake City to stay with some Mormons.” If he was such a softy why hadn’t he given her a ride to the truck stop or to Portland? If she was trying to get home to Kansas City to see her kids, why was he flying her to Utah to stay with some Mormons?
This was already sounding like a tall tale when Ken really lost it. He said, “Flying Ashley to Utah wasn’t easy for Erika’s brother him because she never travels anywhere without four hundred pounds of luggage.” Whoa there… Now even if slender little Ashley and two strong men were able to handle four hundred pounds of luggage into an airport, which airline would allow such a load on their plane? And how did Ashley get that load to from Ken’s place to Portland? Ken had become overzealous in his role as a spy and his story telling was becoming absurd. I did not let on that I was aware Ken had been lying to me since introducing me to Ashly, but nothing was making sense.
A couple days later I followed up with Ken and enquired about how Ashley was doing. Without expressing any concern or empathy for her he said, “Wayne, I’ve lost track of her and I’m finished with her. I want nothing more to do with her.” Inasmuch as his brother-in-law was living with him and had just driven to Portland to help Ashley travel to Salt Lake City, I found it hard to believe he was no longer aware of her plight or interested in how she was doing. After all, it was supposedly his niece that was seeking help from him and all his neighbors. It appeared that Ken and his handlers were really messing up.
As with most undercover sting operations I had been involved with, I found myself having to untangle myself from the emotional web, pull myself back into the real world, and remind myself that I was the target of yet another undercover secret service attempt to trap me for the purpose of putting me in prison. The stark reality was that everything Ken had been telling me about Ashley were probably lies. If I was right in suspecting Ashley was also an undercover agent, I sometimes wondered what was going through her mind each time she had an encounter with me. Was her mind also playing back and forth between her personal feelings about me, while knowing she was part of an attempt to put me in prison? Indeed, these are dangerous games.
Ken never mentioned Ashley again and stupid as it sounds I missed Ashley, her charm, and her happy nature.
April 30, 2021
Two years ago the FBI hired Nancy Russell as a patsy to help spy on me, provide constant negative comments re my books about my case, and facilitate Ken Willis’s & partners harassment.
***
Following are recent examples of how Ken Willis & his Partners harass me on a daily basis:
- They got the code for my garage door opener from patsy Nancy Russell
- They removed my toolbox from my garage and placed it by the curb near my mailbox
- While I was away (remember they are always tracking me) they stole my son’s bicycle from our garage.
- They track my whereabouts and almost always drive by my home whenever I’m leaving or returning home. Despite how many times I give Ken Willis the finger, he always smiles and waves–letting me know he is still stalking me and there’s nothing I can do about it.
- Two times they have attempted to attract my male instincts by spraying urine in Nancy Russell’s apartment bathroom–primarily around the toilet. Despite how careless a woman might be, there’s no way Nancy could leave smelly yellow piss dripping from around the toilet seat.
- Nancy Russell has fed me desserts that have given me severe diarrhea.