I was born into a family of American intelligence operatives. My grandfather and his four brothers were OSS operatives in Europe during the Second World War. They were in Nuremberg, Germany during the Nazi trials and were instrumental in the resettlement of hundreds of Nazi scientists from the concentration camps of Germany and Poland into the United States under Project Paperclip. My uncle Wally was recruited into the OSS at the age of fourteen. After serving at Bletchley Park as a cryptologist on the Enigma project, he became a founder of the National Security Agency, the NSA. 

In 1955, my parents sold me to the CIA’s newly established Bluebird program. I was six years old. My childhood was defined from then on by MK-Ultra, an illegal program of mind control and experimentation signed into existence by Secretary of State John Foster Dulles in 1953.

Amnesia—traumatic and drug induced—was part of the program of creating multiple identities. As a child that meant living in different personas each with a different name as I was moved from place to place, changing schools, making new friends. At age ten, I was selected for Sex Magick because I was tall, smart, and pretty. They were training me to be a sexual spy—a Vril girl. They taught me the art of seduction as well as physics, ariosophy, cybernetics, and selective genocide. I was introduced to the demonic “Green Agenda” which has nothing to do with chlorophyl but refers to the extinction of the human soul and removal of human life from Planet Earth. I was considered gifted at remote viewing, having what they called PSI, and was sent to Stanford Research Institute for training. I studied Russian history at the Hoover Institution with Dr. Alexander Kerensky, the first president of Soviet Russia while attending Palo Alto High School across the street.

In 1966, at the age of seventeen, I escaped from the program by stealing a car from my handler and driving to Seattle where I’d been accepted early to the University of Washington. My life as a free person began on the first day of university. I lost all childhood memories and managed to keep it that way for many years. My amnesia did not impede my work as a radiologist or mother. I became a specialist in pre-natal ultrasound and had my own medical technical development laboratory as an assistant professor of radiology at the University of Washington. 

In 1990 an invitation came from doctors in the Soviet Union to be the first Western doctor to visit Russian birth houses and advise the Ministry of Health. The horror that I discovered in Birth House #70, one of Moscow’s best, changed the course of my life. It was birth by terror. The brutality of the medical staff, the screams of pain and fear, and the stench of rotting blood left me dizzy, nauseated. My guide and interpreter, Dr. Yuri Puchkov escorted me into a dark corridor where mothers who had just delivered lay along one side, their unattended, unwashed infants in bassinets on the other side. “What the hell is this?” I demanded.

“A time of reflection,” said Yuri. “They will stay this way for two hours.”

“This baby is blue,” I said, picking up a struggling newborn. I resuscitated her and settled her into her mother’s arms. When I returned later, all the babies were with their mothers. “That’s better.”

One bassinet was separated from the others—a naked, bawling infant with a shock of bright red hair. “Where is this girl’s mother?” I asked.

“She’s a redhead. The parents don’t want her.” He looked at me like I should know what he meant.

“Lots of people have red hair.”

“Not in Russia. We have a saying: ‘There never was a saint with red hair.’” A nurse spoke to him, and he translated: “They’ll name her Angela—after you. Engel is “angel” in Russian. It is a lucky name.”

“What will happen to her?” I asked, but Yuri shrugged and would say no more.

When I returned to Seattle, Russia stuck with me, replaying in a jumble of vignettes—black markets, Red Square, food lines, child prostitutes, labor rooms, and tiny Angela. I wrote to Yuri, asking what had happened to her. He wrote back and enclosed a magazine article stating that 800,000 abandoned children were near starvation in Soviet orphanages. Most, like Angela, were not adoptable.

I sold my medical practice and founded the non-profit MiraMed Institute. Over the next year, I recruited doctors and nurses to fly to Moscow and conduct focus groups on childbirth with professionals and Russian women in their homes. That was how I learned that children from the birth houses and orphanages were being sold and sent overseas for prostitution and organ trafficking. For the next ten years, I developed and ran the Angel Coalition, an underground railroad that rescued and repatriated 70,000 sex-trafficking survivors. I returned to America in 2009 when my protégé was murdered and Russian Military Intelligence warned that I would be next.

On returning to back to the United States, I discovered that pedophilia had become a defining moral issue of our American nation. Pedophiles had infiltrated government, academia, entertainment and law enforcement. The coverup of this crime requires collusion between intelligence agencies, government officials and a complicit media. To weed it out of our lives, we must understand how deep the roots are entwined in our society. To do that, we must listen to the victims. I understood that it was time to acknowledge my own victimhood as a trafficked child.

My memoir, Sparky: Surviving Sex Magick— lays bare the origins of government sponsored child sexual abuse in America. It is my coming-of-age story as one little girl who was determined to survive, grow up strong and protect other children from harm.

Please visit my website at www.JulietteEngel.com to order my books then join me by joining Our Country Our Children as a child advocate in your community. 

We are at war, Patriots. This is a war we must win to save our children and the future of our nation.