Blown for Good - Marc Morgan Headley [106]
This was a pain that I was used to. We would be reamed out for having gotten nothing done since the last meeting, and now we were in another meeting about something else that we had not gotten done. Tomorrow’s meeting would surely be about the previous day’s meeting demanding a progress report. What were we supposed to say? “Well, Sir, I did not get that done as I was with you all day getting reamed out.” No, it was widely known that Dave was the one cross ordering all of his own orders, but if anyone dared utter the words, it was an express ticket to who knows where.
So, we sat there and listened to Dave lay out his most recent act of sheer brilliance in sorting out this mess called International Scientology Expansion. He had figured it all out, what things would get released at what event, in what sequence and how this would fund the next upcoming releases. He had figured it all out: prices, how it would be packaged, how much it would cost to produce, how many people it would take to make it, you name it. It was like he was handing it to us on a silver platter. After four straight hours of him explaining it to us, now all we had to do was confirm for him that we could do it. We would break for dinner and when we returned, we would have a chance to let him know our plan.
After dinner we would usually get to sit there for 30 more minutes by ourselves to hash out what we were going to do. Most of the time, no one would agree on anything and the biggest item to be nailed down was who in the group would speak on behalf of the group. This was a double-edged sword if there ever was one. If you were picked to be the representative for the group and screwed it up and COB disagreed with what you were saying, the group would surely throw you under the bus and say to COB “we had not gone over that, Sir.” Or you would come out with flying colors and Dave would decide that you were the next best thing since sliced bread and you might be the favorite pet for a few weeks.
Usually right as Dave came back into the room, someone would hastily say that they would be the one to talk and we would see what would happen.
“So what did you guys work out?” was the usual question Dave Miscavige would ask as he walked back into the marathon meeting in progress.
“Well, Sir,” the appointed sacrificial lamb would begin. After a long-winded interpretation of how to execute COB’s brilliant plan was laid out, we would all hold our breath waiting for his answer. If objects in the room did not immediately start to fly at the person who just finished speaking, we were usually in the clear. But then sometimes, Dave would get up from his chair and slowly saunter over from across the room and launch a full out Pearl Harbor sneak attack on the person. So you could never be too sure what was coming.
“No, you guys just don’t get it! Let me explain it to you again,” Dave started saying. So after getting a second chance to hear his whole plan and then having him tell us as well how we would execute it, we are now another six hours older.
Dave wrapped up the meeting, apparently in a good mood with, “Okay, guys, I think this can really work. Thanks.”
He left and we filed outside to light up cigarettes and figure out what was next. It being nearly 1:00 a.m. by this point, most of our crew have already gone home or were about to, so we all decided that we were going to end on a good note, go home and get some sleep.
I headed back to my area and did a few things before heading off down to my house, which was right next to the Int Base. I rolled in around 2:00 a.m. and my wife came home maybe 30 minutes after me. Just as I was almost asleep there was a knock at the door.
It was Karsten Matthias, one of the Gold Security