The Last Undercover (37 page)
Sam had a master’s degree in special education and worked with the developmentally disabled. Obviously, such employment provided him with a target-rich environment and he took advantage of his position. He denied engaging in oral or anal sex but said he enjoyed “fondling.” His age of preference, “nine- to fourteen-year-olds,” was a pretty broad range compared to most of the men I encountered. Since many boys begin puberty before fourteen, few men I met targeted both pre- and postpubescent boys.
Our discussion of the prison rehabilitation program brought into question the value of any organized effort at rehabilitation, at least as far as it applied to boy lovers. Sam said something that never occurred to me.
The mandated prison counseling program he attended consisted of approximately fifty inmates, all sex offenders. By Sam’s estimates, 10 to 20 percent were boy lovers. Here, for the first time in his life, thanks to the required prison counseling, he met other BLs. “I made some good friends in the program,” he told me. Even more enlightening was the fact that despite the counseling and therapy, he still considered himself a BL. “I don’t know anybody that’s gone through the therapy [who changed sexually as a result]. . . . You don’t get cured and they know that. . . . You play the game. . . . It’s not what’s between your legs; it’s what’s in your brain.”
Sam’s frank admissions reflected the views expressed on the NAMBLA Web site regarding their “Prison Program.”
Some states conduct “therapy” programs for inmates, and for parolees once they are released. The therapy ranges from drug therapy and aversion therapy to group counseling. For parole or early release, an inmate’s “cooperation” with the prison therapists conducting these programs is required. Prisoners are required to enroll for a “cure,” to participate, and to seem to be rehabilitate. . . . These programs have
never
[emphasis added] been shown to have any lasting value for the prisoner or for society.
I once heard Vin Scully, the voice of the Los Angeles Dodgers, say that statistics are like a lamppost to a drunk: they are used more for support than illumination. Sam’s “therapy” program and his admissions of offending multiple times since his release reminded me of a study I read in preparing for this investigation. The Sex Offender Treatment Program established by the Federal Bureau of Prisons at the Federal Correctional Institution in Butner, North Carolina, studied ninety inmates who volunteered for the treatment program. During their presentence interviews, these ninety prisoners, who were admitted or convicted child sexual offenders, admitted to 106 sexual contact crimes. After completion of the federal treatment program, these same ninety inmates admitted to 1,728 previously undocumented sexual contacts. Each offender admitted to an average of 19.2 additional and previously undocumented sexual contacts. How many of the men we were targeting were truthful in admitting, either to me or their counselors while in therapy, to the number of sexual contacts they had with minors?
For Sam, the therapy sessions provided him with insights into his own psychological malaise, but he remained a sex offender—albeit a sex offender with a better understanding of why he offended.
Sam’s admissions reinforced what I discovered throughout this investigation. The sexual offenders with whom I was dealing were not those who, under cover of darkness, slipped past sleeping parents into the bedroom of an unsuspecting child. These offenders began their quest in full view of an unsuspecting public. They were our sons’ teachers, doctors, therapists, neighbors, friends, and relatives. Their responsible behavior in public causes us to drop our guard. We somehow believe we are smart enough to recognize the pervert lurking in the shadows and, as a result of that confidence, fail to see the predator in our midst.
Since relocating to Albuquerque, Sam joined a gay men’s chorus. Recently, the group performed at a Unitarian Church. A seventh grader, the son of the man from the church who organized the performance, sat in the front row. At a postconcert reception, Sam served the boy punch, and they began a discussion. “He was so pleased to have somebody respond to him and share opinions,” said Sam. Sam wrote a thank-you note to the father and included a note to the son. Sam’s own words best describe his motivation: “I haven’t heard back, but I was grooming.”
Some sex offenders with whom I communicated enjoyed the planning stages of the seduction almost as much as the actual sexual experience. Sam’s attempt at grooming seemed textbook. He sought the child’s friendship, as well as the friendship of the parents. The grooming process began with a “look” at the concert, it continued when Sam provided the boy with refreshments following the performance, and it certainly continued with the conversation, in which Sam lavished praise on the boy for his insights and maturity. Sam was attempting to build trust. Maybe his only mistake was in choosing a boy whose father was in a position to see through Sam’s attempts. As I learned so often in my correspondence, the most easily conquered target is one without a strong, loving, caring father figure.
I take a deep, personal satisfaction at succeeding in my undercover role. During the evening’s conversation, two comments brought an inner joy reflecting that success. First, as Sam was complaining about law enforcement’s interest in him following his release from prison, he noted he often believed he was being watched. When I asked if he thought he was being watched while we ate, he didn’t respond until I added that I chose the pricey restaurant because I knew “no cop could afford to eat here.” He laughed and readily concurred. Meanwhile, my surveillance agents were two tables away.
But the second line I will always remember came when I asked what piece of advice he wanted to impart to the membership through our article. His answer was an undercover classic. He made a fist for emphasis, looked me in the eye, and pleaded, “Be aware that there are many, many sting operations going on. I was not aware of that ten years ago.” He still wasn’t!
As the evening was drawing to a close, I sensed the time was right to give Sam Lindblad a sniff of the bait.
Me: I’m a little reluctant to ask you this.
Sam: I don’t have to answer.
Me: Would you be interested in going on a vacation? We have a place in Mexico that is a bed and breakfast and a friend of mine has been twice, as recently as October. He’s going with us. It’s a BL’s delight. I don’t want you to get in trouble. . . . But I want to throw out the invitation to you.
Sam: I’ve heard about such things. . . . It sounds like something I can’t say no to. . . . I’m very glad you did ask me, even though you were reticent about asking, if for no other reason than just to know that such things exist, not only in Thailand.
Sam asked if he could invite Dick Stutsman because he was “lonely too.” How could I refuse? Sam said he would call Stutsman the next day and let me know the answer. He also promised not to tell Peter.
I left the Rancher’s Club that evening a very satisfied agent: I enjoyed a truly memorable meal, I afforded my two backup agents the same opportunity, I acquired incriminating admissions from a convicted sex offender, and I potentially gained two more members for the Ensenada BL tour. Altogether, a rather fruitful day’s work.
Meanwhile, I was trying to navigate around a few shoals and other obstacles in the path of the investigation—some being placed by the Bureau. A few days earlier, some administrative issues arose that forced me to place my UC activities on hold until the regulatory difficulties could be resolved; form over substance as far as I could tell. I quickly concocted a cover story that I was taking a trip to Australia on some business for one of my family’s “foundations,” and would be out of contact with Todd, David Mayer, and the others until I returned. When my San Diego supervisor concluded with me that HQ was wrong about their self-imposed issues, we resumed the operation—without Headquarters’ concurrence—and I “cancelled” my Australia trip.
I communicated this to Todd and David Mayer, and recapped for them my recent successes in getting past Paul Zipszer’s fiercely protective mother and potentially recruiting David R. Busby for the trip. I mentioned to them that in both cases financial assistance would likely be required.
In a return e-mail, Todd casually mentioned that he had been informed that his deposit and trip application had gone to the wrong PO box. He immediately called and e-mailed the undercover travel agent to determine if his materials were ever received.
This was worrisome: The travel brochures apparently had a wrong address printed on them, and one of my suspects’ all-important indications of intent had gone astray. But my cover story needed protection as well, since I repeatedly told my targets I was in mail contact with the travel agency. I quickly concocted a cover for my cover: the travel agency had printed “new” brochures with a wrong address. I had been using an “old” brochure with the correct address. I told Todd I called “my friend Sean” about the problem and received assurances the travel agency knew about the mistake and was taking steps to resolve it with no inconvenience to its customers. In other words, Todd didn’t need to stop payment on the check he used to purchase his money order.
Our group was growing. Just before I left for Albuquerque, I was awakened by an early-morning phone call. I groped for my phone, groggy since I had been up past three
AM
on a phone call related to the national security case I was also working on at the time. I had been speaking to a foreign general, negotiating a multimillion-dollar “weapons deal.” I could barely focus on the caller ID as I tossed a tape into my recording device.
The caller wasn’t the general, it was Paul Zipszer, who apparently didn’t quite grasp the concept of time differences between Florida and California, but the early-morning wake-up call was worth the disturbance. Paul wanted to join the cruise. Although finances were a problem, he would forward me the two-hundred-dollar deposit and asked me to front him the rest. I gladly accommodated that request. He provided me with his address and said that twelve to thirteen was his age of preference. He also stated that he liked “anal sex but not with a boy this young.”
Likewise, it didn’t take long for Sam Lindblad to respond to my invitation to join us in Mexico. The day after our meeting at the restaurant, Sam telephoned me and left a voice mail message. He had called Dick Stutsman and both would be going on the trip.
In my return call to Sam, his excitement was evident and apparently contagious. He told me he called Dick earlier in the day and convinced him to join us on the trip. Their plans included Dick driving from South Carolina to Albuquerque, picking up Sam, and driving together to Los Angeles. The interstate travel element of the offense would be easy to prove. Dick was willing to drive over three thousand miles across country, pick up a co-conspirator, and then take an eight-hour boat trip to have sex with underage boys.
Sam did say he would need my financial assistance to make the trip. Dick was going to make Sam’s two-hundred-dollar down payment, and Sam asked that I finance the rest. Sam agreed to repay me at fifty dollars a month, even offering to sign a promissory note. I gladly accommodated his request.
MY LIFE AS A GHOSTWRITER
I
n keeping with my stated purpose for the trip to Albuquerque, I actually wrote an article for the
Bulletin
I never expected to publish—until now. In a perverse way, I was sort of proud of it, since it provided a “BL-approved” example of the topsy-turvy ethics and logic of boy lovers. Since everything in the
Bulletin
is published under some sort of incomplete or assumed name to protect everyone’s identities, I guess you could say I did it as a ghostwriter. Here is an abridged version, appearing for the first time on the printed page, with Sam Lindblad’s name changed to Daniel—to protect the guilty.
The judge’s gavel crashed onto the mahogany bench and Daniel’s heart sank. The sentence had been imposed. . . . Less than six months ago, what began as an act of kindness ended in a prison sentence. At 48, a man who had devoted his life to helping boys was going to spend the next 7 years separated from the objects of his vocation and avocation.
Even at an early age, he found himself attracted to young boys. As a 15-year-old member of 4-H he loved the opportunity to work with the 9- and 10-year-olds. As a 20-year-old, he used his knowledge and skills to mentor boys. Although he married in his early 20s and fathered a son, his attention was always drawn to boys. . . .
Daniel knew he was different from the others. He knew that he loved boys in a way that society failed to understand. He knew that he had to constantly fight to satisfy the natural desires that he had for boys. Maybe someday an enlightened society would understand . . .
[H]e began a teaching career. Catering to the special needs of mentally handicapped boys, he could not only manifest his love in a format acceptable to society, he was able to spend every day with the boys he loved. Over the course of the next decade he was able to develop loving relationships with many boys, relationships that meant as much to him as they did to the boys. Only once was a complaint lodged because of his desires to be near a boy . . .
One day, a mother in need came into [his] business with her son. Daniel was able to help the mother. He also developed a friendship with her son, a friendship that began with the innocent sharing of letters. The youngster lived over 80 miles from Daniel and a regular correspondence resulted. Daniel noticed that the fatherless boy sought his advice on a variety of topics and Daniel was only too eager to help. One day however he noticed that the boy’s latest note came from a post office box. The boy said that he opened the box to prevent his mother from reading his mail. . . . Daniel should have listened to that inner nagging voice, especially as the letters became more sexual in nature. . . . As the relationship blossomed, the boy’s requests and demands seemed too sophisticated. . . . When Daniel agreed to meet the boy, Daniel was met by the police and arrested on child enticement charges. Daniel had been snared in a trap sprung by a mother who read her son’s letters and misinterpreted Daniel’s genuine and sincere advice . . .