The Last Undercover (44 page)
The plan called for me to drive the travelers just a short distance, from the hotel to the boarding-area parking lot, where I had allegedly arranged to leave my car during our trip. I pulled my undercover Lexus in front of the hotel to pick up the group and assisted them as we loaded luggage in the trunk. Jokingly, David, feigning concern for my health, said to Todd and me, “Now, if the two of you want to stay here at the hotel and get through the recovery, Paul and I will get through this by ourselves.” With a straight face, I replied, “But wouldn’t that take us out of the conspiracy?” David responded, “No, don’t worry about that, it’s too late!”
He was right—it was.
My passengers were unaware that in the background, on my car stereo, Linda Eder was singing “The Children of Eve,” a song she helped write “to comment on children caught in the crossfire of physical abuse, starvation, and war.” It seemed more appropriate than “Jailhouse Rock.”
It took less than three minutes to drive to the boarding ramp. Paul was unusually quiet; Todd and David seemed oblivious.
FBI agents don’t believe in fair fights; we want to overwhelmingly out-man and out-gun the opposition. I knew that more than a dozen agents had concealed themselves, waiting to spring a trap set in motion years earlier.
We exited the car and retrieved our bags from the trunk. As we headed through the rain toward the boat dock, the arrest plan was executed to perfection. Agents jumped out from behind trees, bushes, and buildings. All four of us were taken into custody. If it were Hollywood, I would report that all three subjects ran, a foot pursuit erupted, and shots were fired, but like most arrests, this was uneventful—the best kind.
Two SWAT agents, friends from my squad, arrested me. I dropped my crutch, feigned collapse, and was caught before I hit the wet pavement. In what I can only describe—with utmost modesty—as an Oscar-worthy performance, I sobbed fake tears as the two agents cuffed me and dragged me to their car. My SWAT team buddies fought back laughter, unprepared for my antics. I was so caught up in my theatrics that I didn’t learn until later that the other three were arrested “without incident.”
I honestly worried that at the arrest I really would get emotional. I had poured myself into this investigation, fighting near-constant urges to inflict my own brand of justice on the men we targeted, while simultaneously balancing two other undercover operations fraught with their own administrative headaches—finally incurring physical illness requiring hospitalization.
But a sense of relief was the main thing I felt, as well as a profound sense of satisfaction. Of the twenty-plus undercover operations in which I participated as the undercover agent, this was the most rewarding. Even though there were no real boys involved in this particular sting, I truly believe we saved lives. We saved boys I may never know or ever see from going through the hell of abuse and exploitation. It was well worth the effort.
Next, though, we had to successfully negotiate the case through the courts.
AFTER THE ARRESTS
O
nce the targets were in custody, my first worry was about David Mayer and the ease with which he had implicated himself in our conversations. I held my breath while awaiting the results of his interview, dreading he would proclaim his innocence with some proof of a study or dissertation he was conducting. My fears were unfounded; he “lawyered up.”
Unlike on TV, we don’t “close by arrest” and move on to a new episode next week. Although the undercover operation was successful, the judicial process awaited. My work was not complete.
The investigation netted eight members of NAMBLA:
Sam Lindblad, former schoolteacher and steering committee member
Gregory Nusca, aka David R. Busby, steering committee member
Steven K. Irvin, special education teacher
Richard Stutsman, businessman/substitute schoolteacher/mentor
Jeffrey Devore, ordained minister/chiropractor
David Cory Mayer, psychologist/international flight attendant
Phillip Todd Calvin, dentist
Paul Ernest Zipszer, personal trainer/warehouse worker
We were surprised that following the arrest there was no known immediate communication between the members and NAMBLA leadership, notifying them of the sting operation and arrests. In fact, it was not until the next issue of the
Bulletin
, published five months later, that there was even a public acknowledgement of the arrests.
An article, less than a full page, distanced the organization from the criminal acts. Appearing on page thirteen of the nineteen-page publication and lacking even a headline or byline, the article seemed more of an afterthought. It stated that during the Miami conference, “a police operative (perhaps an FBI agent) initiated contact with some of the attendees during the ‘off hours.’” The “police operative later inveigled the men” to join him on a trip to Mexico. Describing the members arrested as “extremely naïve,” the article called the undercover operation a “classic entrapment” for which the men would “bear a heavy burden.” The unnamed writer cautioned members of potential sting operations and explained the federal law. Minimizing the offenders’ criminal actions and intent, the article warned that “no victims are needed to prove the case, only a demonstration that one intended to travel overseas and thought about doing something naughty while there.” As with Peter Melzer’s characterization of murderer Charles Jaynes—who suffocated Jeffrey Curley, sexually assaulted the body, and threw the deceased child off a bridge—as a “real decent guy,” anal and oral sex with prepubescent boys apparently falls into NAMBLA’s category of “naughty.”
The seven-paragraph article, “A Report & Proposal from the Steering Committee,” appeared within a section of the
Bulletin
titled “Spotlight.” Of significance was a three-paragraph notation carrying the subhead “Conferences & Membership.” According to the report, the general membership conferences were “labor intensive” and afforded “the seasoned leadership . . . little opportunity to address a wider public.” The steering committee was “considering having fewer General Membership Conferences, and then only when there is a compelling reason to meet.” The article went on to say, “We have always been a convenient target for right-wing ideologues and fanatics. The virulence of the opposition is evidence of the power of our message. We trust their venom will have the contrary effect of empowering, inspiring and strengthening the force of our movement. We are confident our members and supporters will rise to the task.”
It sounded to me as if Peter Melzer and his cronies were making a virtue of necessity. But whatever their motivation, in this case I was proud to identify myself with the “right-wing ideologues and fanatics.”
I hoped all the defendants would plead guilty. The evidence against each of them seemed overwhelming, and I thought it doubtful any would choose to air in front of a jury the recorded conversations in which they discussed their prior sexual history and their sexual desires for the boys they believed to be awaiting them in Ensenada.
Guilty pleas came rather quickly from Greg Nusca, Steve Irvin, Jeff Devore, and, to my surprise, Dick Stutsman. If anyone chose to fight, I assumed it would be Stutsman, who had laid out his defense plans to me in our February 1 phone call.
My initial assessment of Nusca at Johnny Rockets during the Miami conference was correct. He had previously offended. He had a prior conviction and was sentenced to fourteen years. Devore received the minimum mandatory sentence for distributing child pornography, five years. Irvin had no criminal record and was sentenced to thirty-seven months.
The San Diego defendants circled the wagons and rode the coattails of David Mayer’s retained attorney, who, along with Todd’s lawyer, filed several motions challenging my initial infiltration of the organization. They claimed that the government—specifically, Bob Hamer—had violated the defendants’ First Amendment right of freedom of association and their Fifth Amendment right to avoid self-incrimination by engaging in “gross governmental misconduct.” In one motion, David’s attorney admitted “Mr. Mayer and his co-defendants belong to an organization that is hated for espousing beliefs that are distasteful to virtually all in American society. Yet, despite the repugnance of their beliefs, they are entitled to the same First Amendment and other constitutional protections as anyone else.”
In characterizing my behavior as “gross governmental misconduct,” the attorney wrote, “It is shocking that the undercover agent, realizing that Mr. Mayer would not take part in illegal conduct with underage boys in this country, would go to such lengths to instigate the criminal activity by suggesting conduct that would be tolerated by local police in a foreign land.”
My personal favorite line in the motions filed by the defense was the allegation that I “inappropriately played on Mr. Mayer’s psychological condition.” The attorney never quite defined his client’s “psychological condition,” but the client to whom he referred was in fact a Ph.D. and a practicing psychologist. I never even took psychology in college. I admit to having a bit more than my share of self-confidence, but I must be better than even I thought.
Just prior to the evidentiary hearing on the motion, both Todd and Paul entered into a plea agreement and changed their pleas to guilty. Each was sentenced to twenty-four months. David Mayer remained the sole San Diego defendant at the table. Anne Perry presented the case for the government and we were most fortunate to have drawn Federal District Court Judge Jeffrey T. Miller. He saw through the smoke and mirrors of the defense motions and ruled against them. After that, David Mayer had very few weapons remaining in his legal arsenal, and was subsequently sentenced to thirty-seven months.
Los Angeles defendant Sam Lindblad, a three-time convicted sex offender, also chose to fight the charges. Even a guilty plea meant a possible lifetime period of incarceration, so he had little to lose by going to trial.
It is difficult to put into words the roller coaster ride I was on throughout the week of December 12. Although I have had longer trials, spent more time on the stand, and was subjected to more rigorous cross-examination, I fought to keep my emotions in check.
Within three weeks I would be retired from a twenty-six-year career with the FBI. I would no longer carry the badge and gun that had become like parts of me. Although I joked about it with family and friends, every time the phone rang throughout my career I thought it could be that one great undercover assignment that would make Mel Gibson or Bruce Willis jealous—full of danger, excitement, and intrigue.
Now I knew that call would never come. I also knew the upcoming trial was one of the most important of my career. Sam Lindblad was a predator who needed to spend the rest of his life in jail. I had a major role in seeing to it he never saw the daylight of freedom again, and I wanted more than anything to go out with this win under my belt.
On Sunday I drove up to Los Angeles from my San Diego home and spent the evening in a hotel, listening again to my recording of the January 6 dinner conversation with Lindblad in Albuquerque. The next day I was to meet with the prosecutors to prepare for the trial. Even though I had dealt with hundreds of federal prosecutors during my career, I had never met the two Assistant United States Attorneys handling the Lindblad matter. I would soon learn that their excellent reputations were well earned.
On Monday, I met with Tom O’Brien and Jennifer Corbett. Tom was the chief of the Criminal Division and had the final say on all prosecutions coming out of the Central District of California. Never had the “chief” ever gone to trial in any of my cases, and I had been involved in some major investigations.
My confidence level rose immensely as soon as I met Tom. A Naval Academy graduate and former naval flight officer—Tom had been a backseater in an F-14—he left the Navy, became a prosecutor in the Los Angeles District Attorney’s office, and prosecuted hundreds of gang-related cases before jumping to the federal system. My first question to him when we met was why. Why was he assisting in this case? His answer was brief and said it all: he had a son.
I spent the morning explaining my role in the investigation and giving him my insights into NAMBLA. We were joined in the afternoon by Jennifer Corbett. She had an outstanding grasp of the investigation. A Yale Law School graduate from New York, she spent most of her time in the U.S. Attorney’s office prosecuting federal sex offense cases. Her self-confidence was evident and refreshing. She, too, was more than ready for this trial. The burden was now on me to prepare myself for tomorrow’s testimony.
Prior to leaving for the day, I accompanied Jennifer to the courtroom of Federal District Court Judge Nora N. Manella. Judge Manella, a former United States Attorney before being appointed by President Clinton to the federal bench, would be presiding over the Lindblad trial starting the next day. This afternoon, however, she was sentencing Richard Stutsman, who had pleaded guilty several months earlier. Because of federal sentencing guidelines, the sentence was no surprise. Stutsman, who had no prior convictions, was sentenced to thirty-seven months in prison, a $7,500 fine, and to seven years’ federal probation upon completion of the prison term. The sentence was far less than I thought he deserved, but I was even more disappointed when the judge seemed to characterize the contemplated sex acts as consensual and the price of the trip as minimal, almost enticing, almost a “sex light” type of crime. The implication was that tomorrow’s trial might not be as easy as we would hope.
After a quick dinner in Los Angeles’ Little Tokyo, I returned to the hotel room and pored over my reports, attempting to refresh my memory on all that had taken place with Sam Lindblad. I was up late into the night, prepping for the next day, trying to anticipate possible cross-examination. Based upon discussions with defense counsel, Tom and Jennifer knew Lindblad’s defense was going to be that he merely went on the trip in order to “walk on the beach with a boy,” read him stories, and touch him. Sam was going to claim he had no desire to engage in any sex act with a child.