The Informant

by Kurt Eichenwald

  Paisley broke in. “Who was running the meetings for ADM?”

  “Terry. Terry Wilson. He was actively advising everybody else on production and price levels.’’

  Whitacre sat back. “It didn’t take long for me to understand why I had been assigned to work with Terry. He was supposed to be showing me how things occur at these price-fixing meetings.’’

  The next meeting, Whitacre said, had been in June—about five months ago—and had taken place in Mexico. In September, executives from Ajinomoto had come to Decatur to tour ADM’s plant so that they could learn whether the company was bluffing about its capacity. That was important for the negotiations over production. Afterward, he said, Whitacre and Wilson had toured plants owned by Ajinomoto in the United States.

  “A few weeks ago we had another meeting in Paris, to discuss prices and volumes,’’ Whitacre said.

  Shepard leaned in. “Did you bring the copies of your expense reports that we talked about?”

  Whitacre nodded. “Sure. They’re right here.’’

  Opening his briefcase, Whitacre pulled out his expense records and handed them to Shepard. The agent pored through them. He could see they documented trips to Tokyo, Mexico City, and Paris. This was the first evidence corroborating Whitacre’s statements.

  “Who schedules these meetings?’’ Shepard asked.

  “Mr. Ikeda,’’ Whitacre said. “He’s the owner of Ajinomoto.’’

  “When’s the next meeting?’’

  “Sometime in January,’’ Whitacre said. “It’s going to be somewhere in Asia. The final arrangements are probably still being worked out by Mr. Ikeda.’’

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  The price-fixing had been an enormous boon to ADM, Whitacre said. In just the past month, the lysine business brought in $2.5 million in profits; a few months before, the company had been losing that much.

  “All that profit is due to price-fixing,’’ Whitacre said. The agents pressed him. Had Whitacre heard about price-fixing in any other ADM products?

  Whitacre nodded. “Just this weekend, Mick Andreas and Terry Wilson traveled to Florida to meet with competitors at the Corn Refiners Association. They have formal meetings during the day, but at night they meet in private rooms for pricing talks.’’

  “How are those meetings set up?’’ Paisley asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know details. But I’ve been told the pricing discussions occur that way.’’

  Paisley’s thoughts raced. This case sounded incredible. Whitacre was a source unlike any he had ever met. Even the room they were in underscored that. This was not the flophouse of some mope or the apartment of some embittered ex-employee. This was a man in reach of ADM’s top rung. His financial rewards were obviously substantial. Personally, he seemed to have nothing to gain by stepping forward, and potentially everything to lose. Paisley had never even heard of a situation like that in law enforcement.

  “Mark,’’ Paisley said softly, “there’s something else I have to ask you.’’

  “Sure.’’

  “Why are you doing this? We know you lied to us about the phone line and you’re afraid of that. But now you’re telling us all this other stuff out of the blue, so to speak. Why are you doing this?”

  The look on Whitacre’s face was grim.

  “Things are going on I don’t approve of,’’ he said. “I don’t like it. I mean, I’m a biochemist. I’m a technical guy. But now they’ve pulled me into the business side, and they’re doing things that are illegal. I don’t like it, and they made me be a part of it because they said it’s part of the business.’’

  Neither agent moved.

  “They said that if I’m going to grow with ADM, I gotta be part of the business,’’ he said. “I knew what they wanted me to do was illegal, and that weighed on me. When they told me to lie, I had to lie.’’

  Whitacre cleared his throat. “I know I lied to you guys. I felt bad about that. I wanted to correct that. I wanted to come clean. But there Eich_0767903277_5p_01_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:56 PM Page 69

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  was no way to explain that I’d lied without explaining why, without explaining that there are things going on in the business that are illegal. I didn’t like those things, but I felt like I had to go along. Now I want to tell you about it because it’s bothering me. It’s the wrong thing to do. I want to do the right thing.’’

  Paisley nodded. This made sense and explained Whitacre’s earlier nervousness that he had heard so much about. The words didn’t ease all of his concerns, but they made Paisley feel more comfortable.

  “So,’’ he said. “You look at yourself as wearing a white hat and they’re wearing the black hats.’’

  “Yeah,’’ Whitacre said. “Something like that.’’

  They had reached a turning point. This was the time to see how far Whitacre was willing to take this.

  “Well, Mark,’’ Paisley said, his voice almost fatherly, “do you think you’d be willing to go a few steps further in helping us?’’

  “Sure. What do you mean?’’

  “Would you be willing to help us by wearing a wire to show this is true? We don’t have other sources we can go to at this time. We need your help.’’

  Paisley knew he was asking Whitacre to risk a lot. He decided to be up-front.

  “I realize what I’m asking you to do here,’’ he said. “Sometime down the line, you’re going to be the guy who has to testify against your fellow executives. That won’t be easy. You’ll be risking a lot.’’

  Whitacre blinked. “Yeah,’’ he said, “but I feel like, if everybody else went to jail or whatever, at least I did the right thing. I’ll be the guy who did the right thing. That’s how the company will look at me. They’ll reward me for doing the right thing, and I’ll probably end up being president of the company.’’

  Paisley listened in disbelief. Whitacre was in a fantasy world, with no idea what he was getting into.

  “Mark, you gotta realize that when these stockholders and directors find out that you’re the one that caused all of this embarrassment, they’re not going to look at you as the guy in the white hat. They’re going to be mad at you. Do you really think they’re going to make you president of the company?’’

  “Yeah, I think so. Because I’m the one who’s doing the right thing.’’

  I wouldn’t count on it, Paisley thought. But he had warned Whitacre, and the man was still willing to proceed. He was sure Shepard would come back to the issue again at some future meeting. Eich_0767903277_5p_01_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:56 PM Page 70 70

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  There were still operational details to iron out, Paisley said. A method needed to be set up so Shepard could contact Whitacre without being detected by ADM.

  “Tell me about the voice-mail system at your office,’’ Shepard said. It was normal voice mail, Whitacre shrugged. Worked pretty much like any other system.

  “All right,’’ Shepard said, pulling a pager off his belt. “Here’s what we’re going to do. If I need to speak with you, I’ll call your voice mail. When the message records, I’ll turn the pager on, like this.’’

  A shrill beeping sound echoed in the large room.

  “So whenever you hear that,’’ Shepard continued, “you find a safe phone and call me back.’’

  Whitacre nodded. The idea sounded good to him.

  Shepard brought out a small slip of paper. “This is my office number. Put this in a safe place, and when you hear the pager, call me there.’’

  Whitacre took the slip and escorted the agents to the door, where they thanked him again. Whitacre nodded, obviously feeling good about his decisions.

  Shepard again cautioned Whitacre to act normal at the office the next day, as if nothing was going on. He said he would contact Whitacre during the day to see about setting up a place for the
first recording.

  Whitacre smiled.

  “Okay, buddy,’’ he said. “Talk to you then.’’

  Paisley stared blankly out the car window, studying the surrounding fields as Shepard pulled out of Whitacre’s driveway. He waited until they had left Moweaqua before asking the question on his mind.

  “What do you think of this guy?’’ he asked. “Think he’s telling the truth now?’’

  “Right now I’m taking him at face value,’’ Shepard responded.

  “Why would somebody lie and then ask to wear a wire? That doesn’t make any sense.’’

  “Yeah, but why would somebody in his position do this? I mean, he’s basically cutting his own throat with the company as soon as this comes out.’’

  The two agents were quiet. Neither had an answer.

  “Well, if he’s willing to do it, we’ll go ahead and do it,’’ Paisley said finally. “I’ll just have the SAC sign off on it and we’re in business.’’

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  Paisley sat back. “You know, Brian, we’re not going to wait too long for this guy to produce. Especially where we’re just taking his word for it, and we’ve got a wire on an executive at ADM. We can’t wait too long for results.’’

  Shepard stared ahead. “I know,’’ he said.

  The next morning, Whitacre tore into Cheviron’s office before eight. He had the same look of anxiety that had been on his face for days.

  “Have you been able to get hold of Regina at Inland Telephone Company?’’ Whitacre asked, fuming.

  Cheviron tried hard not to look too dismissive. He had thought this issue was done with.

  “No, I haven’t.’’

  Whitacre could usually control his anger. But that morning, he looked ready to explode.

  “Don’t you care?’’ he snapped.

  “Well, I care, but what’s the problem?’’

  “I think you’re setting me up, or ADM’s setting me up!’’ he shouted, trembling in anger. “You’re lying to me! They’ve tapped both my phones.’’

  The moment was rife with deceit. Whitacre’s frenzy was mostly an act—he already knew from Shepard that no listening devices were on his phone. But at ADM, he had to avoid raising suspicion by pretending that he knew nothing. For his part, Cheviron was tired of Whitacre’s ravings. He had already openly attacked Whitacre’s truthfulness. His career didn’t need this. Cheviron sighed. “Get me Regina’s phone number and I’ll call her.’’

  “Fine,’’ Whitacre said. He charged out of the office. Within thirty minutes, he was on the phone to Cheviron’s secretary, giving her the number.

  Just after ten-thirty, Whitacre reappeared. From the way he was acting, anyone would think this phone call was the most important thing Whitacre had to deal with. Whitacre certainly seemed to believe it was the only thing on Cheviron’s plate.

  “Did you call Regina?’’

  “No,’’ Cheviron replied. “Haven’t had a chance.’’

  That was all Whitacre needed to hear.

  “Don’t think I don’t understand what’s happening here,’’ he yelled.

  “You’re working with the FBI!’’

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  Cheviron held up his hands.

  “This is ridiculous,’’ he said. “I’ll call Brian Shepard, and I’ll just ask him, Mark.’’

  Whitacre sat in a chair in front of the desk. Cheviron looked up Shepard’s office number and punched it into the phone, trying hard to control his anger.

  “FBI.”

  Cheviron recognized Shepard’s voice.

  “Brian, it’s Mark Cheviron. I’ve been talking with Mark Whitacre, and he’s having a problem.’’

  Cheviron, glancing at Whitacre, quickly related the story of the phone call from Inland Telephone.

  “Now, I asked you guys which lines you were monitoring on Friday, and you told me just the OPX line. But have you tapped both lines?’’

  Shepard paused.

  “I really can’t answer,’’ he said. There were no taps, just the “trap and trace” and “pen registers.’’ But that was not something he could discuss.

  For Cheviron, the nonresponse spoke volumes. He felt convinced the FBI had lied to him on Friday.

  “You don’t have to answer,’’ he said. “That’s enough.’’ He hung up the phone.

  Cheviron looked over at Whitacre. “Well, Mark, you’re probably right,’’ he said. “I believe they’ve probably tapped both of your phones.’’

  Whitacre jumped up. “But that’s not right!’’ he blurted. “I was promised that both phones wouldn’t be tapped! I was promised!’’

  “I know, Mark,’’ Cheviron said, holding up his hands again. “I know that’s what we were told. But I think they’ve been lying to us.’’

  “I knew it! I knew it! I knew we never should have done this! It was a bad idea talking to the FBI. I told everybody that, but nobody listened to me!’’

  Cheviron did his best to calm Whitacre but failed. After Whitacre left, Cheviron walked to Reising’s office to brief the general counsel. Reising eyed Cheviron carefully before replying.

  “What it sounds like to me is that you’re not doing your job,’’ he said, “since you can’t keep track of what the FBI is doing.’’

  Cheviron felt beaten. By the time he left Reising’s office, the decision had been made: ADM was pulling out. They would no longer cooperate with the FBI. Later that morning, Cheviron called Shepard again and told him Eich_0767903277_5p_01_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:56 PM Page 73

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  everything—how he had branded Whitacre a liar to his bosses, based on the FBI’s word, how his own job now seemed threatened. Management didn’t trust him anymore.

  “ADM just wants out of this investigation,’’ Cheviron said. “We are not going to cooperate any further with FBI requests, and any further requests should be referred to Reising.’’

  The call ended quickly. Cheviron was not in the mood to talk. Four hours later, at 3:25, Cheviron’s phone rang. Dean Paisley was on the line.

  “I just talked with Brian about your telephone conversation,’’ he said. “What is exactly your concern? What is your heartburn?’’

  Cheviron lashed out like a wounded animal.

  “I understand you can’t tell me everything,’’ he said. “But I told Brian the only thing I don’t want is lying. You don’t lie to me, and I don’t lie to you.’’

  He recounted the Regina story, emphasizing how this contradicted what Don Stukey had said. He told how he had called Whitacre a liar—he had even told Dwayne Andreas that Whitacre was lying. Now, Cheviron said, it ended up that the FBI had made him into a fool.

  “They don’t trust me here,’’ Cheviron said. “They want me out of it, and it’s going to be handled by the legal department.’’

  Paisley explained why Cheviron could not be told everything. Someone at ADM was potentially a saboteur, he said. Information had to be closely held. But now, he needed to know what ADM’s role would be.

  “Are you saying your company is formally telling the FBI that you will no longer cooperate at all in this investigation in which you are the victim?’’

  “Yes,’’ Cheviron said.

  “And you have that authority to tell me that from your people?’’

  “From our legal department. Rick Reising said he would be glad to tell you that.’’

  Paisley pressed. “What you are saying is that any request that we have of your company to help us in this criminal investigation, you’re not going to cooperate in any way. Is that what you’re saying?’’

  Cheviron’s antennae went up. Why was Paisley pushing him? He answered cautiously.

  “I don’t know if that’s what he’s saying. I think what he said is we want to withdra
w our complaint.’’

  “You know better than that,’’ Paisley scoffed. “You don’t do that in a Eich_0767903277_5p_01_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:56 PM Page 74 74

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  federal investigation. Once an investigation is started, we have to play it out.’’

  Something told Cheviron to hedge his answers.

  “All I’m saying is that they’re not going to let me be involved anymore,’’ he said. “You can work it out with Rick Reising. I get the feeling they don’t believe me anymore, and that’s not my fault.’’

  Paisley wrapped it up. He said he would contact Reising, and the call came to an end. Cheviron eyed the phone. He didn’t know what Paisley had been up to, but something about the conversation bothered him. About forty miles away, Paisley placed his phone in its cradle. He reached across the desk to the tape recorder that had been hooked up minutes before and jabbed the Stop button. The spools that had been turning during his call with Cheviron stopped moving. That morning, beginning with Cheviron’s second call to Shepard, the FBI had started taping ADM. It seemed obvious to the agents that the company was trying to shut down the Fujiwara investigation, maybe to cover up the other crimes Whitacre had described. But to prove an obstruction of justice, they needed evidence. That meant, from now on, the FBI’s conversations with ADM executives were going to be on tape.

  Paisley popped the cassette out of the recorder. Soon, the tape was sent down the hall to the office of the “ELSUR clerk”—an FBI staffer who maintained recordings from electronic surveillance. There, it was logged as number 1B2. Paisley had little doubt that it would be needed later.

  That afternoon, Whitacre called the in-house voice mail and entered his code. He listened to a few messages, then dialed a number for the next one.

  Beep.

  Before the second tone from Shepard’s pager could sound, Whitacre pushed two buttons on his keypad.

  Deleted, the electronic voice said.

  Whitacre headed out of the office to a nearby conference room. He felt sure it was a safe place to talk. He figured it wouldn’t take long to find out from Shepard where they would be meeting for the first secret taping of the price-fixing conspirators. Whitacre pulled off Pershing Road into the parking lot for the Best Western Shelton Inn, just outside downtown Decatur. He drove past Eich_0767903277_5p_01_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:56 PM Page 75