The Informant

by Kurt Eichenwald

  Goldberg glanced around by the phone. He wanted to take a few notes. All he could find was a round piece of paper emblazoned with the words I’d Rather Be Playing Tennis. He flipped the paper over and picked up a pen.

  “We’re going on national television, and we’re going to hang everybody out!’’ Hoech said, his voice rising. “You get hold of the rest of the members, and you call a goddamned special meeting and remove these people. This is ludicrous! This is America! What the hell is going on? Do you think we write this stuff because it’s a lie? Do you think we spend $3.5 million to dig this shit up—and you people are sitting there listening to Dwayne, who’s a dictator? This is a disgrace to democracy!’’

  Goldberg wrote down “$3.5 million to dig up this shit,’’ and drew a box around it.

  “You’re going to have the blood of Whitacre, myself, and some other members on your hands because you people are standing around doing nothing!’’ Hoech raged.

  In the background, Hoech’s wife interrupted, telling him to calm down. Goldberg could not understand what was being said, but thought he was hearing children playing.

  Hoech breathed deeply. “I’m sorry, but I’m upset, Goldberg.’’

  This was Goldberg’s chance to respond. “We are investigating—’’

  “Investigating, my ass!’’ Hoech yelled. “Get these people out of there! You’re spending our money! They spent thirty million dollars!

  Goddamned Aubrey Daniel says last week, he says, ‘All we’ve got to do is kill Whitacre, and we don’t have a case.’ ”

  Hoech’s wife again told him to calm down.

  “I’m sorry,’’ Hoech said. “I’m not yelling at you, Goldberg. I’m just unloading. I’m tired of this. My life’s been threatened.’’

  “Who are these people threatening you?’’

  “Who are these people?’’ Hoech shot back. It was those criminals Eich_0767903277_5p_02_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:57 PM Page 486 486

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  at ADM, he said, listing a series of allegations against company executives, ranging from drug use to being part of a hit-and-run.

  “You don’t know how rotten these people are!’’ Hoech yelled.

  “They’re a disgrace to humanity!’’

  “Well,’’ Goldberg said, “I’m sorry to hear that.’’

  Hoech again mentioned the Lamet Vov letters.

  “Everything you’ve read in those letters is factual. I’ll go on national TV with it. And the reason we’ve stayed underground is because we know what we’re up against.’’

  “You’re afraid of being hurt, is that it?’’

  “He’s already threatened our life this morning; they’ve been down here,’’ Hoech said. “I live in Florida, and they’ve been down here checking on me, and my phone is wired up; my fax machine I’ve had to unjam, and I know what we’re up against. It’s like with Marcos in the Philippines. You try to stay alive until you get the job done.’’

  “Have you gone to the FBI or—’’

  “Come on! For what, Ray? Wake up!’’

  Goldberg almost sighed. “I guess I’m naïve.’’

  “You are. Wake up!’’

  Hoech launched into a tirade, telling Goldberg that ADM management had lied, that the company was dirty, and that directors had abandoned their duties.

  “It’s gone too far now, Ray. You’ve gotta get hold of these people. You’ve gotta remove Dwayne, Mick, Randall, Terry Wilson, and Barrie Cox. If you don’t, the blood is going to start flowing because these people are sick!’’

  Hoech started in again, repeating that ADM executives were dangerous. Goldberg realized he needed to bring this call to a close.

  “I appreciate your calling,’’ he interrupted.

  Hoech stopped. He provided his phone number and repeated his name, asking that it be kept confidential. Goldberg asked a few questions. He learned that Hoech had never worked for ADM, although he claimed his group had owned three million shares of the company, which were sold the day of the raid.

  “Now here’s what I recommend,’’ Hoech continued. “If they don’t want to call a special board meeting, you resign. I’ll get you all the press you want. I’ll put you on national TV. ABC, NBC, and CBS.’’

  Goldberg said he didn’t want publicity but would continue working in the interests of ADM shareholders. Hoech promised to help in any way he could, including by writing more letters. Eich_0767903277_5p_02_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:57 PM Page 487

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  “Well, I appreciate your call,’’ Goldberg said.

  “You keep my name to yourself.’’

  “I will.’’

  Hanging up, Goldberg ran through his notes, now covering both sides of the paper. He decided to telephone his attorney. He needed advice on what to do, now that he had learned the identity of the mysterious Lamet Vov. That same week, Williams & Connolly contacted the antitrust prosecutors with what at first sounded like big news: ADM wanted to cut a deal.

  Then came the details. The lawyers offered for ADM to plead nolo contendere to charges of fixing prices for lysine and citric—allowing the company to dispose of the criminal case without giving evidence of guilt to the plaintiffs suing in civil court. In addition, the lawyers demanded immunity for all ADM officers. In exchange, ADM would turn over evidence that could be used to convict other companies in the two schemes. The government would have its victory and would be able to diffuse the almost certain legal attack that ADM was planning against the FBI.

  “Otherwise, there’s going to be a bloody war,’’ Aubrey Daniel said in presenting the offer. “Let’s avoid it.’’

  The proposal was dismissed. What Williams & Connolly did not know was that the prosecutors were becoming very confident about their hand. That same week, all of the major lysine conspirators were knocking on the door, offering far better deals. Griffin and Mutchnik had just returned from Korea, where they had reviewed Sewon documents. Ajinomoto was already offering to pay $10 million in fines. And Kyowa Hakko was willing to plead guilty, if prosecutors passed on indicting Masaru Yamamoto. At this point, Lassar and Griffin were turning aside the offers, demanding tougher terms. But the desperation of the other lysine producers let the prosecutors know that they didn’t need ADM’s silly little deal.

  Dick Beattie slid into the backseat of the chauffeured sedan, headed to the airport. The Simpson Thacher partner warmly greeted the driver, a man he considered a friend. The driver was well known among the corporate elite; in addition to Beattie, he chauffeured Ross Johnson. But his best customer was Dwayne Andreas, who years Eich_0767903277_5p_02_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:57 PM Page 488 488

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  before had trusted the driver to buy a stretch limousine for the ADM

  chairman’s use when he was in New York.

  The scandal at ADM had been difficult on the driver. Now, several customers were on different sides of the same issue. Since reviewing the tapes, Beattie had been blunt in advising the directors to consider a corporate plea. But Dwayne Andreas, who heard through the grapevine about Beattie’s push, remained vehemently opposed. Much to the driver’s discomfort, the brewing dispute had been a frequent topic of conversation among Andreas and his associates.

  As they pulled onto the highway, the driver mentioned that he had heard talk about Beattie in his car.

  “Watch out, be very careful,’’ the driver said. “They’re very nervous about you. And there’s a lot of plotting against you.’’

  Beattie thanked the driver for the warning, while figuring there was little that he could do about it.

  But in Decatur, the suspicions about Beattie’s intentions continued to grow. Dwayne Andreas, convinced that neither his son nor ADM could ever be convicted of price-fixing, began to suspect a complex conspiracy in the works. Beattie, he became convinced, was acting as the Trojan Horse for ADM’s true enemy—Henry Kravis, the corporate buyout king who was the lawyer’s p
remier client. In calls with Bob Strauss, Zev Furst, and other advisors, Andreas raged that Beattie was pushing a settlement to weaken ADM and set it up for a Kravis takeover. Strauss and Furst visited with Beattie, but walked away convinced of his good faith. Still, Andreas would have none of it. Eventually, Beattie heard by phone from Ross Johnson.

  “You ain’t gonna believe what they’re doing to you,’’ Johnson chuckled.

  A fax had been sent from Dwayne’s office to some directors, Johnson said. It was an excerpt from a recent, highly critical book about Kravis and his firm, Kohlberg Kravis Roberts & Co. The excerpt was all about Beattie, portraying him as a man who had manipulated others for Kravis’s benefit. Decatur’s message was easy to decipher: Beattie was a bad guy who could not be trusted.

  “The troops are coming, old buddy,’’ Johnson laughed. “They’re out to get you.’’

  Sunday morning was relatively calm at the offices of ADM. Phones were mostly quiet, and the usual frantic hustle of the workday was muted. With few other distractions, the one-page, anonymous fax that arrived that morning in the legal department was noticed quickly. Eich_0767903277_5p_02_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:57 PM Page 489

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  “Be careful of Fortune Magazine. They are working closely with Whitacre,’’ the note began.

  The note lapsed into incoherence about some fax supposedly sent between ADM and Ron Henkoff, the Fortune magazine reporter covering ADM. In an apparent reference to David Hoech—the Lamet Vov—it mentioned that people at ADM were speaking with a man from Miami who was briefing Ray Goldberg about wrongdoing. The fax closed with a warning about spies in ADM. “They see and hear more than you think,’’ it said. “They even spent the weekend at the Whitacres’ a few weekends ago. After that, Whitacre convinced them to talk to a reporter on background.’’

  The ADM employee studied the fax. It was unsigned; there was no fax telltale. Then, he glanced at the fax machine. The AT&T Caller-ID device that had been installed appeared to have worked perfectly. Not only did it capture the phone number that sent the fax, but it also listed the name registered to that line. The employee read the screen.

  “Whitacre, Ginger,’’ it said.

  On the morning of Monday, March 22, Robin Mann arrived at the office and saw the message light already glowing on her phone. Dialing into the voice-mail system, she retrieved a panicked message left the previous day by Ginger Whitacre. Someone had abducted her husband and threatened him weeks before, Ginger said. She was terrified; her family needed protection.

  Mann returned the call and listened as Ginger spilled details of the story. Mark had gone to the office to check his e-mail on March 3, she said. Two men in a Dodge Dynasty had followed him into the parking lot. Mark was thrown into their car, she said. He couldn’t get out; the door locks had been sawed off. The men hopped in front and pulled away. For twenty minutes, Ginger said, the men drove Mark around, warning him to forget everything about ADM that wasn’t on tape. These other allegations he raised should never be mentioned again, they told him.

  “Did he file a police report?’’ Mann asked.

  “No, we told Jim Epstein,’’ Ginger replied. “But no police report. Mark was afraid of the publicity.’’

  This was tearing up her family, Ginger said. Her fourth-grader was terrified; at one point they had found the child hiding in the closet. They had changed the locks on the house, but it wasn’t enough. The Eich_0767903277_5p_02_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:57 PM Page 490 490

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  family needed protection. Ginger said that she wanted someone to get back to her with information about what was going to be done. Details of the call were relayed to Shepard and Herndon. Since Whitacre had already told Epstein about this abduction, the agents called the lawyer. Herndon explained the situation and asked for details.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t talk about this,’’ Epstein replied. “This is an attorney-client conversation.’’

  “Well,’’ Herndon said, “can you call Whitacre and get a waiver of the privilege on this issue?’’

  Epstein paused. “Always an adventure. Do I have to?’’

  “Yeah,’’ Herndon laughed. “You do.’’

  That same afternoon, Herndon received a voice mail in reply from Jim Epstein.

  “Mark Whitacre has not authorized me to talk to you about the matter we discussed,’’ Epstein said stiffly on the message. “Furthermore, I would ask that I receive no further contact from the FBI regarding these threats.’’

  This was beginning to sound to Herndon like another one of Whitacre’s games. Instead of being a matter of concern, the episode quickly devolved into fodder for jokes. By the end of the day, it would forever be known among the investigators and prosecutors in Harvest King as the time Mark Whitacre had been abducted by aliens. The sun was shining in Hallandale, Florida, on April 5, as Bassett and D’Angelo pulled up in a rental car to a guardhouse in the front of a condominium complex. Bassett rolled down the window as the guard approached.

  “We’re here to see David Hoech,’’ Bassett said.

  The guard told the agents to park their car. They maneuvered into a spot as the guard phoned Hoech’s condo.

  In the weeks since Hoech had revealed himself as the Lamet Vov, there had been a flurry of activity from Cambridge to Washington to Chicago. Ray Goldberg’s information had been relayed to Williams & Connolly, and in no time, Bassett was interviewing the ADM director about his call with Hoech. The agents had since telephoned Hoech himself, who had agreed to an interview.

  Hoech appeared at the guardhouse and escorted the agents toward his first-floor condo, which served as both his home and the headquarters of his company, Global Consultants. Inside, the agents were impressed. In the back, a sliding glass door led directly to the Eich_0767903277_5p_02_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:57 PM Page 491

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  beach. This was a man who clearly led a comfortable life. Hoech introduced the agents to his wife, Carol.

  “My wife would like to sit in,’’ Hoech said. “Do you have a problem with that?’’

  “No, that’s not a problem,’’ Bassett replied.

  Everyone took seats around a table.

  “Just to start, are you taping this conversation?’’ Bassett asked.

  “No, I’m not taping,’’ Hoech said. “Are you?’’

  “We don’t tape interviews,’’ Bassett replied.

  The interview began with Hoech describing his background. He had fought in Vietnam and then lived in Japan for about a dozen years. During that time, he developed clients in the agricultural industry. After returning to the United States in 1982, he consulted for both American and Japanese companies. By 1995, his business was doing well enough to earn him $200,000 that year.

  “But,’’ Hoech said, “I recently lost all of my clients because of my work with the Lamet Vov letters.’’

  Hoech claimed that the Shareholders’ Watch Committee consisted of about one hundred members who utilized moles throughout ADM to obtain secret information. Under questioning from Bassett, Hoech said he had known Whitacre since about 1990, and that the two had become friends. Whitacre had told him about the under-thetable bonuses sometime after the raids, Hoech said, and had identified other executives who received illegal compensation, including Mick Andreas.

  “Did Whitacre play any role in writing the Lamet Vov letters?’’

  Bassett asked.

  “None whatsoever,’’ Hoech said. “I have full responsibility for the creation and dissemination of the Lamet Vov letters. And I have no ulterior motives. I am simply seeking to change through all legal means the structure of ADM’s corrupt leadership.’’

  Hoech stressed that nothing in the letters was intended as a threat, and that the letters were not an effort to support Mark Whitacre.

  “Approved or not, Whitacre defrauded the shareholders,’’ he said.

  “He should be held
accountable.’’

  At the end of the conversation, the agents asked if Hoech would identify his sources. He declined.

  “Many of my sources, particularly those within ADM, do not trust the FBI or the Department of Justice,’’ Hoech said. “Dwayne is too powerful, and wields too much influence in Washington. Look at that Eich_0767903277_5p_02_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:57 PM Page 492 492

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  unprecedented press release that DOJ put out saying ADM was not a target of the fraud investigation. What more proof do they need?’’

  Still, Hoech said that he would try to persuade his sources to speak with the agents. He promised that they could provide significant evidence of fraud.

  The interview over, Bassett and D’Angelo gathered their things. Hoech accompanied them to the door.

  “Where are you fellows staying?’’ Hoech asked.

  They had reservations at the Embassy Suites up the road, but D’Angelo wasn’t comfortable with the idea of telling a witness how to reach them.

  “We don’t have anything yet,’’ he lied. “But we’ll probably go north someplace.’’

  “Let me help you get a place,’’ Hoech said, suggesting a few locations. The agents thanked him for his hospitality and drove to the Embassy Suites in Fort Lauderdale. Bassett and D’Angelo headed to their separate rooms.

  The next morning, Bassett found an envelope under his door. It was a fax that had just been sent to the hotel. Inside was nothing important, just a news article about Andreas and Bob Dole in Florida. What left Bassett stunned was the attached personal note. He called D’Angelo.

  “Tony,’’ Bassett said. “You’re not going to believe this. I got a fax from Hoech.’’

  “What?’’

  “Yeah,’’ Bassett said. “The guy somehow figured out where we’re staying.’’

  Supervisory Special Agent Kate Killham sat down at her computer in the Champaign Resident Agency, ignoring the sound of a train rumbling past her corner office window. Since taking responsibility for overseeing Harvest King, Killham had faced a lot of unpleasant moments. But this one, right now, was surely one of the worst. For months, Killham had watched as the case tore at Brian Shepard. By any standard, Shepard was an emotional, pessimistic type who keenly felt attacks on his own character—and Harvest King had been loaded with plenty of those. Killham knew Shepard was paying a price in Decatur. He and his family had lost friends, particularly those who worked at ADM. The Shepards had felt snubbed by neighbors and had received the cold shoulder more than a few times. Everything Eich_0767903277_5p_02_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:57 PM Page 493