The Last Undercover

by Bob Hamer

  When the meeting was over, I rushed to LAX, where my case agent was assigned for post-9/11 duties. We both agreed the meeting was a success, and it was just a matter of time before we could stick a fork in the travel agent—he was done.

  Our celebration was premature, to say the least. The prosecutor listened to the tape. The magic words were never said. The travel agent carefully couched his sales pitch in a way that did not implicate him in criminal wrongdoing. He merely set up the trip. What the traveler did once he arrived in Thailand was a matter for the individual’s conscience. We didn’t have enough to indict.

  The wheels of justice move slowly. We were awaiting clarification by the prosecutor and Headquarters as to what course of action we could take to further the investigation. The case agent and I were both continuing our post-9/11 responsibilities and were still debating how we could get the travel agent to incriminate himself.

  On September 28, I spoke again with the target. His previous pleasant demeanor changed, and in less-than-friendly terms, he said that he needed the balance due on the October 15 trip. If I didn’t have the money to him by noon, I would forfeit the deposit and lose my reservation. We had already received permission from Headquarters to pay for the trip, so I rushed to the bank, withdrew the cash, and raced over to the travel agency to make payment. I made it by noon and maintained my reserved spot for the trip, but my attempts to guide conversation in a profitable direction went the way of the previous meeting: “Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.”

  For reasons based primarily on post-9/11 travel restrictions and the failure of the travel agent to incriminate himself, Headquarters had not yet approved my travel overseas, even though we paid for the trip. A few days prior to my scheduled departure, HQ called, announcing that any travel plans were canceled. They went so far as to order the Special Agent in Charge to take custody of my passport to prevent me from traveling. Maybe my passion for the case was evident. It may have also had to do with the fact that I had a reputation for finding ways to maneuver around Headquarters’ mandates. I never did surrender my passport . . . but neither did I make the trip.

  Since the travel agent identified several boy lovers going on the trip and we already paid for it, it only made sense I should at least fly with the group to see if I could get the BLs to engage me in incriminating conversation. If they admitted to traveling for the purpose of having sex with underage boys, they would be in violation of federal law and could be arrested before setting foot in Thailand.

  But Headquarters wouldn’t buy our argument. The case was dead. There was little else we could do except bow out gracefully from the trip.

  I concocted a plan that seemed stupid on its surface but actually worked. The day before my scheduled trip to Thailand, I went into the FBI garage, turned on the siren of a Bureau car, and called the travel agent. In a weakened voice, with the siren blaring in the background, I told him I thought I was having a heart attack. “An ambulance is on the way, and I’m just not sure I can make the trip.” Like I said, it was stupid but it was all I could think of at the time. He had his money and didn’t really care. I never made the trip and he never suspected my “heart attack” was staged.

  About a month later, I called him. We spoke of the trip and renegotiated for a January date, hoping Headquarters would come around to our position. They never did. The FBI executed search warrants on the travel agent, but no incriminating evidence was found. The case was administratively closed.

  I never discussed NAMBLA in my conversations with the travel agent, but at the very least, I had sold myself as a boy lover, even if my target professed not to be one. I was confident I could continue the role and decided to maintain my NAMBLA membership should other opportunities arise.

  21

  NAMBLA PEN PALS

  In late November, after receiving the letter from NAMBLA congratulating me on taking my “courageous step” into membership, I received an e-mail from Peter Herman asking me to participate in their politically correct “holiday card program.”

  Each Christmas season, NAMBLA members were asked to send cards to incarcerated boy lovers as a means of providing moral support. Peter asked that I provide a number and he would send me mailing labels for the prisoners.

  This was one of three programs NAMBLA established for incarcerated members, the others being the Prisoner’s Letter, edited by Rock Thatcher, and the pen-pal program. As stated on their Web site, NAMBLA recognizes that in prison, boy lovers “experience a harsh and exceptionally hostile environment which undermines their self-concepts and self-respect.” Correspondence and communication from the outside world can provide a “lifeline” and “much-needed social and psychological support for inmates facing an arbitrary and often brutal prison system.”

  I discussed the holiday card program with the prosecutor, Patti Donahue. She supported my involvement as a way of attempting to learn more about overseas child-sex venues. Remember this was not an investigation into NAMBLA, per se, but an attempt to learn more about criminal travel. It was hoped that those incarcerated could provide valuable intelligence as to the who, what, when, and where. When the issue came up later in the investigation about whether the FBI illegally infiltrated the organization, Assistant United States Attorney Michael Wheat in San Diego said it best: “NAMBLA can best be described as barnyard defecation. We aren’t interested in the defecation, but the flies surrounding it.” We were hoping the imprisoned flies might help in our investigation.

  I responded to Peter Herman’s e-mail, saying I could send fifteen cards that Christmas. Over the course of my three-and-a-half-year membership in the organization, I received the names of over 165 prisoners participating in the NAMBLA prison program. I assumed all to be NAMBLA members.

  With the concurrence of Patti Donahue, I sent a card to each prisoner on my list, with an accompanying letter. Over the course of my membership, I kept my Christmas correspondence generic. A sample letter reads,

  I am a member of the association that puts out THE BULLETIN (I think you know who we are) and was given your name as part of the holiday card project. I just want you to know that there are people outside thinking of you.

  Most of us have done what you have done, only you were unfortunate enough to get caught. Maybe someday, society will wake up and realize that intergenerational love is natural and normal. It was good enough for the ancient Greeks, so why not us?

  I plan to have a boyful Christmas. Here’s wishing you a Merry Christmas and a better New Year.

  This aspect of the investigation was one of the most difficult, and became even more difficult when I received the responses to the cards. Initially, I hated the thought of giving aid and comfort to those incarcerated. For some reason, dealing face-to-face with the membership, knowing that possible incarceration loomed in the future, was easier than offering support to those now in prison. But the responses I received in return were also troubling, for a variety of reasons.

  I received everything from carefully considered letters by those seeking forgiveness to missives from unrepentant sexual predators who described their actions in graphic detail. I heard from born-again Christians, praying for me because of my “tendencies,” and others requesting I not contact them again because they were trying to put the thoughts and deeds behind them. One member even forwarded my name to a prison ministry group and I began to receive their literature in my undercover name.

  As a Christian, I wanted to reach out to some of them and offer hope—but, of course, that was impossible without compromising my investigation. For others, I wanted to find a way to insure they would never see daylight again.

  We terminated communication with those seeking forgiveness and not offering up sordid details of their lives. To the others, I responded.

  Thanks for writing back. This was the first time I participated in the Christmas card project and wasn’t sure how my cards would be received. I was also afraid to say too much in the card for fear I might cause you some problems.


  I guess we’re the lucky ones on the outside because all of us out here are probably doing the same thing but you were the unfortunate one and got caught . . . thanks to archaic laws and a close-minded society. . . .

  I’m single and unattached right now but am always looking for a “special” friend. Before my medical condition got worse I coached baseball and soccer. My last coaching job was at a private school but an incident happened and I had to move. It was all hush-hush and no one got hurt. I love coaching boys and still get to the parks on weekends when I can, just to watch them play (and maybe do a little scouting!)

  In October I was planning a “special” trip to Thailand but the day before I was scheduled to leave I had what I thought was a heart attack. . . .

  I know there are lots of “special” boys in Thailand who are supposed to be accommodating. I was looking forward to the trip. Did you ever travel? Know any good “travel agents” or people who can really help us enjoy ourselves?

  I’d appreciate any help. I just want to go somewhere where WE can be safe. . . .

  Well, better go. Great talking to you. Be safe.

  The responses I received were enlightening—and disturbing. They came from inmates claiming to be from all walks of life: businessmen, pilots, professors, investigators, foster parents, blue-collar workers . . . from the barely literate to MENSA members . . . gay, “straight,” and bisexual. As I would find when dealing with the offenders face- to-face, they were rarely stupid. Many may have displayed obsessive, self-delusional qualities, but most I encountered were college-educated, several with advanced degrees. The responses answered some of our questions about overseas travel, allowed us to assist in keeping at least two inmates from being released from a civil commitment facility, and provided insight on the mindset of the boy lover few have ever seen.

  Their own words provided a glimpse into their mind and emotions—what drove them, how they operated, how they succeeded, and how they failed. I was amazed so many readily shared their exploits, often in graphic detail.

  I was and always will be a BL. . . . I was 21 when I got locked away for a very long sentence. Two life terms for having been involved with four boys ranging in age from 7 to 11. . . . I’ll never know the pleasure of holding a boy and smelling that little-boy scent or tasting every part of them.

  Boys . . . are to be cherished and loved and protected. . . . With the right kind of lucky little boy you can share a deeply intimate physical connection. . . . I’ve always dreamed of having sons of my own to raise and make into good people and whom I could teach the wonderful mysteries of the body to, in my own special way.

  I’m doing 10 years on a 20-year sentence for forcible rape of a 9-year-old.

  I am serving 51 months for possession of child pornography. Prior to my arrest I was a professor at a large Midwestern state university. . . . Like many boy-lovers I lived a closeted existence. I was even married and in fact my wife discovered what I had and turned me in. . . . I now realize how badly we must all hang together and look forward to being able to support the organization when I get out.

  Hey Robert, are you hetero or homo or bisexual w/ a little boy-love in ya? Cause I was gonna ask you if you could go online and copy some photos of some sweet little asses.

  First, I am 95% boy lover and 5% girl lover. No, I’ve never [had sex with] any girl, but I have had some good times with 2 in my life, but I’ve had 10 tons of boys, some just once or twice then others for 2 or 3 years.

  As for why I’m here . . . so-called none concede sex with a miner [ sic ] a.k.a. rape. It was not, the boy wanted it, he was 11 and in ohio they say he is not old anuff to say he wanted to.

  [A juvenile male] started to write to me while I was in prison through a pen-pal club. [His mother] wanted an older man for her son to communicate with and now they both want me to come down whenever I can get the bus fare and a little spending money together. . . . No, I don’t have any nude pictures of him, not yet anyhow. I’m working on it though. Hopefully when I go down I can get him to shed his shorts for me.

  I’ve had sexual encounters with boys of all ages, up to puberty, and some were very young, being 5 and 6 or so.

  My tastes are in pubescent boys and young men, say 12 years or older. I’m not really into pre-pubes. Although many of those are cute and beautiful, I prefer boys who can actually have an orgasm and give me a physical and/or emotional response. . . . My ideal situation would be to have a lover who is old enough to [reach orgasm] but never has. Then I could be his first experience, the first to introduce him to joys of sex.

  Basically, I am a straight acting bisexual/homosexual. I say bi- because my main interest is pre-pube girls, but I enjoy boys also and adult men. I have enjoyed sexual encounters with all of the above. I am very open-minded as far as age limits also. Nothing turns me on more than a nude child’s body, except intercourse with the child.

  What’s your age range? Mine’s 3–13. You see, I was sexually, physically, and emotionally abused starting at age 4 by some of my most trusted friends and family and even though I’m working through all that to become a survivor, my attractions for children will always be there.

  Do you think you could go online and find me a minor pen-pal, a boy of course, about 12 to 14?

  None of my true foster boys ever turned on me, in all my going and doing I got to say only 2 or 3 ever did, I’d say most of them was [ sic ] happy to have someone that really cared for them and looked after them.

  She left her husband and wanted to live a little. Her son and I got along real well and she asked if I’d be interested in spending time with him. It was love at first sight and our friendship was even stronger.

  Although I shall always be attracted to pubescent males I have enough control to avoid and not fall for one. . . . There are rational, logical and reasonable reasons to avoid sexualizing young boys, particularly to same-sex experiences. True, many will find their way there anyway, but why take the chance of steering a young lad into homosexuality or later pedophilia or sexual confusion or exposure to the trauma, public exposure, interrogation, humiliation, and embarrassment?

  I am doing two life sentences because I made a mistake and grew up loving boys. The circumstances are a bit complicated but not all the boys turned on me. In fact only five were involved out of the several dozen I’ve known and had relationships with.

  My personal favorite age ranges are from 11 years old to 14 1/2. I can go down to 10 year olds with exceptions. My favorite phase of their lives is at the cusp of puberty. Also I am starstruck/vixened by angelically cute to supercute looking, charming, intelligent and mature acting . . . whom I call “cuties” or “supercuties.” . . . I write “cuties” as “Q.T.s” and “supercuties” as “super Q.T.s.” . . . I am only gay/bisexual with Q.T.s and super Q.T.s. I am fluently heterosexual with adults. . . . I’d love to be able to have a great relationship with a tall, attractive, physically fit, intelligent, passionate, sociable woman who shares in our mutual interests.

  As I’ve said before, the toughest part of this assignment, especially as the months and years wore on, was thinking of people like my prison correspondents and “fellow” NAMBLA members existing in the same world as my son and other innocent young boys I cared about—that and resisting the near-constant urge to single-handedly, suddenly, and violently remove them from the face of the earth. I comforted myself with the knowledge that if I did my job properly and remained patient and attentive, the courts would handle the situation. At least, that was what I hoped.

  22

  THE MIAMI NAMBLA CONFERENCE

  My San Diego case agent and I arrived in Miami on Thursday, November 11, for the NAMBLA conference. We flew separately; I traveled in my undercover identity. He brought all the recording equipment, since he could get it through airport security without any questions.

  When I arrived at the airport, I was disappointed that the Ford Mustang I’d reserved was not available. I thought the car would add to my boy-lover flare and it up
set me that going into the conference I was already making adjustments. The pressures were starting to mount and I didn’t need a rental car problem.

  The solution from the rental agency was to provide me a Dodge minivan.

  That’s right, the limited availability of cars put me behind the wheel of a soccer mom’s ride. It wasn’t the image I was going for, but it eventually worked to my benefit.

  I spent Thursday night at an area hotel not far from the conference site. But while checking in I ran into another problem. I had two undercover credit cards and was using one exclusively for the international weapons case I was also working at the time, thus simplifying expense records for that case agent and his auditors. I hadn’t even brought that card with me, just to make sure I avoided charging on the wrong card. When the hotel clerk ran the card I did bring, we discovered that the credit card company had flagged this account for some unknown reason. I was stuck. I had insufficient cash and no other cards. I couldn’t check in but I wasn’t about to sleep in the street.

  I called the company remaining in my undercover persona and spent what seemed like hours on the phone. My blood pressure was rising, as was my anxiety. Posing as a boy lover among “experts” was stressful enough without having to worry about how I was going to pay for my room and board. I was supposed to be living off my private family foundation, for crying out loud!

  I eventually straightened out the misunderstanding but not without doing a song and dance for the credit card security department. The rental car issue was resolved but upsetting. Now the credit card fiasco had me climbing the walls. I eventually relaxed and settled into a room.