by Bob Hamer
Ensenada is about 70 miles south of San Diego and is Mexico’s wine country. Everyone speaks English and the locals take American dollars. We can pick up the boat in LA or San Diego. That makes this extra special because no one knows we went to Mexico. There is no paper trail. It’s safe and the local Mexican authorities really don’t care as long as you aren’t abusive. Like I said, he has been twice and can’t wait to hop aboard the “love train” again.
There is one down side to this: You need a minimum six people for the trip. I’d rather not go with strangers. So can we come up with six? My friend will go so that makes four. Can we come up with two more? Do you think davidrbusby will come out here, or Muscleman? I’m open to suggestions. I guess we don’t ask Peter or Tim (that’s not his real name). We could always ask Chief but I think you have to bathe in order to get on the boat. I would rather not take a chance going with strangers just in case, safety must be our number one priority. (By the way, they can accommodate ten, so there are discounts for eight or ten travelers, respectively. Can we get that many?)
I checked the website and it said under construction, but my friend said that’s just part of their being discreet.
What do you guys think? Both of you have traveled. David, you’ve been successful. Todd, you almost got killed. This is safe, affordable and recommended. I’m in. I’m thinking mid- to late January. My schedule is flexible but I don’t know David’s flight plans or Todd’s practice restrictions. Assuming they have availability we can do a long weekend or during the week. My friend said they can work around our scheduling needs as well.
Let me know. This sounds better than Costa Rica but he told me about a place down there as well. If we don’t want this I can check into that.
While I was writing the text of the e-mail, David instant messaged me. Although not life threatening, the IM threw me into somewhat of a panic. My computer skills are weak, at best, and every communication with the targets had to be preserved. I had no clue how to save the IM chat and preserve the evidence. I called a member of the L.A. FBI’s SAFE team from the Kinko’s where I was using the computer. He walked me through the process, but it was cumbersome. With the other undercover case I was working at the time, I had in excess of one thousand recordings and didn’t need the additional paperwork. Trading e-mails with the subjects, on the other hand, was easy. My San Diego case agent eased that administrative burden, but David was creating another evidentiary headache. I dropped out of the chat, preserved the evidence, completed the e-mail, and pushed “send.”
Within the hour, David responded in big bold print: “SIGN ME UP! . . . YEAH!” He suggested inviting James, whom he called “the future first lady,” or Paul, whom he called “Muscleman.” He assumed Sam Lindblad would not be able to go because of his status as a convicted sex offender and thought that David R. Busby couldn’t afford the package.
Todd responded the next day with, “WOW! I agree. That is GREAT news!! The whole thing sounds fabulous, almost too good to be true. I’m so excited.” Todd said that the second or fourth weekends of February worked best for him. He and David had spoken by phone about financially assisting someone like Paul and offered to chip in for “soap and laundry detergent” for Chief. Todd did say he knew of no one outside of NAMBLA to invite and hoped David or I could find “two more people wanting some quality time with ‘special friends.’ This new info has certainly got me all fired up inside. Let’s do it!”
David was working hard to make this trip happen. On December 5, he e-mailed Todd and me, writing that he found “Paul, the massive chest’s, phone number” and thought of two other non-NAMBLA members who might be interested in going, but questioned whether he should contact them at that time or after we had more details.
I replied to both David and Todd on December 6.
Kids,
I’m so EXCITED that you’re excited. I think we have the beginning of a wonderful relationship. (Was that a line from Casablanca ?) We should probably be looking for the first week in Feb. since that’s Todd’s choice. Like I said, I’m flexible.
Let me apologize and explain a few things. Because of my condition, it’s hard for me to type very fast, so it’s really tough to do the IM. David, DADDY wasn’t mad when he dropped off on Sat. Now, the other thing: My mother lives with me and so does my ex-sister-in-law (I’m not sure for how long). It’s a long story but sometimes it’s hard for me to talk at the condo. So, that’s why I didn’t return your call. Still love me? But that’s one reason I go to Kinko’s. Hope you understand.
Now, back to the trip. David, I’ll get more details for your friend and I’m sure we all need more. Just hang loose for awhile. Let me do some more checking, then I’ll forward all the juicy details. I would invite anyone you TRUST. In fact I think it’s safer than relying on strangers that [the “travel service”] may team up with us. I’ll also see if we can’t just rent the entire boat. Seems reasonable but we would also need to rent the extra rooms at the B&B. That’s why I’d prefer to have more friends with us. Who can we invite and trust from the conference? And who won’t go back to Peter? David and Todd, whose email addresses and phone numbers do you have? I have secretary Sam plus davidrbusby and muscleman. Anyone else? And do we want to invite them? What do you think about Sam? I like him but can we trust him? Let’s think about it and be smart. I know we can put this together if that’s what we all want, and it seems like we do!!
Be safe. Luv ya!!
DADDY
David responded in less than an hour to my e-mail.
Daddy Dearest,
You know that as long as you have $$$$, I could never be mad at you! I assumed that there was a reason for you not returning the call, & you already explained what was going on © Kink’s, er Kinko’s. Not to worry.
My concern about Sam is that he is a red flag flying in the wind with his background. In addition, I am not sure he is allowed to leave the country. Todd and I both feel that David Busby (spelling?) probably cannot afford the trip. What about James I-Have-Not-Changed-My-Clothes-in-Three-Days & Future First Lady? I have no contact information for him. Do you think that Sam could get it for you? I do not trust Peter after that phone call. What about the special ed teacher from Pittsburgh? I do not remember his name & have no contact info. The others © the conference were either too weird even for me, or worse . . . SMELLED.
I am so excited! First week in Feb. works for me. I have to be in D.C. the last day of Feb. thru the first week of March.
Even if it is just the four of us, it would be so much fun. Can’t wait!
David
The plan was set in motion, and we were making our preparations. Todd preferred the weekend of February 12 rather than the first weekend, because he had his two children that first weekend. He thought, however, that his ex-wife might switch weekends, if necessary. Todd was willing to modify his plans, knowing that accommodating six people’s schedules might be burdensome. “When you’re talking about as many as six people’s schedules,” he said, “my ‘ideal’ might quite understandably be unachievable, and that’s still very cool—especially cool when I contemplate the awesome prospects!!”
David worked hard to find fellow travelers and e-mailed Todd and me on December 6, saying he spoke with a “friend” who was “very interested.” Later in the week, he suggested a three-way conference call to work out the details of the trip—dates, leaving from Los Angeles or San Diego, and whether we wanted the four- or seven-day excursion. David wanted to firm up the details so that he could “give some solid info to my two other possible travelers.”
Meanwhile, Sam Lindblad and I continued to trade e-mails and arrived at a date for my trip to Albuquerque. I was doing a little “grooming” of my own.
On December 6, I wrote in part to Sam,
Thanks so much for replying to my email. I keep in contact with David from Chicago and Todd, but no one else seems to respond. It hurts because I was really hoping to develop a deeper relationship with those at the conference than jus
t a once-a-year thing.
Sam’s December 7 e-mail reply gave me a ringside seat on his life.
Hello Robert,
It is amazing how busy we can get, just trying to pay bills by working, etc. Most guys don’t find time to do much developing friendships. The exception to that has been the New Mexico Gay Men’s Chorus I sing in. Twenty very sensitive guys. And all extremely intelligent. I feel like the bottom of the barrel when it comes to talent. And none of them have expressed that they are BL’s, but still good men. . . .
Prison was very difficult for my whole family. My ex-in-laws severed all ties, but my side has remained supportive. It was hard on my Dad. My 24-year-old son is also still quite angry about it all. He was 15 when I fell, so he had to complete high school with all the stigma attached. Dad’s been able to ask me some questions about it all, but mostly now it’s “let bygones be bygones.”
One cousin is quite concerned about having me in the same room as her 8- and 10-year-old sons. I will do some reassuring in my Christmas letter. My mom died in 1971 at the age of 53. Maybe her body knew she couldn’t handle the pain of Sam’s imprisonment. She was quite concerned about, “What will the neighbors think?”
Well, it’s time for me to get on some holiday cards, and then practice some music. So . . .
Shalom. Sam
33
GETTING THE GOODS
Not all undercover cases cover years of time and involve lengthy preparations, but one thing they definitely have in common is the agent’s need to be in the right place at the right time to acquire from the target the key admission or action that will seal his or her legal fate. Sometimes, getting the goods on the bad guys takes a long, long time, and sometimes it happens quickly and can even be fun.
I’ve already described my little one-act play with Anthony, the New Jersey mobster who was going to break the legs of the producer. Another quick score I was able to help with involved a cameo appearance as a prospective home buyer. Our target was a supposedly bankrupt defendant in a white-collar crime case. The agent who arrested him was relatively new to the Bureau, but she had already acquired a reputation as a tenacious investigator. Her target was convicted, despite his high-priced defense team, but he still had a couple of tricks up his sleeve.
At sentencing the con man argued he had no assets, so any fine would be beyond his ability to pay. In addition, he announced he planned to appeal his conviction and because he was now destitute he was requesting that free appellate counsel be assigned. Neither the case agent nor the prosecutor, Mark Aveis, bought his claims or the financial forms he filed with the court under penalty of perjury.
The case agent learned that the defendant was planning to sell the million-dollar house he claimed he didn’t own. She asked me if I would pose as a buyer to see if the Realtor might make some admissions as to the true owner of the house. Since the investigator was known to the con man, having sat in the courtroom throughout the prosecution, she couldn’t do the covert investigation.
I decided I needed a girlfriend, just to add some fun to the gig, and asked a cute agent on our squad who had just gotten engaged. She managed to swallow her pride and agreed to pose as my betrothed. Once again, I was way out of my league, but she was a good sport. Also, even on an assignment like this, there was a certain adrenaline rush; I think she was looking forward to the experience.
We checked out a seized Mercedes from the undercover fleet and headed to Encino, an upscale community in Los Angeles’s San Fernando Valley. I made arrangements to meet the Realtor, who had no idea we were agents. My wife and I have sold homes a few times and I know that typically, with a scheduled showing, the family is asked to leave so the potential buyers can roam and speak freely. We assumed we could engage the Realtor in conversation and possibly gain admissions or leads about the con man’s true assets.
When we pulled up to the estate, just a few blocks off Ventura Boulevard, I was surprised at the size of the property. It was a beautiful older home on a spacious lot near shopping, with quick freeway access—location, location, location. The home was previously owned by a Hollywood cowboy star, and I only wish I had been able to afford it in real life.
My undercover fiancée and I met the real estate agent out front and spoke briefly before entering the house. I told her I was a screenwriter and was due at a rewrite conference in Studio City later in the afternoon; we wanted a quick tour of the residence and hoped the Realtor wouldn’t mind if we fired questions at her about the property. She was only too accommodating to our schedule and our needs.
Using my cane, I hobbled toward the front door and was shocked when who should open the door but the defendant himself. He greeted us and invited us inside. Like every con man I ever met, he loved to talk, and I peppered him with questions about the home and its history. He readily admitted he was the sole owner and claimed he and his wife were planning to remain in the area. He said they were using their sizeable equity in this property to buy a larger home. His admissions, all caught on tape, were perfect. With our objective completed, it was time to have a little fun.
He and the Realtor gave us a tour of the residence, answering questions as we asked. When my “fiancée” inquired about a gardener, I pretended to become incensed. We had already told the defendant that one of the bedrooms would be for her mother, who would be moving from Europe to live with us after the wedding. I said there would be no need for a gardener. My fiancée acted confused. Then I said in the rudest voice I could manage, “She’s not living here for free. She can cut the grass!”
My undercover fiancée played the scene beautifully and offered up a quick, though weak, defense for my “future mother-in-law.” Later in the conversation, the Realtor asked about children. I immediately responded, “Children will not be a problem.” My fiancée said in a quiet, cowed voice, “We have to talk about a family.” I responded again in an arrogant, loud voice, “Children will not be a problem!” The Realtor, embarrassed for my fiancée and, I suppose, her client, said, “Maybe you two should talk about this some other time.” Maybe you had to be there, but it was a classic scene. We quickly excused ourselves to get to my “rewrite conference.”
After we left the residence and turned off the tape, we had a great laugh over our successful assignment. And the biggest joke of all was that our “destitute” defendant was now facing a federal perjury rap.
Similarly, my NAMBLA act, though it was going on several years by the time of the Miami conference, was starting to pay off in potentially prosecutable admissions and actions by certain members.
After I returned from Miami, I sent Jeff Devore, the Orange County minister and chiropractor, the following e-mail on November 16:
How about [getting together] the week after Thanksgiving? I’d love to meet with you and meet another BL. I can come to OC or Long Beach. Can’t wait to tell you about the conference. It was great. Met some new people who like to travel. Found a very safe haven, that’s cheap and close. Maybe you and your friend would be up for a trip. I know it will be FABULOUS!!!!
Jeff never responded, which worried me. There is always a danger in pursuing any subject too aggressively. The line between criminality and entrapment is subjective with each judge. I took one more chance. On December 15 I sent the following:
Haven’t heard from you in a long while. Hope all is well. Is this your Friday to be in Beverly Hills? I’ll be up there this weekend and thought maybe you and your other friend could hook up. I know it’s kinda late notice but let me know. If not, maybe after the first of the year. Want to share with you what happened at the conference and I have some news that may interest you.
If we can’t make it this week, have a Merry Christmas. Be safe.
I was surprised when he called the next night, one of the few phone calls we ever had. We agreed to meet. What followed was evidentiary pay dirt. Referencing a conversation we had in February, almost nine months earlier, when Jeff and I last met, Jeff said, “You said you lost your whole collection when y
our computer crashed. I made a CD with some pictures you might enjoy, if you’re interested.” My response was an enthusiastic “Yes.” I wasn’t sure what he had in store for me, but I was looking forward to the little gift he wanted to present.
On December 17 we met at a deli on Sunset Boulevard in West Hollywood. He came alone. His Long Beach BL friend wasn’t able to meet with us, but Jeff assured me we would meet soon. Jeff quickly handed me his special present: a CD labeled “Youth 4Bob.” A special present indeed: if it contained prosecutable images, he had just violated federal law. I tucked it away. We ordered and Jeff talked about his journey or, I should say, his regression.
He told of meeting an eleven-year-old from the United Kingdom on the Internet and that they “chatted” last night. But they did more than chat. Both had Web cams. Jeff and his eleven-year-old friend “real-timed” masturbation. Jeff, the ordained minister and father of three, said, “We sat there jerking off together.” He now described himself as a boy lover who preferred ten- or eleven-year-olds. He was securely back in the BL fold and didn’t deny it. He was also escalating by trying something new to satisfy his desires.
He spoke of his work at the church with the youth, teaching a program called “Our Whole Lives,” a joint project with the Unitarian Church and the United Church of Christ, a “lifespan sexuality education curriculum.” I needed to be sure the boys he was teaching were safe. I inquired and he denied engaging in sexual activity with any of the youth at the church.
