The Informant

by Kurt Eichenwald

  Andreas smiled and turned up his hands. “Then we gotta start lying. One thing about ADM, we know when we’re lying.’’

  Wilson nodded. That was the difference between ADM and the Japanese, he said.

  Regardless of the market size, Andreas continued, ADM needed to plan its negotiating position. In a few months, the company should start complaining about its volume allocation—even if they were producing more and lying about it. If the time came that the competitors agreed to provide production numbers, then ADM should put up a lot of hurdles. That could give them time to cover up their lies.

  “Hell,’’ said Andreas, “we can delay that mess.’’

  “That’s right,’’ Whitacre said.

  “So,’’ Andreas said, “maybe we oughta just start lyin’.’’

  Whitacre and Andreas were alone, letting their hair down in Mick’s office. The only sound was the air pump in Andreas’s aquarium. It was 4:40 the same day, and Mick had just called Whitacre again, seeking more information about the Japanese. Clearly, Mick understood that they were at a make-or-break point. The options were either price war or profits.

  Mick went back and forth on how he wanted to handle the situation. Lying was a good option if the competitors refused to deal. But if they would talk, well, that was different. In a way, Andreas relished his Eich_0767903277_5p_01_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:56 PM Page 181

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  position. The Asians had all been together, fixing prices before ADM

  even came on the scene. Then, ADM started banging on the door, demanding to be part of the club. When no one answered, ADM drove down prices. The company’s executives had made it clear that they could not be ignored.

  Andreas leaned back in his chair. Now was the time to be quiet in the marketplace, he said. If demand fell, ADM would cut production.

  “Tell ’em we’re gonna go down with the market,’’Andreas said. “But we’re not gonna stand for any poaching or anything.’’

  ADM wasn’t about to cut back if competitors started stealing customers. If they did, Andreas said, the competitors should just be told that any business ADM lost would be taken back when prices went higher.

  “I don’t think they’ll try to screw with us, do you?’’ Andreas asked.

  “No, I don’t think so,’’ Whitacre said.

  “I mean, that takes balls.’’

  “There’s definitely a trust factor here, though,’’ Whitacre said. Andreas coughed. “I know.’’

  “I mean, Terry scared ’em shitless.’’

  “That’s just like Ikeda,’’ Andreas said, smiling. “Terry’s our Ikeda.’’

  Whitacre laughed. “Terry did what we needed done at the time.’’

  “Yeah,’’ Andreas said, leaning forward on his chair, “and Ikeda probably went back and said, ‘I told those sons of bitches they’re cutting back to half where they are or else.’ And Yamada’s saying to himself, ‘Or else what, you dumb motherfucker?’ ”

  Yamada had to know, Andreas reasoned, that a confrontational approach wouldn’t work. ADM had crashed lysine prices before, and if the company didn’t get its way, they could be crashed again.

  “Let’s face it,’’ he said, “our track record is good.’’

  “We drove it to sixty cents three times.’’

  “Yeah, that’s right. Third time is a charm.’’

  Andreas moved to the edge of his chair. “I would enjoy havin’ that meeting with Yamada.’’

  Whitacre snapped to attention.

  “You would?’’ he asked. “I think it’s gonna be a necessity in the long run.’’

  “I’d like to do it myself.’’

  Whitacre shrugged and agreed.

  “Just him and me alone in a room,’’ Andreas said. “Just sit down and say, ‘I’ve got stockholders.’ ”

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  “Did you want me to suggest that?’’ Whitacre asked. “Ikeda acts like he’s gonna be there.’’

  “We can do that at the last second.’’

  Maybe, Whitacre suggested, it would be better to meet together for a while, and then Andreas could be alone with Yamada. That way, everyone would be happy.

  Andreas nodded. “Probably better to sit and listen to their bullshit first,’’ he said.

  “Yeah.’’

  “And then sit alone and say, ‘Well, here we are. These guys are fighting, having a lot of fun cutting each other’s throats, and you and I are losin’ all the money. So maybe we oughta come to an agreement.’ ”

  Whitacre laughed. “Yeah.’’

  “Put me with him alone,’’ Andreas said again. “I can talk a lot more freely.’’

  “Yeah.’’

  Andreas managed a tight smile. “Ikeda’s probably wearing a wire on us,’’ he said. “Under his jacket.’’

  Whitacre blinked and laughed. The tape recorder running under his jacket suddenly felt very big.

  “He’s probably tapin’ it that way so he can translate and then report it to the Japanese,’’ Whitacre said, still laughing. He was making little sense; he wanted to change the subject.

  “Okay, well, I appreciate everything you done,’’ Whitacre continued, his grammar getting worse as his tension increased. “I definitely, definitely enjoyin’ the hell out of it and we’re gonna get there. We really are. It’s not where citric is today, I’ll be perfectly honest with you.’’

  “No, no, I know.’’

  Talking about citric reminded Andreas of something. He wanted to promote Barrie Cox to president of the citric group. That would open up the possibility for other promotions in the division.

  “I want him to find out whether that means we could make that girl in there a vice president, and maybe the one in Canada that’s supposed to be so good-lookin’,’’ he said.

  “Yeah.’’

  “I may do that before the board meeting.’’

  Whitacre leaned in; there was a woman in his division named Kathy who should be promoted as well. She was dedicated, a real career woman.

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  force,’’ Andreas said. “We’ll put like Debbie* out there in charge of the West Coast. You know, there’d be more partyin’ once a year.’’

  Whitacre laughed.

  “He says, ‘Yeah, yeah, that’s great. I’ll come to the party,’ ” Andreas said, clearing his throat. “He wouldn’t care if he gets sued. Shit, he’s seventy-five years old.’’

  Whitacre again pushed Kathy; she was just as good as Anna, the woman in citric. Andreas said he wasn’t trying to help Anna. In fact, he said, Anna scared him. She had once pressed him with questions at a meeting, Andreas explained, asking him what he considered ADM’s obligation to the community to be.

  “And I said, ‘Well, our obligation is to provide good-paying jobs to hardworking people.’ ”

  Whitacre fiddled with his tie.

  “She said, ‘Well, that doesn’t seem like enough,’ ’ Andreas continued. “She’s talking about day care centers, and I thought, ‘Fuck this.’ ”

  “Yeah, she’s a women’s libber,’’ Whitacre said. “One’s gotta be careful.’’

  Maybe, Andreas suggested, he should promote a couple of women to vice president and make another woman president of the western department.

  “What the fuck do I care?’’ he shrugged.

  “Yeah, just a title, just a title,’’ Whitacre said. “Don’t mean anything. At least to the outside, it does mean something.’’

  “Yeah,’’ Andreas said, nodding.

  That evening, Whitacre met with Herndon and Weatherall at the Hampton Inn, turning over the tape from that day. The meeting between Andreas and Yamada was getting close, he said. The only potential problem was Mic
k’s desire to meet alone with Yamada. If that happened, the FBI’s consenting party—Whitacre—would not be in the room, meaning they couldn’t tape unless they received court approval. The agents instructed Whitacre how to head off that problem. Mick had been willing to meet everyone at the beginning; just make sure the Japanese demanded that.

  The men checked their watches. It was almost seven-thirty; Ikeda would be in his office by now. Herndon set up a recording device on

  *For privacy reasons, the names of every woman mentioned only in passing on the tapes has been changed.

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  the phone. Whitacre was going to try to make the arrangements right now.

  The recorder on, Weatherall spoke into it.

  “I am Special Agent Joe A. Weatherall Jr. I am here with Special Agent Robert K. Herndon, and Mark Whitacre at the Hampton Inn, Forsyth, Illinois. Mr. Whitacre is about to telephone Hirokazu Ikeda.’’

  Whitacre dialed the number, charging it to his AT&T card. A secretary answered. Whitacre identified himself and asked for Ikeda.

  “Hello? Hello?’’ Ikeda said a moment later.

  “Hello, Mr. Ikeda.’’

  “Yes, speaking. How are you, Dr. Mark Whitacre?’’

  Whitacre quickly got to the point.

  “I had a chance to update Mick Andreas,’’ Whitacre said. “He thinks, well, we made some progress, but we have much further to go yet.’’

  “Yeah, that’s right.’’

  Whitacre laughed. He explained that Andreas wanted to meet with Yamada but would not have time to fly to Japan for many months.

  “He said he would meet him anywhere in the States.’’

  Whitacre had left the Japanese with a stark choice. They could either come to the United States for this meeting or continue losing money in their lysine business from the lack of a volume agreement. Where golf failed, greed succeeded—Ikeda suggested meeting in California at the end of the year.

  Whitacre hesitated. Now he had to make sure that he was in the room, too, so the FBI could tape.

  “He felt it would be best if we met as a group: you and I, Mr. Yamada, and Mick Andreas. And then for a few minutes alone with Mick Andreas and Mr. Yamada after the meeting.’’

  “Yes. That is our intention, too.’’

  Whitacre smiled. Problem solved.

  Ikeda suggested that he would speak with Yamada to come up with possible meeting dates and would send Whitacre a fax with the information.

  “You are, you are at, uh, home right now, I think,’’ Ikeda said. The statement put Whitacre off balance. He hadn’t planned how to respond.

  “Yep, that’s right,’’ he said. Suddenly, he realized that Ikeda could be faxing him the letter immediately and might want to discuss it.

  “No,’’ he corrected quickly. “I’m at a, at a pay phone. I’m currently travelin’. And I won’t be back home ’til tomorrow afternoon.’’

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  Ikeda sounded puzzled. “You will be at, uh, home right now,’’ he said.

  Did Ikeda have some sort of caller ID?

  “No, no,’’ Whitacre said. “I’m currently traveling in Chicago and I won’t be back to Decatur ’til tomorrow afternoon.’’

  “Oh, okay,’’ Ikeda said.

  The potential crisis seemed to have passed.

  “Can I reach you at your hotel?’’ Ikeda asked.

  This was getting bad. Whitacre had just locked himself into a story that he was in Chicago. But he was near Decatur. Ikeda might know as soon as he heard the area code. Whitacre was thinking fast. Herndon and Weatherall could do nothing but watch.

  “Well, the only thing is, the only thing is,’’ he stammered, “I’m staying with one of our distributors.’’

  The lie was ridiculous. ADM was making its managers double up with company distributors? How far did attempts to cut corporate costs go?

  Somehow, Ikeda accepted the explanation. “I see,’’ he said.

  “And I feel uncomfortable him bein’ aware of what the discussions would be on,’’ Whitacre said.

  “Oh, yeah, sure,’’ Ikeda said. “I understand.’’

  Whitacre had fumbled, but survived. Ikeda promised to send the fax to his office, and Whitacre said he would speak with Andreas about it the next day. He hung up.

  Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

  At 2:00 the next day, Whitacre picked up the Ikeda fax and scanned it quickly. Yamada was willing to meet with Andreas and Whitacre in Los Angeles on either October 25 or 26. A site for the meeting could be chosen when the date was set.

  Whitacre walked down to Mick Andreas’s office. He flicked on the recorder in his pocket.

  “Mick?’’ he said at the office doorway. “You got a quick minute?’’

  Andreas looked up from his desk.

  “Yep.’’

  Whitacre walked in, holding out the fax.

  “Ikeda’s working quick for us,’’ he said. “Yamada wants to meet in L.A. the week after next.’’

  “No kidding?’’

  “Told me on the phone that he’s coming with him.’’

  “Ikeda’s coming just for that?’’

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  As Whitacre described the details, Andreas checked his schedule and saw he was free on the twenty-fifth. Whitacre said he would go make a copy of the Ikeda letter for Mick. The original, he was thinking, needed to go to the FBI. When Whitacre returned, Andreas discussed the meeting arrangements. Who did they know in L.A. who might have ideas? Whitacre mentioned a former ADM employee named Tina, who had moved to southern California.

  “She’s gettin’ married,’’ Whitacre said.

  “Well, what a waste,’’ Andreas said.

  Andreas checked with the ADM pilots; the flight to Los Angeles would take just over four hours. He suggested flying out at seven o’clock in the morning, Decatur time, for a nine o’clock Los Angeles meeting. They could be home by seven o’clock that same night. Whitacre said he would make the arrangements.

  Since he had Andreas’s attention, Whitacre decided to check on the promotion for Kathy, the woman in his division. He asked what had happened with Anna. Andreas said that her boss opposed promoting her.

  “He says she wants so much,’’ Andreas explained. “She’ll say, ‘Well, do I get a raise? Do I get a car? Do I get this? Do I get that?’ ’

  Whitacre saw an opening. “Kathy’s not that way,’’ he said. “Kathy wouldn’t ask for any of that.’’

  “Well, see . . .”

  “Kathy would appreciate what she’s got,’’ Whitacre said. “Anna is a little bit different.’’

  “Yeah, she’s a lot more aggressive.’’

  Whitacre coughed.

  “Oughta be a fantastic fuck,’’ Andreas said, smiling. “But I think she’d be trouble with a capital T, don’t you?’’

  “Yeah,’’ Whitacre said. Kathy wouldn’t be a problem, he added. She’d take what ADM gave her without complaint.

  They spoke for another moment about promoting women. Andreas leaned back in his chair, smiling.

  “So, my Tina is getting married,’’ he said, referring to the woman who had moved to southern California.

  “Yeah,’’ Whitacre said. “Two or three weekends from now.’’

  “That won’t last for very long, do you think?’’

  “No.’’

  “She’s kind of a dodo-head, you know?’’ Andreas said. “She’ll be back. I just hope she doesn’t get pregnant. Fuck up her body.’’

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  “Yeah.’’

  “Nice body,’’ Andreas said. “It’d ruin her tits
. She’s got the greatest tits in the world.’’

  Andreas smiled broadly. “In the world.’’

  About an hour later, at 3:15, the telephone rang in the FBI’s Decatur Resident Agency. Weatherall, sitting in the main room of the office, answered.

  “Hey, Joe, how you doin’? This is Mark.’’

  “Hey, Mark. What’s happening?’’

  “Well, it’s all set. I got the fax from Ikeda. They want to meet week after next.’’

  Whitacre described Ajinomoto’s meeting proposal and said that he had discussed it with Andreas.

  “He’s all set to do it,’’ Whitacre continued. “He wants to meet with them on the twenty-fifth. So that’s the date of the meeting. We’re gonna be taking a corporate jet, a Falcon aircraft, about seven in the morning. And we’re gonna come back the same day, probably after lunch, about one o’clock. So it’s all set.’’

  “Okay, Mark, that’s great,’’ Weatherall said.

  They hung up, and Weatherall called to Herndon.

  Twelve days. They had just twelve days to arrange everything—to find out where the hotel room would be, to get it wired up. A thousand things could go wrong. But this was the critical meeting. Everything had to go right.

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  CHAPTER 8

  Anine-foot bronze statue of John Wayne—dressed in full cowboy regalia and illuminated by floor lights—towered above a crowd of tourists. The travelers had just walked from their gates to the lower level of the main terminal at John Wayne Airport, on the edge of Irvine, California. The airport’s décor projected a perfect Southern California image, with indoor palm trees stretching toward the ceiling and glass walls showcasing another sunny day.

  On one side of the terminal, Brian Shepard and Joe Weatherall hefted their luggage off a baggage carousel. It had been just over a week since Whitacre’s call about the meeting tentatively scheduled for Los Angeles. In the days that followed, the executives had settled on a Marriott hotel in Irvine as the site. The city was about thirty-five miles south of Los Angeles but was easily accessible by corporate jet. As soon as the FBI heard, Dean Paisley had called the Los Angeles Field Office for help; an agent with the Santa Ana Resident Agency was assigned as a local contact. From the airport, Shepard and Weatherall headed straight to the Marriott, just half a mile away. The seventeen-story, gleaming white hotel was a tiny village unto itself, with 485 rooms, twenty-nine conference rooms, and two restaurants. For the meeting, Whitacre had booked one of the largest private rooms, suite 1538. The agents headed to the suite after dropping off their luggage. A large table for banquets and business meetings was in the center. The executives were sure to do their haggling there. The agents set up the lamp with the hidden video camera; the shot included the whole table. The agents were not concerned about the executives wandering around; this camera came with a small remote control that would allow them to zoom in or rotate the shot from several rooms away. Eich_0767903277_5p_01_r1.qxd 10/11/01 3:56 PM Page 189