Unabomber : the secret life of Ted Kaczynski

by Waits, Chris

  During the long winter of trying to figure out the enigma who I had thought was my friend, I began to wonder whether the recurring date was nothing more than a bizarre set of circumstances or maybe something more, a covert method of retaliation, a vendetta against me for violating his strict code of environmental ethics and also for disturbing his peace.

  As March wore on the snow started to slowly recede, but bare ground was still weeks away.

  Neither Butch nor I had heard from the FBI in months and I began to wonder just when they would contact me. Agents had come to

  Lincoln on Wednesday, March 5, but they didn't take the time to talk to me.

  I wanted to be patient, since I wasn't sure how they would react to the cabin news anyway—maybe they'd get a search warrant and confiscate all my notes and the cabin. I also wanted to prove to the FBI that I could be trusted w ith new sensitive information. At least I could document and preserve the evidence before there was any further damage caused by the small animals or the weather.

  I certainly didn't want the press to catch wind of the cabin. A leak would cause a stampede of people and reporters either trying to pin me down or to sneak in and find the cabin site. The only people w ho knew about my discovery w ere Betty, Butch, and Bobby Didriksen. And I trusted them all implicitly.

  Then fmall>; on March 26,1 received a phone call from FBI agent Dave Weber, w ho was in Lincoln along with Max Noel and lead prosecuting attorney Robert Cleary. They were conducting pre-trial interviews w ith a few people who would be witnesses at Ted's trial.

  Dave asked if they could drive up and interview me that same afternoon. I said I'd be free until my piano lessons, which began at 3:30 P.M. Dave replied they'd arrive shortly after lunch.

  I didn't have time to run down to Butch's and he didn't answ^er his phone, so I wasn't sure if he had talked to them already.

  A short time later they pulled up into the yard, knocked at the door and—after getting all of our barking dogs outside—we moved inside and sat dow^n in the living room.

  This was my first meeting with Max, who had been the lead in many areas of the investigation and was a member of the Unabom Task Force.

  Max talked about the beauty of the country; Dave and Bob Cleary were in agreement.

  After more small talk. Bob Cleary asked the first question: When had I met Ted.^ Cleary asked most of the questions and it was obvious he was preparing the case in earnest.

  For the first time I began to volunteer more detailed information than I had shared with anyone yet. I talked about the frequency and duration of Ted's visits to my gulch and how much he loved it up there.

  I then went on to explain the logistics and importance of not only the total privacy and Ted's exclusive access, but the gulch itself and its strategic location and easy access to the Continental Divide trail and also to the rail line, which was only ten miles across the mountains. Walking that distance meant nothing to Ted. From the Divide, it was an easy and fairly level jaunt to sidespurs and stops at Garrison Junction, Austin, or Mullan Pass where freight trains could be boarded easily.

  I also told them details about Ted, his dress, the packs he used and the places he went.

  Max asked me to describe one of Ted's packs.

  I said Ted always carried a large army green canvas pack when out in the mountains.

  Max then asked if it had a frame.

  I replied that it did, but Ted didn't always use the frame.

  He asked if the frame was wood or metal.

  I realized he was quizzing me, not only to find out what details I might remember, but also to corroborate earlier interviews. I also felt he was testing me to see how I'd handle being questioned under pressure.

  I described the frame of aluminum tubing—a metal frame—with braided white cord criss-crossed around the bottom. I apologized for adding the extra details, but Max said, "No, that's great," and commended me for being able to remember the details.

  Clearv^ then wondered if I had talked to the defense team and if I had notes about what they had asked and when I had talked to them.

  I said I had talked to the defense while Ted was still in Helena, but had adamantly refused to meet with the new defense team later in the fall when they asked for an interview. (Once the government set the first trial for Sacramento, the court appointed Sacramento-based public defenders for Ted.)

  Cleary instantly lifted his head from his notes, looked straight at me and asked: "Why would you refuse to talk to the defense law^ers.'^"

  I paused, but then told them in detail about what I felt was Ted's scheme to discredit me—when Ted refused to see me at the jail and the letter I had received claiming I didn't even know Ted.

  They asked if they could have a copy of the letter, which I agreed to provide, and I also told them the names of the three who had sent

  me the letter. I said it felt like the whole mess was set up and onee was enough.

  They agreed.

  Max said the woman w ho wrote the letter and signed it for the three had provided the defense with a sworn affidax it and then had tried to change details about her stor; including how long she had known Ted, but a federal judge ruled what she said first was what she said. Max went on to say the letter I received, which contained information con-trar- to that in her affidavit, would help discredit her testimony.

  I then saw her original affidavit, which stated she met Ted about four or five years after she started her current employment in Lincoln at the end of 1984. In her letter to me, dated July 8, 1996, she wrote she had known Ted for twelve years. The math just didn't add up and I could see what the FBI was talking about.

  I went on to tell Cleary and the other two about several other uncharacteristic incidents, including the time Ted was hitchhiking, and the winter day my wife caught him at the cabin behind our house.

  When I mentioned the cabin, Cleary instantly perked up and asked me what kind of cabin.

  I replied it was an old miner's cabin.

  He acted disappointed and put his head back down, returning to his handwritten notes.

  I wondered if this was the right time, but I still didn't feel totally comfortable about how to bring up the secret cabin. I decided to wait because I knew they would be back and I had to get up there before anyone else.

  Besides, I felt if anyone deserved receiving the information, Dave Weber w^as the one. I was sure he had trusted me the previous summer and was disappointed when he got orders to be guarded about any communications with me.

  The conversation continued for a short while, centering on things I had discussed with Ted. As the three got up to leave I jokingly scolded Max for not taking the time to meet in person before making a character assessment.

  As they left Dave informed me he would return to get the letter, which I told him I could copy at home, and also to jot down information about my background.

  As I followed the trio out to their Ford Bronco I could sense Dave knew there was something I was holding back. They said their goodbyes and said they were headed to Butch's house for a brief visit. I knew then Butch hadn't spilled the beans.

  They said they were leaving town, so I was surprised to receive a call from Dave the next day, saying he wanted to come back up and double-check some of the details from our interview.

  It was Thursday, March 27. I decided Dave would not leave without knowing about the secret cabin.

  Dave arrived and I felt comfortable with him almost immediately. A Montana native who was named to the Unabom Task Force about two years earlier, Dave had a small-town easiness about him and was patient in building relationships. I also admired him for all the dirty work he had done the previous summer, spending hundreds of hours hiking in the rugged back-country looking for evidence.

  As we talked I knew he didn't have an agenda or a long list of questions to go over. The conversation at times even slowed to the point of being awkward, but I had a strong feeling Butch had taken him aside and told him he better stop back and see me
.

  After giving him a copy of the letter I had promised, I said, "Fve got something to show you, something I think you will find verv^ interesting." I went to my office and returned with a photograph of the cabin in the snow taken the previous December and handed it to him.

  Dave grabbed the picture, studying it intensely, and the questions started to roll. He immediately asked if he could have the pictures and negatives.

  I could send him a set of pictures at a later date, I replied, but he couldn't have these because they were the only copies.

  It was apparent from his excitement that this cabin was indeed what agents had been looking for in their long and tedious search of the mountains. He asked when and where I had found it.

  I answered the when question, but stopped short of describing where it was located, other than to vaguely describe a remote area, fairly high up. He mentioned a specific area of the gulch, wondering if it was there. I said not exactly, but kind of across from there, and left it at that.

  Dave sensed that was about all he would find out that dav. He

  didn't press mc further, but instead promised to send me a detailed map, actually a hi^h-altitude aerial photograph of the area, enlarged to help mc pinpoint the location.

  "That'd be great," I said, eager to recei e the map e en though I knew exactly where the cabin was located.

  1 think Dae understood that as well, and he knew I was being careful and didn't blame me. He then said the FBI hasn't always had a glowing reputation in its dealings with people.

  As he was leaving we talked about what had happened the previous summer and why agents didn't contact me after the CNN interview. Dave said he knew I could have helped greatly during the search and he had pushed hard to use me toward that end. But, as he put it, his words fell on deaf ears and he was ordered to keep silent and work only with the FBI team.

  Dave went on to say his wife. Sue, had been right about the location of Ted's secret cabin. She had been with Dave and Jerry Burns that first time they stopped at my house. While Dave, Jerry, and I were talking in the yard. Sue sat in Jerry's pickup, scanning the huge expanse of country behind us.

  Dave said that when he and Jerry got back into the truck. Sue said "if I were Ted, I would build my secret cabin up there," pointing up my gulch. She went on to talk about the privacy, remoteness of the land and how close it was to Ted's home cabin. Even to this day we occasionally laugh as she gloats about how her intuition was correct.

  As Dave got into his truck he said we'd be in touch and then he drove off toward Lincoln.

  I called Butch and said Dave had been told, but I hadn't divulged the location.

  "Good," Butch replied.

  I chuckled as he went on to say it was just like Columbo when they finally got the hint.

  That night I received a phone call from Max Noel thanking me for sharing the information with Dave. He wondered when I might send pictures and when they would be able to get up there with a team.

  Photos could be sent as soon as they were printed, I said, but it

  probably would be at least a month before the snow would melt sufficiently to hike up to the cabin.

  We then talked a little about trust and I complained again about his not taking the time to meet me earlier. He agreed, but partially blamed Butch for not steering them to me.

  I laughed as I told Max how Butch compared the whole scene to an episode of Columbo. Max didn't find too much humor in the comment and replied Butch watched too much television.

  Max said he had to go, but would stay in touch. I replied I would take them up as soon as the conditions permitted.

  As we hung up, I could sense the adventure was just beginning.

  Secrets Revealed

  The secret cabin was the touchstone of my new relationship with the FBI. I had made a soHd discovery, and then sharing that information with agents had shown I could be trusted and was sincere about helping.

  No longer would I have to wait for the chance to communicate with them. They would now be contacting me on a regular basis since I was the one with inside information.

  Max Noel had told me I would be needed to help with their investigation once the field team arrived back in Montana, since I knew the country and terrain so well.

  I told him I'd set aside the necessary time and I'd also monitor the snow conditions so we'd be able to hike to the secret cabin at the earliest opportunity.

  As the year moved into April there was still no hint of spring. The few days the sun appeared were quickly offset by frigid nights; the snow level just wouldn't diminish.

  Finally on Wednesday afternoon, April 9, 1997,1 decided to force the season and hike up the gulch. I wasn't prepared for what I found.

  The elevation change between home and the old miner's cabin just a mile beyond is only about 200 feet, but the snow around that cabin still was chest high, more snow than I'd seen there in a long time.

  I snapped a roll of pictures for future reference and to document w here Ted had removed boards, material, and nails. It took thirty minutes to dig down through the five feet of snow in front of the door to get inside.

  I didn't realize how^ important the trip and the pictures would prove to be. That would be the last time I'd see the old miner's cabin standing.

  The very next trip up the gulch the cabin was down, squashed flat hke a toppled house of cards. The heavy snows of about seventy years had finally taken their toll and the structure just couldn't shoulder the weight of another winter. The missing piece of roof truss stolen by the joker, Ted, who had always been the odd card in the deck, had weakened the structure and contributed to the cabin's demise; Ted used the 2X4 as the side rail and frame for his secret cabin bed.

  The leverage of the collapsing walls pulled up some of the cabin's floor boards, revealing where Ted had hidden a dry supply of split firewood. Also under the floor was a junkyard of old burned tin cans, all opened in his usual way with a survival knife.

  Ted had helped himself to plenty of building materials taken right off the shell of the cabin, including boards, plywood, nails, and tarpa-per. All were packed up the mountain and used in the construction of his secret cabin.

  The old miner's cabin, built by turn-of-the-century prospectors who scoured this gulch for riches, stood all those years and was a handy shelter and ready supply of materials for Ted. But the first winter after his arrest, weakened by his pillaging, it wouldn't stand any longer.

  Ted had used whatever he needed from it, just as he had used people. It was like he had some special privilege to take whatever suited him with no regard for anything or anyone.

  His life during the Lincoln years was a dichotomy. He was a man of unyielding principles and was eager to kill for them, yet the rigid rules he devised for everyone else did not apply to himself. He was above the common man's law.

  By the third week in April an amazing amount of snow remained in the high country. Everyone was worried it would melt quickly and severely flood Lincoln and areas down river. In some places even the twenty-foot-high snow poles used by the snowmobile club to mark trails were covered; several feet of snow had to be shoveled away to find the poles' tops.

  That meant well over 240 inches of snow blanketed the mountains, the heaviest snowpack recorded for many years.

  But every day the sun moved higher in the sky, finally traveling a path above the mountain ridges, and then it started to penetrate the snowbound valleys and streambeds locked awav and shaded by the

  vertical, tree-covered slopes towering above them. Some sheltered alleys hadn't been warmed by a sin
  (Chinook w inds added their life-gi ing heat as the icy fortress and small rivulets began to be transformed into rushing streams.

  On Friday, April 25, I told Betty I couldn't stand any more suspense—it was time to return to the secret cabin.

  I laced up my waterproof, leather Chippewa hiking boots, grabbed a camera and fanny pack loaded w ith a few
^ supplies, and started walking up the gulch, staying on bare or nearly bare patches of ground on the south-facing slopes as much as possible.

  It was a struggle to traverse the rougher terrain, which was still snowbound. But I avoided most of it by choosing a longer, less direct route and I arried at the cabin in remarkable time, considering the conditions.

  As I stood there on the shelf in front of the cabin, it was more apparent than last November that led had chosen the location well. The only smell was the heavy scent of fresh-flowing sap invigorated by the w^arming weather. The only sounds came from the southwesterly winds brushing the treetops and the stream, far below, cascading over boulders and downed trees in its spring rush to Poorman Creek and then the Blackfoot River.

  This was a piece of paradise, unusually buffered from the harsh winter elements. Not only was it secluded, but also the sun, even when it was low in the south sky during mid-winter, would top the distant ridge and w arm the shelf through the tree cover. The snow cover right here was already melted, an oasis in the middle of a huge snowTield. It was a perfect location for a year-round cabin, one of the few in the high countrv.

  The necessities of life—food, water, and fuel—were nearby. Any smoke from the small stove w ould be impossible to spot after it swirled above the treeline and mixed with the mountain breezes that swept up the small gulches and valleys. Any sign of a fire could be seen only from the mountain directly across the gulch, and that mountain slope is 70 degrees or more, heavily covered with brush and timber and very difficult to navigate.

  Ted was calculating in choosing his spot; it was perfect in every

  way. If I hadn't been systematically looking for the secret cabin or something like it, it's doubtful it ever would have been found.

  As I walked up to the cabin I had to shake off the same ominous feeling I had sensed before, both at Ted's home cabin and at the secret cabin the previous fall. It felt like an evil place and that its owner was still hidden among the tall lodgepoles, watching me invade his private domain.