“I understand,’’ Whitacre said.
He scanned their faces. “Do you think everything will work out okay for me at the company?’’ he asked. “Do you think I’ll be okay?’’
“Mark, we couldn’t know, and we’re not here to talk about that,’’ Mann said. “All you can do is do what’s best for you. One of those things is, we think you should tell the company that you’re going to cooperate with the government’s investigation.’’
Whitacre had already heard this. He agreed with an airy wave of a hand.
As the prosecutors continued speaking, Whitacre began to seem downhearted. Reality was settling in.
“I really don’t know whether I’ll be around, whether I’ll be okay at the company,’’ he suddenly said. “You know, it’s gone pretty far. Maybe, maybe they’ll be okay, though. There are a lot of good people there. I don’t know.’’
Whitacre paused. “I guess it really is coming to an end, isn’t it?’’ he asked.
Mann nodded. “Yes, it is,’’ she replied.
“Do you think I’ll have to testify?’’
“I don’t know, Mark,’’ Mann said. “It’s too early to tell. Just keep doing your job. We don’t know what the future’s going to hold.’’
After almost fifteen minutes, Mutchnik reviewed their points. Whitacre needed to think about what was in his interest and who best could represent him.
“I understand,’’ Whitacre replied. “I think I know somebody I’ll call.’’
As they wrapped up, Whitacre smiled.
“You know, Jim, with that haircut, are you getting ready for the military or something?’’
• • •
About eight-thirty the next morning, the captain on United Airlines flight 602 turned off the seat-belt light. John Hoyt removed a credit card from his wallet and popped the airplane telephone out of its holding case. He followed the instructions on the phone’s tiny screen and swiped his card through.
The trip to Washington for the Freeh briefing had become a mad dash. With so little warning, there had been trouble finding a flight. The first available had been early that morning, with a connection through Chicago. There had been worries in Springfield that the two supervisors would miss the connection.
Hoyt put the phone to his ear. The SAC’s secretary answered.
“Hey, Dot. It’s John Hoyt. Is he there?’’
“Just a minute.’’
Stukey came on the line. “John, how’s it going?’’
“We made the flight, Don. We’re on our way.’’
“Okay. Keep me informed.’’
Hoyt replaced the phone and checked his watch.
This was no good, no good at all. He had been told that Washington wanted them to brief Freeh by nine, but they would never make it. They wouldn’t even be landing until about eleven. Hoyt made some mental calculations. By the time they arrived, they would have a little more than six hours before the raids were scheduled to begin.
He breathed deep. They were cutting this close.
In Springfield, Herndon and Shepard couldn’t stop checking the time. They had held a series of smaller briefings for some agents during the day. But the final briefing for all personnel involved in the raids was scheduled for 2:00. Agents had already arrived from all over, ready to help. Even the weather was perfect. If there was a delay, it might take months to put the pieces back in place.
It had to go today.
As soon as they reached the gate at Washington National Airport, Hoyt and Killham popped their seat belts open. They were not weighed down with luggage; they stood and waited for the crowds to move. They both glanced at their watches. Just after eleven.
Inside, the two hurried to the front and waited in line for a cab. Eventually, it was their turn.
“We’re going to the FBI building in Washington,’’ Hoyt said.
The cab pulled out.
• • •
Still no word.
Herndon and Shepard were in Stukey’s office, pacing. They were getting close to the time for the final briefing, with no idea if the raids were going forward. They decided to start the briefing as planned, but with a warning that the operation was not yet approved. There was no time for any other option.
At the Hoover Building, Hoyt and Killham were cooling their heels. Since they missed the 9:00 slot, they were told to wait until Freeh’s schedule had another opening. Just a couple of hours, they were assured.
Two o’clock in Springfield. Time was up.
Scores of agents crowded the SAC’s conference room, waiting for their final briefing. Stukey stepped behind the podium.
“We need to say up front, this may or may not go on,’’ Stukey said. “As we speak, John Hoyt and Kate Killham should be speaking to the Director. But we don’t have final approval yet.’’
Herndon checked his watch again. What was taking so long?
“Well, I just want to open up by thanking everyone for your efforts today,’’ Stukey said. “This is truly going to be a great moment for Springfield.’’
Stukey turned over the floor to Herndon and Shepard, who led the agents through the case.
Hoyt and Killham walked into the Director’s conference room. Freeh and a number of his deputies were already there, waiting for them. The two Springfield supervisors took seats at the far end of the table. Freeh lifted a hand.
“No, no,’’ he said. “John, both of you come on up here.’’
Hoyt and Killham stood and walked to the other side, sitting near Freeh.
“First of all,’’ Freeh said, “I want to thank you both for coming here on such short notice. I apologize for the inconvenience this has caused you. I’m sure you both would rather be in Springfield, helping in this operation. You have a really good case, an important case here. And I’d like a briefing.’’
Freeh eyed the Washington officials in the room.
“That’s something I should have had before now,’’ he said pointedly. “But I’ll deal with that later.’’
The room was silent in discomfort. Killham could almost hear the others sweating.
“All right, John,’’ Freeh said, turning back to Hoyt. “Go ahead.’’
Hoyt looked down at some notes.
“This case concerns price-fixing by ADM. I know you’re aware of it and you’ve seen our notes. We’re ready to take this overt. This evening, we’re planning to serve search warrants.’’
Hoyt described the broad outlines of the case, then Killham handled the particulars. Freeh asked a few pithy questions, but nothing much. Both agents were impressed with his knowledge of the case details.
“That sounds like an excellent plan,’’ Freeh said. “Expect a lot of attention from the media.’’
The Director looked at the two supervisors. “So why are you still here?’’ he asked. “Wouldn’t you rather be in Decatur, where the action is?’’
Hoyt and Killham smiled. “Yes,’’ they said in unison.
“Well, good luck with it,’’ Freeh said.
Hoyt and Killham hurried for the door. They needed to find a telephone and get back to the airport.
“Bob and Brian, please come to the front.’’
Shepard and Herndon stood as soon as they heard the voice on the intercom. They hurried down the hallway, walking through Stukey’s door without knocking. Stukey was at his desk.
“I just heard,’’ Stukey said. “It’s a go.’’
The agents felt a wave of excitement. Yes!
“So get going,’’ Stukey said.
They walked out, with Herndon making a quick left into the conference room where some agents were still waiting. Shepard headed to the radio room with a message to be announced over the intercom.
A minute later, the intercom crackled to life.
“In the Harvest King matter,’’ a voice said, “it’s a go.’’
Two hours later, Shepard and Herndon were silently sitting in a Bureau-issued car in front of a Decatur convenien
ce store. A cell phone plugged into the car lighter rang, and Herndon answered.
“Hey, it’s Mark. I think Mick’s on his way.’’
“Thanks.’’
A minute later, Andreas’s Mercedes drove past.
“There he is,’’ Shepard said.
They waited. They didn’t want to confront Andreas in his driveway; they wanted him to get home, loosen his tie, talk to his family. His defenses would be down. He would be vulnerable.
About ten minutes later, Herndon breathed in deep.
“I think this is a good time to go,’’ he said.
Shepard turned the key in the ignition. “That’s what I was thinking, too, Bob.’’
Shepard pulled into the street. Herndon rubbed his palms; they were sweaty from nerves. In a short time, they were on North Country Club Road, headed to Andreas’s house. Shepard saw the driveway and put on his signal.
Herndon picked up the car microphone. “Eight-oh-seven, this is SI-15,’’ he said.
“SI-15, go ahead.’’
“We’re going into subject number one’s house right now.’’
Shepard pulled around the circular driveway and stopped. He paused for a second.
“This is it,’’ Herndon said.
In silence the agents headed to the door and rang the bell. Sally Andreas, Mick’s wife, answered.
“Good evening, ma’am,’’ Shepard said. “I’m Special Agent Brian Shepard of the FBI. This is Special Agent Bob Herndon. Is your husband available?’’
“Oh, yes. Won’t you come in?’’
The agents stepped into the front hallway while Sally Andreas found her husband. When Mick appeared, his tie, coat, and shoes were already memories.
“Hey, fellas, how’re you doing?’’ Andreas said in a low, rumbling voice. “What can I do for you? Always interested in helping law enforcement.’’
“Well, we just want to take a minute of your time,’’ Shepard said. “We have something very serious we want to discuss with you.’’
Andreas almost shrugged. “Well, sure,’’ he said. “Why don’t you follow me?’’
The agents walked behind Andreas as he led them through the house. On the way, they passed a den. A boy, one of Andreas’s children, was watching television. Andreas brought the agents into his office and sat at his desk. The agents took chairs in front of the desk and showed Andreas their credentials.
“Okay,’’ Andreas said. “So tell me about this serious matter.’’
Shepard took a breath. “You’re the first person we’ve contacted. We’re doing this because we respect your position; we understand your authority at the company. We’d like for you to listen to us for a little bit and hear what you have to say.’’
Andreas didn’t move. “I’m all ears,’’ he said.
“This involves an international investigation regarding price-fixing by many companies, including ADM,’’ Shepard said. “We’ve used numerous investigative techniques during the course of this, some that include our latest technology. In fact, we’ve gathered more evidence than we ever thought we could. It’s been a real learning experience for us.’’
Shepard turned to Herndon. “Special Agent Herndon is going to give you a sample of what we learned.”
“We won’t take much time; we’re going to get to the punch, Mr. Andreas,’’ Herndon said. “But we just want to give you the benefit of what we believe we know and see what your reaction is. And we’re going to have to ask you for your help in the end.’’
Herndon ticked off a few facts. Trade associations as cover. The exchange of sales and production numbers. Audits to prevent cheating. He included a few facts that seemed to indicate that the case involved high-fructose corn syrup and citric acid. He never mentioned lysine. The agents were dedicated to protecting Whitacre as long as possible.
Andreas listened calmly, his hands clasped on the desk. He struck Herndon as an amazingly cool customer.
“We know a lot,’’ Herndon said, “because we’ve seen it and we’ve heard it. We even have tapes.’’
Herndon lifted his soft briefcase off the ground. Opening the flap, he pulled out a tape recorder. For days, the agents had debated which tape to play at this moment. In the end, their hopes of keeping Whitacre’s role a secret had driven the decision. They chose a recording of an Andreas meeting with Yamada on April 30, 1993. Whitacre’s voice was not on the tape, and there were no direct references to price-fixing. If they were going to protect Whitacre, it was the best they could do. They hoped that Andreas would be frightened just hearing his voice on tape.
Andreas listened to the snippet and shrugged. “Doesn’t sound like price-fixing to me,’’ he said.
“We have other evidence, Mr. Andreas, other tapes,’’ Herndon said. “We have a lot of tapes.’’
Herndon paused, feeling the weight of a great silence in the room. For a moment, he wondered whether Andreas was somehow recording this.
“Let me ask you a question, sir,’’ Herndon said. “Have you ever heard the statement, ‘The competitors are our friends and the customers are our enemies?’ ”
“Are you aware of our second motto at ADM?’’ Andreas asked. “It’s ‘We know when we’re lying.’ ”
The agents didn’t respond.
“You know,’’ Andreas said, “I don’t think you guys understand the business.’’
“Let me tell you why we’re here,’’ Shepard said. “This is probably the most impressive antitrust case in history. We’ve been speaking with the attorneys from the Justice Department’s Antitrust Division, and I think you can expect jail time for people who participated in these schemes, including you.’’
Despite the many companies involved in the conspiracy, only ADM clearly fell within the easy reach of American law enforcement.
“Right now, ADM stands alone,’’ Shepard said. “If you don’t cooperate, the other companies will prosper or could prosper. Customers are going to continue to need high-fructose corn syrup or citric acid, and they may be forced to buy from other companies. The other companies won’t have the black eye that ADM has.’’
Still no mention of lysine. Andreas would probably never think of Whitacre.
“You have an opportunity tonight to make a decision, and this decision is going to affect your life and your company. You have a chance to protect ADM and to influence the rest of the investigation. But you’ve got to make the decision tonight.’’
Shepard paused. Andreas didn’t move.
“Here’s the decision,’’ Shepard said. “Your dad has worked long and hard to make this company. You know that, we know it, and we’ve got a lot of respect for your dad and you. But we need your help.’’
“I’m a law-abiding citizen,’’ Andreas responded. “I always try to cooperate with law enforcement. But I can’t make a decision to fully cooperate without consulting my dad and my attorney. ADM is publicly owned. I have a responsibility to the directors.’’
“Mr. Andreas, we believe you have the authority to make the decision to cooperate,’’ Shepard replied. “We need your help gathering further evidence of price-fixing in citric acid, in high-fructose corn syrup, or in any other product where price-fixing is going on right now. If you decide to help us, we want to start making phone calls tonight. We know it won’t be easy; it’s a big decision. But we’re telling you, if you don’t cooperate, ADM will stand alone domestically.”
Andreas said nothing.
“We think the decision is clear,’’ Shepard continued. “To keep ADM from being singled out, to save everything your dad has worked so hard for, you should help us. This is a onetime opportunity for you to help us gather evidence on other companies.’’
Shepard stopped. That was the pitch.
“Honestly, guys, I don’t think you understand the business,’’ Andreas said.
Andreas denied that there could ever be price-fixing at his company. The products the agents had mentioned were commodities, he said, and it was impossible
to rig those prices. He admitted talking with competitors; of course it happened all the time. It was like having two used-car salesmen with lots next to each other, he said. They’re going to talk about how many cars they’re going to sell this year.
“I know what an antitrust violation is,’’ he said. “And I haven’t broken any laws. What you’ve got on that tape is not an antitrust violation.’’
“Again, we have a lot more evidence than just this,’’ Herndon said. “The tape was designed to show you that we have you on tape. It wasn’t to convince you that this is a violation right here.’’
Herndon stared Andreas in the eyes. “You’ve got a decision to make,’’ he said. “We’re not going to stay here all night. You need to make a decision.’’
“I’m not going to do it,’’ Andreas said abruptly. “I’m not going to be a spy. I’m not going to wear a wire, and my kid’s not going to wear a wire.’’
Andreas sat back. “You guys need to leave. And the very first thing I’m going to do is call my dad and call the company attorneys.’’
“Well, that’s fine,’’ Herndon said as he reached into his briefcase. “Before we leave, though, we need to serve you with some subpoenas.’’
Herndon handed four subpoenas to Andreas, one for him and three for the company. Andreas set the documents down on his desk and stood.
“Well, fellows, I think it’s time for you to leave,’’ he said again.
Andreas walked to the office door. He stopped as he passed Shepard, a look of recognition in his eye.
“You owe me one,’’ he said to Shepard.
“What do you mean?’’ Shepard asked.
“I recognize you,’’ Andreas said. “We talked about another matter about two years ago.’’
The Fujiwara incident. Shepard didn’t reply.
More than thirty minutes after the agents had arrived, Andreas showed them out. They climbed back into their car, and as Shepard turned the ignition key, Herndon picked up the radio microphone.
“Eight-oh-seven, this is SI-15,’’ he said.
“SI-15, go ahead.’’
“Eight-oh-seven, please advise all other units to proceed with the other investigation.’’
The radio operator understood the meaning: Mick Andreas hadn’t flipped. The word went out to agents around the country just before six o’clock.
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