I must begin this column by saying thank you to all of you who sent
e-mails to me last week after reading my testimony.
You are an encouragement to my family and me, and I promise to keep
writing this column and telling my story.
A significant part of that story involves many undercover operations
in which I participated. The purpose was to gather evidence of a
monetary connection between President Clinton and China, and I was the
link that could help that investigation.
Immediately after I pleaded guilty on March 9, 1998, I was approached
by a Chinese messenger, Robert Luu, who asked me to meet with him at the
Hilton Hotel in Torrance, Calif. At that time, I was under instruction
by the Justice Department and the FBI to tape all incoming and outgoing
phone calls. Luu surely suspected my phone conversations were being
recorded, which is why he suggested a meeting.
The FBI was fully prepared for a potentially life-threatening
situation. We had no idea who would be at this meeting, how many of
them would be there, or what I was walking into. As part of that
preparation, I was given a body wire. Now, I had never worn a body wire
before, so when the FBI first mentioned it to me, I pictured gadgets
from 007 movies — a high-tech, tiny microphone that would be invisible
to the “bad guys.”
But I was not James Bond. They gave me two huge batteries to be
taped behind my back. It was very bulky and uncomfortable.
“This must be 1960s or ’70s technology!” I told them. “What happens
if he hugs me?”
“Just tell him, ‘I don’t like people to hug me,'” the agents calmly
suggested.
FBI surrounded me from inside and outside the hotel, so I felt
protected, despite the bulkiness of my wire.
I walked into the hotel, still not knowing who would be there, and
chose a seat close to the bar area. Facing the entrance door, I waited
for the messenger to arrive. While I waited, I occasionally made eye
contact with FBI agents inside the hotel. The eye contact helped calm
me down.
Suddenly, two Asian men came out of the elevator with a back pack.
When I saw them, my heart jumped into my throat. I saw FBI agents close
in on the men, but — thank God — the men boarded a tour bus.
Finally, the messenger arrived.
Once I saw Luu, all my attention was focused on communicating with
him. Suddenly, I forgot all of the dangers. I felt like a character on
a stage because all my conversation was scripted. My hands, my mouth,
my heart were tied — I could only say what I had memorized from the
Department of Justice and FBI. For later operations, I was given the
freedom to use my own words since using a script had made it very
difficult for me to act natural.
The message from Luu was, “Keep your mouth shut and you will be OK.”
He said, “You will retire in style. You are so rich now that you
cannot go back to your old lifestyle. If you talk, everything will be
out of control — nobody will be able to help you.”
Then he asked me, “How is your family? How’s your wife? How’s your
children?”
Of course, that was a polite, mafia-like method of harassment, and I
took it very seriously. Anger grew in my heart toward this man, and I
wanted to reach across the table and strangle him. But, for the sake of
the investigation, I had to be patient.
He then asked me to switch attorneys, saying mine was no good. He
said the Chinese government would provide me with an attorney and pay
all the expenses. They even had one already picked out. Luu wanted me
to meet the attorney, David Brockway, at a private club in downtown Los
Angeles.
The club was so private, said Luu, that only members were allowed.
He told me that not even the CIA could get in, and that he would call me
later with a code name which would indicate what time I should go to the
club.
Luu kept mentioning that the Chinese general cared about me, but I
have no idea which general he was talking about.
I knew something Luu didn’t, however: our entire conversation had
been audio and video recorded.
Luu got up and headed for the front door, leaving me with the feeling
that my mission was accomplished. But he suddenly turned back, catching
me off guard. I was so nervous as he approached my table. I thought he
must be coming back to finish me off.
“The general says ‘hello,'” Luu relayed.
Feeling bolder, I asked, “Who do you work for?”
He answered, “I get my salary from Beijing.”
With that, he left, and I headed for my car where an FBI agent was
posing as my driver. I opened the door and jumped into my car like I
was diving into a swimming pool. I was so relieved to be out of there.
The FBI then checked the perimeter of the hotel to make sure no one was
following me, and we headed back to the station. I spent the entire
afternoon debriefing the FBI.
That night, I went home, and my wife asked me how the meeting went.
Not wanting to worry her, I didn’t tell her exactly who I was meeting
with. I simply said I had a meeting with some businessmen and the FBI.
I said, “Thank God I am still alive,” and fell into her arms.
On the afternoon of May 14, 1998, I was ready to go meet with Luu and
the attorney at the private club. But just before we left, my lawyer
was called by the New York Times, which was ready to go public with
details of my cooperation in the Chinagate probe.
Obviously, somebody in a high-ranking position at the Justice
Department knew about the sting operation and leaked it to the Times in
order to burn the operation. Congress is currently investigating the
origins of that leak.
My lawyer asked the Times to hold the story for a couple of days, but
the paper said they would only do so if FBI director Louis Freeh called
them directly. Needless to say, Louis Freeh didn’t call.
I was so angry that I shouted at the FBI, demanding to know who
leaked the information. And I yelled at my attorney for not stopping
the Times from printing its story.
Fearing the leak had compromised the mission, the FBI told me, “If
you feel your life is in danger, you don’t have to meet with them.”
But I had vowed to fully cooperate, and I told them I would go
forward with the mission. I was going to keep my word. Once again, we
had no idea how many people would be at the club or what I would be
walking into. As usual, I also wore a body wire — the one with the
giant batteries.
Of course, we were video and audio taping everything, and I was
scripted.
When the men arrived, I asked Luu again who sent him.
“The Chinese government” he said, adding that they wanted to “take
care of” my case, and they wanted to use this attorney. Brockway, who
was an attorney in Nixon’s Watergate scandal, hinted that he had handled
other cases in which the defendant kept his mouth shut so that his case
would be “taken care of,” too. As a result of his cooperation, the
client was taken care of very well.
Luu also told me that if I had to go to jail, I would go to a country
club jail, and I would get a presidential pardon.
Sticking to my script, which said I had to act as though I didn’t
trust him, I asked how China could get me a presidential pardon. I told
him I didn’t believe anyone — that I had no friends. How could I
believe them?
The two men explained the plan. The Chinese government was prepared
to release famous human rights dissidents of China in exchange for the
American government being “nice” with me. They also told me a
high-ranking Chinese government official in Beijing and a high-ranking
American government official in D.C. had agreed to take care of my case.
Now, I had not only become involved in the campaign finance scandal,
I had become embroiled in international human rights affairs. I
thought, why not? If we can get the dissidents out first, that would be
a good thing, and then we could continue with the investigation. But I
was not in control of the conversation. I was still being scripted and
had to stick to my lines.
I said to Luu, “I’m broke. I cannot pay for another attorney.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We will take care of everything. We will
pay for the attorney.”
I continued to pursue the key question: “Who sent you to me?”
He gave me a nickname: “Country Girl.”
That was the same nickname I had given to Liu Chao-Ying, the vice
president of a Chinese aerospace company in Hong Kong and daughter of
the highest-ranking general in China. Liu had asked me to introduce her
to my contacts in the U.S., including President Clinton, and gave me
$300,000 to donate to Clinton and the Democratic National Committee. I
had told Liu I didn’t care who her father was, and so I gave her a
nickname which, in English, translates to “country girl.” It was to
remind her that in my eyes, she was just like anyone else — not a VIP
deserving special treatment.
I found out later that not only was Liu the daughter of China’s
equivalent to the U.S. Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, she was
also a colonel in the People’s Liberation Army.
Liu had sent the messenger to keep me quiet.
It wasn’t until after my nearly three-hour-long meeting with Luu and
Brockway that I realized my fly was open! The FBI pointed it out to me
afterwards, not because they were afraid I would be embarrassed, but
because they were afraid I would expose the wires in my underwear.
Again, we followed our procedure to make sure no one was following
us, driving on the freeway at speeds ranging from 80 to 45 miles per
hour, and then heading to the station.
But my undercover work was far from over. In all, I participated in
more than a dozen sting operations involving Luu, another messenger from
China, and a woman who — though she harassed me just three weeks before
my final sentencing hearing — claimed she worked for the CIA.
My safety was compromised over and over again by leaks to the media.
The leaks were surely designed to keep me from doing my job with the FBI
in order to stall the investigation. Further stall tactics were used
later when new agents, unfamiliar with the investigation, were assigned
to my case. The agents who had been with me all along were taken out of
leadership roles in my case.
After it became clear the investigation would go no further, many
people parted ways with the Department of Justice. Chuck LaBella
resigned. My own prosecutor, Michael McCaul, resigned. And all the FBI
agents who had been working on my case had been reassigned.
In coming weeks, I will share more details of how the media leaks
compromised the safety of my family and me, how we managed to survive,
building an even stronger family bond, and what my life is like now as I
perform my community service at my church and the YMCA.
