Chapter Three

Genesis of a Myth

Of all the pitfalls in investigative reporting, the most dangerous is putting too much faith in sources. I dealt with many characters I wouldn’t invite home for dinner. But I acted as if they were my best friends. It was a game. Like dieting at a buffet, I took a little and tried to ignore the rest (I apologize for using two food metaphors in the same paragraph). Dealing with Barry Seal presented big challenges in distinguishing between truth and fantasy.

Page 80:

Investigative reporting is a game of mutual manipulation. Barry Seal was a source seeking to gain favor. I was a reporter gathering information. In a “friendly” way, we were conning each other.

In an often cited 1989 New Yorker article, essayist and author Janet Malcolm wrote, “Every journalist who is not too stupid or too full of himself to notice what is going on knows that what he does is morally indefensible. He is a kind of confidence man, preying on people’s vanity, ignorance, or loneliness, gaining their trust and betraying them without remorse.”

That is a perfect description of investigative reporting. There are no absolute rules in dealing with sources. Ethics are mostly situational and result is varying degrees of compromise. My personal guidelines are don’t lie, bribe or extort. Unless absolutely necessary. A joke, but not far from reality.

In getting sources to talk, I was guilty of downplaying the purpose of my inquiries, promising to keep names out of stories if people cooperate, and threatening to identify them if they didn’t. I have a few regrets about my tactics. But not too many.

I always kept Barry Seal in perspective. He was too forthcoming. As a rule, people don’t disclose secrets and admit felony misdeeds in order to make the world a better place. A vital part of an investigative reporter’s job is learning the motives of unsolicited confessions. In the end, what really counts is the truth, newsworthiness and importance of the information.

The drug smuggler told a tale that was hard to believe.

Page 83:

Five months before we met, Seal stared down a rain-sodden grass airstrip in a remote area north of Medellín, Colombia trying to figure a way to stay alive. “We have a choice,” he jokingly told co-pilot Emil Camp as they ran through a pre-flight checklist. “We can be killed in a plane crash or shot to death.”

Emil didn’t find the gallows humor funny, though the grim statement would ultimately prove prophetic on both counts. But not just yet. On this day, May 28, 1984, Seal was piloting a plane overloaded with 1500 kilos of cocaine. He knew his two-engine Lodestar couldn’t get airborne before crashing into a forest at the end of the airstrip. But an attempt to clear the trees was better than being executed by a machine gun in the hands of an insane man sitting on horseback at the edge of the makeshift runway.

“I don’t care what you say. You are going to load this airplane and get out of here, or I shoot you.” The threat was made by Carlos Rivas Ledher, an undersized, thirty-five- year-old narco-trafficker. His small stature was at odds with a reputation of being one of the most vicious members of the Medellín cartel. Because of his temper and impulsiveness, Ledher had been demoted from a leadership position to countryside cocaine custodian.

Ignoring Barry’s warning that the airstrip was too wet to get airborne, he ordered him to take off.