Obsession fulfills passion’s choice of destiny.
—DANIEL WALDSCHMIDT
TED NELSON RECEIVED AN E-MAIL from Kojima the very next day. Contained in it was the address of Kojima’s bank, along with his account number and all other pertinent information.
Terrific, Newcomer thought. Their business together was moving forward. He could wire money to Kojima and, in return, receive packages of smuggled butterflies. Everything was in place.
His next move was to call the National Geographic Society.
Someone there either knows what’s going on or they’re in for a hell of a shock about one of their employees, he mused. It was time they knew that a smuggler was in their midst. Kojima claimed to have worked for them for years and continued to brazenly use their name. Saying the words “National Geographic” was akin to uttering the phrase “open sesame.” It opened important doors and allowed Kojima to obtain beetles and butterflies that were otherwise illegal for export. Kojima had been milking the association for all it was worth.
Newcomer’s call was directed to its Department of Human Resources, and he wondered what they would say. Just how far up the line did Kojima’s shenanigans go? Would it possibly be high enough to smear the society’s good name and bring on a world of pain and trouble? He was about to find out.
Special Agent Newcomer inquired if National Geographic had one Hisayoshi Kojima on its payroll either as an employee or a subcontractor. The voice on the other end said that the matter would be looked into and someone would get back to him as soon as they knew. Newcomer decided to give them a couple of weeks and call again if they hadn’t responded by then.
A flurry of e-mails between Newcomer and Kojima now ensued over the next few days. Business heated up for the sale of Appendix I and II butterflies. Newcomer did his best to play it cool.
Ted Nelson was still waiting to hear from one customer but felt sure he’d have an initial order of at least seven hundred dollars. Another client first wanted to see the sample of Ornithoptera victoriae that was coming. Based on that, he’d probably order another three or four pair. Then there was a customer chomping at the bit to buy the Appendix I hospiton. A fourth client was also interested in purchasing the illegal Appendix I butterfly. However, he was only willing to pay half of the money up front.
I think he doesn’t believe I can really provide them—ha ha. I might place one order next week and another soon after, Newcomer wrote to Kojima.
Could Ted possibly Skype with Kojima that evening? He was driving to San Diego for a tae kwon do tournament that night but would Skype Kojima at around 9 PM from his hotel.
Newcomer figured that should hold Kojima for a couple of hours. As long as I always have that lifeline open, then the case will be safe, he told himself. He wouldn’t allow for any mistakes to happen this time.
Newcomer drove to San Diego after having checked and double-checked that the hotel had high-speed Internet. He arrived only to learn that someone on the hotel staff had screwed up. High-speed Internet wasn’t available.
Damn! Newcomer broke into a cold sweat, his reaction as reflexive as one of Pavlov’s dogs. He already knew what would happen, and he proceeded to fly into a panic. He was supposed to Skype with Kojima at nine, and it was already later than that.
Let me check my cell phone. Maybe Yoshi left a message on there for me. Newcomer hit it on the mark. Kojima had already left several.
Where are you? Why aren’t you calling me?
Each message was more desperate and demanding than the last. Oh God, it was déjà vu. Worst of all, though his pay-as-you-go cell phone would accept international calls, it wouldn’t allow Newcomer to make them. The only way he could contact Kojima was by e-mail, and it was impossible to do that at his hotel. This was a Mylanta moment if ever there was one as history began to repeat itself.
It was now after midnight, and Newcomer was growing increasingly frantic. He had to find a way to contact Kojima, or the case would implode. He finally stumbled upon an Internet café that was still open. He promptly rented a terminal and logged on to his undercover e-mail account, where even more messages from Kojima awaited him.
I can’t get hold of you. I need to talk to you!
The words virtually jumped off the screen and pummeled him. Newcomer hadn’t recognized Kojima’s pattern in 2003 until it was too late. Now he knew exactly what was happening. Kojima would pull the plug, and Newcomer would be back to square one. He was so close to getting butterflies that he couldn’t believe it might possibly blow up in his face for a third time. At this point, he’d do whatever it took to staunch the flow.
Newcomer pounded out an e-mail that was even more agitated than those left by Kojima.
I am at a TERRIBLE hotel!!! I will never stay here again. They promised me high-speed Internet, but there is only a phone line. I’m so mad I am screaming.
I am going to watch a Taekwon-Do tournament tomorrow in San Diego. Then I’m going back to LA. I will Skype with you tomorrow night at about 8 or 9 pm LA time.
Is that ok? Sorry, Yoshi. I’m so mad you can’t believe it!!!!!!!
Kojima reached him by cell phone a few minutes later.
“Yoshi! Did you get my e-mail?” he asked nervously .
“Yeah, that’s why I’m calling. I can’t talk to you tonight,” Kojima replied nonchalantly .
What! Then why leave all the damn phone messages and frenzied e-mails? Son of a bitch! The guy was jerking his strings and playing him again!
Newcomer knew it was all part of the game. Kojima was a master manipulator who was now turning the screws. This was his punishment for having kept Kojima waiting. Newcomer also knew what was expected of him—a good deal of apologizing and begging.
“I’m so sorry, Yoshi. There’s no way I can get on Skype at this hotel. It’s a slow connection,” he began to explain.
“Oh, I see,” Kojima replied with the slightest tinge of petulance. If Ted couldn’t keep his word, then he shouldn’t give it in the first place.
“I’m so mad at them, I can’t tell you.” Newcomer did his best to appease, but Kojima held all the cards and Ted Nelson was clearly being taught a lesson.
“It’s okay.” Kojima finally relented, satisfied that Newcomer was back in line and he once again had control. “Did you see my Web site with its announcement of all the new butterflies for sale?”
Newcomer’s heart beat normally again for the first time in hours. “Yes, it looks great. Has anyone else offered to buy the hospitons from you?” Please don’t sell those out from under me.
“Don’t worry. I hold them for you right now,” Kojima assured him.
Newcomer had a limited amount of buy money from Fish and Wildlife and needed to make it last as long as possible. He’d have to come up with a plan. It was time for Nelson to launch into his problem.
“One of my customers only wants to pay three fifty for a pair of hospiton up front and the other half when he actually sees it.” Newcomer was so tired that he wasn’t thinking properly and was unprepared for Kojima’s response.
“And you can make a profit at that price?” Kojima asked cynically.
Newcomer was momentarily speechless and then quickly realized his mistake. He was buying the pair from Kojima for seven hundred and so couldn’t possibly resell them for the same amount.
“Sorry, I just got confused for a moment,” Newcomer said, trying to tap-dance his way out of it. “Actually, I’m going to charge him twelve hundred for the pair.”
Kojima grunted in dissatisfaction. “You do better than me.”
Newcomer’s head began to pound. There was absolutely no winning with this guy.
“So I guess he’s going to pay six hundred up front and then another six hundred after he sees them. He’s skeptical that I’ll be able to get hospitons. That’s why he doesn’t want to pay cash for them all at once,” Newcomer continued, hoping that Kojima would bite.
“If he doesn’t want to pay cash, then take a check,” Kojima replied.
The suggestion hit Newcomer with the power of a sucker punch. Wait a minute. Isn’t that precisely what Kojima has been telling me not to do all along? So why the sudden change of heart?
“Yeah, but I thought checks create an evidence trail and that I want to be careful,” Newcomer retorted.
“You’re too careful,” Kojima replied lackadaisically. If Ted Nelson wanted CITES I butterflies, then he’d have to be willing to pay for them. Kojima wasn’t running a charity organization.
“Hold on. You taught me that you can’t be too careful,” Newcomer shot back. What game is Yoshi playing now? There were so many of them that it was hard to keep up.
“Somebody catch you, then they’re going to catch me. Same thing,” Kojima rejoined slyly.
“Except that you’re in Japan, so nobody can get you,” Newcomer countered.
It had been a long, nerve-racking evening, and Newcomer was totally fried. Kojima obviously didn’t care what happened to him as long as he got his money. Newcomer was about to respond when Kojima’s shop buzzer rang, jolting his nerves like a powerful electrical current.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Kojima said, and abruptly hung up, having clearly won this round.
NEWCOMER HEADED BACK TO LOS ANGELES the next evening. However, he chose to see a movie with his wife rather than Skype with Kojima. They hadn’t spent much time together, and he needed a short break from the man. He sent Kojima an e-mail later that night. He’d taken a look at Kojima’s Web site and wanted to purchase two additional butterflies.
How much for O. croesus wallace and how many do you have available? Also, how many Troides helena and how much?
Ever the conscientious businessman, Kojima promptly responded. It was too bad, but Newcomer was out of luck. He had just sold the last of those butterflies. Nelson would have to learn to be quicker the next time around.
Newcomer sighed deeply. It was yet another lesson that the case could explode on Kojima’s whim. He had no choice but to toe the line.
He put on his mental suit of armor and Skyped Kojima the following night. Once again, everything seemed fine. But then Kojima was in an unusually good mood. His Las Vegas friend planned to collect more P. indra kaibabensis from the Grand Canyon the next day and send Kojima another hundred pupae. That would mount up to an additional twenty-five grand in Kojima’s pocket.
“Maybe your friend will give me some pointers so that I can collect for you, too,” Newcomer suggested. He couldn’t think of an easier way to take down one of Kojima’s suppliers. All he needed was a little cooperation.
“No, I don’t think he will, but I’ll ask,” Kojima replied. He wiggled in his seat as if some of his insects had hatched and worked their way inside his pants as he continued to check his online sales, blow his nose, bite his fingernails, and loudly slurp his tea. Just watching him made Newcomer feel fidgety.
“So how many CITES II butterflies do you have in your house right now?” Newcomer inquired, as Kojima rang up another sale from his Web site.
“Maybe a thousand,” he revealed.
“Really? You keep that much in stock?” Newcomer asked, all the while recording the information. This guy was the Costco of butterfly dealers.
“Yeah, but those sell out in just one month’s time. Then I get more.”
“Wow. How much money do you think you’d make if you sold all your CITES butterflies tomorrow?” Newcomer asked, ticking off his list of questions one by one.
“Maybe a half million dollars,” Kojima said.
Forget Costco. Kojima was more like Fort Knox. He even claimed to have a butterfly that was a cross between a victoriae and an Ornithoptera priamus called Ornithoptera allotei, which was Appendix II, very rare and extremely valuable. The price for one pair was thirty thousand dollars. Newcomer had no idea if that was true or if Kojima was simply blowing smoke up his pants.
“Oh yeah? How many of those do you have?” he asked, trying to check the information on Google.
“That’s a secret,” Kojima said, adding one more mystery to Newcomer’s burgeoning list to be solved. “Crazy Japanese customers buy them. Sometimes a crazy American will too.”
“So if I come up with thirty thousand, you’ll sell one to me?” Newcomer asked.
“Of course. If you show me your beautiful one, I’ll even give you a discount,” Kojima offered.
“What? Like $29,500?” Newcomer teased.
“More like $299.99,” Kojima retorted.
“That’s all I’m worth to you?” he quipped. He would have thought he could bring in more than that. Newcomer studied his image on the bottom left-hand corner of the screen and carefully smoothed his Fu Manchu mustache. The money for all the butterflies he’d ordered so far was beginning to add up. He figured he might as well look good for Kojima and see if something could be worked out. “Listen, I might have to make two bank transfers to you, Yoshi. I’m making my customers pay in advance, but I’m still waiting for some of the money.”
“That’s all right. Just send it to me all at once,” Kojima replied cordially.
This was something new. Maybe Kojima was beginning to loosen up. “Really? You don’t mind waiting a few days?” Newcomer double-checked.
“If you can show me your beautiful body, it’s okay,” Kojima threw out.
Of course there had to be a catch, and everything always came back to sex. So, which was Kojima was more obsessed with—seeing Newcomer’s body or selling him butterflies?
Newcomer genially laughed. “No, I don’t do that for money. That would make me a whore, wouldn’t it?”
“That’s okay. I’m just joking,” Kojima said, and swiftly backed off. There was no reason to scare the boy.
“Hey, I may have to go to Denver for a few days to help my mom,” Newcomer said, tired of the game and wanting to change the subject.
“Oh, that’s nice. How old is Mommy?” Kojima asked, seeming genuinely interested.
“She’s seventy-five. How about your mom? Does she live with you?” Newcomer asked.
For a moment, Newcomer felt as if they were simply two friends talking.
“No, she’s smarter than that. I’m crazy.” Kojima laughed. “One day I came home and she’s not here anymore. She lives with my brother now.”
Kojima almost looked sad as he lifted his leg onto the bed and slapped it. “My leg is no good. Everything’s no good. Not even the center. Is your leg okay?” he asked.
It seemed an odd question. “Yeah, but nobody took a vein out of mine,” Newcomer reminded him.
“No, I’m asking about your center leg,” Kojima carefully enunciated.
I must be getting used to him. Half this stuff isn’t bothering me anymore. “Oh, yeah. The third leg is always good,” he jested.
“Oh really? Next time you show me,” Kojima suggested with a giggle.
“I don’t think my camera’s big enough to catch it,” Newcomer retorted.
“Oh, I can catch,” Kojima assured him.
Newcomer suddenly turned serious. “Hey, Yoshi. Do you really have a half million dollars’ worth of CITES butterflies in your house?”
Kojima looked at him and slowly nodded. Their eyes locked, and for the briefest moment, it almost seemed as if Kojima knew what might be awaiting him.
NEWCOMER BELIEVED HIS WORK to be done for the night as he sat in front of the TV with Allison. There was no such luck. The familiar ring tone of Skype sounded in his office less than two hours later. Kojima was calling again. Newcomer trudged in and answered to see Kojima’s image pop up on the screen.
“I just spoke to my Las Vegas friend. I think someone probably turned him in for illegally collecting indra kaibabensis pupae once. He said he’s too nervous to show you,” Kojima informed him. “By the way, he says you’re a Fish and Wild guy.”
It was as if the floor fell out from beneath Newcomer. Does Kojima’s friend possibly know who I am? Newcomer wondered, doing his best to keep his poker face in place. “I’m a wild guy, but I’m not a Fish and Wildlife guy,” he said calmly.
“Then show me,” Kojima challenged. “I put on my glasses and you can show me your beautiful one.”
Shit. Yoshi’s too damn smart. He knows perfectly well that a federal agent could never do such a thing.
Newcomer deflected the dare with a laugh. “That’s a bunch of BS. You’re not going to trick me that easily. Hey, I have to eat dinner now. I’m going to get off.”
“Go ahead. But don’t eat too much the big long john,” Kojima said, chuckling.
This guy never gives up. “No, just enough,” Newcomer said, playing along, and ended the call. That had been way too close for comfort.
As it turned out, the night was still young. Newcomer’s Skype line rang again a short while later. He was attached to an invisible leash being jerked. Allison simply gave up. She took the dog and went to bed. Newcomer barely even noticed.
“Did I wake you up?” Kojima asked as Newcomer appeared on the screen.
“No, I’m just watching TV,” he replied.
Kojima gave him a list of four more Appendix II butterflies that were now available for sale. They ran the gamut in price from fifteen to a thousand dollars per pair. “I also have two more friends that are going to collect in the Grand Canyon for me. I plan to come to the U.S. in July and pick up the pupae,” Kojima informed him.
“Oh, yeah?” Newcomer said, perking right up. “Let me know when you’re coming and you can stay with me if you need to.” He’d have a nice jail cell ready and waiting with Kojima’s name on it.
Kojima giggled like a teenage girl at the suggestion. “Oh, I’m so scared!”
“So who are these two guys anyway?” Newcomer asked, hoping for more information.
“Just some collectors. But my friend Thomas is really wanted by the Fish and Wild guy for illegally collecting butterflies in all the national parks,” Kojima offered, as if dangling bait. “Did you send me your beautiful picture yet?”
“No, not yet. I’ll send you something soon,” Newcomer promised, pretending to abide by the rules.
“I want to see everything,” Kojima commanded.
Newcomer dodged it with a laugh. “It’s eleven-thirty here. It’s time for bed. I have to get up early tomorrow morning.”
“You going to bed alone or with your girlfriend tonight?” Kojima asked wistfully.
“No girlfriend tonight,” Newcomer firmly replied.
“In that case, I’ll send my boy.”
Why does Yoshi keep trying to push his son on me? Newcomer wondered. “That’s a long trip.”
“It’s okay. He looks like an international hooker. We’ll charge your credit card,” he said, guffawing.
Newcomer listened in amazement. It was a hell of a way for Kojima to talk about his own son.
“I’m terrible,” Kojima said, almost as if he had read Newcomer’s mind. “Listen, after tomorrow I’m going to send you hospiton.”
Any drowsiness that Newcomer felt was instantly dispelled.
“You can go on InsectNet’s Web site and download labels to print whatever information you want. It looks more professional that way. Just don’t fill in your name as the collector,” Kojima advised.
Newcomer quickly typed in InsectNet’s URL on his computer, and the Web site popped up. Son of a gun. Yoshi is right. Look at that. Insect labels can easily be downloaded. How perfect is that to perpetuate a scam?
Kojima obviously changed the collection dates of butterflies so that they’d appear to have been gathered before CITES went into effect. It made any scientific data on his part questionable.
“Sweet dreams. I talk to you tomorrow. Okay?” Kojima asked softly.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Newcomer promised.
This time, Newcomer wisely turned off his computer for the night.