Endgame

My obsessions used to be my protections, but now they have taken me prisoner.

—MASON COOLEY

IT WAS THE FIRST TIME IN MONTHS that Newcomer awoke without having to pretend to be Ted Nelson the butterfly dealer. There were no more Latin names to remember, prices to squabble over, or sex talk to contend with. He’d caught his prize last night. It was now time to start pinning his specimen.

Kojima’s face lit up when Newcomer arrived at the jail the following morning. His friend had come to bail him out. Then he caught sight of the holster and badge and reality slowly sank in. He looked up at Ted Nelson again, and his smile quickly faded. This man wore a suit and tie, and his face had somehow changed. The friendly boy that Kojima had known was gone. This was a Ted Nelson that he’d never met before.

Newcomer felt nothing more than that he’d caught his prey and a loophole in the illegal trade was about to be closed. Neither said a word as Newcomer led Kojima from the Bureau of Prisons to the U.S. Marshals Service lockup. Then the man that Kojima had traveled 5,478 miles to visit handcuffed his wrist to a metal table. It was Kojima who finally broke the silence.

“Have you been a Fish and Wild guy from the first day we met?” he sadly asked.

“Yep,” Newcomer shortly replied, and continued to fill out his paperwork.

Kojima looked away and contemplated that for a while. When he glanced back his eyes landed on Newcomer’s wedding ring. “And you’re married?” he asked in amazement.

“I’m married,” Newcomer replied firmly without looking up.

Both men knew it was the final act of betrayal.

Newcomer stood and left as soon as his paperwork was complete. A few more hours, and he’d be rid of Kojima forever. He could hardly wait. He’d had it with the lies, the manipulations, and Kojima’s endless games. His last task was to return and escort Kojima to the courthouse for his arraignment. After that, Kojima would be the responsibility of the U.S. Marshals Service until sentencing. It couldn’t come soon enough as far as Newcomer was concerned. He had caught, pinned, and mounted the world’s most notorious butterfly smuggler. It would send a message out to the world: Don’t screw with what’s protected and fragile in nature, or you’ll be held accountable.

Newcomer returned at 12:30 sharp to escort Kojima to his court arraignment. A deputy marshal brought him from his cell. Kojima’s complexion was pasty, and beads of sweat clung to his upper lip like dewdrops. His wrists were cuffed behind his back as he stumbled and fell against the wall.

“Yoshi, are you okay?” Newcomer asked. He was alarmed by his appearance.

Kojima’s eyes were glassy. When he spoke his voice was trembling and weak. “I didn’t get my insulin today,” he muttered, continuing to hug the wall.

“What do you mean? Didn’t they give you lunch?” Newcomer asked.

The deputy marshal had yet to say a word. Something was definitely wrong. “Yes, I ate. That’s why my blood sugar is spiking,” Kojima managed to mumble.

At least now Newcomer knew the problem. It was one that could be easily fixed. He turned to the four deputy marshals who stood watching as though it were a reality show.

“Hey, guys, my prisoner is diabetic. He needs his insulin,” Newcomer informed them.

The deputies responded in unison as though they were a Greek chorus. “We don’t give medication at the marshals’ lockup.”

That might be true, but it didn’t help solve the problem. This wasn’t a stomachache Kojima was experiencing. He was on the fast track to a full-blown insulin attack and was a prisoner at their lockup. “His insulin was turned over to the Bureau of Prisons. Would you please give them a call?” Newcomer asked.

“Yeah, sure, but we don’t give medication here,” one of the deputies repeated.

It was yet another showdown between employees of two federal agencies. The power struggles seemed endless. To Newcomer’s mind, these were his fellow law-enforcement officers. That made them compatriots-in-arms, muchachos, his buddies. They were all in this crazy world of the legal system together. Wasn’t it an unwritten rule that they help one another out? Surely they’d come to his aid if necessary. “Just call them,” Newcomer once more requested.

The deputy stared at him a moment and left. He returned a few minutes later. “Yeah, they have his insulin all right, but they can’t take it out of the building.”

It was a hell of a start to the day. Newcomer’s blood began to boil as the deputy slowly folded his arms. His body language was easy to interpret. You’re on your own, compadre. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to work, but then nothing with this case had gone by the books so far.

Newcomer turned to Kojima. “Yoshi, you’re scheduled for one PM, but it will probably be another hour before the judge sees you. Can you make it to your arraignment?”

Kojima simply nodded. His face was now expressionless, and his mouth hung loosely open. He was clearly deteriorating fast.

He’s never going to make it. Now what am I supposed to do?

Newcomer caught the four deputies smirking at his dilemma. He knew what they were thinking. He’s the big-shot special agent. Let him figure it out. He could have easily blown them all away if it wasn’t for the fact that he was a nonviolent man.

He took hold of Kojima and sat him on a bench, then focused his attention on the deputies. “Okay, then, why don’t you call the federal occupational-health nurse and have her come down? At least she can assess the situation,” he suggested.

Kojima was slumping and unresponsive by the time the nurse appeared.

“He’s definitely not doing well and needs his insulin,” she agreed. There was nothing more she could do as Newcomer now found himself sinking deeper into a bureaucratic nightmare.

The deputies adamantly refused to help until Kojima was remanded to their custody, and that wouldn’t happen until after his initial court appearance. Newcomer decided the situation had gone far enough.

“So he’s my responsibility, right?” Newcomer asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yep,” one of the friendly deputies agreed. “He’s not our prisoner until the court turns him over to us.”

“Okay, then we’re out of here,” Newcomer said, and helped Kojima to his feet. They began to walk toward the exit.

The marshals quickly jumped into action. “Hey, wait a minute. You can’t do that! He’s on the one PM docket. Come back here!” they yelled.

What do you know? Newcomer had finally gotten their attention. “Nope. He’s my responsibility and you won’t treat him. Call the Bureau of Prisons and tell them we’re on our way over,” he said, continuing to walk on.

Not one of the deputies made a move to help.

“Oh, yeah, one more thing. You can also tell the judge we’re leaving because my prisoner is having a diabetic attack,” Newcomer said in a parting shot.

Kojima grunted and leaned against Newcomer a little more. “Yoshi, we’re going back to the Metropolitan Detention Center for your medication. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to make your appearance tomorrow,” he told him.

Kojima focused on taking one step after another without falling. “Okay,” he barely managed to mouth.

“You’re going to get into trouble!” one of the deputies yelled after him.

They entered the bowels of the building and began to walk down the long hallway as the cry followed like an angry wraith. Their footsteps echoed dully on the cement, and the overhead light cast a sickly pallor on the white concrete walls. The Bureau of Prisons loomed forebodingly ahead, its underground entrance blocked by a giant steel door.

They were three-quarters of the way when Kojima’s legs suddenly buckled and he began to fall. Newcomer grabbed hold and leaned him against the wall, but Kojima’s feet flew out from under him.

“I need help!” Newcomer screamed to two security guards.

A chair was brought over and the occupational-health nurse came back down. She took Kojima’s blood pressure and heart rate again. “He’s not doing well,” she said.

Kojima was placed in a wheelchair, and Newcomer rolled him to the Bureau of Prison’s doorway, where a twenty-two-year-old guard sat reading a book.

“I’m a special agent with U.S. Fish and Wildlife. My prisoner is having a diabetic attack. We need to get him inside for an insulin shot,” Newcomer carefully explained.

The officer barely deigned to glance up. “Well, you can’t do that because he’s due in court. You’ll have to wait until five PM.”

Newcomer was tempted to rip the book from his hands. “No, you don’t understand. His insulin is inside and my guy’s out here,” he replied between clenched teeth.

“It doesn’t matter. Doesn’t he have his initial court appearance today?” the guard countered.

“Yeah, but we’re going to miss it. ” The words rat-a-tat-tatted like a round of ammunition.

The guard never got off his rear but nodded toward a phone on the wall. “Well, you can call over there and see if they’ll come down.”

Newcomer picked up the phone and reached a Bureau of Prisons physician’s assistant. “This is Ed Newcomer, and my prisoner’s having a diabetic attack. I’ve got him out front. He’s in a wheelchair, and the occupational-health nurse is with us. We need to bring him inside to get his insulin, or he’s going to miss his court date today.”

It was as if every employee had been programmed to spout the same response. They didn’t take prisoners in the middle of the day. Newcomer would have to return him to the Marshals’ Service, and they could bring Kojima back at five. Only then would he get his insulin shot. Were they all robots?

“Well, we’re here now. Either he goes to the hospital or you let him inside. What are you going to do about it?” Newcomer growled.

“I’ll check with the doctor,” the physician’s assistant replied in an attempt to get off the phone.

Newcomer and the nurse waited a good twenty-five minutes until he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Hey, buddy, can you help us out? This guy is going into a diabetic seizure, and we need to get in there,” he appealed to the guard once more.

The guard briefly glanced up again. “Afraid I can’t do that,” he said, and went back to reading his book.

We’ve been jerked around long enough, Newcomer decided. It was time to take control. “Here’s the deal,” he said to the nurse. “I don’t know anything about diabetes. So unless he goes unconscious, I have no clue as to what’s going on. You’re the nurse. You tell me when it’s time to call nine-one-one, and I’ll do it.”

She nodded in agreement. “I think he’s okay for the moment. He’s still conscious but quickly getting worse.”

That wasn’t good enough. Prisoner or not, this was no way to treat a sick man. Newcomer walked over and picked up the phone once more. “You want to tell me what’s going on?” he demanded.

“We’re working on it,” the physician’s assistant lackadaisically replied.

“Okay, here’s the deal. Either you come down here with the insulin in five minutes or I’m calling nine-one-one. Then you can personally explain to the fire department why they had to come to the Bureau of Prisons to rescue a federal prisoner,” Newcomer threatened, and slammed down the phone.

He waited a few more minutes. Enough was enough. Newcomer picked up his cell phone and began to dial 911 just as the prison door flew open. A doctor emerged with a smile and a syringe in hand as if everything was fine and he was happy to be of help.

“I’ll be back in the morning to pick you up,” Newcomer told Kojima before turning to the guards. “Kojima better be on the calendar bright and early tomorrow morning to see the judge.”

From there, Newcomer walked over to assistant district attorney Joe Johns’s office and explained why Kojima hadn’t made it to his arraignment. He was so steamed that he couldn’t sleep. Instead he stayed up and wrote letters about the incident to his senators and congressional representatives. He regrets to this day that he never mailed them.

The next morning Kojima was assigned a public defender and pleaded not guilty to seventeen charges related to the sale and smuggling of endangered butterflies. Neither his “father-in-law,” “ex-wife,” or “son” showed up for him in court. Newcomer pondered what the true story was. Would the real Kojima please step forward? In that respect, Kojima’s life was almost like a game show.

Jill Ginstling, his attorney, immediately had Kojima’s financial affidavit placed under seal. It was a wise move on her part. The action prevented Newcomer from discovering any of Kojima’s other bank accounts. Newcomer had hoped to track down thirty thousand dollars from Kojima’s recent sale of homerus and alexandrae butterflies to a couple of California buyers. It was either another of Kojima’s lies, and they’d never sold, or the money was safely stashed away somewhere. Neither the butterflies nor the money was ever found.

Newcomer received his last Express Mail envelope from Japan during Kojima’s first day in court. The package contained a single CITES II paradisea. It now brought the worth of the butterflies that he’d bought and been offered to over $294,000.

Ginstling met with Joe Johns shortly after Kojima’s arrest. She had one burning question. “Just who is this Agent Newcomer, and is he incredibly good-looking?”

Johns looked at her in amusement. “Why do you ask?”

“My client said he was so beautiful that he just couldn’t resist him,” she replied.

It would have made for a unique defense.

“It’s a funny thing. Yoshi wasn’t thinking about going to jail when he was arrested. Instead he was thinking about this guy that he loved who ended up stabbing him in the back,” Newcomer reminisced.

Joe Johns agreed. Not only had a cagey swindler been caught, he’d ultimately been betrayed by his heart.

Kojima remained as paranoid as ever. He suspected Ginstling of fraternizing with the enemy and fired her within the first few days. She was replaced with Norman Sasamori, a general practice attorney that Kojima found through the Japanese embassy.

Sasamori is best known as the general counsel of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki Peace Project founded by his mother. Shigeko Sasamori had been a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl in Hiroshima when the first nuclear bomb exploded and instantly killed her companion. A quarter of Sasamori’s body was severely burned by radiation, and her fingers were scorched to the bone. In 1955 she became a “Hiroshima Maiden” and was brought to the United States by American author and diplomat Norman Cousins. Sasamori underwent thirty reconstructive surgeries. She eventually settled in the United States, married, and had a son who’d now been hired to defend Yoshi Kojima. That would prove to be a strategic mistake on Kojima’s part.

Public defenders are always in trial and have vast experience when it comes to dealing with federal prosecutors. Ginstling knew what weaknesses, if any, Joe Johns had. Sasamori didn’t have that advantage as 1,116 pages of discovery, along with dozens of hours of video and audio material, were now transferred to his office. “Kojima’s interests would have been better represented by Jill Ginstling,” Johns stated diplomatically for the record.

A status conference was set for January 2007 for which Johns prepared a plea agreement. It included a sentencing guideline of Level 15. Sentencing guidelines are the formula used by the federal justice system to determine the amount of time a prisoner should serve. Level 15 fell between sixteen and twenty-four months imprisonment. The plea agreement was automatically sent to Kojima’s defense attorney.

Sasamori showed up fully determined to face off with Ed Newcomer and Joe Johns. Producing a letter, he placed it in front of them as if it was Kojima’s golden Get Out of Jail Free card. Kojima’s good friend and “father-in-law,” Charles Hanson, had written a letter on Kojima’s behalf.

I have had the pleasure of knowing “Yoshi” for over 30 years, ever since I was engaged in business in Japan and working with in regards to collecting antique furniture and decorative items. The business relationship developed into a long, lasting friendship that still exists today. He is devoted to family and especially to caring for his aging mother despite his own illnesses. I have always known Yoshi to be a hard working, diligent, and honest person.

Johns read the note and was thoroughly unimpressed. “Charles Hanson? Isn’t he the gentleman that we talked about indicting for coconspiracy?” he asked Newcomer.

“That’s him,” Newcomer replied.

Johns handed the letter back to Sasamori. “We have evidence that Mr. Hanson was a co-conspirator on at least one deal involving an illegal butterfly. We’ve decided not to indict him at this time.”

That was as far as Sasamori’s character references for Kojima went.

Johns patiently waited as Kojima’s attorney now tried a different tack. Sasamori maintained that neither Newcomer nor Johns could prove that his client was guilty. After all, it was only alleged that Kojima had said certain things.

Newcomer and Johns looked at each other, unable to believe what they had just heard.

“Actually we not only can but will prove it five different ways,” Johns shot back, then threw the ball to Newcomer. “Tell Mr. Sasamori what Skype tape Kojima’s first statement is on, along with its date and the other separate undercover recordings that we have.”

“It’s all right here,” Newcomer complied. Reaching over, he opened Sasamori’s binder with the Skype DVDs and discovery papers inside. He pointed to the index page. “Kojima mentions selling endangered species on disc number twenty-two.”

Sasamori looked at both men in what seemed to be undisguised surprise.

“I could tell from his face he had no idea that we had undercover videotapes and recorded conversations,” Johns stated. “All I can guess is that he came in to negotiate a plea agreement and hadn’t yet gone through the binder.”

Sasamori maintained that he still thought fifteen years was a lot of time to ask for what Kojima was accused of doing. Newcomer and Johns swapped a sidelong glance and sat for another moment in stunned silence. Sasamori had apparently also misinterpreted the sentencing guidelines.

Joe Johns played it cool. “Well, you know, it’s a very serious crime, but perhaps you misunderstood what Level Fifteen stands for. It refers to the sentencing guidelines, not the number of years that we’re asking he serve.”

There was no question that Sasamori had been outgunned and outmatched by Joe Johns.

“Sasamori had a lack of familiarity with the federal criminal-justice system. It’s a different ball game than doing state criminal-defense work,” Johns explained.

Johns had an open-and-shut case. Kojima wasn’t about to go to trial with what was on the Skype tapes. He’d been caught in living color making statements and admissions, claiming knowledge of smuggling, and offering to sell illegal butterflies, to say nothing of all the sex talk.

“I would have slaughtered him if he’d tried to weasel his way out of it,” Johns firmly attested.

Sasamori made a final gesture to try to help his client. What if Kojima agreed to tell what he knew about the butterfly trade and cooperate with the authorities?

Newcomer turned him down flat. “Yoshi had consistently lied to me. I didn’t trust him. He’d do it again or give me some chicken-shit information and get credit for cooperating.”

Newcomer believed he’d caught Mr. Big, the man who got butterflies that no one else could get. Take him out and it would shut off the wires.

“I’m done dicking around with Yoshi, no pun intended. I want him to go down hard,” Newcomer told Johns.

Johns responded by asking that Kojima be sentenced to twenty-four months, the maximum time allowed under the sentencing guidelines. Sasamori countered with fifteen, while the Probation Department recommended that Kojima serve eighteen months in prison.

Judge George Schiavelli had final say on April 16, 2007. “The species here are too critical. Their value is too critical. Obviously this is a person who has a big impact on wildlife crime. So I’m going to sentence Mr. Kojima to serve more time than what the Probation Department recommends.”

Kojima was sentenced to spend twenty-one months in prison. In addition, he was ordered to pay a $30,000 fine, $7,656 in restitution to the USFWS, and $1,175 court assessment. None of the money was ever collected.

Kojima served the remainder of his sentence at California City Prison located off Twenty Mule Team Road in the desolate Mojave Desert. The town is an amalgamation of tired houses and worn-out buildings dotted with dust and tumbleweeds that meander down the road. It could easily pass as a set for an old episode of The Twilight Zone.

The prison rises from the desert like a monolithic mirage a few miles out of town. Its towering backdrop of brown mountains bears the scars of crime victims, their perpetrators off-road vehicles. A prison for deportable aliens, it’s described as a medium-security facility, though the façade suggests otherwise. The building is encircled by three rows of ten-foot-tall cyclone fence with layers of concertina wire on the bottom and top. The prison houses predominantly Mexican criminals and is known for its warring drug gangs.

Busloads of people pay homage near the site on the thirteenth of every month. They come not for the prisoners but to pray at a humble shrine called Our Lady of the Rock. There they stand in the frigid cold and under the burning-hot sun with rosaries, religious pictures, and cameras in hand. It’s on that day that the Virgin Mary is said to appear in the sky, though only true believers can see her. Kojima never once spotted her from where he was locked up.

Meanwhile, his story made big news back in Japan. WORLD’S MOST WANTED BUTTERFLY SMUGGLER ARRESTED AT LOS ANGELES AIRPORT, blared Japan Today. The article spawned a slew of differing opinions on the newspaper’s Web site. “This is a much larger issue involving Yakuza, bribes to authorities, Chinese triads, and a mysterious Czech woman,” one reader posted. Another asserted that it wasn’t a Czech woman but rather a Russian transvestite who was involved. Still someone else believed Kojima had resorted to a life of crime to support his sex fetish. They insisted he had an addiction to costumes and maid cafés, featuring young girls dressed as naughty maids who wait on customers hand and foot.

Only one person blamed the Japanese government for having looked the other way.

The news had an impact in the United States as well. Some collectors had actually believed Kojima was an undercover agent running a sting operation. How else could he have gotten away with selling illegal butterflies for so long? Others were angry with him for having fouled the waters for legitimate interests, while there were those who felt he’d been entrapped even though he had known the law.

“Yoshi reminds me of the con man in the movie Catch Me If You Can. He was that good until he got caught,” stated lepidopterist Bob Duff.

Even the CI had second thoughts. “I have trouble putting anybody in prison for catching a bug.” Would he have turned Kojima in if he had realized the consequences? “I’d have to search my conscience about that. I wanted Kojima to quit smuggling and dealing illegally, but I don’t know that it was worth jail time.”

Newcomer had hoped the Japanese police would cooperate after Kojima’s arrest. He made numerous requests to obtain Kojima’s computer hard drive with its files of all his suppliers and customers. It was the only way to finally bring Kojima’s network down.

Newcomer was warned that getting anything from the Japanese police would be a long shot. The information proved correct. They not only regard undercover work as undignified but also consider those Japanese officers who do it to be dishonorable. The fact that an American undercover agent caught a Japanese national in a sexual web only made the matter that much worse.

Investigative leads continue to be forwarded to the Japanese police in the hope of identifying U.S. customers. To date, there has been no response.

WITH KOJIMA IN PRISON, Newcomer turned his attention to finishing up the roller-pigeon case. By May 2007 he was ready to take down his targets. He had everything he needed on surveillance and audiotapes, along with hard-core evidence of dead hawks that had been collected. Seven suspects in California were to be served with warrants and arrested. The plan was to take them down all at once to send a message to the rest of the pigeon breeders throughout the country.

Two dozen law-enforcement officials gathered the day before and listened as Newcomer worked out the details. Then they spread out across Southern California and hit hard the following morning. LAPD’s Major Crimes Division flew helicopters over some of the rougher neighborhoods as Newcomer conducted his arrests.

The last stop was the home of Juan Navarro, president of the National Birmingham Roller Club. Newcomer searched his garbage and found a dead hawk in it that very day. By the time the raid was over, word raced across the Internet like wildfire, creating enough paranoia to temporarily stop the killing of hawks.

Most of the breeders arrested lied about their crimes. They denied having ever killed a bird. Newcomer was as methodical and precise as ever. He put together two notebooks containing every damning scrap of evidence against the men that he’d collected.

Their defense attorneys went to see Joe Johns, certain their job would be a cakewalk and the charges easily dropped. A bombshell hit when Johns once again presented notebooks filled with incriminating evidence.

“Holy shit. Who put these together?” one defense attorney asked after quickly looking through the organized and indexed binders.

Johns allowed a smile to creep across his face. “The agent for this case was once a lawyer. Special Agent Ed Newcomer did it.”

All seven defendants pled guilty, knowing that their proverbial goose was cooked.

Under the law, the killing of thousands of hawks each year is considered a Class B misdemeanor. The seven men received suspended sentences of six months, along with five years probation, while a few were required to do community service. Only Juan Navarro was convicted on sixteen Migratory Bird Treaty Act (MBTA) counts and fined twenty-five thousand dollars. All of the breeders were allowed to keep their pigeons.

“You can’t deter people with Class B misdemeanors. It’s a two-hundred-fifty-dollar fine. You get penalized more for speeding in the HOV lane,” Newcomer noted scornfully. “The bottom line is that we can’t effectively enforce the laws with the penalties available to us.”

Nothing will change until penalties are stiffened and jail time becomes mandatory. Until then, violations will continue and migratory birds will be viewed as fair game.

When it comes to wildlife crime, it’s business as usual. The illegal trade continues to be nothing more than one big revolving door.

OPERATION HIGH ROLLER WAS PUT TO BED, and Kojima was released from prison in February 2008. He was immediately taken to LAX and deported. As a convicted felon, he will never be allowed to return to the United States. Kojima had spent thirty years in America, longer than he’d lived in his own country. Even so, that wouldn’t stop him from continuing his butterfly business, although he had no idea what might await him when he arrived back home.