Chapter
1
Perfecting Our Union
November
4, 2008:
A
day that, rest assured, will go down in history as “The day that America
elected it’s first black president.” From sea to sea Democrats and even Republicans
cheered for an America whose founding fathers conceived the Declaration of
Independence that unmistakably defined ‘All Men Are Created Equal’ and
this day brought those words to fruition, by the people.”
My name is David Gletty and I am a proud
Republican, but I was proud that possibly we could get past this “Racism thing”
in America. Probably not, but we will see.
As I approached the idea of bringing my story
to life as an undercover operative for the FBI, never would I have imagined
that in my lifetime I would be witness to such history in the making, whether
it be good or bad.
For the times I literally evolved into
someone I didn’t even recognize infiltrating the “White Power Movement” to
protect America and the Constitution, I am vindicated.
When the news broke that America had elected
its first black president, Barack Obama, I thought to myself that there is a
lot of pissed of White Power supporters right now. Also I was interested to see
if the new president could deliver on all the promises he made. Only time will
tell if “Hope and Change” was just a campaign slogan.
I sat pensively reflecting my past, as images
of the Klan, Nazis, and Skinheads flickered through my mind like a motion
picture in fast forward. With such satisfaction, I envisioned all of them distraught
and in despair that an Aryan America was no longer possible.
A great man once wrote, “In order to form
a more perfect union” and despite the fact that nothing is ever perfect,
the die has been cast, and as a true American I will never stop trying. I
am convinced that a once silent voice of honor and justice emerged within me
and led the way for my presence of mind, to find what I do best.
Anyone
who believes in the American way would understand the disgust I felt as I
witnessed the hate and prejudice these groups evoke. America is in transition,
but we must never forget that such a mindset still exists in this wonderful
country of ours.
I must mention that there are not only White
racist groups in America, but there are Black racist groups, Hispanic racist
groups, Asian racist groups and because I am White I was assigned to White
racist groups. I did not pick this assignment and I was kind of upset when the
FBI gave it to me, but you can’t turn an assignment down or it will be your
last.
I imagine we all are destined for a
particular role in life and, as I look back, even in my youth I never feared adversity,
but looked it square in the eye. The challenge of the unknown fascinated me,
and the audacity of danger, in effect, was the foundation that brought about my
Legal Militia Team, which was like training in acting school
for a major role.
Remarkably, some consider The Legal Militia
to have ties with the White Supremacist organizations, who are clearly
anti-Semitic and racists. It is quite the contrary and everything we stand for
honors America and the Constitution.
The Legal Militia was formed long before the
adoption of our Constitution to provide and execute the laws of the Union. The
militia groups served to suppress insurrection and repel invasions.
When the Constitution became the law of the
land, it stated that the Militia was primarily a state and citizen soldiery,
and federal use as such would be limited to home service. Legislation and
judicial decision marked the distinction, and explicitly describes the militia
as “a group of private citizens who train for military duty in order to be
ready to defend their state or country in times of emergency.”
I was a Tree Surgeon by trade and although it
kept me outdoors, it hardly filled the need for adventure and challenge.
Everything the Militia stood for was right up my alley. The formula of physical
demand, the defiance of nature, combined with loyalty for my country and the
constitution, was intoxicating.
We trained and taught survival in the rugged
landscape of the Appalachian Mountains several times a year to remain fit and
ready should tragedy come about. Our trials included venturing into obscure
places and staging an actual search and rescue assignment. We contrived, organized,
and played out all things from tracking missing children, to wildfires, natural
disasters and any hardship we regarded as pertinent if our government required
our service in times of need.
The collaboration was also the beginning of a
lifelong friendship
and companionship with Joe, my Investigative partner. I met him by happenstance
and sensed from the beginning that we shared a common cause. I must admit that
we were cautious, but accepted unspoken trust which transformed into a
blueprint for success.
It was in the late ’90s and we were in the
Appalachian Mountains.
There were occasions when we came into contact with other militia and even
trained with them.
Over the years we found ourselves too often
face to face with the same group. As human nature would have it, from time to
time we made small talk as a preventive measure. Being on the defensive is a
characteristic for survival and I instinctively knew not to trust them or their
motives.
We were whitewater rafting on the French
Broad River on one of our many visits and when we came ashore, there they were
again. I knew there was no time like the present to come face to face with a
group who obviously were not loyal to America. Being armed with weapons did not
make us superior because they too packed steel, and my group understood that a
casual demeanor was necessary for this encounter.
We were relaxing, having lunch and making small
talk when their headman (whom from now on I will refer to as The
Crazy Mountain Man) started a one-on-one with me.
Naturally
I was on guard and positive I was conversing with the enemy. I also knew Joe
would have my back.
This was
before 9/11 and, as the particulars of this event unfold, you
will understand why this is relevant.
I named him The Crazy Mountain Man because
on occasion when I had scrutinized him from afar, his demeanor seemed demented.
Much to my surprise he was not acting crazy; in fact he was calm and very much
to the point. We had encountered him several times already when we did our
survival training in the past, but this meeting was different.
Although I was clueless as to what would
follow, my internal antenna was always alert and waiting. On this occasion, He
placed his hand on my shoulder, almost as though we were long lost friends and
quietly told me to listen very carefully as he said, “I understand that your
group is from Orlando.” I replied, “Uh huh.”
He had my undivided attention the moment he mentioned
Orlando and it reinforced my suspicion that they must have been checking us
out.
We were a tough and dedicated group, and if
he had been tracking us it would have been enough to convince him that we were exactly
what he needed. His perception of a militia was to protect yourself from the
government of your country but our reasons were to train to serve the people of
our country in time of need.
He proceeded to divulge his connection with
al-Qaeda and of a pending mission of attack. Because we were from Orlando we
presented value, because Epcot’s parking lot in Walt Disney World and the
Capitol building in Washington, D.C. were the marked locations for the dirty
deed they planned on executing simultaneously.
As he continued on with explicit details of
30 suitcases packed
with bombs and a target date of April 20, it took everything
in me to keep a cool demeanor.
These were not typical bombs, but nuclear,
and he referred to them as dirty bombs. I was looking him square in the eyes as he explained that the explosion
would be miniscule, but would inject a radioactive gas that would penetrate the
atmosphere and kill thousands of Americans within 24 hours.
Despite
his monotone, a glimpse of crazy behavior surfaced when he explained that April
20 was Adolph Hitler’s birthday and he would celebrate twofold.
The
whole time he spoke I was mentally recording every detail; by now I knew what I
had to do. It wasn’t my job to decide whether this man was crazy or not, but it
was my responsibility as an American citizen and an FBI operative to contact the
FBI as soon as possible. He kept his hand steady on my shoulder and despite
making my blood boil, any behavior other than all fired up could be
detrimental.
We
parted with a handshake and arranged to meet in three months to set the stage
for his Militia and al-Qaeda’s plot.
My first instinct was to head right back to
Orlando, but I was positive they were watching us, nor could I make a phone call because there is no cell phone service in the area we are staying in and using a land line is out of the question. Leaving would be a dead
giveaway and I wasn’t willing to put my men in jeopardy. We headed up the river hiking trail the
following morning en route to the mountains, while they moved along slowly
about a mile behind us.
My
gut instinct to carry out our mission was on target. Over the next six days we
covered 125 miles in survival mode while their presence was apparent until the
fourth morning, when they withdrew. All the while I kept al-Qaeda‘s plan fresh
in my mind, determined not to forsake any detail when I met with the FBI again.
My first phone call to the FBI (some time
before, which is classified) resulted in a life change. The David that my
family and friends knew was left behind in the wake of a future that would
embrace both danger and honor. It was that first call to the FBI years earlier
that led us to infiltrate these anti-government militia for several years now
and finally we had something of substance.
Directly after leaving the state of North
Carolina and heading home to Orlando after this trip, I placed a call to the
Federal Bureau of Investigation in Maitland, Florida and spoke with my new
handler on this assignment agent Kevin Farrington. He told me to tell him
everything about this trip, which I did, and then call him when I get home.
Fifteen minutes after arriving home and
calling agent Kevin Farrington, he and two other agents arrived at my door.
I was tired and wanted to wait until the next
day, but they wanted the intelligence and information that we had gathered
“right now!”
Straightforward and to the point, they asked
me to take another polygraph test the following morning. The results would
determine their next step.
The polygraph validated my honesty, again,
and by the FBI’s manner I knew they were ready to take action. They initially
approached me with an earnest appeal that if I were to accompany them back to
North Carolina they would give me an upfront bonus. Despite the fact that I
would have never turned them down, I must admit the compensation was inviting,
like always.
Within a few days four agents, Joe and I left
for North Carolina to track down The Crazy Mountain Man, we could not wait
until my group and I was scheduled to meet the Crazy Mountain Man again, which
was in three months.
Asheville’s Office of the FBI was our first
stop and six of their agents joined the team. I was thinking to myself that my
crew and I got us this far over several years and I just hope that these other
agents do not “fuck the deal up.”
The next few nights were spent in a local
motel strategizing our approach for insurgence into Hot Springs, North
Carolina. I was confident that The Crazy Mountain Man either lived or spent a
good part of his time there.
The FBI had their own method for protection
and backup, but they were depending upon my lead.
The quaint town of Hot Springs is located at
the junction of the Appalachian Trail and the French Broad River. I had spent
enough time there to know where the locals hung out, and they were familiar
enough with me to speak freely. Thinking only that I was on another survival
mission when I questioned them about The Crazy Mountain Man, they willingly
told me he had been in a few days before and was heading into the mountains. We
hung out for a while so no one would think that my questioning had an
alternative motive, and then casually slipped away shortly thereafter.
My power was supported by the fact that I
could maneuver through the mountain trails and anticipate every curve of the
river with my eyes shut, but the anticipation of the moment was in finding a
solution to put a face on this sick terrorist so that the FBI could recognize
him also, even though we did a sketch drawing of him it is not the same as a
picture or physical I.D. We had to take a raft downriver to reach the location
I knew he and his gang frequented.
I hoped the open spaces and the dexterity required
would relieve the apprehension and empower my thought process. Just as I had
hoped, the combination of the elements and remote woodlands, together with the
amusing spectacle of the FBI’s maiden voyage on the river, spurred my memory.
We were approaching a celebrated location
that was highly traveled by rafting groups. That was when it came to me. On
former missions, we repeatedly noticed a young lady perched on a rock capturing
images of rafters on camera, and I knew immediately how to track The Mountain
Man down.
It was common knowledge that she had
developed quite a web business with large rafting companies who escorted groups
of rafters down the river and with individuals that went down the river by
posting their images on her website to research and purchase. It was a
beautiful day and my chances of locating her were excellent.
As we stowed our rafts in the thick brush we
traveled approximately another four miles back up the river and bingo; there she
was. We had to walk on train tracks beside the river because it is impossible
to raft back up the river.
I imagine that my quick thinking took the FBI
by surprise and I’m sure that it bolstered their belief in my investigative
abilities because to this point I never really worked with FBI agents in the
field, It is always my crew and I running the deal and working alone, of course
they always trained us, read us the rules and sent us to classes, but in the
field it was always us against the criminals.
I implicitly sensed that it was necessary to
approach the girl taking the pictures alone. Knowing the mindset of the locals
she would have been suspicious if we had converged on her as a group.
I had only one purpose and that was to come
away with as much information as possible. How she listed the photographs was
key, because obviously her images had no names and I was sure there were
hundreds.
As we walked toward her spot on the rocks we
trailed together until she was in plain view. I signaled with my hand for the
agents to stay behind and continued on with a casual approach. I explained that
I had observed her on numerous occasions capturing our group as we challenged
the thrilling rapids, and wanted to know how I could purchase the pictures.
At first she was extremely forthcoming,
telling me about her website, allterrainimages.com, and that there were
approximately 1,500 pictures per week which were posted in a time sequence.
Then she spotted the agents and became visibly nervous, but I had enough
information for a potential payoff, and it was time to move on.
We remained in Hot Springs for the night and
early the following morning returned to the Ashville FBI office and immediately
hit the computers.
The Rock
Girl wasn’t exaggerating. We were looking at perhaps 1,500 photos
and if she had captured him, he would have to be right up front because it had
been just a week ago. And, boom, there he was. Four pictures of The Crazy Mountain
Man were before us in every angle, and when
we compared the pictures to the sketch that we
created earlier it was a perfect match.
My palms can still feel the sting of the
agents high fives as they shouted, “Hey, great job, Mr. Gletty! Great job Mr.
Joe.” Joe and I had scored a home run.
The game in North Carolina was over. The
Ashville FBI now had a face for this deranged revolutionary and would be taking
over from here.
We packed up and headed home. The rush of
finally nailing this guy for the FBI had me so pumped up that I questioned if
my excitement was over exaggerated, making it impossible for me to judge its
real importance.
As we traveled back to Orlando, the agents
were quiet and
I kept thinking of my first encounter with the Crazy Mountain
Man that jump started an ongoing association with
the FBI. I fought the need of talking to them about further
assignments, and put my head back to rest, grounding myself back in reality.
At that exact moment one of the agents said,
“You know Gletty, Joe we could use more guys like you. You up for another
mission?” With my eyes still shut, this is what I had been waiting for,
another assignment because we had completed every mission that was on our plate
to this point, but I refrained from showing my excitement, until I knew exactly
what they were leading up to.
Sometimes being too optimistic about what’s
next in life can detour the plan, and I wasn’t taking any chances.
This was when I knew I had accomplished the
most important task; I had gained their trust even more than before and gained
a lot more credibility. I was ecstatic yet I responded with, “Let Joe and I think
about it.”
I could see they were set back by my answer
and had thought we would jump on the next assignment.
I believed I was playing my cards right. We
still had about three more hours until we were back in Orlando. As we were
approaching home, I turned and said, “I think I am
going to take you guys up on your offer of another mission.” As Operatives we
have no idea what the next assignment will be and once you say yes you cannot
turn back or they will never give you another.
The capture of the Crazy Mountain Man and derailing
a plot that could have killed hundreds of innocent civilians was the end of one
assignment and a crowning achievement of an FBI/Operative relationship that
started years earlier.
With
countless missions under our belt, we are at liberty to talk about some of them,
while others remain classified we thought we had imagined every different assignment that we could be given, but we never thought it possible to get the assignment they are about to give us.
The timeline and order of events, together
with the emotional intensity that led to a front page assignment, is
significant. The year and date when the FBI Anti-Domestic Terrorism Joint
Terrorism Task Force in Orlando, Florida, earmarked the White Power Movement as
our next infiltration assignment are still classified, but I can tell you that
Joe and I were perplexed when we were handed the assignment. Joe and I looked
at each other and then we looked at the agents and said “is this a joke or
what? Why the White Power movement? Are you mad at us or what?”
The agents told us that this was a big deal
and that these groups were really causing them problems in several states. They
went on to tell us that they have sent other informants and operatives into the
movement, but nothing substantial had ever come of it and sometimes the
operatives or informants would start double dipping on them because of the
sometimes lucrative illegal business that goes on in the White Power movement.
The journey was rigorous as Joe and I metamorphosed
into an Undercover Nazi and hatemonger, while the
patriotic American who had an affinity for the Constitution remained dormant
within us.
Now as our country is ever changing, I feel
proud and privileged that my jaunt as an undercover operative perhaps, in a
miniscule way, contributed to the prevention of domestic terrorist attacks and
the possible loss of innocent lives.
God Bless America…
Conact us: davidgletty@gmail.com
