Free Informant by Kurt Eichenwald Page B

He didn’t want to be part of this investigation. Somehow, he had gotten it into his mind that if ADM thought his family was threatened, they would pay Fujiwara or tell the FBI to go away. Either way, the whole mess would end. He saw now it had been a stupid idea; it was just a sign of how upset he was.
    Whitacre finished speaking. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air.
    Reising told Whitacre that he and Cheviron needed to speak alone for a moment. Whitacre headed out, closing the door behind him.
    About an hour later, James Randall, the ADM president, stormed in to Cheviron’s office burning with anger.
    “Whitacre came by my office,’’ Randall said. “He says you’re out to get him, that you want him fired.’’
    Cheviron stared back at Randall, floored. He asked Randall what was going on.
    “Whitacre’s all excited,’’ Randall said. “He’s talking about sabotage in the plant.’’
    The secret was out. Cheviron asked Randall what he thought. Randall scoffed. Even though Whitacre was the lysine expert, Randall didn’t believe the Japanese had managed to get into the plant.
    “There’s no sabotage,’’ he said. “We just don’t know what we’re doing. It’s start-up problems.’’
    Randall was particularly contemptuous of Fujiwara’s promise to deliver some superbug. Even Dwayne was saying that once ADM obtained the bug during the FBI sting, the plant’s problems would be solved. The whole idea was ridiculous, Randall said.
    “They couldn’t even transport the damn bug unless it was at extreme temperatures,’’ he scoffed.
    Over the next few minutes, Cheviron answered Randall’s questions. Finally, Randall calmed down and left. Cheviron dialed Mick Andreas and told him that Randall now knew about the investigation. Mick muttered, “Okay,’’ and hung up.
    A few hours later, Cheviron received a call from Shepard. The agent said that he was making the arrangements to have a record-ing device placed on Whitacre’s telephone. To get the recording underway, he said, Whitacre should contact a Springfield agent named Tom Gibbons. Cheviron promised to pass along the message.
    Cheviron dialed Whitacre’s extension and repeated Shepard’s message.
    “All right,’’ Whitacre said, sounding angry. “I’ll call him.’’
    He hung up without another word.
    Ginger Whitacre stepped into the crowded formal dining room at the Country Club of Decatur and looked for her husband. It was just after six P.M. that same day. Most of the tables were filled, but Ginger found Mark and his guests quickly. He saw her, clad in one of her nicest dresses, and stood to greet her.
    The dinner had been planned for some time. An ADM vendor was visiting Decatur with his wife. Whitacre had a close relationship with the man; after hearing the family enjoyed horses, the vendor had presented the Whitacres with an expensive riding saddle.
    Dinner was relaxed and elegant, with wine and laughter flowing freely. Late in the meal, Ginger excused herself to make a trip to the ladies’ room. As she stood, placing her napkin on the table, Mark reached out with a business card in his hand.
    “Here’s that phone number you wanted,’’ he said.
    Ginger smiled as she took the card, uncertain what he was talking about. She headed past the dining room’s entryway and looked in her palm. She was holding one of Mark’s business cards for ADM. She flipped the card over and felt her heart drop as she read words written in Mark’s familiar scrawl.
    The FBI is coming by the house tonight at 10:00.
    With all the back and forth that day, Mark had not been able to tell Ginger what was going on. He had spoken to the FBI repeatedly, trying to schedule a time for them to stop by. He had finally agreed to allow someone to come over to the house once dinner was over. Shepard would hook up the device himself.
    Our house.
Ginger felt a chill. Over the past two days, Mark had given her some hints about what was bothering him. Nothing in much