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Portrait by Papa Duke |
Private Sector Intelligence with Clair George
Late 1990, Washington, D.C.
In the midst of handling our main mission for Barnum & Baily Ringling Brothers Circus, the former CIA spymaster Clair George and I took on a second client:
Harry Schultz, a reclusive multi-millionaire American who had expatriated himself in Monte Carlo as part of his ongoing struggle to evade Big Brother.
Harry Schultz, a reclusive multi-millionaire American who had expatriated himself in Monte Carlo as part of his ongoing struggle to evade Big Brother.
Schultz espoused his so-called PT Philosophy, which he
claimed to have conceived.
PT, to his thinking, was supposed to stand for Perpetual Tourist or Permanent Traveler or Prepared Thoroughly.
But it really means Partly Tetched, at least as Harry practiced it, because he rarely
left Monaco, the second smallest country in the world, about a mile-and-a-half
square. (The Vatican is the world's smallest country.)
On top of that, it was the
Romany (gypsies) who had originated the PT lifestyle, and they’d been doing it
for centuries, though no one ever had the cojones to tell Harry PT philosophy was not his original ideation.
From his
ivory tower in Monte Carlo, Harry dispensed financial advice (“buy gold”) to those willing to
pay $800 for 15 minutes, telephonically, of his time (said to be a Guinness World Record).
Harry felt most at home surrounded in his home office by stacks of newsletters and incoming faxes while analyzing stock trends, commodity
prices and the foreign currency exchange market.
I’d gotten
to know Harry while living in Monaco.

The only time he’d ever relax was when I’d take him out to Le Texan, a local Tex-Mex watering hole, where I’d cajole him into drinking a beer straight from the bottle.

The only time he’d ever relax was when I’d take him out to Le Texan, a local Tex-Mex watering hole, where I’d cajole him into drinking a beer straight from the bottle.
He once looked at me in awe, beer bottle in hand, and
said, “You practice what I preach,” referring to my independent devil-may-care approach to enjoying life.
Harry was
somewhat paranoid, having convinced himself he could never return to the United
States, United Kingdom, or Ireland, for reasons he would never specify.
So although he espoused freedom, Harry's own world became smaller and smaller with each passing year.
So although he espoused freedom, Harry's own world became smaller and smaller with each passing year.
The
problem:
Harry had created an organization called Freedom Inc., purportedly to help crusade the cause of freedom against worldwide tyranny and oppression.
But his partner in the freedom biz, Larry Abraham, spent the organization’s money—funds raised at a grassroots level—on first-class travel and gourmet meals without little else to show for it.
Harry had created an organization called Freedom Inc., purportedly to help crusade the cause of freedom against worldwide tyranny and oppression.
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Larry Abraham |
But his partner in the freedom biz, Larry Abraham, spent the organization’s money—funds raised at a grassroots level—on first-class travel and gourmet meals without little else to show for it.
One of the donors, a Texan, had grown irate by Freedom Inc.’s high
expenditure and lack of results.
Through
an ex-employee of Harry’s, the Texan had managed to get hold of Freedom Inc.’s mailing list, and with it he'd mounted a letter-writing campaign, accusing Harry and Larry of fraud.
Harry cried "Tilt!" (his favorite expression when
something would go askew), hired a lawyer in Texas and filed a libel suit against
his detractor.
The Texan countersued,
and Harry soon found himself entangled in expensive litigation at the greater
cost of what he valued most: his
privacy.
Case in
point: The second question asked of Harry during a telephonic deposition was where he lived.
“Uh, why do you need you know that?” Harry replied.
So Harry
wanted to bail from the case he had initiated.
His brief for Clair and me was straightforward:
Get the antagonist to cease and desist.
His brief for Clair and me was straightforward:
Get the antagonist to cease and desist.
Off and
running on two grand a week (one for Clair, one for me), I telephoned the
antagonist and introduced myself as the freelance journalist I once was. I feigned interest in the controversy
surrounding Harry Schultz.
“Fraud has
been alleged,” I said. “Do you know anything about that?”
Did he know anything?
Whoosh! Out it flowed, as if I'd opened a fire
hydrant. My only problem was getting
this guy to shut up long enough to keep my notes straight.
Tragically, Harry Schultz had become this guy's obsession.
Within
minutes, the antagonist confided what he was doing, thinking, and thinking of
doing—along with his entire legal strategy.
After
analyzing the situation with Clair, I wrote Harry a report that confirmed his
worst fear:
The antagonist had too much spare time. He was unmarried, had no kids and no hobbies. Legal costs did not concern him; indeed, he perceived litigation a worthy recipient of his disposable income; an investment in a determined quest to expose Harry Schultz as a thief and a fraud.
The antagonist had too much spare time. He was unmarried, had no kids and no hobbies. Legal costs did not concern him; indeed, he perceived litigation a worthy recipient of his disposable income; an investment in a determined quest to expose Harry Schultz as a thief and a fraud.
Our advice to Harry:
The best way to spoil this guy’s party is drop the libel suit and maintain total silence; any attention whatsoever served only to stoke his fire.
The best way to spoil this guy’s party is drop the libel suit and maintain total silence; any attention whatsoever served only to stoke his fire.
But Harry,
being Harry, wanted a resolution that required the antagonist to pen no further
critical letters about him.
“Harry,” I
countered, “It’s not like he’s publishing
bad stuff about you. He’s just writing
letters. Read a poem called If by Rudyard Kipling.
"The most dignified response would be to ignore his accusations. Without your attention, he will grow bored and move on to something else.”
"The most dignified response would be to ignore his accusations. Without your attention, he will grow bored and move on to something else.”
The problem
with Harry: he relished a good
fight.
Two centuries earlier, Harry might have invited his antagonist to a duel—though I doubt he would have appeared on the appointed day.
Harry wanted punishment dealt to his antagonist, by proxies. Truth be known, he wanted the guy’s legs broken—or, at very least, he desired that a high-pitched whistle be blown into the antagonist’s ear over the phone at three in the morning.
Two centuries earlier, Harry might have invited his antagonist to a duel—though I doubt he would have appeared on the appointed day.
Harry wanted punishment dealt to his antagonist, by proxies. Truth be known, he wanted the guy’s legs broken—or, at very least, he desired that a high-pitched whistle be blown into the antagonist’s ear over the phone at three in the morning.
After all, Harry reasoned, the antagonist
“caused me stress,” which had evolved into vertigo, rendering him chronically
cranky.
I patiently
explained that Clair and I did not do mayhem.
Finally,
Schultz took my advice. He withdrew his
lawsuit and ceased all contact with the antagonist, who quickly got bored and
disappeared.
Problem
solved.
Clair and I
broke the first rule of problem solving:
we actually endeavored to solve a client’s problem, and usually did,
resulting in a satisfied client that no longer needed us.
Not so fast, said Schultz. He had another problem.
(Clair and
I quickly discovered that when we solved a problem, we became even more in
demand than before.)
Harry’s other
problem: A rival in the financial
newsletter business was badmouthing him among industry insiders.
Our
advice: ignore him.
But Harry
wanted blood. Or, at very least, he
wanted the badmouthing to stop.
I began
cutting plans for the spymaster and myself to fly to Europe to meet Harry face-to-face in Monte Carlo.
The only way Harry would otherwise communicate was by fax, and he, by now, had deluded himself into believing that all his facsimile communications were intercepted and monitored by the powers that be.
He pledged to pay half our travel expenses; what we needed was another client to pay the other half.
The only way Harry would otherwise communicate was by fax, and he, by now, had deluded himself into believing that all his facsimile communications were intercepted and monitored by the powers that be.
He pledged to pay half our travel expenses; what we needed was another client to pay the other half.
And one
soon materialized.
But first,
back to the person bad-mouthing Harry.
On the
principle that persons who live in glass houses ought not throw stones, we
mounted an investigation of Mr. Badmouth.
This we
sub-contracted to Moono, an investigator retired from the Internal Revenue
Service.
I’d met Moono a few years earlier when we tried to package a book about his career as the IRS's ace sting-artist.
I’d met Moono a few years earlier when we tried to package a book about his career as the IRS's ace sting-artist.
Within two
weeks, Moono uncovered very much dirt, both professional and personal.
Mr. Badmouth had been married five times.
Court documents did not paint a pretty picture of life within the Badmouth household.
Court documents did not paint a pretty picture of life within the Badmouth household.
Armed with
Moono’s findings, I used a pretext approach to contact two sources—an ex-wife
and a former business associate.
They both said they couldn’t come up with words bad enough to describe Mr. Badmouth, but nonetheless used these words: horrible, vicious, schizoid, monster.
They both said they couldn’t come up with words bad enough to describe Mr. Badmouth, but nonetheless used these words: horrible, vicious, schizoid, monster.
The ex-wife
told me Mr. Badmouth “keeps a Nazi flag in his bedroom dresser and listens to
German march music on Sundays.” She
added, “I was like a lamb going to
slaughter. After we got married, I
wasn’t allowed to open the door without his permission, and he had security
guards to prevent me from leaving. I was
in shock for two years after the marriage.”
The former
business associate told me that Mr. Badmouth evaded U.S. taxes by keeping $10 million hidden in an account at a bank in Basel, Switzerland. He supplied the name of the bank along with
Mr. Badmouth’s personal banker.
Mr. Badmouth
had also created a PAC (Political Action Committee). But all the money he raised from widowed
grandmothers went straight to his account in Switzerland.
A quick check with the Federal Election
Commission established that, indeed, such a PAC had been registered, and
indeed, not a single contribution had ever been made to any political candidate.
Mr.
Badmouth shared two things in common with Harry:
One, both were newsletter publishers, and two, they treasured their privacy above all else.
One, both were newsletter publishers, and two, they treasured their privacy above all else.
I huddled
with Clair. He concurred with my plan,
and Harry approved it.
I thus began
sending a series of anonymous faxes to Mr. Badmouth’s office, where he employed
a staff of seven.
These were open letters to Mr. Badmouth letting him and, more important, those employees who got to it first, know what we knew about him.
These were open letters to Mr. Badmouth letting him and, more important, those employees who got to it first, know what we knew about him.

Mr. Badmouth could, of course, guess that the sender connected somehow to Harry, but so what?
Quite probably, based on what we had learned about Mr. Badmouth, he had many other enemies. So it might have been difficult for him to distinguish from whence the onslaught came.
I sent three
such communiqués, cheekily written,
spaced out to arrive through the week.
Juvenile?
As all hell.
Effective?
As all hell.
The bad-mouthing stopped. Immediately.
Juvenile?
As all hell.
Effective?
As all hell.
The bad-mouthing stopped. Immediately.
Second
problem solved.
I later
turned Harry into the star of my 1995 novel, Zubrick’s
Rock.
Zubrick's Rock: Intrigue and Lunacy in Monte Carlo: A Novel: Eringer, Robert: 9781882605217: Amazon.com: Books
Zubrick's Rock: Intrigue and Lunacy in Monte Carlo: A Novel: Eringer, Robert: 9781882605217: Amazon.com: Books
As Barry the Lamster, a
reclusive multi-millionaire based in Monaco, Harry tries to stage a coup d’etat in the principality by
resurrecting a descendant of the Spinola family, which ruled Monaco many
centuries before the Grimaldis ousted them.
This became
habit-forming for me.
Adhering to the
principle It’s all grist, many of my
adventures with Clair became the basis for my novels.
I’d put real situations and characters through a meat grinder to produce absurdist fiction, though, I dare say, true life was absurd enough.
I’d put real situations and characters through a meat grinder to produce absurdist fiction, though, I dare say, true life was absurd enough.
Clair read
my manuscripts and claimed they made him laugh out loud.
The former spymaster called me his own personal novelist.
Multimillionaire recluse Barry Zubrick's tax exile in glamorous Monte Carlo is threatened when the police revoke his residency permit.
So Zubrick, who has always wanted his own country, plots to overthrow the picturesque principality.
With the assistance of a former CIA official, Zubrick schemes to seize Monaco "legitimately" by tracing a descendant of the Spinola family, which briefly ruled the principality over 700 years ago - and installing him as the true prince.
Enter Gerry Spinola - dentist, gambler and alcoholic from Hoboken, New Jersey - and the only heir Zubrick can dig up on short notice.
Zubrick cuts a deal with Spinola to become his puppet.
Stirring a retired general and a band of soldiers-of-fortune into his mix, Zubrick assembles the ingredients for a coup d'etat.
The former spymaster called me his own personal novelist.
Multimillionaire recluse Barry Zubrick's tax exile in glamorous Monte Carlo is threatened when the police revoke his residency permit.
So Zubrick, who has always wanted his own country, plots to overthrow the picturesque principality.
With the assistance of a former CIA official, Zubrick schemes to seize Monaco "legitimately" by tracing a descendant of the Spinola family, which briefly ruled the principality over 700 years ago - and installing him as the true prince.
Enter Gerry Spinola - dentist, gambler and alcoholic from Hoboken, New Jersey - and the only heir Zubrick can dig up on short notice.
Zubrick cuts a deal with Spinola to become his puppet.
Stirring a retired general and a band of soldiers-of-fortune into his mix, Zubrick assembles the ingredients for a coup d'etat.