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                                                                                JUSTICE, Page 37

Sting the President


How the FBI tried to ensnare a Bush campaign official on a tip
from Ross Perot

By RICHARD BEHAR -- With reporting by Elaine Shannon/Washington


    Given Ross Perot's penchant for bodyguards and conspiracy
theories, it's no surprise that the FBI office in Dallas returns
his calls. But the G-men may be a lot less receptive to the
billionaire in the wake of last week's revelation that federal
agents had conducted a fruitless sting operation against the
President's re-election team in Texas. Not since the Watergate
scandal of the early 1970s has the FBI found itself so publicly
embroiled in national partisan politics.

    Details of the scandal remain murky. But this much seems
clear: Perot insists that he received a tip-off that high-level
Republicans were plotting to wiretap his office telephone last
August -- even though he had pulled out of the presidential race
in July. Acting largely on information provided by both Perot
and Scott Barnes -- a shady storyteller with a prior conviction
for tape-recording his telephone conversations with other people
-- Oliver ("Buck") Revell, the head of the FBI office in Dallas,
sent an undercover agent disguised as a cowboy to meet with
James Oberwetter, state chairman of the Bush campaign. The
cowboy claimed to be hawking a wiretap tape of some of Perot's
phone conversations and other documents for $2,500. In reality,
the recordings were made by Perot himself as bait for the FBI's
trap.

    Oberwetter didn't bite, and his anger over the scheme is
igniting old questions about whether -- and how often -- the FBI
conducts stings on citizens without probable cause. Congress has
repeatedly declined to enact laws against entrapment by
government officials, but that could soon change. "We've had a
long history of stings but never one with such astonishing
political implications," says Don Edwards, the tough chairman
of the House Civil and Constitutional Rights Subcommittee, who
plans to hold new hearings. The attention couldn't have come at
a worse time for the FBI, whose director, William Sessions, is
himself the target of a Justice Department ethics probe.
Sessions' wife, meanwhile, has reportedly complained that top
FBI officials opposed to her husband had illegally wiretapped
the director's home.

    Politically sensitive sting operations are normally
approved in advance by an undercover review committee composed
of senior FBI and Justice Department officials. Revell says the
Oberwetter operation -- which he claims Sessions approved -- was
not subject to committee review because it was a one-shot deal
as opposed to a "longtime undercover operation." (Sessions
defended the operation last week in a letter to the New York
Times.)

    Revell thought he had to move quickly. On Aug. 6, four
days before the cowboy-agent appeared, Oberwetter was visited
by Barnes, who identified himself as "Howard Parsons" and
insisted that the two of them discuss the matter on a bench
outdoors. Oberwetter says he refused to accept the illegal
materials. What Oberwetter did not know was that the encounter
was being videotaped, allegedly by a BBC correspondent named
David Taylor. The video was turned over to the FBI, but without
any audio, it proved nothing. Nevertheless, agents heard rumors
that Taylor was preparing to air or distribute the video. That
sparked the FBI sting. "It created a real dilemma for us," says
one law-enforcement official. Why? Because the feds thought the
ensuing media bonfire would destroy all hope of testing
Oberwetter's honesty and taint the bureau, which would be
accused of foot dragging in the face of a second potential
Watergate.

    "There never was a wiretap case here," says Oberwetter
bitterly. "This was an entrapment case, pure and simple. They
approached me without probable cause. If Perot has videotapes
of any meeting that involves me, release the damn things and let
the public judge." Revell defends the operation and says the
Barnes video was "only one portion of a whole string of
situations" that led the bureau to act. Specifically, Barnes
also provided the FBI with a schematic drawing of Perot's
office, the billionaire's private phone numbers and telephone
records indicating that he had called a number of high-level
G.O.P. opposition-research officials.

    Revell is no stranger to controversy. In 1981, after
reportedly failing a polygraph test, he was censured for leaking
confidential FBI data to an Oklahoma journalist. Yet he still
managed to rise to the post of FBI associate deputy director for
investigation. In the 1980s, Revell came under scrutiny after
he received calls from Oliver North, who was seeking to
sidetrack federal probes that threatened to reveal the
Iran-contra mess. But no proof surfaced that Revell meddled in
the cases. Then, in 1988, Revell acknowledged in a Senate
hearing that the FBI had been misled by an undercover informer
whose "concocted" data led to a two-year surveillance program
against Americans opposed to U.S. policies in Central America.
After being passed over for a promotion, Revell transferred to
Dallas last year.

    Ironically, Revell went public last June on behalf of
Richard Armitage, a former Pentagon official whom Perot had
accused of complicity in drug smuggling and covering up the
existence of Vietnam MIAs. Revell felt strongly that Armitage
was a victim of "wild charges" that the FBI had been unable to
substantiate. Unfortunately, Revell didn't treat Perot's latest
charges with equal skepticism.