FEATURED AUTHOR
LEE LAPIN

Just Who the Hell Is Lee Lapin Anyway?

Don't feel bad, even my mother asks me that question—and that's on her lucid days. Hey, the special agent in charge of a major FBI office once asked me that exact same question. In fact, it directly followed the phrase,"Anything you say may be used in a court of law."

I guess one could say, without fear of contradiction, that I'm an electronics engineer, certified voice stress analyst, private investigator, and general . . . uh, contractor.

Oh yeah—I'm also a bonded locksmith, but let's be honest here, that's just so I can explain to the judge why I had those tools with me . . .

I began my illustrious career when, at a very young and tender age, I applied for a job with the world's best—and best-known—private detective, Hal Lipset. After a very nice lobster dinner served by his butler, he told me candidly that he basically had no use for me whatsoever.

Over dessert, I handed Hal the file I had compiled on him.

We worked well together after that, at least for a number of years, while I plied, lied, and generally learned my trade. During one memorable investigation, I dug out a DEA bug and showed them how I could have done it better. Guess what—they seemed to own the same script as the FBI, the one ending with that dreaded "be used in court" thing.

Damn.

Somewhere during those vague years, I was also employed by a number of . . . well, unusual employers, some in the good ol' U.S. of A., and some, oh, about 12,000 miles from here, where the FBI clones actually do wear those stupid reflective sunglasses and look like small-town Southern sheriffs. Just to fit in, I had to have Fed Ex ship my white socks in country.

These jobs consisted mostly of teaching their . . . our . . . whoever's allies (now, watch your mouth—they were all our friends . . . well, at least they were at that time) how to break and enter, pick, pluck, un-password (is that a word?), and, with any luck, not be shot or caught.

Sometimes I didn't just teach. Those who can . . . do.

For the right price.

Hey, man, I've cashed some checks signed by agencies you wouldn't believe. I mean the CIA, sure, but the Department of Agriculture? Oh, guess I shouldn't be talking about that.

I've also been in the martial arts since judo was considered some sort of "Oriental magic." I even managed to referee the first nationally televised karate tournament. Then I stumbled across the real martial arts. You know, the stuff that hurts . . . which also taught me that there were a bunch of people who could kick my ass on any given Sunday. This is a good thing to know. Trust me.

I've shot a number of videos, including a few on the sacred art of safe-cracking and lock opening. Oh man, I wish you could have been there when we shot ("we" being myself and probably the best safecracker in California) a great video in the biggest safe dealer's showroom/warehouse in California , showing how to open damn near every safe they owned or ever thought of. By the end of the shoot, the company president had arrived and was, for some odd reason, getting really nervous about our presence. He finally requested that we vacate the premises. That's the first thing you learn—everybody's a fuckin' critic . . .

I also worked for the "world's largest news gathering network," where I managed to be one of the only two Americans ever to go on a major jungle-based DEA raid wherein we tried to arrest the top 20 cociana dealers in all of South America. At one point, I actually tried to shoot the leaders with a DEA M16 until one agent with a hell of a lot more sense (and Spanish) than I had took his rifle back, laid on it, and vocally settled our little tiff. He also pointed out that I would have taken out both our pilots and at least one of his friends in the first burst. I really hadn't fully considered the ramifications of that particular course of action.

I once got held for ransom . . . bunch of 14-year-old snotty punks with attitudes and AK-47s; oh well, that's another story. You can read about that particular stupidity in Soldier Of Fortune.

And, yes, as alluded to above, I have worked for an American intelligence agency or two (not the one that read me my rights, I might add), but just as a freelancer—or, as I like to phrase it, "talented individual."

Look, I'm a Patriot with a capital "P." I can still shoot an MP-5 better than most SEALs I know. Hell, I taught some of them entry tricks. I can show you how to really set plastic to take out a door or a dam. Want to overhear a private conversation from a mile away? I can still . . . well, fuck, I can write and teach this stuff like nobody else on earth.

Talk the talk, walk the walk.

I should have just gone to law school. I would have been richer than a banker.

I've script-doctored a number of "major motion pictures," been in People magazine, and had my cute little puss on the front page of The New York Times . . . and I think maybe the FBI Bulletin . . .

Hey babe, just spell my name right.

Hokay, let's do a little Q and A.

Q & A

Paladin: Where did you get your skills?
Lapin: Damn, I want to say, "in the streets, honey" so badly that I'm not going to. I learned from the best. The pros, the real pros. Not the TV version, not the joint birds. The ones that didn't get caught. How do you find them? Late-night TV commercials? "You too can be a medical assistant and make well over $6 an hour helping people." Nope. See, therein lies the Catch 22: if I can find you and tell you things about yourself that you don't want anybody to know, then we're suddenly in what's known as a bargaining position. . . . Yeah, yeah, I know the old joke—teach me, then kill me.

Paladin: Why do cops, feds, and engineers cooperate with you if you if you are revealing trade secrets?
Lapin: Many will not. However, I have worked with enough high-level law enforcement people that some will share. I recently took a special class, about 12 of us, all detectives, customs, or DEA. I went in (with the instructor's permission) under a false name. That worked for about five minutes before they started quoting my works and asking me questions. A couple of participants were not happy campers; I agreed to a no-photo/no-name rule. Most, however, said things like, "Thank God for your stuff. Otherwise, how would we know what the bad guys are doing?" A couple admitted to using my materials before their own resources because they got better hit rates with me.

As a small aside, a few years ago I ran one of the very first "people tracking" agencies. My very best return customer used me every couple of days at $100 a throw. Finally, I said, "You must have a lot of enemies." He laughed and admitted he was the police chief of a (actually, now very well-known) mid-California town. He said I found his skips at a far better rate than the feds did . . .

I once was teaching a seminar to a bunch of investigator types when two got up in the middle of the seminar, excused themselves, and left. Two hours later they came back, apologizing for the sudden departure but pointing out that two of the "demo" names they had given me for class use were wanted felons whom they immediately went out and arrested.

Then there's always the "trade-off" factor—I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours. No, I repeat, no surveillance engineer can resist asking, "How did you do that?"

Paladin: How often do the federales drop by for a chat?
Lapin: This is a rather sensitive subject. I will cooperate with any legit LE person within reason, but don't be dropping by for Christmas dinner.

At one point in my checkered past, I got a hand written letter from the local head FBI agent asking if they could please drop by my house for, oh, a couple of minutes. Nothing big; just wanted me to look at some photos they had that I might help them identify for the good of all mankind.

I said I would be happy to drop by their office, at my convenience to help save the universe. This was met with a lot of grumbling—they weren't open when I wanted to come by; just tell them my address, work or home . . .

It began to dawn on me that the FeeBees couldn't find me. About this same time, I got a 3 A.M. phone call—from Mossad, in Israel—at a friend's house who had his phone in a fake name, asking me if I could put my latest book in the hands of their messenger at 7 that morning. They would pay any bonus necessary. I gave them a number of copies—free. And you wonder why no Israeli airliner has been blown up?

At any rate, back to my friends with the FBI. I said I'd come by, take it or leave it. Then I called my lawyer. We walked into the office, and they read me my rights. (God, I love Mr. Miranda, wherever he is.)

So, the words "drop by" are not really in my preferred vocabulary . . .

Paladin: Tell us about your latest How to Get Anything on Anybody book.
Lapin: How to Get Anything on Anybody Book III is by far the best thing I've ever done. It took three years of research, testing, interviewing, and putting it together. It's not a rehash (I just saw an ad for another work that prides itself on being a complete "surveillance training manual," and the first thing in the ad is right out of my first book, The Big Brother Game, almost 30 years old) but deals with the latest federal-level gear and techniques. The last time I talked to my favorite fed, he said they were still using How to Get Anything on Anybody Book II as a training manual for the FBI at their academy in Quantico.

Paladin: Various new laws have made it potentially hazardous to publish information on everything from explosives to drug manufacture. Do you think your type of material is next?
Lapin: As all of you at Paladin know, we live, at least in theory, in a country where a yellowed piece of paper says that one has the right to what is known as "free speech." When Paladin became involved in the Hit Man lawsuit, I wrote a letter to the judge admitting I had gotten a bunch of material from Tom Clancy's works and suggesting they rush out and arrest him too.

Actually, I was on a radio show with Tom, and he admitted he borrowed stuff from me, but you get the idea.

About a year—I mean a full year—before 9/11, I read a "novel" about a group of Arabs who hijack three planes and crash them into buildings. Has the author been arrested? Oh no, I forgot, that was a novel, right?

Is this really the road we want to go down? Hey, I've been behind the Iron Curtain; I even got arrested and thrown in jail right at the Berlin Wall (for a few hours) by those self-righteous pricks.

Before we completely shred the Constitution, maybe someone should go back and remember what happens to tyrannical governments when the people have decided they've had enough and aren't going to take it anymore.

A little revolution is a good thing sometimes. Or, as Shakespeare said, "The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers."

Paladin: It's interesting to see major publishers like Perennial (Hide Your Assets and Disappear) and St. Martins (How to Be Invisible) delving into areas formerly covered only by offbeat publishers like Paladin. What's your take on this?
Lapin: I've actually gotten a couple of offers from mainstream houses to reprint my stuff. Not great offers, mind you, but offers. I think it shows "real" people are interested in our way of thinking and provides some layer of "legitimacy."

A few years ago, I walked into a library to ask the reference librarian a question. I started off and then began stuttering. She asked if I was okay, and I said, "My God, there's a book I wrote 30 years ago right behind you. I didn't realize there were any copies left."

She said, "I bet I know which one," and named it.

Now, you gotta realize this was back in my pseudo hippie days (as a friend said, "You look like a hippie, you act like a hippie, but you always drive a Corvette") and is as far from things I do now as anything could be. I just laughed and said, "If you only knew."

Paladin: Do you really raise wolves?
Lapin: Yes I do. I find them more intelligent, more articulate, and more trustworthy than most of my friends. Okay, with one exception: my male, K-9, is a natural thief who makes Murph-the-Surf look stupid. Leave the sliding back door open two inches and he waits until your back is turned, quietly snouts the door open enough so he can slink inside, and then, and then . . . does he steal something? No, no, no, he just cases the joint. He takes a mental snapshot of where everything in the room is located, goes back outside, and decides what he would really like to own (varies from computer equipment to guns), goes to the other side of the yard to draw me off and quell any misgivings, then runs to the cased-out door, crams it open, grabs the item he had previously identified, and runs like hell. Shoes, my wife's purse, a CD drive, a .38 Police Special . . . you know, I didn't even see half of them go. Hell, I didn't even know I owned half of them.

Then he puts on that wolf-patented playful, innocent grin. And my spouse says, "Not my wolf; he wouldn't do that." So much we can learn from "lesser species" . . .

Paladin: What's Scott French up to these days?
Lapin: Scott is one of my closest friends and one of the few who doesn't care if I name him as a source. I can assure you, there would be some very red fed faces if I were to name others. Good guy-he does some limited PI work, usually surveillance connected, lives on the left coast also, and is still a surfer/windsurfer who has been trying to come up with some weird sport that combines shooting automatic weapons with windsurfing. He sees it as the next big Olympic breakthrough, but we kinda differ on that concept.

We don't see each other as often as we used to—for some strange reason, my wolves don't get along with him.

I believe he's writing a novel about an assassin who has terminal cancer. I'm looking forward to it. Good writer; love his stuff.

Paladin: How did you get hooked up with Paladin?
Lapin: Actually, it was after meeting the owner and still one of my best friends, Peder Lund. Many years ago, I was giving a speech in Aspen, Colorado (Peder was there also), when the world's most famous playboy (according to Playboy magazine) invited us to a party at his ski condo. Turn it down? Turn it down? Are you fuckin' crazy? I mean, it was like being invited to the White House and Windsor Castle all in one day. . . . I admit, some of the memories are a little hazy, but I clearly remember when there came a persistent knocking at the front door, which someone finally decided to open . . . only to find the local sheriff, stuttering while trying hard to ask us to keep the noise down a little bit. The stuttering might have been due to fact that the door was opened by a completely naked Playboy model.

Peder had to leave at six o' clock the next morning to get back to Boulder, where he invited me to spend some time. The roads were slick, we were looking directly down the throat of a 10,000-foot-high mountain pass, and Lund had just bought a brand new sports car. I was so hungover I could hardly see my feet. He said, "You race cars a little, right?" and tossed me the keys to the new Porsche. After about 100 miles at about 100 miles per, Mr. Lund was still smiling when he pointed out how long we could go to jail for if one of the local cops was up and about.

One damn brave man, even if he did hit the brake pedal (which, to this day, I've never really pointed out to him, doesn't exist on the passenger's side) at least 50 times. . . .

Hey, come on, you gonna turn that guy down when he asks to be your publisher?

Lee Lapin consults for a number of, uh, unusual employers. He has authored 23 books, including 7 on the fine art of intelligence gathering. His works are currently utilized by thousands of private detectives, state and federal law enforcement personnel, and many of the world's best intelligence agencies. Lee makes his home on a small island off the coast of Marin County, California where, for relaxation, he raises wolves.

HOW TO GET ANYTHING ON ANYBODY, BOOK 3