Betrayal: Whitey Bulger and the FBI Agent Who Fought to Bring Him Down by Jon Land, Robert Fitzpatrick Page A
Authors: Jon Land, Robert Fitzpatrick
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incarceration of the competition they served up neatly on a plate. They fed names to Connolly and Morris, and the agents would take things from there. The relationship flourished, as the parties continued feeding off each other’s greed and opportunity.
But they did so at the expense of the residents of Boston, who found their lives adversely affected, even endangered, by a pair of sociopaths who had free rein to wreak havoc on the city. Whitey Bulger and Stephen Flemmi had effectively replaced Barboza and Vincent Flemmi, among others; their actions now fully facilitated by their status as FBI informants. And they also replaced Barboza as informants with the same goal in mind: receive as many free passes as needed, so long as they appeared to be furnishing good intelligence—the operative word being appeared.
Some of that intelligence from Bulger, code named BS 1544–C-TE, helped net Joe Russo, which, in turn, netted Jimmy Charlmas, aka Ted Sharliss, for masterminding the hit on Barboza for “the Office.” When Connolly reported, though, he changed “Office” to “Outfit,” a euphemism for the New England mafia that the Boston office was still desperate to bring down. The subtle alteration was clearly designed to muddle a picture already blurred by false information. Something Connolly did quite well in his 209s, the internal vehicle for reporting informant information, whether true or not.
Connolly hit the street running on the same track as Rico and Condon, not only making the same mistakes they made, but even worse ones. Having grown up with Bulger in Boston’s Southie neighborhood, Connolly had no problem accepting a gift from the informant he also saw as his pal: that diamond ring he had emblazoned with the FBI motto: Fidelity Bravery Integrity. The ultimate irony and sadly so.
Connolly had betrayed the Bureau by going “native,” essentially choosing his Irish Boston roots over his loyalty to the organization he purported to love. There was no going back for Connolly at this point. In his determination to avoid the inglorious fates of Rico and Condon, he had assured himself a much worse one. He would later declare in court testimony, “We knew what these guys were.… All of them, top echelon informants, are murderers. The government put me in business with murderers.”
And he found a willing and able partner in fellow agent John Morris, who was promoted to supervisor and immediately got Connolly assigned to his squad. Internally, Morris was described as “imaginative, innovative and extremely industrious” with no hesitation to tackle “major projects.” They seemed perfectly matched, although Morris was as humdrum as Connolly was flashy. A family man with a receding hairline and a crumbling marriage, Morris was cut from the cloth, initially anyway, of more staid Bureau agents of the past, conservative and, you would think from appearances, by the book.
But his looks belied his cunning. And he plunged into his job as much as anything as a way to counterbalance his troubled personal life. The arrows were moving in opposite directions and the more the separation grew, the more Morris threw himself all-out into a career being propelled by none other than Whitey Bulger. He and Connolly were free to do whatever they wanted so long as they produced. Similarly, Bulger and Flemmi were free to do pretty much whatever they wanted, so long as they produced as well. “Quid pro quo,” as one agent put it.
It was a clear recipe for an impending disaster.
Indeed, Morris and Connolly would and did do anything necessary to protect their Top Echelon informants, whom they saw as fast-track tickets to fame and glory. They aspired to be viewed as crime-fighting heroes of the FBI, even though the means to those ends made them anything but. Bulger and Flemmi had to be kept out of jail and out of harm’s way. Priority one. Simple as that.
None of this was happening under the radar either. The Massachusetts State
But they did so at the expense of the residents of Boston, who found their lives adversely affected, even endangered, by a pair of sociopaths who had free rein to wreak havoc on the city. Whitey Bulger and Stephen Flemmi had effectively replaced Barboza and Vincent Flemmi, among others; their actions now fully facilitated by their status as FBI informants. And they also replaced Barboza as informants with the same goal in mind: receive as many free passes as needed, so long as they appeared to be furnishing good intelligence—the operative word being appeared.
Some of that intelligence from Bulger, code named BS 1544–C-TE, helped net Joe Russo, which, in turn, netted Jimmy Charlmas, aka Ted Sharliss, for masterminding the hit on Barboza for “the Office.” When Connolly reported, though, he changed “Office” to “Outfit,” a euphemism for the New England mafia that the Boston office was still desperate to bring down. The subtle alteration was clearly designed to muddle a picture already blurred by false information. Something Connolly did quite well in his 209s, the internal vehicle for reporting informant information, whether true or not.
Connolly hit the street running on the same track as Rico and Condon, not only making the same mistakes they made, but even worse ones. Having grown up with Bulger in Boston’s Southie neighborhood, Connolly had no problem accepting a gift from the informant he also saw as his pal: that diamond ring he had emblazoned with the FBI motto: Fidelity Bravery Integrity. The ultimate irony and sadly so.
Connolly had betrayed the Bureau by going “native,” essentially choosing his Irish Boston roots over his loyalty to the organization he purported to love. There was no going back for Connolly at this point. In his determination to avoid the inglorious fates of Rico and Condon, he had assured himself a much worse one. He would later declare in court testimony, “We knew what these guys were.… All of them, top echelon informants, are murderers. The government put me in business with murderers.”
And he found a willing and able partner in fellow agent John Morris, who was promoted to supervisor and immediately got Connolly assigned to his squad. Internally, Morris was described as “imaginative, innovative and extremely industrious” with no hesitation to tackle “major projects.” They seemed perfectly matched, although Morris was as humdrum as Connolly was flashy. A family man with a receding hairline and a crumbling marriage, Morris was cut from the cloth, initially anyway, of more staid Bureau agents of the past, conservative and, you would think from appearances, by the book.
But his looks belied his cunning. And he plunged into his job as much as anything as a way to counterbalance his troubled personal life. The arrows were moving in opposite directions and the more the separation grew, the more Morris threw himself all-out into a career being propelled by none other than Whitey Bulger. He and Connolly were free to do whatever they wanted so long as they produced. Similarly, Bulger and Flemmi were free to do pretty much whatever they wanted, so long as they produced as well. “Quid pro quo,” as one agent put it.
It was a clear recipe for an impending disaster.
Indeed, Morris and Connolly would and did do anything necessary to protect their Top Echelon informants, whom they saw as fast-track tickets to fame and glory. They aspired to be viewed as crime-fighting heroes of the FBI, even though the means to those ends made them anything but. Bulger and Flemmi had to be kept out of jail and out of harm’s way. Priority one. Simple as that.
None of this was happening under the radar either. The Massachusetts State
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