Sniper_ The True Story Of Anti-Abortion Killer James Kopp Part 15

Marshals took the cuffs from his wrists. He stood up from behind the table he shared with Barket, shuffled to the lectern at the front of the courtroom, five armed sheriffs now gathered in a ring of security around a man who looked as if he was not strong enough to rip a sheet of paper. This was his chance, four and a half years after his run from the law had begun, his chance to account for himself, to unravel the mystery of how young Jim Kopp from Marin County became the sniper James Charles Kopp. He looked thinner and paler than in March. He wore the usual blue blazer that hung loosely from his frame. He organized his stack of papers.

"Yes. Good morning, Judge. On October 23, Judge, in 1998, late at night I shot Dr. Slepian. Let me explain a little bit about why and how." At first his voice registered barely above a whisper. Judge D'Amico asked him to move closer to the microphone at the lectern. "All right. This is not easy for me to talk about, Judge. I want to make it clear that this information I'm about to give is not why I shot Dr. Slepian. However, it does explain how I went from someone who had, let's say, an intellectual understanding of an abortion to someone who had a much stronger feeling about what abortion really represents in the United States.

"In large measure it began really in 1980, at Stanford Hospital, California. I saw a baby killed from abortion that had attained eight months' gestation. If I had not seen this, I doubt I would ever have ended up here. Murder is not something to be voted on, any more than rape or robbery. Anyone who wants to understand what abortion is really about must see the body of a child first before they speak. Dr. Slepian was perfectly qualified to speak about abortion. He saw many bodies.

"In 1987 I witnessed the first forced abortion I ever saw. I was told that because of an injunction I could not try to stop it. I wish I had anyway. A woman with polio in both legs was dragged, sobbing and pulling back, to the door of the mill-we use the word mill, Your Honor, because a clinic is where you walk in the door, sit and you walk out healthy. That cannot be used to describe an abortion mill, where the woman is basically messed up for life and the baby is dead. A woman with polio in both legs was dragged, sobbing and pulling back, to the door of the mill, where two nurses reached out, grabbed and pulled her in. She was walking with calipers and braces on her. Any sidewalk counselor in America can tell you of similar incidents. I can talk all day about this."

He saw it all, with his own eyes. And other forced abortions, too. The women emerging from the mill, weeping, sobbing, scarred in body and mind, destined for endless drug and psychotherapy treatments, perhaps committing suicide. They are brainwashed, browbeaten and bullied into abortions, usually by men. There was more. Kopp talked about his speech to the young prost.i.tutes at Juvenile Hall in San Francisco. How he had been "the first westerner" to hear eyewitness accounts of forced abortions in China. He touched on what he saw as key historical moments in the abortion war. Forced sterilization. Hitler. "This is covered really well in a book called QB VII by Leon Uris. I can't tell you how much I recommend this book. It connects sterilization, abortion, and ultimately the Final Solution."

Just minutes into his statement he was already all over the map. Those in the courtroom hearing him speak for the first time were amazed. Journalists who were barred from using tape recorders, as is the usual rule, scrambled to write it all down but could not keep up. But this was Jim Kopp speaking the way he always spoke when engaged in heavy conversation. He was back at the hostel in Dinan spelling out his world view for a friend, his mind processing his scattered thoughts, connecting the dots.

"Here's a quote: 'In view of the large families of the native population'-now this phrase, native population, means Polish, Gypsies or Romanians and Jewish people, bear in mind-'it could only suit us if girls and women in that native population had as many abortions as possible. We could not possibly have any interest in increasing the non-German population.' That's a quote from Adolf Hitler."

A central belief of pro-life activists is that, if only people are exposed to the reality of abortion, the effect on patients, the trauma of the unborn baby, and can learn the historical context, they-not the hardcore pro-abort ideologues, of course, but those in the middle or with little commitment-will see the light. Their eyes will be opened to the truth. And so Jim Kopp was once again the teacher. But what good could this possibly do with D'Amico and the sentencing? Kopp quoted Margaret Sanger, the founder of Planned Parenthood, a favorite target for pro-lifers.

"Here's another quote, from 1939: 'The most successful educational approach to the Negro is through religious appeal. We do not want word to go out that we want to exterminate the Negro population.' We find that quote in a book called Margaret Sanger, Father of Modern Society. Obviously, Judge, she agreed perfectly with Hitler about the notion of the master race. What she contributed, that Hitler didn't, was technique."

He tried to draw a connection between Hitler, Sanger and Bart Slepian. He looked down at notes he had made from an article written by Amanda Robb, Slepian's niece, who had visited him in the jail in France. "Now, the next quote, Your Honor, I will make very clear, I didn't find out until 2002. It comes from the niece of Dr. Slepian."

But then Kopp was off on another tangent. "There was a film called A Matter of Choice, in the 1980s. Very influential. There was another film made at the same time showing a forced abortion where a woman at the last minute wants to jump off the table. Very common thing, and the nurse does a verbal slapping. You don't actually give someone anesthetic like Novocaine or whatever, but you use your voice to get them to sit down and shut up and stop. Women and men who have come out of the profession of killing children, they can corroborate all of this.

"Anyway. In this movie A Matter of Choice, they interviewed this Dr. Allred in Los Angeles. He made an extremely similar comment to the one I'm about to tell you. In any event, Dr. Slepian's conversation actually took place in 1997. Dr. Slepian, when asked why he did abortions, answered that it was 'part and parcel of keeping the minority quotient manageable'."

Kopp looked at D'Amico.

"Judge, wouldn't it be nice to say that was a casual remark? That it slipped out and we wouldn't hold Dr. Slepian to that? I say no, Judge, it's perfectly 100 percent consistent with the racism and genocide that began with Margaret Sanger, took a little detour through Germany and wound up back again in Western New York in 1997. Keeping the minority quotient manageable. Dr. Slepian also said, 'Abortion is killing potential life. It is not pretty. It is not easy.' This is a direct quote from him. The inner seed of that quote sounds like the Pope."

Kopp claimed to be quoting Bart Slepian from an article written by his niece, Amanda Robb, for George magazine. Amanda had written about how James Kopp changed her family's life when he shot and killed her uncle. She wrote about the night she received the phone call telling her that Uncle Bart had been shot to death, and later about meeting Kopp in jail. The piece for George, and the other articles she had written, offered private glimpses of the Slepian family. They were well written but also uncompromising in their bluntness and included some characteristically pithy quotes from her late uncle. Not everyone had appreciated her airing of the family laundry. And now, in court, Bart Slepian's a.s.sailant was quoting the dead man's niece to try to justify the shooting.

Rick Schwarz, Bart's longtime friend from med school in Mexico, later heard about the quote mentioned by Kopp-"keeping the minority quotient manageable." It didn't surprise Rick that Bart might have said such a thing. But he would have been joking; it would have been meant as a private, dark-humored quip, certainly not meant for publication or to represent his position on abortion. That was his sense of humor, and others shared it. In Mexico, there were a couple of guys who had joked that what overpopulated Mexico really needed was a good abortionist. Bart wasn't one of them, but it was something he might have joked about.

But in court, in front of the judge, reporters and the doctor's widow, Kopp had just taken Bart's quip and used it to try to paint his victim as a racist. The problem was that Kopp had not turned to Amanda's original article for his quote. He had lifted it from accounts of the article he had read on the Internet. Those online accounts got one important word wrong. Bart had not said "minority quotient." In describing his rationale for performing abortions, he told Amanda that it was "Part and parcel of keeping the misery quotient manageable."

Kopp did not let up. "Of course Dr. Slepian had to kill lots of black babies down at the abortion mill, red babies, Mexican babies. Black women today get twice as many abortions as nonblack women per capita. There are twice as many abortion mills located in the inner city as elsewhere, and this is all part of Margaret Sanger's agenda." Kopp had still not moved to the issue of his defense, and the only argument that could possibly persuade D'Amico to show leniency in sentencing: that Kopp had intended to wound Slepian, not kill him. Instead, Kopp appeared to be arguing that Slepian deserved to die. The critical issue, to Kopp's way of thinking, remained whether he was justified. The key was: the fetus is human, and therefore shooting someone to protect it from termination is justified.

He quoted the Pope. Abortion is killing a living creature. A law that permits abortion is an immoral one and must not be obeyed. These babies are being torn apart. "What about the use of force to try and stop abortion? What does the Church say about that? St. Ambrose said, 'He who does not repel an injury to his fellow, if he is able to do so, is as much at fault as he who is able to, who commits the injury.' That citation is in New Catholic Encyclopedia, page 593."

Remorse? Would Kopp show any to help his case? Doctor killer Michael Griffin had recanted his actions, apologized, expressed regret. It saved him from the death penalty. "It's customary at sentencing to talk about remorse," Kopp said. "I have already spoken in the newspaper about my feelings about the suffering that Dr. Slepian endured and his family endured. I stand behind these words today and forever. These feelings, Judge, have to be held in balance, though, for the children that were killed by Dr. Slepian. I estimated 25,000. That's my estimate based on how many hours he worked down at the mill and so forth. It's actually a conservative estimate based on a 13-year career of child killing. But more importantly, I have to hold these feelings in balance with the concern I have for the children that were about to be killed by Dr. Slepian on October 24, 1998. Just to give you an impression, Judge: 25,000 is a number. Stalin said one death is a tragedy and a million is a statistic. You can fill this courtroom top to bottom, put the caskets, one casket for each child involved, fill this courtroom and one half of another."

Did he really believe his numbers? By his "estimate" Slepian would have had to perform more than five abortions every day, 365 days a year, over his entire career.

"Even if I failed at my goal to preserve Dr. Slepian's life, nonetheless, I would be the only one I know of in this case who even had a plan whereby at the end of the day, both Dr. Slepian and his victim will still be alive. Who will advocate for the children? Why should the safety of Dr. Slepian be put above the safety of weak, vulnerable children, when Dr. Slepian had every opportunity to stop killing, and the children had no opportunity to run away from him?"

Slepian, Kopp said, had been stubborn. "The first abortionist doctor was shot in 1992. Possibly many hundreds of doctors quietly left the field after that. Any doctor who remained in the field was and is exposing himself to actual danger. If it were not so, why would the FBI have warned Dr. Slepian the very day he died?"

He talked about the fatal night. Family members in the kitchen? Kopp said he never saw them and wouldn't have pulled the trigger if he had known they were there. Shoot to kill? If he had meant to kill, "why not shoot him in the head? If my intention was to kill the guy flat out, why not shoot him in the head? I had a better shot, considering how restricted the angle was, to shoot him in the head than shoot him anywhere else."

Finally, he explained how he did it. He buried a tube in the woods behind Slepian's home, then inserted the rifle, which was wrapped in vinyl. He covered the opening of the tube with dirt, leaves, branches. He returned several times-early morning, late at night-to retrieve the weapon from the holster and wait for the right moment to shoot. "After I shot poor Dr. Slepian I put the gun in the hole to keep it from being found. This took no time because the opening of the hole was inclined in such a way you didn't have to dig and, you know, dig this hole."

He was reiterating what the police and prosecution had said. But he now denied painting markings on trees, even though he had agreed in the stipulated facts at trial that he had used them to help locate the rifle's hiding spot. "I simply have no clue how they got there and who put them there. I never saw them. I'm utterly clueless about all this. I located the gun-hole easily myself because it was under a very characteristic bush. I never had any problems finding the weapon that way."

Like Barket, he also now disputed the notion of a getaway car, even though that, too, was in the stipulated facts. No, Kopp said, he went back through the woods, on foot, between a cul-de-sac and a tennis court, retrieved a hidden bicycle. "A few doors down I pa.s.sed a dozen or so young people engaging in some sort of spontaneous party or meeting in the middle of the street."

He presented his new account in detail that suggested either that it was true, or simply that he knew that small touches might make it more believable. Romanita: was he protecting whoever had been driving the car that night? Or whoever was planning to retrieve the rifle using the paint spots on the trees? Once he had made it back to his car, he said he drove to a nearby motel, booked into a room that was "the last one on the left." He'd rat her not say the name of the place. Might get the owners there in trouble. The man who had rented it to him was the son-in-law of the East Indian couple who owned the motel. He had been in the military. The next day, when Kopp was on the road near Cleveland, he saw on the news that Slepian was dead. It was, he said, "the saddest day of my life."

He apologized to pro-lifers for initially denying he had pulled the trigger. "But I do not apologize to the FBI or law enforcement or the district attorney. They are intent on promoting and protecting the murder of children. They are my natural enemies. They can provide electricity to run suction pumps, to flush their children down after they run them through garbage disposals. They need help. I don't owe them any more straightforward an answer than the Gestapo a straight answer when they came up with the Jewish people in Holland."

He said that he had been telling the truth after his capture. He had not murdered Slepian, because he had no intention of killing him. "I was innocent of murder then. I am innocent of murder now." The Vatican smuggling Jews to safety. The mother of Moses hid her son. "Where would we be, Judge, if the mother of Moses had not hid him and deceived the Pharaoh and disobeyed him?" Mary and Joseph stealing away with Jesus in the middle of the night. "According to the prosecution, St. Joseph was carrying out a sinful deception by cover of night."

He took the court into the abyss that he felt so acutely: "I hate to mention this, Judge, an infernal supernaturality such as the bizarre case in Burlington, Vermont." Aborted late-term babies and their blood being drained for use in a Black Ma.s.s, "a satanic ritual in which the blood of children is offered to Satan and then drunk by partic.i.p.ants in a chalice stolen from the Catholic Church. That ritual also explained the disappearance of some of the so-called milk carton kids ...There is a supernaturally wicked drive behind abortion which brings back the medieval heresy of Albigensianism ... I hope the professional baby-killing industry will not be too offended when I say to them they are merely p.a.w.ns in a much bigger choice."

His rambling address neared its conclusion. He had taken the court on a tour through his life and thinking, sliding from some relatively sober reflection to the fires of h.e.l.l. Was it an act? It was surely not simply the usual Romanita. It was as though his psychological skin was peeling away. Had jail done that to him? Jim Kopp, Atomic Dog, had lived a life that was unusual in its scope, on a broad stage, taking him around the world, always on the move, pursuing a mission that knew no boundaries. But his life now was in a cage, his world confined to a small concrete room. And that was not going to change.

As Kopp wound down his comments, Judge D'Amico sat slumped in his chair, his cheek resting on his hand. He gets up and talks for, what, an hour and a half, almost two, and spends the entire time not on whether he intended to kill, but on why these doctors must be stopped? You've got your cause, fine, knock yourself out, thought D'Amico. But don't go around killing people, and don't tell me that it's OK.

"What would I do if I were let out in the street?" Kopp said. "This depends on the country, Your Honor. Will we, in America, still be killing children? If so, then I will stay duty-bound to do something about it ... I have always said, Judge, 'Show me-I'm from Missouri.' Show me a better way, but it better include a real chance for babies, not just rhetoric."

He said he had heard that several of the women who had planned to have abortions the morning after Slepian was killed had decided to keep their children. "Four or five children who are alive today because Dr. Slepian was unable to kill on Sat.u.r.day, October 24, are now almost four years old. Two or three of them are black. They are all beautiful, happy, human lives. They are walking the streets of Buffalo, New York, and their mothers love them. Fifty years from now they will be taking care of their mothers in their old age. Is this such a terrible thing? Which of these children should be dead today? I say none of them."

His future? "My days of trying to save children are obviously over." But the number of doctors performing abortions has dropped, he said, from 2,300 in 1990 to 800 in 2002. "Every one that has quietly retired from ma.s.s murder is completely safe from me or anyone like me. Any ma.s.s murderer who is left still doing abortions, if you are concerned for your safety, then quit. Do you want to be the last abortionist doing abortions in America?"

Would others follow in his footsteps? "I am not aware of any conspiracy to use force to save children. My younger brothers and sisters in the movement may discover that independent simultaneous operation is the best way to save children ... They may soon come to realize if they don't do it, it doesn't get done."

Defiance and the rule of law? "The Supreme Court, I will not kneel and wors.h.i.+p before them. I defy them. Anyone who provides protection to ma.s.s murderers, whether under the color of law or not, is partic.i.p.ating in murder. Let me briefly suggest another way of looking at this. If the Supreme Court ruled tomorrow that black people show up at the local train station with an O-ring around their neck-'Bring a lunch, you are going for a long train ride, going back to Mississippi, sorry, the Supreme Court changes its mind again'-would you enforce the law? Would you throw Harriet Tubman in jail for trying to smuggle these slaves? I suppose if the court ruled tomorrow that Jewish people must report to the closest train station wearing the Star of David-'Bring a lunch, wear a coat, you are going for a ride'-would you enforce that law, too? You would not. You are morally obligated to refuse to punish me.

"I know that sounds laughable in the context of the review of this case. It isn't laughable to me, Judge. You are morally obliged to refuse to punish me just as surely as you are required to refrain from partic.i.p.ating in sending Jewish people, or those who protect them, to their death. In any event, Judge, there are worse things than life in general. Jail-jail is not so bad, nowhere near as bad as being out of custody and constantly wondering what else could be done for the babies...I do not see myself how G.o.d can bless a country which gives safe haven to child murderers, or to the practice of child murder. But even now He stands ready to forgive, if we will turn away from child murder. It's never too late to seek forgiveness, but first we must turn away from child murder. He will enable us to do that, if we ask Him to. Thank you, Your Honor."

Chapter 26 ~ A Complex Martyrdom.

"Well," said the judge. "I guess we have heard a great deal of information this morning." Michael D'Amico did not typically say much at sentencing. Speech-making was not his style. But this time was different. James Kopp would not have the last word, not in his court. "You are not going to hear a speech or a sermon," said D'Amico. "Nevertheless, I feel compelled to say a few things."

First, he recognized the Slepians. "The letters I have received with regard to this sentencing indicate to me the depth of the loss that has been suffered and the fact that there are many in this community who share your grief." Second, he countered the shots taken by the defense at the FBI and police. "Mr. Barket has asked me to admonish them. I think the reverse is true."

Third, the judge addressed Kopp's intent. "It's clear the action was premeditated, there's no doubt about that. It is inconceivable to me that you did not expect your actions would result in the death of Dr. Slepian. I think that if Mr. Marusak or someone else could respond to what you said they would have a lot to say. Frankly, I don't want to hear it. But I think that there is one comment that you made that almost demands a response and you somehow equated the action of Dr. Slepian with some racial issue. Bald accusations are easy to make. Unfortunately, he's not here to respond to them and that's your responsibility. I guess in spite of all your education and all your intelligence, Mr. Kopp, there is one thing you haven't learned and that's that the pursuit of one's goal, your objective, that no matter how moral or just it may appear, does not permit the infliction of violence on your adversary. What may appear righteous to you may appear immoral to someone else. And obviously the reverse is true. The bottom line, I suspect, is that no civilized society can tolerate or excuse excesses that are tantamount to anarchy or to terrorism."

He issued a final rejoinder to Barket, who had said in his remarks earlier in the day that John Brown had been hung for fighting slavery but today was considered a hero, while the judge who sentenced him was nothing more than an historical footnote. "With regard to the comparison to the John Brown case, Mr. Barket, I will take my chances."

He looked at Kopp. "It is the judgment of this court, Mr. Kopp, that you be sentenced to an indeterminate sentence having a maximum of life imprisonment. The court hereby imposes a minimum period of 25 years." Kopp turned to Barket and smiled. D'Amico rose, the crowded courtroom followed suit. And James Charles Kopp was taken away.

"Shame on America! Shame on America!"

The voice of protest outside court belonged to a small black woman named Hettie Pasco. She had picketed for years at the clinic where Slepian had worked. "How about legalizing ma.s.s murder in America?" she shouted. "Abortion is a weapon of ma.s.s destruction!"

Joe Marusak left Courtroom Number One and strode down the corridor and out of the old building. He did about a halfdozen homicide trials a year. Nothing shocked him anymore, but this one had been the most bizarre trial he had ever worked. He had spent a lot of time a.n.a.lyzing Kopp's actions and building what in essence was a behavioral profile of the sniper to present in court. But in hindsight, Marusak still didn't quite know what to make of the man. He had been handed evidence to work with to prove that Kopp had intended to kill. But that was it. It wasn't his job to understand Kopp. He just needed to prove a fact, and he had done so.

Later, Judge Michael D'Amico relaxed in his office, the adjoining courtroom empty and quiet. He reflected on the case. Kopp was clearly a bright guy, educated. Who knows what forces someone like that into activism-and what throws the switch inside that turns him into Atomic Dog or whatever the h.e.l.l his name was, he mused. There was something at some point that caused Kopp to surrender his life, essentially, to this cause, and ultimately it led to a martyrdom complex. D'Amico shook his head. Would that complex persist in Kopp's thinking for the rest of his life? He imagined the convicted man in jail. One day, down the road, it hits him: I'm the one sitting in prison and everyone else is out there, free-my lawyers, allies in America and abroad. They're all back to normal, and I'm sitting here in prison. And maybe, thought D'Amico, at that point he says, Holy cow-what the h.e.l.l have I done? Maybe then he realizes he wasn't so smart.

On the other hand, concluded D'Amico, Kopp might carry his belief in the cause to his grave.

Buffalo Federal Detention Facility Batavia, N.Y.

Spring 2003 Pitcher stands tall. Count is full. Checks the sign. Into his motion now, leg kick, the follow through, ball popping in the catcher's mitt. Strike! Jim Kopp sets again. Winds up. Zips his hand through the air, the imaginary ball whizzing over the imaginary plate.

Jim wore his red prisoner's jumpsuit, shoes with no laces, his face peppered with a spa.r.s.e rust-colored beard, square metalrimmed bifocal gla.s.ses. He worked on his pitching motion in a common room at the federal prison in Batavia, a town of 16,000. Pitching? Kopp's chronically bad back continued to bother him. He had discovered that going through the baseball pitcher's motions loosened him up. He did it for long periods while other inmates in the common room looked on.

Set. Pitch. Set.

Back in his cell, he stretched some more. And prayed. And worked on his book, the novel he was writing. Last night he crossed a barrier in plot development. It pleased him. He was also working on an essay about his father. He sang to himself. Joni Mitch.e.l.l, of course. Time was something Kopp had plenty of. The next step in his legal journey was the federal trial, but that was still a long way off. Would they throw away the key on him? Or perhaps put the death penalty back on the table, in violation of the extradition agreement with France? As far as he was concerned, the executioner's needle would always be on the table for him, agreement or not. Frequently he had more time to write than paper to write on. On occasion he ran out, took to scribbling his letters in pencil on toilet paper. It's OK, he advised a correspondent. Just place the paper on a light table to make out the writing.

Some days were better than others. The jail was primarily used for immigration matters. He had been originally held there because his case involved extradition. He felt like a bug under a microscope in prison. The FBI was listening to his phone calls. Reading his mail. He wrote Latin acronyms on the envelopes of his outgoing mail so G.o.d might look over them, keep them safe from the Edgars. He had time to think about his life, his future. And his success, to the extent that it might be called success, he thought. Success? His campaign of terror had made an impact. There were doctors less willing to offer abortion services for fear of violence. The doctors Kopp had shot, and allegedly shot, no longer practiced medicine.

There was one notable exception, and it held a considerable irony that even Jim Kopp could appreciate on a certain level. In Vancouver, Dr. Romalis, allegedly one of Kopp's victims, continued to practice medicine, but had to alter his practice somewhat. He had always delivered babies as part of his practice. A major part, in fact. But delivering babies, like other surgeries, is a physically demanding job. After he was shot in the thigh, he no longer had the physical stamina to deliver babies-it can involve being on your feet a long time. Romalis couldn't stand long enough. The wound, the hole punched in his leg by the a.s.sault rifle, had put a stop to that. So Dr. Garson Romalis could only do procedures that required little time standing. He could perform what are called, in obstetrics phraseology, terminations. Abortions.

Starke, Florida Summer 2003 Paul Hill awaited his appointment with the end. He had been on death row ever since admitting to murdering Dr. John Britton and a security guard in broad daylight outside a clinic in Pensacola in 1994. He had shown no remorse for his act. He was in good spirits. Radical pro-lifers who supported Hill's actions continued to keep in touch with him. He even corresponded on occasion with journalists. He returned a letter from a Canadian reporter: I appreciate your interest in the principles for which I stand. I would be glad to meet you and answer any questions you have ... I hope it all works out for you. I am currently in the final stages of writing a book. The working t.i.tle is Mix My Blood With The Blood Of The Unborn. It presents the best case I can muster, I think it is rather convincing and compelling, for upholding the duty to defend the unborn with the means necessary (as required by the moral law, and as we would defend ourselves). At any rate, I look forward to meeting you.

In Christ, Paul Hill The date was set for September 3. He was scheduled to be the third inmate executed in Florida that year, and the 57th since the state reinstated capital punishment in 1979. Jim Kopp heard the news that a group of pro-lifers planned to gather at the site of the execution in Starke, to protest the death sentence and show their love and support for Hill, and the unborn. Kopp was excited. He wrote a long letter and had a friend post it on a website, urging pro-lifers to "join him" in Florida. It was t.i.tled, "I'm Going Back To Florida." In part the letter read: Sometime between now and when we die, we will have a different feeling about how we look at the whole, tragic pro-life capitulation which is taking place right now. And, grudgingly or not, just like Schindler, you will realize that there was something more you could have done, in between rescue and sidewalk work, and what Paul Hill did, and you will realize that you could have and should have done it. Be it forceful or not, "legal" or not, practical or not, efficacious or not. I a.s.sure you, the reasons we use to excuse ourselves will pale at the moment of our deaths...Come to Starke because you're a brand new pro-lifer and clueless. Come to Starke because you're a burnt-out, old curmudgeon (although I certainly have no direct experience in this matter). Come to Starke to look at blue herons. Just come to Starke. The Lord will take care of the rest ... I'm looking forward to seeing you there. I'll be there in spirit. The rest of me will be very, very sad at a remote location, but my spirit will be with you and Paul and his beautiful and G.o.d-chosen family.

Five people had shot and either killed or wounded abortion providers or clinic workers in the United States: Michael Griffin, John Salvi-who committed suicide-Sh.e.l.ley Shannon, Hill and Kopp. Hill would be the first put to death. Five known shooters-shooters: a terribly crude word, really, Kopp mused in his letter, "but let's use it. Five known shooters. And now two of them, sadly, will be dead. And another [Griffin], sadly, and due to perhaps some unprecipitated-though not thereby necessarily unholy-action, essentially repented of his action. He took the 'aw shucks, I'm sorry, wish I hadn't done it' route."

On Tuesday, September 2, Paul Hill met with several reporters selected by the state. He smiled for the cameras and said he expected a great reward in heaven upon his pa.s.sing. The next day he ate his last meal, alone: steak, baked potato, broccoli with hollandaise sauce, salad, orange sherbet, a gla.s.s of iced tea. He sat in the solitary-confinement cell. Outside, the sky turned black as a storm blew in. Hill had a final visit with his wife and son, his mother and father, and two sisters. His two daughters had visited earlier in the week. None of his family came to the observation room. The family of Hill's victims also stayed away. About 50 pro-lifers stood outside the prison gates, holding signs. There was a roll of thunder. IV tubes were inserted into both of his arms. He made his final statement: "If you believe abortion is a lethal force, you should oppose the force and do what you have to do to stop it," he said calmly as he lay strapped to a gurney, staring at the ceiling and speaking into the microphone that hung from it. "May G.o.d help you to protect the unborn as you would want to be protected."

Moments later, the chemicals pumped through his veins: first the sedative, then a paralytic agent and, finally, pota.s.sium chloride to stop his heart. Witnesses watched him gasp for air, swallow, lick his lips. His eyes fluttered, closed, and he went still. Hill was declared dead at 6:08 p.m. When the news reached Jim Kopp, his heart pounded, his mind trying to process it all, sort through his feelings. "I never knew of anyone dying on a predictable day and hour," he wrote. "I don't know how to deal with it. I can't deal with sudden death, either, though."

Miami Beach, Florida November 11, 2003 A former soldier reading verse from the Army of G.o.d Manual. He wasn't going to be another Paul Hill. Stephen Jordi admired Paul, he had flown north to Starke to protest at Hill's execution. Hill had sent Jordi a letter, thanking him for his moral and financial support. Tactically, perhaps he would be more like Jim Kopp. Details of the story appeared later in news reports, quoting an affidavit filed in court. Stephen Jordi bought gasoline cans, flares, starter fluid, propane tanks. He wanted to blow up an abortion clinic. C-4 plastic explosives might be his best bet. But there were other ways to do it, too. A propane tank bomb. Pipe bomb.

He met again with his new friend. The friend shared Jordi's views on the need to use force in the abortion war. Was the time ripe to strike? Jim Kopp had been sentenced to life in prison, Paul Hill executed, and Eric Rudolph, who bombed a clinic in Alabama, arrested-all within the s.p.a.ce of five months. If Jordi decided to hit a clinic, he would be a marked man. On the other hand, George W. Bush, a pro-life Republican, was in the White House, and the FBI's focus was now on al-Qaeda. He had no intention of ending up strapped to a gurney like Hill, or getting caught like Rudolph or Kopp. "As long as I keep hitting places, they'll keep after me," he told his friend. "But it's like trying to catch a c.o.c.kroach in a house. They won't get me."

Jordi 's friend sold him a .45-caliber pistol with an attached silencer and two empty magazines. Jordi tried to liaise with others on the fringe of the pro-life movement. One warned Jordi to be careful. In the current climate, he was playing a risky game. And one more thing: always a.s.sume that anyone you might be talking to could be a cop. On Tuesday night, Jordi met again with his friend, who lived on a houseboat at a Miami Beach marina. Perhaps Jordi felt especially safe talking with him, under cover of darkness, water lapping gently against the sides of the boat. Safe, until FBI agents emerged from the shadows to arrest him. Jordi's friend had been an informant. He had told the feds everything. Jordi plunged into the water to escape, managed to pull away from the boat. Half an hour later he was pulled from the water by the U.S. Coast Guard. He was charged with solicitation to commit a crime of violence, distribution of information relating to making and using explosives for arson, and possession of an unregistered firearm or destructive device. The FBI's Joint Terrorism Task Force had been investigating Jordi for four months, after getting a tip from his own brother.

One of Jordi's relatives told reporters that he was a loner, had a strained relations.h.i.+p with his family. Jordi was "overzealous about the Lord, but not a violent person." Four days prior to the arrest, the pastor at the Baptist church Jordi attended had faxed a letter to police, warning that the paris.h.i.+oner had violent views on stopping abortion. Clearly, in contrast to Kopp, Stephen Jordi stood out, with a shaved head and religious tattoos on both forearms. He was described in the press as a devout evangelical Christian who had four kids named Noah, Elijah, Charity and Trinity.

And Jim Kopp? A chameleon. Had seemed to one and all gentle, spoke like a devout Christian-and carried inside him a capacity for violence like a concealed s.h.i.+v. Kopp knew the media would, "in its infinite wisdom," try to answer the puzzle of his life by finding some old lady somewhere who had known him, "and she would stand there for the camera, rub rosary beads in her hands, and say: 'Oh, dear, yes, Jim was such a nice boy. Can't believe he'd ever do anything wrong to anyone.'" Oh, Kopp mused, they'd trot out the old Jekyll-and-Hyde explanation for his behavior.

It was a bit more complicated than that, he reflected. Wasn't the FBI still trying to construct a psychological profile of him for the federal case? Why else would they, in the spring of 2004, with the federal trial still pending, fly him all the way to San Diego for a psychiatric evaluation? Federal prosecutors had asked for the evaluation to determine Kopp's fitness to stand trial. Was that the only reason? Why move him all the way from Buffalo to San Diego, near his boyhood home in Southern California? Perhaps they were trying to jog some old memories, shake him up a little bit? But of course. They wouldn't get inside him, though. He was sure the Edgars still hadn't figured out the code he had used in his letters to Loretta when he was on the run.

Stephen Jordi's lawyer accused the FBI of entrapment. His big mistake had been talking and trusting too much. The lesson of Jordi's capture, said a commentary on the Army of G.o.d website, is that "your family, pro-lifers and your church 'friends' will rat you out in a heartbeat, thinking they are doing G.o.d's will. Do not tell anyone, before, during, or after you are planning on taking action."

Jordi had military training, but he lacked Jim Kopp's guile. Kopp would have never been fooled by an informer, would never have talked like that. His advantage was that no one could see him coming. He used deception in every facet of his life, the Romanita. Yet in the end, the reason Kopp was caught and convicted was that he, too, had trusted, had talked too much-to the woman he loved. Loved? He never married, never had serious relations.h.i.+ps. It had to be that way. His connections with adults were weak at best. Perhaps he eventually became so desensitized to grown humans that it created in him the soul of a killer, enabling him to shoot doctors, play Russian roulette with lives, shatter whole families for his cause. And yet he chose to shoot from a distance, ran after he pulled the trigger. He gave himself a buffer zone from the carnage, did not have the certainty of the up-close killer. In the end he was not completely desensitized, not quite enough. His connection with the fetus, his mission to save the unborn, wasn't enough, not when he was tired and vulnerable, "sleeping" on the run. It was then that Kopp reached for perhaps the only person he could connect with, and that was Loretta Marra.

Loretta was his blind spot, the c.h.i.n.k in his psychological armor. His contact with her led directly to his capture. And, while few knew it at the time, she also led to his conviction. When he shocked everyone by confessing to shooting Bart Slepian, Jim Kopp was trying to sacrifice himself for Loretta's freedom. That fact all became clear one day in a Brooklyn court.

Chapter 27 ~ Free Conscience.

Marra-Malvasi Sentencing Hearing Brooklyn Federal Courthouse Wednesday, August 20, 2003 Loretta Marra had labored over the speech in her cell. She had spent much of her adult life proselytizing, debating philosophy and morality, and now she was preparing the argument of her life. She was to make her case before federal judge Carol Amon. Marra's mission was nothing less than freeing herself and her husband, Dennis Malvasi, returning to their two young sons. They had been in custody for 29 months, since March 29, 2001, repeatedly denied bail. And now, having pled guilty to conspiracy to harbor a fugitive, Amon would decide their punishment. The maximum sentence was five years in prison and a $250,000 fine.

In Judge Amon's courtroom, Marra's lawyer, Bruce Barket, would argue for leniency. But Loretta would also speak. She could not try to make a pro-life argument to the judge, cite the feds' bigotry against pro-life Catholics-even though she believed that to her core. Why else had they been denied bail, labeled a flight risk? No, she had to make a legal argument. No one knew her case better than she did, no one knew what had gone on behind the scenes. Few knew the real reason why Jim Kopp had confessed. Now was the time to tell the whole story.

The morning broke clear and sunny. The courthouse sat on the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge from Manhattan. Spectators filed into the room, took their seats and waited: Loretta's friend Luanne, who loved Loretta, considered her a saint; old acquaintances of Loretta's late father; friends from the movement, like Joan Andrews with two of her five adopted children, one of them a child of Chern.o.byl born with physical disabilities; Jim Kopp's friends James Gannon and Betty Lewis, both of whom still lived in the Crestwood Village retirement community in Whiting, New Jersey; a priest who had been arrested many times for protesting and had met with Kopp in jail. The priest knew what he would have done if he had been in Loretta's shoes-he would have helped Jim, too. Any one of them would have taken in an old friend.

An activist named Bill Koehler was there. He supported the use of force against abortion providers, wished he had the nerve to actually pull the trigger. He actually hoped Kopp was not the lone sniper. That would mean there was more than just one man willing to defend the unborn. There was Luis, nickname Lifeboat, who looked as though he had hiked to the court through time from Woodstock, 1969, a long scraggly gray beard and a huge wooden cross hanging on his chest clicking against an a.s.sortment of pro-life pins. Lifeboat was 61, had been at the siege of Atlanta in '88.

Marra's sister Julia was there, too. Julia had cared for Loretta's two sons while she was in jail. So was brother Nick. He looked like Loretta, the dark French complexion of their late mother. He came to watch his sister get hammered again by the courts. It is what the establishment does, beats up on people like her. She didn't stand a chance. He turned to a journalist outside the courtroom and flashed a broad, sarcastic grin. "Ah yes," he said, "The media is here, that paragon of truth and balance."

Marra and Malvasi were led into the courtroom in handcuffs, wearing scrubs and baggy white prison-issue T-s.h.i.+rts. Loretta carried a stack of papers, looked weary and pale, had lost weight in prison. But Dennis Malvasi looked alert, his arms and upper body lean and hard. Loretta smiled nervously at the crowd. Guards unlocked the cuffs; they sat side by side at a table, but never touched each other in. "I love you," she mouthed silently to her sons, who sat in the front row.

The lawyers entered. Bruce Barket would argue that Marra deserved leniency in her sentence for harboring a fugitive because she had convinced James Kopp to forgo his extradition battle and come back to the United States for trial. Marra deserved credit for that. But in fact Loretta Marra planned to make an even more powerful argument to the judge. But first, her husband faced a serious allegation in court.

FBI agent Michael Osborn strode into the courtroom, took his seat at a long table facing the judge. For his role in catching Kopp, Osborn-along with Buffalo-based special agent Joel Mercer -had been presented with Attorney General's Awards for excellence in law enforcement. And Osborn had been posted to the bureau's Violent Crime Major Offenders Unit in Los Angeles. But there was still work to clean up in New York. Sitting beside him in court was the federal prosecutor, a tall, slim man with a youthful face, hair brushed to one side, olive suit, deep purple tie, brown shoes. His name was Peter Katz. Judge Carol Amon entered, took her seat, and the sentencing arguments began. Osborn leaned over and talked quietly with Katz. Then the prosecutor rose. He wanted to present new evidence that would keep Marra and Malvasi in jail.

He said that early one morning back in November 1998, less than two weeks after Bart Slepian was murdered, a woman walking in the doctor's neighborhood noticed a man standing on a sidewalk near Williamsville East High School, perhaps 100 yards from Slepian's property. The man wore a black warmup suit. Small man, compact build. Had lots of gray hair. She had never seen him before. She looked him in the eye. He seemed to look right through her, his stare was so intense. She kept walking, told a friend later about the encounter, how much it bothered her, but said nothing more about it. Fast-forward 29 months. James Kopp is arrested in France, and on TV, the woman in Amherst sees the faces of Lorretta Marra and Dennis Malvasi on TV after their arrest in Brooklyn. Malvasi. She could never forget the face, the build. Very distinctive. She felt like she was going to pa.s.s out. She called the police.

"Your Honor," Peter Katz said, "the government would like to bring forward a witness who will say she saw Mr. Malvasi on November 4 or 5, within 100 yards of where the rifle was buried in a wooded area behind Dr. Slepian's house."

What was Malvasi-a convicted abortion clinic bomber-doing in the Slepians' neighborhood less than two weeks after the murder and within a matter of hours of the FBI issuing a warrant for Kopp's arrest as a material witness? It was a shocking revelation. Those who had argued that Kopp was either framed, or at the very least had not acted alone, had been dismissed as conspiracy theorists. But this evidence suggested there was indeed more to the story-detail that Kopp himself had perhaps wanted to keep secret.

Katz continued. There was no explanation for Malvasi's presence, he argued, other than he was trying to recover the rifle left at the scene. "The witness saw him on a sidewalk on a street which is adjacent to the wooded area. There is no other reason for him to be there, given the timing, right after the material witness warrant was issued."

"The witness saw him standing on the sidewalk?" repeated Judge Amon.

"Yes."

The sniper had left a complex pattern of paint marks on trees in the woods to help direct him to find his rifle. Had he in fact put the marks there to help someone else locate the weapon-someone who had the skills to interpret them? Perhaps a Vietnam vet like Dennis Malvasi? Loretta Marra was furious with Katz's suggestion. They had agreed to a plea bargain, and now here was The Government suborning perjury from a witness to swear this-this d.a.m.nable falsehood-about her husband. This witness, years after the fact, suddenly "remembers" seeing him there? All to lock them both up for the maximum five years. Lies, lies, lies. But she didn't need to worry. Judge Amon made her ruling on the spot. She would not listen to the Malvasi evidence, would not allow the witness to come forward.

"I don't see the need for the hearing," she said. "It's too great a leap for me to draw from that that (Malvasi) was there looking for the murder weapon." Dennis Malvasi lifted the pitcher of water on the table in front of him, poured a gla.s.s and took a sip.

At his seat, Michael Osborn stared ahead. You conduct your investigation, gather evidence. Then let the courts do their job. But how could it not infuriate him? They had not sprung the evidence at the last minute, he reflected. The judge knew it was coming. What possible explanation could there be for Malvasi being near the woods? Did it not at least offer the possibility that Malvasi-and by extension perhaps his wife-had a greater role in the Kopp case than just harboring him?

Katz next tried to persuade the judge that the couple still deserved the maximum punishment for harboring Kopp. They had not merely provided monetary aid and emotional support to Kopp while he was a fugitive, but had offered up their apartment as a safe house for him when he returned to the States, and implicit in that was that they would help Kopp resume shooting abortion providers. Marra and Malvasi, he argued, had engaged in obstruction of justice when Marra told her husband over the phone to "clean up the computer" shortly before their arrest. Malvasi's lawyer, Thomas Eoannou, countered that "cleaning the computer" was open to interpretation. Amon was not impressed.