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March 29 - April 5, 2019
There, Page met with Halper, and the two remained in contact. Halper eventually asked to be introduced to Sam Clovis, and Page obliged, sending a suck-up email: “Professor Stef Halper spends part of the year in Virginia where he has a home in Falls Church; he’s a big fan of yours, having followed you on CNN, and offe...
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When that entreaty failed, Halper approached Clovis himself with a late-August email, telling him he’d been in contact with Page, and that Page suggested the two men talk. A few days later, they met. According to Clovis, Halper pitched himself as a China expert—slightly different than the Mediterranean wizard he pretended to be with me. What was Halper’s game? Clovis, in an interview with the Washington Examiner, says the whole point was to get me: “I think [Halper] was using his meeting with me to give him bona fides to talk to George Pap...
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I agree. But the question is why? What was Halper’s mission in getting to me? It has now been widely reported that Halper was working as an informant for the FBI. In fact, the Bureau and members of Congress bent over backward trying to shield Halper’s identity after news broke in May of 2018 that an FBI informant had been harvesti...
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The storyline of the investigation would have given all the glory to the FBI and maybe some Cambridge professor with ties to the CIA and Ronald Reagan. Downer has strong connections to the Clintons, which might make his version of events suspect.
I believe that 99% of the people that work for the Department of Justice, the FBI, and the CIA are brave, decent people out to uphold the law, protect American interests, and do the right thing. That said, both the FBI and the CIA have long, tainted histories.
But I don’t get planting information on an unsuspecting, young campaign advisor and then trying to manufacture a vast conspiracy. At best, it’s prosecutorial overreach; at worst, it’s the deep state declaring war on Donald Trump—and with that, a war on truth, justice, and the American way.
The deep state is not a place. It doesn’t issue passports. You can’t go there for a visit.
Adam Lovinger, a Pentagon analyst who raised questions about a defense contract given to none other than Stefan Halper, is another victim of the deep state. After Lovinger was appointed to Trump’s National Security Council, authorities revoked his security clearance over claims he was seen reading top-secret documents during an airplane ride.
“George,” Sergei says, “You have to understand that it’s very common in Russia for people to do business and work for the government at the same time.” I am staggered, insulted, and pissed off—all at the same time. But Sergei isn’t finished yet. “In order for me to pay you $30,000 a month, you have to also work for Trump.” “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Sergei. That’s completely illegal, and I will never accept it. I already made it clear to you even before you came to Chicago that I had certain conditions and that I’d recuse myself from anything related to Trump.”
on my guard with him from now on. But I’m a little too late. On November 5, just days before the election, Millian forwards me an email he has sent to Hope Hicks in response to an article in the Financial Times. He closes his email with something that I find super-creepy in retrospect:
As we talk, an idea crystalizes in my head: This is another reason why the British, Stefan Halper, and Alexander Downer have zeroed in on me—my connections to Cyprus are at the highest level.
Sergei informs me that he just met with John McCain. When I ask why, he doesn’t offer many details. Just that his pal and another friend, Mike Costache, went with him.
“Just so you know, Sergei works for the FBI.” Sergei is sitting right next to him. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t punch him on the shoulder and say, “Get the hell out of here!” or “That’s B.S.!”
I don’t think much about Sergei or his visit with McCain until three days later—when hell starts breaking loose.
On January 24, 2017, as I’m thinking about my upcoming interview for a job with the Trump administration, I get one of the biggest shocks of my life. The Wall Street Journal reports that Sergei Millian is the source behind the unverified allegations in the Steele Dossier linking Trump to Russia, including the document’s most salacious claim of a compromising sex tape that could be used to blackmail Trump. This guy, who wanted to be a big buddy of mine, who talked about setting up businesses with me, who told me he knew Michael Cohen, who was so eager to be a Trump insider, was talking trash
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In addition to the videotape charge, Millian also allegedly told the informant that there was a “conspiracy of cooperation” between the Trump camp and Russian leadership that involved hacking the computers of Mr. Trump’s Democratic opponents.
I’m in shock. I message him immediately. “Sergei I don’t know what this is all about. I have nothing to do with Russia. I don’t know what you’re up to.” He messages me back: “I know.” That’s the last I hear from him. Ever.
“Do you know this man?” “Of course. That’s Sergei Millian.” “How do you know him?” I tell them Millian contacted me claiming he had done deals with Trump and that he thought he could help with the campaign. I say we met a number of times. And that he had some business proposals for me, but nothing had come of them. “Was he trying to cultivate you?” “Cultivate me?” I start to laugh. “I don’t know what you mean.” The two agents look at each other. “Well, George,” Heide says, “that was just a ruse. We’re not really that interested in talking to you about Sergei Millian. We have a lot more to talk
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“Now let’s talk about Russia and interference. Who in the campaign knew about interference?”
“I have never knowingly spoken with a Russian government official in my life,” I say. All these Russia questions are making me a bit nervous. Russia, Russia, Russia. First Mifsud brought up Russia. Then Downer, Millian, Azra Turk, and Halper. I’m an expert on energy issues in the Mediterranean. But everyone wants me to be the go-to guy—or maybe the fall guy—when it comes to linking the Trump campaign to Putin.
I decide to tell them my one truly bizarre interaction of interest. “You know what? There was this weird guy from Malta—Joseph Mifsud. He told me that the Russians have the goods on Hillary Clinton. He said they have dirt on her. They have thousands of emails from her.” This is my big reveal. I’m making eye contact with my inquisitors as I drop what should have been a bombshell revelation on them. They don’t blink.
But they do want to know when I met Mifsud and how often we talked. My memory is blurry. I tell them I met Mifsud before joining the campaign. I was wrong. There’s a difference between having a faulty memory and actively lying—or there should be. But there isn’t when you are dealing with the FBI. I should have said: I don’t remember.
They are even more interested in my motives for meeting Mifsud and whether he introduced me to any Russian people. “He’s a nobody.” I definitely downplay Mifsud. Not because I feel implicated but because I feel embarrassed. My mindset is: he failed to introduce me to anyone of substance. He was a bullshitter. Why should I pretend he was a big shot or over-sell our interactions? He was a con artist.
A few days later, on January 31, I’m at the gym when I get a call from Curtis Heide.
Clinesmith says: “George, do you remember having drinks with a friendly Western diplomat at a bar in London?” I burst out laughing. It’s a ridiculous question. “I’ve had many drinks with many diplomats in many bars in London,” I say. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.” He doesn’t give any further information to help me narrow down the answer. Instead, he says, “Are you sure?” It may seem obvious to the reader that Clinesmith was referring to Alexander Downer. But remember: this is more than nine months after I had my drink with Downer. And honestly, I don’t recall blabbing about the
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Then, a couple of days later, my lawyer Tom calls. “I have Kevin Clinesmith on the phone from Washington, one of the gentlemen that we met with a couple of days ago. He has a question to ask.” “Hello, Kevin,” I say. “How’s it going?” “Do you remember meeting with Alexander Downer?” “Yes. I met with him once.” Click. Clinesmith hangs up the phone.
Thinking back on this now, I imagine him slamming down the phone and dancing a jig in his office. In his aggressive, hostile, take-no-prisoners mind, he probably thought I had just substantiated Downer’s claim and incriminated myself.
In a few months, it turns out, I’ll be able to dance a jig about Clinesmith, too—when he is booted off the investigation for profoundly anti-Trump remark...
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On March 10, I receive an email notification from Gmail informing me that my email account has been hacked by a government entity. I’m really in the crosshairs now. The FBI is after me. I wonder who else is spying on me. Then I realize I’m afraid to find out the answer.
She even knew Joseph Mifsud.
I learn from her that Nagi and Mifsud had mentioned me when they were wooing her to join the LCILP. They told her she needed to meet this guy who was Trump’s advisor. He just quit the Centre to work with the campaign. Stuff like that. She also tells me how, her first day there, they slapped her picture at the top of the website—so she was sandwiched in between Nagi and Mifsud, like some senior bigwig with an important title. “They didn’t even ask me. I don’t understand what this organization does. I was worried about my reputation.” “Join the club,” I say. “That place is crazy.”
During my days with the Trump campaign, I was contacted by an Israeli named David Ha’ivri, a conservative strategist who works for West Bank settlers.
‘‘It’s so good to finally meet you!” he says. “I’m so glad David could put this together because I’ve been trying to get ahold of you since you spoke at the Hadera Energy Conference”—which I attended in April 2016—“but Israeli intelligence wouldn’t let me get near you.”
“What NATO did to Serbia was a horrible thing,” he says, before checking off other known Trumpian talking points—some of which Corey Lewandowski and I put forth in Trump’s first foreign policy speech: the Islamist containment problem, China’s multiple threats, the wisdom of working with Russia. I wonder if he’s regurgitating this stuff because he has read a profile on me or if he is trying to profile me himself and see how I will respond.
On April 12, 2017 I get an email out of the blue from a reporter at a national press outlet: “Mr. Papadopoulos I’ve been meaning to reach out to you for a long time. It’s very important for us to meet.” I respond that I’m happy to talk and suggest we arrange a time. The very next day I get a message from Rhonda Schwartz, the head of investigations at ABC News in New York. She tells me it’s very important that we meet because she has something to discuss. She urges me to contact her immediately.
I meet the reporter who called first at a cafe near Dupont Circle and he’s brought a colleague with him. They tell me they’ve learned that I’ve been targeted by a FISA warrant as part of Robert Mueller’s investigation into allegations of Trump-Russia collusion. “I don’t know why on earth I would have a FISA warrant on me,” I say, before launching into my broken-record sound bite. “I don’t have any contacts with Russia. I mean, I was just in the energy business and worked with Israelis.”
As soon as the word “Israel” is out of my mouth, I see the reporters exchange a look. We talk for a while, but when they start pressing me on my relationship with Sergei Millian, I really don’t feel comfortable talking anymore. I leave. I feel pretty shaken.
At the beginning of May 2017, Jim Wolfe, director of security of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence (SSCI), calls me. The committee wants documents from me. If I don’t provide them, I will get subpoenaed. I have no objection—other than that this feels like harassment. But I have nothing to hide, and I tell him that. A few days later, the subpoena arrives. It’s unnecessary. They can have my so-called campaign-related communications regarding Russia, or anything else. I’m clean. All I want to do is spend time with Simona, who is back in London, and put this Russia nonsense behind me. So
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and a friend at the bar says, “You know, you are being watched.”
I tell her about the FBI and all my nightmares—so much of which started with the London Centre of International Law Practice and our mutual acquaintance Professor Mifsud. We spend time discussing the Maltese man of mystery.
Our moment of bliss is interrupted by a message from Charles Tawil. He wants to know where I am and then says he wants to see me in Mykonos to discuss working together. I don’t get the urgency. I tell him I’m on vacation with my girlfriend and ask if this can wait. He provides the answer by flying in. Charles has subsequently given interviews saying I wanted to see him and that we had a warm relationship. But think about this: his trip to Mykonos marked the second time he had flown a considerable distance at his own expense to see me. Why? The other thing to remember—which I did not know at
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